the giraffe hunters, by captain mayne reid. chapter one. arrival at the promised land. in that land of which we have so many records of early and high civilisation, and also such strong evidences of present barbarism,--the land of which we know so much and so little,--the land where nature exhibits some of her most wonderful creations and greatest contrasts, and where she is also prolific in the great forms of animal and vegetable life,--there, my young reader, let us wander once more. let us return to africa, and encounter new scenes in company with old friends. on the banks of the limpopo brightly blazes a hunter's fire, around which the reader may behold three distinct circles of animated beings. the largest is composed of horses, the second of dogs, and the lesser or inner one, of young men, whom many of my readers will recognise as old acquaintances. i have but to mention the names of hans and hendrik von bloom, groot willem and arend van wyk, to make known that _the young yagers_ are again on a hunting expedition. in the one in which we now encounter them, not all the parties are inspired by the same hopes and desires. the quiet and learned hans von bloom, like many colonial youths, is affected with the desire of visiting the home of his forefathers. he wishes to go to europe for the purpose of making some practical use of the knowledge acquired, and the floral collections made, while a _bush-boy_ and a _young yager_. but before doing so, he wishes to enlarge his knowledge of natural history by making one more expedition to a part of southern africa he has not yet visited. he knows that extensive regions of his native land, containing large rivers and immense forests, and abounding in a vast variety of rare plants, lie between the rivers limpopo and zambezi, and before visiting europe he wishes to extend his botanic researches in that direction. his desire to make his new excursion amid the african wilds is no stronger than that of "groot willem" van wyk, who ever since his return from the last expedition, six months before, has been anxious to undertake another in quest of game such as he has not yet encountered. our readers will search in vain around the camp-fire for little jan and klaas. their parents would not consent to their going so far from home, on an excursion promising so many hardships and so much danger. besides, it was necessary that they should become something better than mere _bush-boys_, by spending a few years at school. the two young cornets, hendrik von bloom and arend van wyk, each endeavouring to wear the appearance of old warriors, are present in the camp. although both are passionately fond of a sportsman's life, each, for certain reasons, had refrained from urging the necessity or advantage of the present expedition. they would have preferred remaining at home and trying to find amusement during the day with the inferior game to be found near graaf reinet,-- not that they fear danger or were in any way entitled to the appellation of "cockney sportsmen"; but home has an attraction for them that the love of adventure cannot wholly eradicate. hendrik von bloom could have stayed very happily at home. the excitement of the chase, which on former occasions he had so much enjoyed, now no longer attracts him half so much as the smiles of wilhelmina van wyk, the only sister of his friends groot willem and arend. the latter young gentleman would not have travelled far from the daily society of little truey von bloom, had he been left to his own inclinations. but willem and hans had determined upon seeking adventures farther to the north than any place they had yet visited; and hence the present expedition. the promise of sport and rare adventures, added to the fear of ridicule should they remain at home, influenced hendrik and arend to accompany the great hunter and the naturalist to the banks of the limpopo. seated near the fire are two other individuals, whom the readers of _the young yagers_ will recognise as old acquaintances. one is the short, stout, heavy-headed bushman, swartboy, who could not have been coaxed to remain behind while his young masters hans and hendrik were out in search of adventures. the other personage not mentioned by name is congo, the kaffir. the limpopo river was too far from graaf reinet for the young hunters to think of reaching it with wagons and oxen. the journey might be made, but it would take up too much time; and they were impatient to reach what groot willem had long called "the promised land." in order, therefore, to do their travelling in as little time as possible, they had taken no oxen; but, mounted on good horses, had hastened by the nearest route to the banks of the limpopo, avoiding in place of seeking adventures by the way. besides their own saddle-horses, six others were furnished with pack-saddles, and lightly laden with ammunition, clothing, and such other articles as might be required. the camp where we now encounter them is a temporary halting-place on the limpopo. they have succeeded in crossing the river, and are now on the borders of that land so long represented to them as being a hunter's paradise. a toilsome journey is no longer before them; but only amusement, of a kind so much appreciated that they have travelled several hundred miles to enjoy it. we have stated that, in undertaking this expedition, the youths were influenced by different motives. this was to a great extent true; and yet they had a common purpose beside that of mere amusement. the consul for the netherlands had been instructed by his government to procure a young male and female giraffe, to be forwarded to europe. five hundred pounds had been offered for the pair safely delivered either at cape town or port natal; and several parties of hunters that had tried to procure these had failed. they had shot and otherwise killed camelopards by the score, but had not succeeded in capturing any young ones alive. our hunters had left home with the determination to take back a pair of young giraffes, and to pay all expenses of their expedition by this, as also by the sale of hippopotamus teeth. the hope was not an unreasonable one. they knew that fortunes had been made in procuring elephants' tusks, and also that the teeth of the hippopotamus were the finest of ivory, and commanded a price four times greater than any other sent to the european market. but the capturing of the young camelopards was the principal object of their expedition. the love of glory was stronger than the desire of gain, especially in groot willem, who as a hunter eagerly longed to accomplish a feat which had been attempted by so many others without success. in his mind, the fame of fetching back the two young giraffes far outweighed the five hundred pound prize to be obtained, though the latter was a consideration not to be despised, and no doubt formed with him, as with the others, an additional incentive. chapter two. on the limpopo. during the first night spent upon the limpopo our adventurers had good reason for believing that they were in the neighbourhood of several kinds of game they were anxious to fall in with. their repose was disturbed by a combination of sounds, in which they could distinguish the roar of the lion, the trumpet-like notes of the elephant, mingled with the voices of some creature they could not remember having previously heard. several hours of that day had been passed in searching for a place to cross the river,--one where the banks were low on each side, and the stream not too deep. this had not been found until the sun was low down upon the horizon. by the time they had got safely over, twilight was fast thickening into darkness, and all but congo were unwilling to proceed farther that night. the kaffir suggested that they should go at least half a mile up or down the river and groot willem seconded the proposal, although he had no other reason for doing so than a blind belief in the opinions of his attendant, whether they were based upon wisdom or instinct. in the end congo's suggestion had been adopted, and the sounds that disturbed the slumbers of the camp were heard at some distance, proceeding from the place where they had crossed the river. "now, can you understand why congo advised us to come here?" asked groot willem, as they listened to the hideous noises that were depriving them of sleep. "no," was the reply of his companions. "well, it was because the place where we crossed is the watering-place for all the animals in the neighbourhood." "that is so, baas willem," said congo, confirming the statement of his master. "but we have not come a thousand miles for the sake of keeping out of the way of those animals, have we?" asked the hunter hendrik. "no," answered willem, "we came here to seek them, not to have them seek us. our horses want rest, whether we do or not." here ended further conversation for the night, for the hunters becoming accustomed to the chorus of the wild creatures, took no further notice of it, and one after another fell asleep. morning dawned upon a scene of surpassing beauty. they were in a broad valley, covered with magnificent trees, among which were many gigantic baobabs (_adansonia digitata_). wild date-trees were growing in little clumps; while the floral carpet, spread in brilliant pattern over the valley, was observed by hans with an air of peculiar satisfaction. he had reached a new field for the pursuit of his studies, and bright dreams were passing gently through his mind,--dreams that anticipated new discoveries in the botanical world, which might make his name known among the savants of europe. before any of his companions were moving, groot willem, accompanied by congo, stole forth to take a look at the surrounding country. they directed their course down the river. on reaching the place where they had crossed it, they chanced upon a tableau that even a hunter, who is supposed to take delight in the destruction of animals, could not look upon without unpleasant emotions. within the space of a hundred yards were lying five dead antelopes, of a species willem had never seen before. feeding on the carcasses were several hyenas. on the approach of the hunters, they slowly moved away, each laughing like a madman who has just committed some horrible atrocity. by the "spoors" seen upon the river-banks, it was evident that both elephants and lions had visited the place during the night. while making these and other reconnoissances, groot willem was joined by hans, who had already commenced his favourite study by making an examination of the floral treasures in his immediate locality. arriving up with groot willem, the attention of hans was at once directed to an examination of the antelopes, which he pronounced to be elands, but believed them to be of a new and undescribed variety of this animal. they were elands; but each was marked with small white stripes across the body, in this respect resembling "koodoos." after a short examination of the spoor, congo asserted that a troop of elands had first visited the watering-place, and that while they were there four bull elephants, also in search of water, had charged with great speed upon the antelopes. three or four lions had also joined in the strife, in which the only victims had been the unfortunate elands. "i think we are in a place where we had better make a regular enclosure, and stop for a few days," suggested groot willem, on his return to the camp. "there is plenty of feed for the horses, and we have proof that the `drift' where we crossed is a great resort for all kinds of game." "i'm of the same opinion," assented hendrik; "but i don't wish to encamp quite so close to the crossing as this is. we had better move some distance off. then we shall not prevent game from seeking the drift, or be ourselves hindered from getting sleep. don't you think we'd better move little farther up the river?" "yes, yes," was the unanimous answer. it was therefore decided that search should be made for a better camping-ground, where they could build themselves a proper enclosure, or "kraal." after partaking of their first breakfast upon the limpopo, groot willem, hans, and hendrik mounted their horses and rode off up the river, accompanied by the full pack of dogs, leaving arend, with swartboy and congo, to take care of the camp. for nearly three miles, the young hunters rode along the bank of the river, without finding any spot where access to the water could be readily obtained. the banks were high and steep, and therefore but little visited by such animals as they wished to hunt. at this point the features of the landscape began to change, presenting an appearance more to their satisfaction. light timber, such as would be required for the construction of a stockade, was growing near the river, which was no longer inaccessible, though its banks appeared but little frequented by game. "i think this place will suit admirably," said groot willem. "we are only half an hour's ride from the drift, and probably we may find good hunting-ground farther up stream." "very likely," rejoined hendrik; "but before taking too much trouble to build ourselves a big kraal, we had better be sure about what sort of game is to be got here." "you are right about that," answered willem; "we must take care to find out whether there are hippopotami and giraffes. we cannot go home without a pair of the latter. our friends would be disappointed, and some i know would have a laugh at us." "and you for one would deserve it," said hans. "remember how you ridiculed the other hunters who returned unsuccessful." having selected a place for the kraal, should they decide on staying awhile in the neighbourhood, the young hunters proceeded farther up the river, for the purpose of learning something more of the hunting-ground before finally determining to construct the enclosure. chapter three. a twin trap. not long after the departure of groot willem and his companions, arend, looking towards a thicket about half a mile from the river, perceived a small herd of antelopes quietly browsing upon the plain. mounting his horse, he rode off, with the intention of bagging one or more of them for the day's dinner. having ridden to the leeward of the herd, and getting near them, he saw that they were of the species known as "duyker," or divers (_antelope grimmia_). near them was a small "motte" of the _nerium oleander_, a shrub about twelve feet high, loaded with beautiful blossoms. under the cover of these bushes, he rode up close enough to the antelopes to insure a good shot, and, picking out one of the largest of the herd, he fired. all the antelopes but one rushed to the edge of the thicket, made a grand leap, and dived out of sight over the tops of the bushes,--thus affording a beautiful illustration of that peculiarity to which they are indebted for their name of divers. riding up to the one that had remained behind, and which was that at which he had fired, the young hunter made sure that it was dead; he then trotted back to the camp, and despatched congo and the bushman to bring it in. they soon returned with the carcass, which they proceeded to skin and make ready for the spit. while thus engaged, swartboy appeared to notice some thing out upon the plain. "look yonner, baas arend," said he. "well, what is it, swart?" "you see da pack-horse dare? he gone too much off from de camp." arend turned and looked in the direction the bushman was pointing. one of the horses, which had strayed from its companions, was now more than half a mile off, and was wandering onwards. "all right, swart. you go on with your cooking. i'll ride after it myself, and drive it in." arend, again mounting his horse, trotted off in the direction of the animal that had strayed. for cooking the antelope, congo and swartboy saw the necessity of providing themselves with some water; and taking a vessel for that purpose, they set out for the drift,--that being the nearest place where they could obtain it. they kept along the bank of the river, and just before reaching a place where they would descend to the water, congo, who was in the advance, suddenly disappeared! he had walked on to a carefully concealed pit, dug for the purpose of catching hippopotami or elephants. the hole was about nine feet deep; and after being astonished by dropping into it, the kaffir was nearly blinded by the sand, dust, and other materials that had formed the covering of the pit. congo was too well acquainted with this south african device for killing large game to be anyways disconcerted by what had happened; and after becoming convinced that he was uninjured by the fall, he turned his glance upward, expecting assistance from his companion. but swartboy's aid could not just then be given. the bushman, amused by the ludicrous incident that had befallen his rival, was determined to enjoy the fun for a little longer. uttering a wild shout of laughter that was a tolerable imitation of an enraged hyena, swartboy seemed transported into a heaven of unadulterated joy. earth appeared hardly able to hold him as he leaped and danced around the edge of the pit. never had his peculiar little mind been so intensely delighted; but the manifestations of that delight were more suddenly terminated than commenced; for in the midst of his eccentric capers he, too, suddenly disappeared into the earth as if swallowed up by an earthquake! his misfortune was similar to that which had befallen his companion. two pitfalls had been constructed close together, and swartboy now occupied the second. it is a common practice among the natives of south africa to trap the elephant in these twin pitfalls; as the animals, too hastily avoiding the one, run the risk of dropping into the other. swartboy and the kaffir had unexpectedly found a place where this plan had been adopted; and, much to their discomfiture, without the success anticipated by those who had taken the trouble to contrive it. the cavity into which congo had fallen contained about two feet of mud on the bottom. the sides were perpendicular, and of a soapy sort of clay, so that his attempts at climbing out proved altogether unsuccessful, thus greatly increasing the chagrin of his unphilosophic mind. he had heard the bushman's screams of delight, and the sounds had contributed nothing to reconcile him to the mischance that had befallen him. several minutes passed and he heard nothing of swartboy. he was not surprised at the bushman's having been amused as well as gratified by his misfortune. still, he expected that in time he would lend assistance and pull him out of the pit. but as this assistance was not given, and as swartboy, not satisfied with laughing at his misfortune appeared also to have gone off and left him to his fate, the kaffir became frantic with rage. several more minutes passed, which to congo seemed hours, and still nothing was seen or heard of his companion. had swartboy returned to the camp? if so, why had not arend, on ascertaining what was wrong, hastened to the relief of his faithful servant? as some addition to the discomforts of the place, the pit contained many reptiles and insects that had in some manner obtained admittance, and, like himself, could not escape. there were toads, frogs, large ants called "soldiers," and other creatures whose company he had no relish to keep. in vain he called, "swartboy!" and "baas arend!" no one came to his call. the strong, vindictive spirit of his race was soon roused to the pitch of fury, and liberty became only desired for one object. that was revenge,--revenge on the man who, instead of releasing him from his imprisonment, only exulted in its continuance. the bushman had not been injured in falling into the pit, as may be supposed. after fully comprehending the manner in which his amusement had been so suddenly brought to a termination, his first thought was to extricate himself, without asking assistance from the man who had furnished him with the fun. his pride would be greatly mortified should the kaffir get out of his pit, and find him in the other. that would be a humiliating rencontre. in silence, therefore, he listened to congo's cries for assistance, while at the same time doing all in his power to extricate himself. he tried to pull up a sharp-pointed stake that stood in the bottom of the pit. this piece of timber had been placed there for the purpose of impaling and killing the hippopotamus or elephant that should drop down upon it; and had the bushman succeeded in taking it from the place where it had been planted, he might have used it in working his own way to the surface of the earth. this object, however, he was unable to accomplish, and his mind became diverted to another idea. swartboy had a system of logic, not wholly peculiar to himself, by which he was enabled to discover that there must be some first cause for his being in a place from which he could not escape. that cause was no other than congo. had the kaffir not fallen into a pit, swartboy was quite certain that he would have escaped the similar calamity. he would have liberated congo from his confinement, and perhaps sympathised with his misfortune, after the first ebullitions of his mirth had been exhausted; but now, on being entrapped himself, he was only conscious that some one was to blame for the disagreeable incident, and was unable to admit that this some one was himself. the mishap had befallen him in company with the kaffir. it was that individual's misfortune that had conducted to his own, and this was another reason why he now submitted to his captivity in profound silence. unlike congo, he did not experience the soul-harrowing thought of being neglected, and could therefore endure his confinement with some degree of patience not possible to his companion. moreover, he had the hope of speedy deliverance, which to congo was denied. he knew that arend would soon return to the camp with the stray horse, and miss them. the water-vessel would also be missed, and a search would be made for it in the right direction. no doubt arend, seeing that the bucket was taken away from the camp, and finding that they did not return, would come toward the drift,--the only place where water could be dipped up. in doing so he must pass within sight of the pits. with this calculation, therefore, swartboy could reconcile himself to patience and silence, whereas the kaffir had no such consolatory data to reflect upon. chapter four. in the pits. as time passed on, however, and swartboy saw that the sun was descending, and that the shades of night would soon be gathering over the river, his hopes began to sink within him. he could not understand why the young hunter had not long ago come to release them. groot willem, hendrik, and hans should have returned by that time; and the four should have made an effectual search for their missing servants. he had remained silent for a long time, under very peculiar circumstances. but silence now became unbearable, and he was seized with a sudden desire to express his dissatisfaction at the manner fate had been dealing out events,--a desire no longer to be resisted. the silence was at last broken by his calling out-- "congo, you ole fool, where are you? what for don't you go home?" on the kaffir's ear the voice fell dull and distant; and yet he immediately understood whence it came. like himself, the bushman was in a living grave! that explained his neglect to render the long-desired assistance. "lor', swart! why i waiting for you," answered congo, for the first time since his imprisonment attempting a smile; "i don't want to go to the camp and leave you behind me." "you think a big sight too much of yourself," rejoined the bushman. "who wants to be near such a black ole fool as you? you may go back to the camp, and when you get there jus' tell baas hendrik that swartboy wants to see him. i've got something particular to tell him." "very well," answered the kaffir, becoming more reconciled to his position; "what for you want see baas hendrik? i'll tell him what you want without making him come here. what shall i say?" in answer to this question, swartboy made a long speech, in which the kaffir was requested to report himself as a fool for having fallen into a pit,--that he had shown himself more stupid than the sea-cows, that had apparently shunned the trap for years. on being requested to explain how one was more stupid than the other,-- both having met with the same mischance,--swartboy went on to prove that his misfortune was wholly owing to the fault of congo, by the kaffir having committed the first folly of allowing himself to be entrapped. nothing, to the bushman's mind, could be more clear than that congo's stupidity in falling into the first pit had led to his own downfall into the second. this was now a source of much consolation to him, and the verbal expression of his wrongs enabled him for a while to feel rather happy at the fine opportunity afforded for reviling his rival. the amusement, however, could not prevent his thoughts from returning to the positive facts that he was imprisoned; that in place of passing the day in cooking and eating _duyker_, he had been fasting and fretting in a dark, dirty pit, in the companionship of loathsome reptiles. his mind now expanding under the exercise of a startled imagination, he became apprehensive. what if some accident should have occurred to arend, and prevented his return to the camp? what if groot willem and the others should have strayed, and not find their way back to the place for two or three days? he had heard of such events happening to other stupid white men, and why not to them? what if they had met a tribe of the savage inhabitants of the country, and been killed or taken prisoners? these conjectures, and a thousand others, flitted through the brain of the bushman, all guiding to the conclusion that, should either of them prove correct, he would first have to eat the reptiles in the pit, and then starve. it was no consolation to him to think that his rival in the other pit would have to submit to a similar fate. his unpleasant reveries were interrupted by a short, angry bark; and, looking up to the opening through which he had descended, he beheld the countenance of a wild dog,--the "wilde honden" of the dutch boers. uttering another and a different cry, the animal started back; and from the sounds now heard overhead, the bushman was certain that it was accompanied by many others of its kind. an instinctive fear of man led them to retreat for a short distance; but they soon found out that "the wicked flee when no man pursueth," and they returned. they were hungry, and had the sense to know that the enemy they had discovered was, for some reason, unable to molest them. approaching nearer, and more near, they again gathered around the pits, and saw that food was waiting for them at the bottom of both. they could contemplate their victims unharmed, and this made them courageous enough to think of an attack. the human voice and the gaze of human eyes had lost their power, and the pack of wild hounds, counting several score, began to think of taking some steps towards satisfying their hunger. they commenced scratching and tearing away the covering of the pits, sending down a shower of dust, sand, and grass that nearly suffocated the two men imprisoned beneath. the poles supporting the screen of earth were rotten with age, and the whole scaffolding threatened to come down as the wild dogs scampered over it. "if there should be a shower of dogs," thought swartboy, "i hope that fool congo will have his share of it." this hope was immediately realised, for the next instant he heard the howling of one of the animals evidently down in the adjoining pit. it had fallen through, but, fortunately for congo, not without injuring itself in a way that he had but narrowly escaped. the dog had got transfixed on the sharp-pointed stake, planted firmly in the centre of the pit, and was now hanging on it in horrible agony, unable to get clear. without lying down in the mud, the kaffir was unable to keep his face more than twelve inches from the open jaws of the dog, that in its struggles spun round as on a pivot; and congo had to press close against the side of the pit, to keep out of the reach of the creature yelping in his ears. swartboy could distinguish the utterances of this dog from those of its companions above, and the interpretation he gave to them was, that a fierce combat was taking place between it and the kaffir. the jealousy and petty ill-will so often exhibited by the bushman was not so strong as he had himself believed. his intense anxiety to know which was getting the best of the fight, added to the fear that congo was being torn to pieces, told him that his friendship for the kaffir far outweighed the animosity he fancied himself to have felt. the fiendish yells of the dogs, the unpleasant situation in which he was placed, and the uncertainty of the time he was to endure it, were well-nigh driving him distracted; when just then the wild honden appeared to be beating a retreat,--the only one remaining being that in the pit with congo. what was driving them away? could assistance be at hand? breathlessly the bushman stood listening. chapter five. arend lost. in the afternoon, when groot willem, hans, and hendrik returned to the camp, they found it deserted. several jackals reluctantly skulked off as they drew near and on riding up to the spot from which those creatures had retired, they saw the clean-picked bones of an antelope. the camp must have been deserted for several hours. "what does this mean?" exclaimed groot willem. "what has become of arend?" "i don't know," answered hendrik. "it is strange swart and cong are not here to tell us." something unusual had certainly happened; yet, as each glanced anxiously around the place, there appeared nothing to explain the mystery. "what shall we do?" asked willem, in a tone that expressed much concern. "wait," answered hans; "we can do nothing more." two or three objects were at this moment observed which fixed their attention. they were out on the plain, nearly a mile off. they appeared to be horses,--their own pack animals,--and hendrik and groot willem started off towards them to drive them back to the camp. they were absent nearly an hour before they succeeded in turning the horses and driving them towards the camp. as they passed near the drift on their return, they rode towards the river to water the animals they were riding. on approaching the bank, several native dogs, that had been yelling in a clump, were seen to scatter and retreat across the plain. the horsemen thought little of this, but rode on into the river, and permitted their horses to drink. while quietly seated in their saddles, hendrik fancied he heard some strange sounds. "listen!" said he. "i hear something queer. what is it?" "one of the honden," answered willem. "where?" this question neither for a moment could answer, until groot willem observed one of the pits from the edge of which the dogs appeared to have retreated. "yonder's a pit-trap!" he exclaimed, "and i believe there's a dog has got into it. well, i shall give it a shot, and put the creature out of its misery." "do so," replied hendrik. "i hate the creatures as much as any other noxious vermin, but it would be cruel to let one starve to death in that way. kill it." willem rode up to the pit and dismounted. neither of them, as yet, spoke loud enough to be heard in the pits, and the two men down below were at this time silent, the dog alone continuing its cries of agony. the only thing willem saw on gazing down the hole was the wild hound still hanging on the stake; and taking aim at one of its eyes he fired. the last spark of life was knocked out of the suffering animal; but the report of the great gun was instantly followed by two yells more hideous than were ever uttered by "wild honden." they were the screams of two frightened africans,--each frightened to think that the next bullet would be for him. "arend!" exclaimed willem, anxious about his brother, and thinking only of him. "arend! is it you?" "no, baas willem," answered the kaffir. "it is congo." through the opening, willem reached down the butt-end of his long roer, while firmly clasping it by the barrel. the kaffir took hold with both hands, and, by the strong arms of groot willem, was instantly extricated from his subterranean prison. swartboy was next hauled out, and the two mud-bedaubed individuals stood gazing at one another, each highly delighted at the rueful appearance presented by his rival. slowly the fire of anger, that seemed to have all the while been burning in the kaffir's eyes, became extinguished, and broad smile broke like the light of day over his stoical countenance. he had been released at length, and was now convinced that no one was to blame for his protracted imprisonment. swartboy had been punished for his ill-timed mirth, and congo was willing to forget and forgive. "but where is arend?" asked willem, who could not forget, even while amused by the ludicrous aspect of the two africans, that his brother was missing. "don't know, baas willem," answered congo. "i been long time here." "but when did you see him last?" inquired hendrik. congo was unable to tell, for he seemed under the impression that he had been several days in the bosom of the earth. from swartboy they learnt that soon after their own departure arend had started in pursuit of one of the horses seen straying over the plain. that was the last swart had seen of him. the sun was now low down, and, without wasting time in idle speech, hendrik and groot willem again mounted their horses, and rode off towards the place where arend was last seen. they reached the edge of the timber nearly a mile from the camp, and then, not knowing which way to turn, or what else to do, willem fired a shot. the loud crack of the roer seemed to echo far-away through the forest, and anxiously they listened for some response to the sound. it came, but not in the report of a rifle, or in the voice of the missing man, but in the language of the forest denizens. the screaming of vultures, the chattering of baboons, and the roaring of lions were the responses which the signal received. "what shall we do, willem?" asked hendrik. "go back to the halting-place and bring congo and spoor'em," answered willem, as he turned towards the camp, and rode off, followed by his cousin. chapter six. spoor'em. the last ray of daylight had fled from the valley of the limpopo, when willem and hendrik, provided with a torch and accompanied by the kaffir and the dog spoor'em, again set forth to seek for their lost companion. the animal answering to the name spoor'em was a large spanish bloodhound, now led forth to perform the first duty required of him in the expedition. the dog, when quite young, had been brought from one of the portuguese settlements at the north,--purchased by groot willem and christened spoor'em by congo. in the long journey from graaf reinet, this brute had been the cause of more trouble than all the other dogs of the pack. it had shown a strong disinclination to endure hunger, thirst, or the fatigues of the journey; and had often exhibited a desire to leave its new masters. spoor'em was now led out, in hopes that he would do some service to compensate for the trouble he had caused. taking a course along the edge of the forest, that would bring them across the track made by arend in reaching the place where the horse had strayed, the spoor of arend's horse as well as the other's was discovered. the tracks of both were followed into the forest, along well-beaten path, evidently made by buffaloes and other animals passing to and from the river. this path was hedged in by a thick thorny scrub, which being impenetrable rendered it unnecessary for some time to avail themselves of the instincts of the hound. congo led the way. "are you sure that the two horses have passed along here?" asked willem, addressing himself to the kaffir. "yaas, baas willem," answered congo. "sure dey both go here." willem, turning to hendrik, added, "i wish arend had let the horse go to the deuce. it was not worth following into a place like this." after continuing through the thicket for nearly half a mile, they reached a stretch of open ground, where there was no longer a beaten trail, but tracks diverging in several directions. the hoof-marks of arend's horse were again found, and the bloodhound was unleashed and set upon them. unlike most hounds, spoor'em did not dash onward, leaving his followers far behind. he appeared to think that it would be for the mutual advantage of himself and his masters that they should remain near each other. the latter, therefore, had no difficulty in keeping up with the dog. believing that they should soon learn something of the fate of their lost companion, they proceeded onward, with their voices encouraging the hound to greater speed. the sounds of a contest carried on by some of the wild denizens of the neighbourhood were soon heard a few yards in advance of them. they were sounds that the hunters had often listened to before, and therefore could easily interpret. a lion and a pack of hyenas were quarrelling over the dead body of some large animal. they were not fighting; for of course the royal beast was in undisputed possession of the carcass, and the hyenas were simply complaining in their own peculiar tones. the angry roars of the lion, and the hideous laughter of the hyenas, proceeded from a spot only a few yards in advance, and in the direction spoor'em was leading them. the moon had risen, and by its light the searchers soon beheld the creatures that were causing the tumult. about a dozen hyenas were gibbering around a huge lion that lay crouched alongside a dark object on the ground, upon which he appeared to be feeding. as the hunters drew nearer, the hyenas retreated to some distance. "it appears to be the carcass of a horse," whispered hendrik. "yes, i am sure of it," answered willem, "for i can see the saddle. my god! it is arend's horse! where is he?" spoor'em had now advanced to within fifteen paces of where the lion lay, and commenced baying a menace; as if commanding the lion to forsake his unfinished repast. an angry growl was all the answer spoor'em could obtain; and the lion lay still. "we must either kill or drive him away," said willem. "which shall we try?" "kill him," answered hendrik; "that will be our safest plan." stealing out of their saddles, willem and hendrik gave their horses in charge to the kaffir, and then proceeded to stalk. with their guns at full cock they advanced side by side, spoor'em sneaking along at their heels. they stole up within five paces of the lion, which still held its ground. the only respect it showed to their presence was to leave off feeding and crouch over the body of the horse, as though preparing to spring upon them. "now," whispered hendrik, "shall we fire?" "yes, yes!--now!" both pulled trigger at the same time, the two shots making but one report. instinctively each threw himself from the direct line of the creature's deadly leap. this was done at the moment of firing; and the lion, uttering a terrific roar, launched itself towards them, and fell heavily between the two, having leaped a distance of full twenty feet. that effort was its last, for it was unable to rise again. without taking the trouble to ascertain whether the fierce brute had been killed outright, they turned their attention to the carcass. the horse was arend's, but there was not the slightest trace of the rider. whatever had been his fate, there was no sign of his having been killed along with his horse. there was still a hope that he had made his escape, though the finding of the horse only added to their apprehensions. "let us find out," counselled hendrik, "whether the horse was killed where it is now lying, or whether it has been dragged hither by the lion." after examining the ground, congo declared that the horse had been killed upon the spot, and by the lion. this was strange enough. on a further examination of the sign, it was found that one of the horse's legs was entangled in the rein of the bridle. this explained the circumstance to some extent, otherwise it would have been difficult to understand how so swift an animal as a horse should have allowed itself to be overtaken upon an open plain. "so much the better," said groot willem. "arend never reached this place along with his horse." "that's true," answered hendrik, "and our next move will be to find out where he parted from his saddle." "let us go back," said willem, "and more carefully examine the tracks." during this conversation, the hunters had reloaded their rifles, and now remounted for the purpose of riding back. "baas willem," suggested congo, "let spoor'em try 'bout here little more." this suggestion was adopted, and congo, setting on the hound, proceeded to describe a larger circle around the spot. after reaching a part of the plain where they had not yet been, the kaffir called out to them to come to him. they rode up, and were again shown the spoor of arend's horse leading away from where its carcass was now lying, and in the opposite direction from the camp. it was evident that the horse had been farther off than the spot where its remains now rested. it had probably lost its rider beyond, and was on its return to the camp when killed by the lion. once more spoor'em started along the track, congo keeping close to his tail, the two horsemen riding anxiously after. but we must return to the camp, and follow the trail of the lost hunter by a means more sure than even the keen scent of spoor'em. chapter seven. the lost hunter. as arend came up to the horse that had wandered from the camp, the animal had arrived at the edge of an extensive thicket, and was apparently determined upon straying still farther. to avoid being caught or driven back, it rushed in among trees, taking a path or trace made by wild animals. arend followed. the path was too narrow to allow of his heading the stray; and, apprehensive of losing it altogether, the youth followed on in hopes of coming to a wider track, where he might have a chance of passing the runaway and turning it towards the camp. this hope seemed about to be realised, as the truant emerged from the thicket and entered upon an open plain clothed with low heath,--the _erica vestila_, loaded with white blossoms. the hunter was no longer obliged to follow upon the heels of the runaway,--the horse; and spurring his own steed, he made an attempt to get past it. but the horse, perhaps inspired by a recollection of the pack-saddle and its heavy load, broke off into a gallop. arend followed, increasing his own speed in like proportion. when nearly across the plain, the runaway suddenly stopped and then bolted off at right angles to the course it had been hitherto pursuing. arend was astonished, but soon discovered the cause of this eccentric action, in the presence of a huge black rhinoceros,--the borele--which was making a straight course across the plain, as if on its way to the river. the runaway horse had shied out of its way; and it would have been well for the horseman if he had shown himself equally discreet. but arend von wyk was a hunter,--and an officer of the cape militia,--and as the borele passed by him, presenting a fine opportunity for a shot, he could not resist the temptation to give it one. pulling up his horse, or rather trying to do so, for the animal was restive in the presence of such danger, he fired. the shot produced a result that was neither expected nor desired. with a roar like the bellowing of an angry bull, the monster turned and charged straight towards the horseman. arend was obliged to seek safety in flight, while the borele pursued in a manner that told of its being wounded, but not incapacitated from seeking revenge. at the commencement of the chase, there was but a very short distance between pursuer and pursued; and in place of suddenly turning out of the track, and allowing the monster to pass by him,--which he should have done, knowing the defect of vision natural to the rhinoceros,--the young hunter continued on in a straight line, all the while employed in reloading his rifle. his mistake did not originate in any want of knowledge, or presence of mind, but rather from carelessness and an unworthy estimate of the abilities of the borele to overtake him. he had long been a successful hunter, and success too often begets that over-confidence which leads to many a mischance, that the more cautious sportsman will avoid. suddenly he found his flight arrested by the thick scrub of thorny bushes, known in south africa as the "wait a bits", and the horse he was riding did wait a bit,--and so long that the borele was soon close upon his heels. there was now neither time nor room to turn either to the right or left. the rifle was at length loaded, but there would have been but little chance of killing the rhinoceros by a single shot, especially with such uncertain aim as could have been taken from the back of a frightened horse. arend, therefore, threw himself from the saddle. he had a twofold purpose in doing so. his aim would be more correct, and there was the chance of the borele keeping on after the horse, and leaving him an undisturbed spectator of the chase. the field of view embraced by the eyes of a rhinoceros is not large; but, unfortunately for the hunter, as the frightened horse fled from his side, it was he himself that came within the circumscribed circle of the borele's vision. hastily raising the rifle to his shoulder he fired at the advancing enemy, and then fled towards a clump of trees that chanced to be near by. he could hear the heavy tread of the rhinoceros as it followed close upon his heels. it seemed to shake the earth. closer and closer he heard it, so near that he dared not stop to look around. he fancied he could feel the breath of the monster blowing upon his back. his only chance was to make a sudden deviation from his course, and leave the borele to pass on in its impetuous charge. this he did, turning sharply to the right, when he saw that he had just escaped being elevated upon the creature's horn. this manoeuvre enabled him to gain some distance as he started off in the new direction. but it was not long maintained; for the borele was again in hot pursuit, without any show of fatigue; while the tremendous exertions he had himself been making rendered him incapable of continuing his flight much longer. he had just sufficient strength left to avoid an immediate encounter by taking one more turn, when, fortunately, he saw before him the trunk of a large baobab-tree lying prostrate along the ground. it had been blown down by some mighty storm, and lay resting upon its roots at one end, and its shivered branches at the other, so as to leave a space of about two feet between its trunk and the ground. suddenly throwing himself down, arend glided under the tree, just in time to escape the long horn, whose point had again come in close proximity with his posterior. the hunter had now time to recover his breath, and, to some extent, his confidence. he saw that the fallen tree would protect him. even should the rhinoceros come round to the other side, he would only have to roll back again to place himself beyond the reach of its terrible horn. the space below was ample enough to enable him to pass through, but too small for the body of a borele. by creeping back and forward he could always place himself in safety. and this was just what he had to do; for the enraged monster, on seeing him on the other side, immediately ran round the roots, and renewed the attack. this course of action was several times repeated before the young hunter was allowed much time for reflection. he was in hopes that the brute would get tired of the useless charges it was making and either go away itself, or give him the opportunity. in this hope he was doomed to disappointment. the animal, exasperated with the wounds it had received, appeared implacable; and for more than an hour it kept running around the tree in vain attempts to get at him. as he had very little trouble in avoiding it, there was plenty of opportunity for reflection; and he passed the time in devising some plan to settle the misunderstanding between the borele and himself. the first he thought of was to make use of his rifle. the weapon was within his reach where he had dropped it when diving under the tree; but when about to reload it, he discovered that the ramrod was missing! so sudden had been the charge of the borele, at the time the rifle was last loaded, that the ramrod had not been returned to its proper place, but left behind upon the plain. this was an unlucky circumstance; and for a time the young hunter could not think of anything better than to keep turning from side to side, to avoid the presence of the besieger. the borele at last seemed to show signs of exhaustion, or, at all events, began to perceive the unprofitable nature of the tactics it had been pursuing. but the spirit of revenge was not the least weakened within it, for it made no move toward taking its departure from the spot. on the contrary, it lay down by the baobab in a position to command a view on both sides of the huge trunk, evidently determined to stay there and await the chance of getting within reach of its victim. thus silently beleaguered, the young hunter set about considering in what manner he might accomplish the raising of the siege. chapter eight. rescued. the sun went down, the moon ascended above the tops of the surrounding trees, yet the borele seemed no less inspired by the spirit of revenge than on first receiving the injuries it was wishing to resent. for many hours the young hunter waited patiently for it to move away in search of food or any other object except that of revenge; but in this hope he was disappointed. the pain inflicted by the shots would not allow either hunger or thirst to interfere with the desire for retaliation, and it continued to maintain a watch so vigilant that arend dared not leave his retreat for an instant. whenever he made a movement, the enemy did the same. it was a long time before he could think of any plan that would give him a chance of getting away. one at length occurred to him. although unable to reload the rifle with a bullet, the thought came into his mind, that the borele might be blinded by a heavy charge of powder, or so confused by it as to give him an opportunity of stealing away. this seemed an excellent plan, yet so simple that arend was somewhat surprised he had not thought of it before. without difficulty he succeeded in pouring a double quantity of powder into the barrel; and, in order to keep it there until he had an opportunity for a close shot, some dry grass was forced into the muzzle. the chance soon offered; and, taking a deliberate aim at one of the borele's eyes with the muzzle of the gun not more than two feet from its head, he pulled trigger. with a loud moan of mingled rage and agony, the rhinoceros rushed towards him, and frantically, but vainly exerted all its strength in an endeavour to overturn the baobab. "one more shot at the other eye," thought arend, "and i shall be free." he immediately proceeded to pour another dose of powder into the rifle, but while thus engaged a new danger suddenly presented itself. the dry grass projected from the gun had ignited and set fire to the dead leaves that were strewed plentifully over the ground. in an instant these were ablaze, the flame spreading rapidly on all sides, and moving towards him. the trunk of the baobab could no longer afford protection. in another minute it, too, would be enveloped in the red fire, and to stay by its side would be to perish in the flames. there was no alternative but to get to his feet and run for his life. not a moment was to be lost, and, slipping from under the tree, he started off at the top of his speed. the chances were in his favour for escaping unobserved by the rhinoceros. but fortune seemed decidedly against him. before getting twenty paces from the tree, he saw that he was pursued. guided either by one eye or its keen sense of hearing, the monster was following him at a pace so rapid that, if long enough continued, it must certainly overtake him. once more the young hunter began to feel something like despair. death seemed hard upon his heels. a few seconds more, and he might be impaled on that terrible horn. but for that instinctive love of life which all feel, he might have surrendered himself to fate; but urged by this, he kept on. he was upon the eve of falling to the earth through sheer exhaustion, when his ears were saluted by the deep-toned bay of a hound, and close after it a voice exclaiming-- "look out, baas willem! somebody come yonder!" two seconds more and arend was safe from further pursuit. the hound spoor'em was dancing about the borele's head, by his loud, angry yelps diverting its attention from everything but himself. two seconds more and groot willem and hendrik came riding up; and, in less than half a minute after, the monster, having received a shot from the heavy roer, slowly settled down in its tracks--a dead rhinoceros. willem and hendrik leaped from their horses and shook hands with arend in a manner as cordial as if they were just meeting him after an absence of many years. "what does it mean, arend?" jocosely inquired hendrik. "has this brute been pursuing you for the last twelve hours?" "yes." "and how much longer do you think the chase would have continued?" "about ten seconds," replied arend, speaking in a very positive tone. "very well," said hendrik, who was so rejoiced at the deliverance of his friend that he felt inclined to be witty. "we know now how long you are capable of running. you can lead a borele a chase of just twelve hours and ten seconds." groot willem was for some time unspeakably happy, and said not a word until they had returned to the place where the lion had been killed. here they stopped for the purpose of recovering the saddle and bridle from the carcass of the horse. groot willem proposed they should remain there till the morning; his reason being that, in returning through the narrow path that led out to the open plain, they might be in danger of meeting buffaloes, rhinoceroses, or elephants, and be trampled to death in the darkness. "that's true," replied arend; "and it might be better to stay here until daylight, but for two reasons. one is, that i am dying of hunger, and should like a roast rib of that antelope i shot in the morning." "and so should i," said hendrik, "but the jackals have saved us the trouble of eating that." arend was now informed of the events that had occurred to his absence, and was highly amused at hendrik's account of the misfortune that had befallen swartboy and congo. "we are making a very fair commencement in the way of adventures," said he, after relating his own experiences of the day, "but so far our expedition has been anything but profitable." "we must go farther down the river," said willem. "we have not yet seen the spoor of either hippopotamus or giraffe. we must keep moving until we come upon them. i never want to see another lion, borele, or elephant." "but what is your other reason for going back to camp?" asked hendrik, addressing himself to arend. "what would it be?" replied arend. "do you suppose that our dear friend hans has no feelings?" "o, that's what you mean, is it?" "of course it is. surely hans will by this time be half dead with anxiety on our account." all agreed that it would be best to go on to the camp; and, after transferring the saddle and bridle from the carcass of the horse to the shoulders of congo, they proceeded onward, arriving in camp at a very late hour, and finding hans, as arend had conjectured, overwhelmed with apprehension at their long absence. chapter nine. an incident of the road. next morning, they broke up their camp and moved down the river, extending their march into the second day. after passing the drift where the limpopo had been first crossed, groot willem, accompanied by congo, was riding nearly a mile in advance of his companions. his object in leading the way so far ahead was to bag any game worthy of his notice, before it should be frightened by the others. occasionally, a small herd of some of the many varieties of antelopes in which south africa abounds fled before him; but these the great hunter scarce deigned to notice. his thief object was to find a country frequented by hippopotami and giraffes. on his way he passed many of the lofty pandanus or screw pine-trees. some of these were covered from top to bottom with parasitic plants, giving them the appearance of tall towers or obelisks. underneath one of these trees, near the river, and about three hundred yards from where he was riding, he saw a buffalo cow with her calf. the sun was low down; and the time had therefore arrived when some buffalo veal would be acceptable both to the men and dogs of the expedition. telling congo to stay where he was, the hunter rode to the leeward of the buffalo cow, and, under cover of some bushes, commenced making approach. knowing that a buffalo cow is easily alarmed, more especially when accompanied by her calf, he made his advances with the greatest caution. knowing, also, that no animal shows more fierceness and contempt for danger, while protecting its young, he was anxious to get a dead shot, so as to avoid the risk of a conflict with the cow, should she be only wounded. when he had got as close as the cover would allow him, he took aim at the cow's heart and fired. contrary to his expectation, the animal neither fell nor fled, but merely turned an inquiring glance in the direction from whence the report had proceeded. this was a mystery the hunter could not explain. why did the cow keep to the same spot? if not disabled by the bullet, why had she not gone off, taking her young one along with her? "i might as well have been stalking a tree as this buffalo," thought willem, "for one seems as little inclined to move as the other." hastily reloading his roer, he rode fearlessly forward, now quite confident that the cow could not escape him. she seemed not to care about retreating, and he had got close up to the spot where she stood, when all at once the buffalo charged furiously towards him, and was only stopped by receiving a second bullet from the roer that hit right in the centre of the forehead. one more plunge forward and the animal dropped on her knees, and died after the manner of buffaloes, with legs spread and back uppermost, instead of falling over on its side. another shot finished the calf, which was crying pitifully by the side of its mother. congo now came up, and, while examining the calf, discovered that one of its legs had been already broken. this accounted for the cow not having attempted to save herself by flight. she knew that her offspring was disabled, and stayed by it from an instinct of maternal solicitude. while willem was engaged reloading his gun, he heard a loud rustling among the parasitical plants that loaded the pandanus-tree under which he and congo were standing. some large body was stirring among the branches. what could it be? "stand clear," shouted willem, as he swerved off from the tree, at the same time setting the cap upon his gun. at the distance of ten or twelve paces he faced round, and stood ready to meet the moving object, whatever it might be. just then he saw standing before him a tall man who had dropped down from among the leaves, while willem's back had been turned towards the tree. the dress and general appearance of this individual proclaimed him to be a native african, but not one of those inferior varieties of the human race which that country produces. he was a man of about forty years of age, tall and muscular, with features well formed, and that expressed both intelligence and courage. his complexion was tawny brown, not black; and his hair was more like that of a european than an african. these observations were made by the young hunter in six seconds; for the person who had thus suddenly appeared before him allowed no more time to elapse before setting off from the spot, and in such haste that the hunter thought he must be retreating in affright. and yet there was no sign of fear accompanying the act. some other motive must have urged him to that precipitate departure. there was; and congo was the first to discover it. the man had gone in the direction of the river. "water, water!" exclaimed the kaffir; "he want water." the truth of this remark was soon made evident; for, on following the stranger with their eyes, they saw him rush into the stream, plunge his head under water and commence filling himself in the same manner as he would have done, had his body been a bottle! hendrik and arend, having heard the reports of the roer, feared that something might have gone wrong, and galloped forward, leaving hans and swartboy to bring up the pack-horses. they reached the scene just as the african, after having quenched his thirst, had returned to the tree where the young hunter and congo had remained. without taking the slightest notice of either of the others, the man walked up to groot willem, and, with an air of dignity, natural to most semi-barbarous people, began making a speech. grateful for having been relieved from his imprisonment, he evidently believed that duty required him to say something, whether it might be understood or not. "can _you_ understand him, congo?" asked willem. "yaas, a little i can," answered the kaffir; and in his own peculiar manner he interpreted what the african had to say. it was simply that he owed his life to groot willem, and that the latter had only to ask for whatever he required, and it should be given him. "that is certainly promising a good deal," said the sarcastic hendrik, "and i hope that willem will not be too greedy in his request, but will leave something for the rest of mankind." hans and swartboy at this moment came up with the pack-horses; and, selecting a spot near the place where the cow had been killed, the party encamped for the night. for some time, all hands were busy in gathering firewood and making other preparations for their bivouac,--among which were the skinning and cooking of the buffalo calf, duties that were assigned to the bushman. during his performance of them, the others, assisted by congo as interpreter, were extracting from the tall stranger a full account of the adventure to which they were indebted for his presence in the camp; and a strange story it was. chapter ten. macora. in the manner of the african there was a certain hauteur which had not escaped the observation of his hearers. this was explained on their learning who and what he was; for his story began by his giving a true and particular account of himself. his name was macora, and his rank that of a chief. his tribe belonged to the great nation of the makololo, though living apart, in a "kraal" by themselves. the village, so-called, was at no great distance from the spot where the hunters were now encamped. the day before, he had come up the river in a canoe, accompanied by three of his subjects. their object was to procure a plant which grew in that place,--from which the poison for arrows and spears is obtained. in passing a shallow place in the river, they had attempted to kill a hippopotamus which they saw walking about on the bottom of the stream, like a buffalo browsing upon a plain. rising suddenly to the surface, the monster had capsized the canoe, and macora was compelled to swim ashore with the loss of a gun which once cost him eight elephant's tusks. he had seen nothing of his three companions, since parting with them in the water. on reaching the shore, and a few yards from the bank, he encountered a herd of buffaloes, cows and young calves, on their way to the river. these turned suddenly to avoid him, when a calf was knocked down by one of the old ones, and so severely injured that it could not accompany the rest in their flight. the mother, seeing her offspring left behind, turned back and selected macora as the object of her resentment. the chief retreated towards the nearest tree, hotly pursued by the animal eager to revenge the injury done to her young. he was just in time to ascend among the branches as the cow came up. the calf, with much difficulty, succeeded in reaching the tree. once there, it could not move away, and the mother would not leave it. this accounted for macora's having been found among the branches of the pandanus. he went on to say, that, during the time he had been detained in the tree, he had made several attempts to get down and steal off, but on each occasion had found the buffalo waiting to receive him upon her horns. he was suffering terribly with thirst when he heard the first shot fired by groot willem, and perceived that assistance was near. the chief concluded his narrative by inviting the hunters to accompany him the next morning to his kraal; where he promised to show them such hospitality as was in his power. on learning that his home was down the river, and at no great distance from it, the invitation was at once accepted. "one thing this man has told us," remarked willem, "which pleases me very much. we have learnt that there is or has been a hippopotamus near our camping-ground, and perhaps we shall not have far to travel before commencing our premeditated war against them." "question him about sea-cows, cong," said hendrik. "ascertain if there are many of them about here." in answer to the kaffir's inquiries, the chief stated that hippopotami were not often seen in that part of the river; but that, a day's journey farther down, there was a large lagoon, through which the stream ran; there, sea-cows were as plentiful as the stars in the sky. "that is just the place we have been looking for," said willem; "and now, congo, question him about camelopards." macora could hold out but little hopes of their meeting giraffes anywhere on that part of the limpopo. he had heard of one or two having been occasionally seen; but it was not a giraffe country, and they were stray animals. "ask him if he knows where there is such a country," demanded willem, who seemed more interested in learning something about giraffes than either of his companions. macora could not or would not answer this question without taking his own time and way of doing it. he stated that the native country of himself and his tribe was far to the north and west; that they had been driven from their home by the tyranny of the great zooloo king, moselekatse, who claimed the land and levied tribute upon all the petty chiefs around him. macora further stated that, having in some mysterious manner lost the good opinion of sekeletu and other great chiefs of the makololo,--his own people,--they would no longer protect him, and that he and his tribe were compelled to leave their homes, and migrate to the place where he was now about to conduct his new acquaintances. "but that is not what i wish to know," said groot willem, who never troubled himself with the political affairs of his own country, and therefore cared little about those of an african petty chief. on being brought back to the question, macora stated that he was only giving them positive proof of his familiarity with the camelopards, since nowhere were these more abundant than in the country from which he had been expatriated by the tyranny of the zooloo chief. it was his native land, where he had hunted the giraffe from childhood. swartboy here interrupted the conversation by announcing that he had enough meat cooked for them to begin their meal with; and about ten pounds' weight of buffalo veal cutlets were placed before the hunters and their guest. macora, who, to all appearance, had been waiting very patiently while the cutlets were being broiled, commenced the repast with some show of self-restraint. this, however, wholly forsook him before it was finished. he ate voraciously, consuming more than the four young hunters together. this, however, he did not do without making an apology for his apparent greed; stating that he had been nearly two days without having tasted food. the supper having at length come to an end, all stretched themselves around the fire and went to sleep. the night passed without their being disturbed; and soon after sunrise they arose,--not all at the same time,--for one of the party had risen and taken his departure an hour earlier than the rest. it was macora, whom they had entertained the evening before. "here, you swart and cong!" exclaimed arend, when he discovered that the chief was no longer in the camp, "see if any of the horses are missing. it is just possible we have been tricked by a false tale and robbed into the bargain." "by whom?" asked groot willem. "by your friend, the chief. he has stolen himself away, if nothing else." "i'll bet my life," exclaimed willem, in a more positive tone than the others had ever yet heard him use, "that that man is an honest fellow, and that all he has told us is true, though i can't account for his absence. he is a chief, and has the air of one." "yes, he is a chief, no doubt," said hendrik, sneeringly. "every african in this part of the world is a chief, if he only has a family. whether his story be true or not, it looks ugly, his leaving us in this clandestine manner." hans, as usual, had nothing to say upon a subject of which he knew nothing; and swartboy, after making sure that no horses, guns, or other property were missing, expressed the opinion that he was never so mystified in his life. nothing was gone from the camp; and yet he was quite certain that any one speaking a native african language understood by congo, could not be capable of acting honestly if an opportunity was allowed him for the opposite. having allowed their horses an hour to graze, while they themselves breakfasted upon buffalo veal, our adventurers broke up their bivouac, and continued their march down the bank of the river. chapter eleven. macora's kraal. after journeying about three hours, the young hunters came to a place that gave unmistakable evidence of having been often visited by human beings. small palm-trees had been cut down, the trunks taken away, and the tops left on the ground. elephants, giraffes, or other animals that feed on foliage would have taken the tops of the trees, and, moreover, would not have cut them down with hatchets, the marks of which were visible in the stumps left standing. half a mile farther on, and fields could be seen in cultivation. they were evidently approaching a place inhabited by a people possessing some intelligence. "see!" exclaimed arend, as they rode on, "there's a large body of men coming towards us." all turned to the direction in which arend was gazing. they saw about fifty people coming along the crest of a ridge, that trended toward the north. "perhaps they mean mischief," said hans. "what shall we do?" "ride on and meet them," exclaimed hendrik. "if they are enemies it is not our fault. we have not molested them." as the strangers came near, the hunters recognised their late guest, who was now mounted on an ox and riding in advance of his party. his greeting, addressed to groot willem, was interpreted by congo. "i have invited you to come to my kraal," said he, "and to bring your friends along with you. i left you early this morning, and have been to my home to see that preparations should be made worthy of those who have befriended macora. some of my people, the bravest and best amongst them, are here to bid you welcome." a procession was then formed, and all proceeded on to the african village, which was but a short distance from the spot. on entering it, a group of about a hundred and fifty women received them with a chant, expressed in low murmuring tones, not unlike the lullaby with which a mother sings her child to sleep. the houses of the kraal were constructed stockade fashion, in rows of upright poles, interlaced with reeds or long grass, and then covered with a plaster of mud. through these the hunters were conducted to a long shed in the centre of the village, where the saddles were taken from their horses, which were afterwards led off to the grazing ground. although macora's subjects had been allowed but three hours' notice, they had prepared a splendid feast for his visitors. the young hunters sat down to a dinner of roast antelope, _biltongue_, stews of hippopotamus and buffalo flesh, baked fish, ears of green maize roasted, with wild honey, stewed pumpkin, melons, and plenty of good milk. the young hunters and all their following were waited on with the greatest courtesy. even their dogs were feasted, while swartboy and congo had never in all their lives been treated with so much consideration. in the afternoon, macora informed his guests that he should give them an entertainment; and, in order that they should enjoy the spectacle intended for them, he informed them, by way of prologue, of the circumstances under which it was to be enacted. his statement was to the effect that his companions in the canoe, at the time it was capsized by the hippopotamus, had reached home, bringing with them the story of their mishap; that the tribe had afterwards made a search for their chief, but not finding him, had come to the conclusion that he had been either drowned or killed by the sea-cow. they had given him up for lost; and another important member of the community, named sindo, had proclaimed himself chief of the tribe. when macora reached home that morning, sindo had not yet come forth from his house; and, before he was aware of the chief's reappearance, the house had been surrounded and the usurper made prisoner. sindo, fast bound and guarded, was now awaiting execution; and this was the spectacle which the hunters were to be treated to. it was a scene that none of the young hunters had any desire to be present at; but, yielding to the importunities of their host, they accompanied him to the spot where the execution was to take place. this was in the suburbs of the village, where they found the prisoner fast tied to a tree. nearly all the inhabitants of the community had assembled to see the usurper shot,--this being the manner of death that had been awarded to him. the prisoner was rather a good-looking man, apparently about thirty-five years of age. no evil propensity was expressed in his features; and our heroes could not help thinking that he had been guilty of no greater crime than a too hasty ambition. "can we not save him from this cruel fate?" asked hans, speaking to groot willem. "i think you have some influence with the chief." "there can be no harm in trying," answered willem. "i'll see what i can do." sindo was to be shot with his own musket. the executioner had been already appointed, and all other arrangements made for carrying out the decree, when willem, advancing towards macora, commenced interceding for his life. his argument was, that the prisoner had not committed any great crime; that had he conspired against his chief for the purpose of placing himself in authority, it would have been a different affair. then he would have deserved death. willem further urged, that had he, macora, really been lost, some one of the tribe would have become chief, and that sindo was not to blame for aspiring to resemble one who had ruled to the evident satisfaction of all. macora was then entreated to spare the prisoner's life, and the entreaty was backed by the promise of a gun to replace the one lost in the river, on condition that sindo should be allowed to live. for a time macora remained silent, but at length made reply, by saying that he should never feel safe if the usurper were allowed to remain in the community. groot willem urged that he could be banished from the kraal, and forbidden to return to it on penalty of death. macora hesitated a little longer; but remembering that he had promised to grant any favour to the one who had released him from imprisonment in the tree, he yielded. sindo's life should be spared on condition of his expatriating himself at once and forever from the kraal of macora. on granting this pardon, the chief wished all distinctly to understand that it was done out of gratitude to his friend, the big white hunter. he did not wish it to be supposed that the prisoner's life had been purchased with a gun. all macora's subjects, including the condemned man himself, appeared greatly astonished at the decision, so contrary to all precedent among his fellow-countrymen. the exhibition of mercy, along with the refusal of the bribe, proved to the young hunters, that macora had within him the elements of a noble nature. sindo, accompanied by his family, immediately made departure from the place, going off to seek a home among kindred tribes, where his ambition would, no doubt, be exercised with greater caution. during the evening, macora provided a varied entertainment for his guests. it included a grand feast, with songs and dancing, the latter done to the sounds of the tom-tom drum, and one-stringed african fiddle. all retired for the night with the understanding that the hunters should the next day be conducted to a place where hippopotami were plentiful. chapter twelve. spying out the land. early next morning, after the hunters had reciprocated macora's hospitality by giving him the best breakfast they were capable of cooking, they started off on their search for sea-cows. macora, accompanied by four attendants, acted as guide, while fifty others were to follow, to assist in the chase. the pack-horses and all other property were taken along, as they did not intend to return to the kraal, although the chief earnestly requested them to remain and make his village their home so long as they remained in the neighbourhood. for more than a mile their way led through small plantations of maize, owned by macora's subjects, and cultivated by the women and younger people of the tribe. our adventurers had seen many kraals of bushmen, also of bechuana and kaffir tribes, and were surprised to observe such evidences of civilisation so far removed from the teachings and example of the cape colonists. on their way down the river, buffaloes were observed in small droves, as also herds of koodoos and zebras. they had reached a land that gave good promise of the very adventures they were in search of. about five miles from the village they came upon a small open space thickly covered with grass. here macora suggested that they should make their hunting camp, as the thick growth of timber seen farther down the river was the resort of every species of game to be found for many miles around. macora's suggestion was adopted; and his followers soon constructed a stockade enclosure or kraal, to protect the camp. while this was being done the young hunters were not idle. on the open plain beyond some antelopes were seen grazing, and hendrik and arend went after them for the purpose of providing macora's people with food. groot willem, on the other hand, preferred going towards the timber, where he had been told there was larger game; and, accompanied by macora and four attendants, he started off, leaving hans with swartboy and congo to take care of the pack-horses and other _impedimenta_, as also to superintend the building of the kraal. not far from the river-bank, macora, with willem, entered a dense forest standing in a tract of low marshy ground. they had not gone far, before coming within sight of some reet boks (reed bucks, _antelope eleotragus_, schreber). these were not more than three hundred yards away; and, from the unconcerned manner in which they continued their occupation, groot willem saw that they had never been hunted by men carrying fire-arms, although so near to a village of the makololo. the innocent creatures were unworthy of a shot from his roer, and he passed on without molesting them. he was soon upon a path that showed signs of being nightly trodden by large animals, on their way to the water. amongst other spoor, he was pleased to observe that of the hippopotamus. several of these animals had evidently left the river only two or three hours before, and were then probably grazing in the neighbourhood. they had been so little disturbed by man, that, contrary to their usual custom, they came out upon the land to browse by day. willem was satisfied that they had reached a place where they would be content to stop for a while; and, without proceeding any farther, he resolved to commence business by bringing down one of two buffaloes he saw lying at some distance off, under the shade of a clump of trees. leaving macora and his men in care of his horse and three dogs which he had brought with him, he passed to the leeward of the game, trying to get between the buffaloes and the forest, to head them off in case of their retreating to the cover. willem was too much of a sportsman to think of stalking upon the buffaloes, and shooting at them while asleep; and after gaining the desired station, he whistled for his dogs, for the purpose of giving the buffaloes a bit of a chase, and trying a shot at them while on the run. his signal was scarce given, when he heard loud yells from the natives and the report of macora's musket. something had gone wrong; for he saw that his own horse was loose and galloping over the plain, while the natives were scampering in different directions, evidently under the inspiration of fear. the ox upon which macora sat seemed trying its speed with his horse. the three dogs had answered his call and were coming towards him. they were pursued by something,--by a creature that passed over the ground in a succession of long low leaps, and yet so much time was lost in gathering strength for each spring, that it did not much lessen the distance between itself and the animals it was pursuing. the buffaloes had started up and gone off at full canter towards the timber,--passing within less than fifty paces of the spot where willem stood. he allowed them to escape unmolested. a creature more deserving of his attention was rapidly approaching from the other side. chapter thirteen. the faithful "smoke." as yet, the dogs did not seem aware that an enemy was after them. they had heard their master's whistle, and having been released from the leash, were only intent in obeying the command. on rousing the buffaloes from their repose, they probably thought that they had been called for the express purpose of pursuing and destroying them; and, heedless of all else, they followed upon the heels of the great quadrupeds, passing close to the hunter, who in vain endeavoured to call them off. he was soon otherwise occupied. the creature in pursuit of the dogs, and which had caused the flight of macora and his attendants, was a large leopard. it was a female, and rapidly there passed through the hunter's mind a conjecture of the circumstances under which the animal was acting. it had left its young in its forest lair, and had been on a visit to the river for water or food. it had not pursued macora or his attendants, as its solicitude was for its young, and the dogs were now running in the direction where these were concealed. at sight of groot willem, the leopard desisted from its pursuit of the dogs; and, crouching low upon the ground, crawled towards him,--not slowly, but with a speed only checked by instinctive caution. as it advanced, its whole body was covered by the head, its eyes being the highest part of it presented to the view of the hunter. the _felidea_ was now within ten yards of him and rapidly drawing nearer. something must be done. the roer was raised to his shoulder, and with a steady hand and eye,--nerved by the perilous position he was in,--he drew a fine sight at the creature's snout and fired. the shot took effect, for the leopard rolled over, rose up, turned around two or three times, and for a while seemed to have lost all consciousness of what had transpired. its young and its enemy were for a time apparently forgotten in the agony it was suffering from a broken jaw. this, however, was but for a few seconds, for the sight of the hunter soon after aroused it to a perfect realisation of all that had taken place. willem, after firing, had run off to about fifty paces, and then stopped to reload. while so engaged he kept his eye fixed upon the leopard. it was again coming towards him, no longer with the caution it had before exhibited, but in a manner that showed its whole animal nature was absorbed by the spirit of revenge. by the time he had placed the bullet in the barrel of his gun and driven it home, the brute was close upon him. there was not time for him to withdraw the ramrod, much less to put on a cap. grasping his roer by the barrel, he prepared to defend himself, intending to use the weapon as a club. the enraged creature was about to make a spring upon him, when assistance came from a quarter altogether unexpected. one of the dogs--a large bull-dog called "smoke"--had not followed the buffaloes to cover. it had obeyed its master's command when called back from the chase. just as the leopard was crouching upon the earth to gather force for the final spring, smoke seized it by one of the hind legs. not a second of time was lost by willem. one more chance for life had been thus given him, and he hastened to avail himself of it. the hammer of the lock was thrown back and a cap placed on the nipple in less time than nine out of ten well-drilled soldiers could have performed the same feat; but by the time it was done, and the gun brought to his shoulder, poor smoke was lying in his death-struggle along the grass. the _felidea_ had turned to renew the attack on its human enemy. one second more, and its huge body would have been launched against him,-- its sharp claws buried in his flesh. he pulled trigger and sprang backwards. a cloud of smoke rolled before his eyes, and, as this cleared away, he saw the leopard laid out along the earth by the side of the wounded dog,--like the latter, kicking out its legs in the last throes of death. on looking for his companions, willem saw that macora and his men, having stopped at a distance of about five hundred yards off, had witnessed his victory. the chief was now hastening towards him on foot, and was soon by his side, when, pointing to the ox about half a mile away, he tried to make willem understand that that animal had carried him unwillingly away from his friend. perceiving all danger was over, the others came up; when, by signs, the big hunter gave them to understand that he wanted the hide taken off the leopard. the four attendants went to work with their short assagais, in a manner that told him he would not have long to wait for a beautiful leopard skin, as a trophy of his victory, as also a memento of the danger through which he had passed. he himself turned his attention to the wounded dog, which was still moaning on the ground, and looking at him with an expression that seemed to say, "why do you not first come and assist me." poor smoke had sacrificed his own life to save that of his master. the creature's back was broken, and it was otherwise severely injured. it was evident that nothing could be done for it. the dog must die, and the great heart of groot willem was sorely afflicted. turning to macora, he observed that the chief had reloaded his musket. willem pointed to the dog's head and then to the gun. the chief took the hint and raised the weapon to his shoulder. groot willem turned away with his eyes full of tears, and went off in pursuit of his horse. chapter fourteen. the lagoon. on returning to the camp, they found that hendrik and arend had been successful in their chase of the antelopes, and the greater part of two were cooking over a large fire. a quantity of felled timber had been brought to the ground for construction of the kraal, and the work of building it had already commenced. for the labour of his followers macora would accept nothing but a small quantity of coffee, a bottle of schiedam and some tobacco, and in the evening he took his departure, after seeing his friends safely established in their camp. three of his people were left with the hunters, with orders to make themselves useful in whatever way they could be employed. this addition to the company was, however, a source of great annoyance to the bushman. any communication made to them required the assistance of his rival, congo. congo had others under him,--people to whom he gave instructions and commands. swartboy had not, and was, therefore, very discontented with the arrangements. "you and i must do something to-day," said arend to hendrik, as they were eating their first breakfast at the new camping-place. "yes," replied hendrik, "willem has one day the start of us in adventures, but i dare say fortune will favour us ere long." "she has favoured us all i think," said willem. "how could we have a better prospect of success? there is apparently an abundance of game; and we have found people willing to assist us in getting at it,--willing to perform most of the toil and leave us all of the sport." "you are quite right," said hendrik; "our brightest hopes could not have been crowned by a more favourable commencement, although two days ago we were repining. what do you say, swartboy?" he added, turning to the bushman; "are you content?" "i berry much content, baas hendrik," answered swartboy, with an expression that did not confirm his words. that day the young hunters, leaving swartboy and the kaffir in charge of the camp, made a visit to the lagoon, where they expected to find hippopotami. they passed by the place where groot willem had killed the leopard, and observed that the bones of that animal, mingled with those of the faithful smoke, were scattered over the ground, clean-picked of their flesh by the jackals and hyenas. half a mile farther on they reached the lagoon; and while riding along its shore, they all pulled up to listen to an unfamiliar and indescribable sound, that seemed to proceed from two dark objects just visible above the surface of the water. they were the heads of a brace of sea-cows. the animals were making towards them, uttering loud cries that could not be compared with anything the hunters had previously heard. any attempt to kill them in the water would only have resulted in a waste of ammunition; for, with only the eyes and nose above the surface, there was no chance for a bullet to strike them with fatal effect. the monsters showed some intention of coming out and making war; but, on getting nearer, they changed their design, and, turning about, floundered off out of reach. before proceeding many yards farther, they saw three other hippopotami, this time not in the water, but out upon the plain. they were browsing on the grass, unconscious that an enemy was near. "let us get between them and the water," suggested willem. "by that means we will make sure of them." riding forward at a sharp pace, the hunters succeeded in this design; and, for a time, the retreat of the hippopotami appeared impossible. instinct does not lead these animals to flee from a foe. they only make for the water without regard to the position of the enemy. on the first alarm, therefore, the three hippopotami started for the lagoon, going at a heavy rolling pace, and much faster than might have been supposed possible for creatures of such ungainly shape. as they ran in a direct line, the hunters were compelled to glide out of their way, or run the risk of being trodden under foot. hans and groot willem were together; and, as soon as the broad side of a hippopotamus came fairly before them, both fired at the same beast, taking aim behind the shoulder. hendrik and arend fired about at the same time at another. onward rolled the immense masses towards the river, but before reaching it the one to which hans and willem had devoted their attention was seen to go unsteadily and with less speed. before arriving at the bank, it gave a heavy lurch, like a water-logged ship, and fell over upon its side. two or three abortive efforts were made to recover its feet, but these soon subsided into a tremulous quivering of its huge frame, that ended in the stillness of death. its two companions plunged into the water, leaving hendrik and arend a little chagrined by the failure of their first attempt at killing a hippopotamus. hans and groot willem had no pretensions to military prowess, and the first was generally absorbed in some subject connected with his botanical researches. but he could claim his share in killing a hippopotamus under circumstances no more favourable than the two who had allowed their game to escape. chapter fifteen. hippopotami. herodotus, aristotle, diodorus, and pliny have all given descriptions more or less correct of the hippopotamus, river-horse, or zeekoe (sea-cow) of the south african dutch. so great has been the interest taken in this animal, of which european people have long read, but never until lately seen, that the zoological society cleared , pounds in the year of the great exhibition of , by their specimens exhibited in the gardens at regent's park. hippopotami procured from northern africa were not uncommon in the roman spectacles. afterwards, the knowledge of them became lost to europe for several hundred years; and, according to the authority of several writers, they entirely disappeared from the nile. several centuries after they had been shown in rome and constantinople, it was stated that hippopotami could not be transported alive to a foreign country; but the progress of civilisation has refuted this erroneous hypothesis, and the harsh, heavy sound of its voice, since may, , has been familiar to the frequenters of a london park. according to michael boyn, the hippopotamus has been found in the rivers of china. marsden has placed them in sumatra, and others say they exist in the indus, but these statements have never been sustained by well-authenticated facts, and the creature is now believed to be exclusively a native of africa. monsieur desmoulins describes two species,--one the _h. capensis_, or the hippopotamus of the cape, and the _h. senegalensis_ of the senegal river. how the animal obtained its name would be difficult to imagine, since a quadruped more unlike a horse could hardly exist. when in the water, the hippopotamus can place its eyes, ears, and nose on a level with the surface, and thus see, hear, and breathe, with but little danger of being injured by a shot. it is often ferocious in this element, where it can handle itself with much ease; but on dry land it is unwieldy, and, conscious of its awkwardness, it is rather timid and sometimes cowardly. these huge creatures are supposed to serve a good purpose by uprooting and destroying large water-plants that might otherwise obstruct the current of the stream and hinder the drainage of the surrounding country. the hide of the hippopotamus is used by the natives for many purposes. although soft when stripped off, it becomes so hard, when thoroughly dry, that the africans manufacture spears and shields of it. many of the cape colonists are very fond of what they call "zeekoe speek," which is a portion of the flesh salted and preserved. the greatest value which the hippopotamus has, in the eyes of man, is found in its teeth,--its large canine tusks being the finest ivory known, and much prized by the dentists. it keeps its colour much better, and lasts longer than any other used in the manufacture of artificial teeth. tusks of the hippopotamus are sometimes found sixteen inches in length, and weighing as much as a dozen pounds. travellers have even affirmed that some have been seen measuring twenty-six inches in length; but no specimens of this size have as yet been exhibited in the museums of europe. the hide of a full-grown hippopotamus is thicker than that of the rhinoceros; otherwise, it very much resembles the latter. its thickness protects the animal against the poisoned arrows and javelins of the natives. but for this, it would soon become extinct in the rivers of africa, since, unlike most animals, there is no difficulty in approaching the hippopotamus within bow-shot distance. it can only be killed by the natives after a great deal of trouble combined with ingenuity. the plan generally adopted is, by digging pits in places where the hippopotami are known to pass in leaving the water to feed on the herbage of the neighbouring plain. these pits have to be dug in the rainy season, when the ground is soft; for during the dry months the earth becomes so hard as to resist the poor implement used by the natives in place of a spade. the pit is concealed with much care, and as months may pass without a hippopotamus straying into the trap, it may be imagined how strong an effort of perseverance and patience is required in capturing one of these amphibious creatures. another method of killing them is by suspending heavy pointed beams over their paths, where they proceed from the river to the meadows adjoining. these beams are elevated thirty or forty feet high, by a line which extends across the sea-cow's track. this line is connected with a trigger, and when rudely dragged by the force of the moving body, the beam descends upon the animal's back, burying the sharp point in its flesh. the use of fire-arms is now becoming general among the natives of africa; and, as the value of hippopotamus ivory well repays the trouble of procuring it, it is not unreasonable to suppose that the ungainly animal, now one of the commonest sights in the rivers of southern africa, will soon become one of the rarest. chapter sixteen. hunting hippopotami. the hippopotamus killed by groot willem and hans was a fine specimen,--a bull full-grown and with teeth and tusks large and perfect. measuring it with the barrel of his roer, willem pronounced it to be sixteen feet in length; and he estimated its circumference around the body at but one foot less. leaving it where it had fallen, they rode to another part of the lagoon. the fine hippopotami they had seen inspired them with a cheerful prospect for the future,--as far as hunting that species of game was concerned,--but a still brighter one was in store for them. not half a mile from where the first was killed, they reached a small pool about four feet in depth. seven hippopotami were wallowing within it, and others were seen grazing the low swampy ground not far-away. they had been so little molested by man that they were not afraid of feeding by daylight. those in the pool were wholly at the mercy of the hunters; for they had not the courage to leave it; and the water was not of sufficient depth either to conceal or protect them. for nearly half an hour the four young hunters stood by the side of the pool, loading and firing whenever a favourable opportunity presented. the seven huge creatures were then left dead or dying, and the hunters returned to their kraal. macora was waiting for them, having come over for the purpose of making a "morning call." as a present to the young hunters, he had brought them a milch cow, for which they were very thankful. the cow was consigned to the keeping of swartboy, who had strict injunctions to look well after it. "that cow is worth more to us than either of the horses," remarked hendrik to the bushman, "and i would not trust it to the keeping of congo; but i know it will be safe with you." swartboy was delighted. when macora was told that they had that morning killed eight hippopotami, he became roused to a state of tremendous excitement. two of his attendants were despatched immediately to his village, to convey the pleasing intelligence to his people, that an unlimited amount of their favourite food was waiting for them. having done enough for one day, the hunters reposed in the shade of their tent, until about two hours before sunset, when they were roused by the arrival of nearly three hundred people, men, women, and children, of macora's tribe,--all anxious to be led to the bodies of the hippopotami. groot willem was afraid that the disturbance made by so many people would drive every sort of game from the neighbourhood, and that they would have to move their camp. but knowing this argument would not be strong enough to convince several hundred hungry people that so large a quantity of good food should be wasted, no objection was made to conducting them to the scene of the morning's sport. groot willem and hendrik, attended by congo, were soon in their saddles prepared for a night's shooting at the lagoon. they started off, accompanied by macora and all his following, leaving hans and arend to take care of the kraal. on reaching the place where the first hippopotamus had been killed in the morning, a flock of vultures and a pack of jackals were driven from the carcass; and several of the natives stopped to prevent these carnivora devouring any more of the animal's body, by appropriating it to themselves. obeying the instructions of their chief, macora's followers had brought with them long and strong rheims,--that is, cords made of rhinoceros hide,--and, on reaching the pool in which the seven dead hippopotami were lying, macora gave orders for the carcasses to be hauled out. this work, under ordinary circumstances, would have been next to impossible; but taking into consideration the flatness of the ground, and the united strength of some hundred and fifty men capable of handling a rope, the thing was soon accomplished. the task of skinning and cutting up then commenced; while the women and children kindled fires and made other preparations for a grand banquet. until a late hour of the night, the natives remained at work. all the flesh not required for immediate use was separated into long slips, to be dried in the sun, and thus converted into _biltongue_, while the whole of the teeth were to remain the property of those who had killed the hippopotami. the two hunters, groot willem and hendrik, on that night had not far to travel in order to obtain a sufficiency of their favourite sport. attracted by the odour of the slain pachyderms, lions, hyenas, and jackals came prowling about the pool, loudly expressing their disapprobation of the fact that they themselves had not been invited to partake of the feast. notwithstanding the large number of human beings collected upon the spot, the hyenas came close up, and, with deafening roars, threatened to make an attack. the guns of groot willem and hendrik were, for a time, kept constantly cracking, and the ugly brutes at length grew more wary, betaking themselves to a safer distance. the hunters had no desire to lose time or ammunition, in mere wanton destruction of life. they only desired to kill such game as might contribute towards remunerating them for the long journey; and they soon ceased firing at hyenas and jackals. leaving the pool, they walked along the shore of the lagoon, towards the ground where they had seen the hippopotami during the earlier hours of the day. night being the usual time for those animals to feed, the youths calculated upon making an addition to the list of their prizes,--nor were they disappointed. half a mile from the spot where macora and his tribe had been left feasting, was an open plain, lit by the beams of a brilliant moon. ten or fifteen dark objects were seen moving slowly over its surface; and leaning forward in their saddles, the hunters could see that they were hippopotami. they rode gently towards them. the animals, entirely unacquainted with the dangerous character of those who were approaching, neither stirred from the spot nor took any notice of the horsemen, until the latter were within close range of them. "that seems to be one of the biggest of them," whispered groot willem, pointing to a large bull that was browsing at less than a hundred paces off. "i shall make sure of him. you, hendrik, take another, and let us both fire together." willem, as he spoke, raised the heavy death-dealing roer to his shoulder. taking aim for the centre of the head, he fired. the next moment, the monster was seen staggering backwards, drawing its shattered head along the ground. it was not thinking of a retreat to the water,--of retiring through fear of further danger, or of anything else. it was in the agonies of death! this manner of action was not long sustained, for after trailing about ten yards from where it was struck, it fell heavily on the earth and turned over on one side, to move no more in life. hendrik had fired almost at the same instant of time; but for some seconds, the creature to which his attention had been directed, made no acknowledgment of the favour. it started off, and, along with the others, made straight towards the lagoon. for a time, hendrik was again chagrined to think that the rival hunter had been more successful than himself. his chagrin, however, was not destined to long continuance; for on their way to the water, one of the hippopotami was observed to tumble over in its tracks. after loading their guns, the horsemen rode up to the prostrate animal and found it struggling to rise. the bullet from hendrik's rifle had entered its right shoulder; and another from the same gun now put a period to its struggles as well as existence. the two hunters, not yet contented with their success, took cover under a cluster of trees; and, dismounting from their horses, lay in wait to see if the hippopotami would again oblige them by coming out upon the plain. neither in this watch were they disappointed. occasionally, they could hear the harsh bellowing of the animals as they came to the surface of the water, and before long, the bodies of three huge monsters were seen moving slowly towards them. reserving fire until one came within a few yards of their position, both hunters discharged their pieces almost simultaneously. with a cry that resembled the combined snorting of a hog and the neighing of a horse, the "zeekoe" faced back towards the lagoon; but, instead of moving off, it commenced turning slowly round and round, as a dog may be sometimes seen to do before laying himself down to repose. in a similar fashion did the hippopotamus lie down to rise no more. three others were shot on that same night, making fourteen hippopotami killed within twenty-four hours. this was a greater number, so macora said, than had been killed by his own people within the two preceding years. chapter seventeen. to the giraffe country. after passing some four or five weeks in hippopotamus hunting, groot willem became anxious to engage in the real business for which he had undertaken the hunting expedition. they had collected more than seven hundred pounds' weight of the finest ivory, but this success did not hinder them from becoming weary of a pursuit that was no longer amusement, but business. from several conversations held with macora about giraffes, they had learnt that the young of those animals could not be taken alive without the greatest ingenuity and trouble. where camelopards are discovered they can easily be run down and shot; but to secure the young unharmed, is a different affair, and an undertaking, which, from macora's account, promised to occupy all the time that the hunters wished to remain away from graaf reinet. groot willem was anxious to secure the name, fame, and reward, now depending on the delivery of the two young giraffes to the dutch consul. hendrik and arend wished to return to their sweethearts; and hans was longing to under take his intended voyage to europe. under these circumstances, a proposal from willem, that they should make a move, was well received by all. when the intention and object of their leaving was made known to macora, the chief seemed in much trouble. "i cannot allow you to go alone," said he; "there would be danger in your journey to my native land, perhaps death. instead of capturing camelopards alive, you might leave your bones to bleach upon the plain. you must not go alone. though we may not procure what you are in search of, i shall be your companion, and my best warriors shall attend you. the tyrant moselekatse may destroy us all, but i will go. macora will not allow his friends to encounter the peril without sharing it with them. to-morrow i shall be ready with all my men." such was the substance of macora's speech, as interpreted by congo; and the young hunters, much as they respected the chief for his many acts of kindness towards them, were gratified by this new proof of his friendship. he proposed to forsake his home and undertake an expedition of nearly two hundred miles, in which he had nothing to gain and everything to lose. this he was willing to do, out of gratitude to one whom fate had brought to his assistance through the merest accident. macora's offer was not rejected; and preparations for the journey were immediately commenced. the ivory obtained from the hippopotami was stored away for safe keeping until their return. this was about the only preparation for a departure our adventurers had to make; but such was not the case with macora's warriors. poisoned arrows had to be prepared, bows and shields repaired, and assegais sharpened. on the morning of the next day after macora had determined on the journey, he led forth from his village fifty-three of his best men; and a start was made towards the north. several oxen were taken along, laden with dried hippopotamus flesh, crushed maize, and other articles of food to be used on the journey. several cows were also driven along to yield a supply of milk. one of the pack-horses belonging to our hunters had been placed at the disposal of the chief; and on this he rode, generally keeping close by the side of groot willem. owing to the nature of the country, and the inability of the oxen for fast travelling, their progress was but slow. they found plenty of game along the route, but none of it was pursued for the sake of amusement. only a sufficient quantity was killed to provide the camp with fresh meat, and no time was lost in procuring it, as antelopes were constantly coming within shot of the hunters, as they moved along the line of march. only one incident worthy of notice occurred during the journey, in their camp of the sixth night after starting. one of the makololo had risen to put some fresh fagots on a fire burning near him. placing his hand upon the ground for the purpose of picking up a piece of wood, he suddenly started back, at the same time uttering a cry of terror. several of his companions sprang to their feet; and, for a moment, a scene of confusion ensued that baffled every attempt on the part of the young hunters to obtain an explanation of it. at length, it transpired that a snake had caused the commotion. one of about eight feet in length was dragged up to the light of the fire and submitted to examination. it was writhing in the agonies of death. its head had been crushed by a blow. its colour, which was nearly black, left no doubt in the minds of the natives as to the nature of the reptile they had killed. "picakholu! picakholu!" exclaimed several at the same time, and their attention was immediately turned to the man who had first made its acquaintance. he exhibited two deep scratches on the back of his right hand. on beholding them, his companions uttered a cry of commiseration, and stood gazing at the unfortunate man with an expression that seemed to say: "_you must surely die_." his colour soon changed to a deeper brown. then his fingers and lips began to move spasmodically, and his eyes assumed a fixed and glassy expression. in about ten minutes from the time he had been bitten, he seemed quite unconscious of anything but agony; and would have rolled into the fire, had he not been held back by those around him. in less than half an hour, he was dead,--dead, while the body of the serpent with the mangled head was still writhing along the grass. the makololo was buried at sunrise, three hours after death; and so virulent is the poison of the picakholu that, ere the body was deposited in the grave, it was already in a state of decomposition! chapter eighteen. a giraffe chase. in the evening of the twelfth day after leaving the limpopo, they reached a small river, which macora called the luize. he informed the hunters, that one day's journey down this stream would take him to the ruins of the village where he had been born and had lived until within the last two or three years, and his desire to see his native place was about to be gratified. on one thing macora could congratulate himself. the chief moselekatse, by driving him from his country, had profited but little. all the makololo cattle and other objects of plunder had been safely got away out of reach of the robber chief. none of macora's people had remained in the land, so that there was no one to pay tribute to the conqueror; and the country had been left to the undisturbed possession of the wild beasts. macora's tribe were not now living in a conquered condition; nor were they now prevented from paying a visit to their former home. the plan proposed by the makololo chief for catching the young giraffes, was to build a _hopo_ or trap, in some convenient place where a herd of giraffes might be driven into it,--the old ones killed and the young ones secured alive. no better plan could be devised than this, and it was unanimously adopted. a site for the _hopo_ has to be chosen with some judgment, so that labour may be saved in its construction; and, satisfied that the chief would act for the best, the hunters determined on leaving to him all the arrangements regarding it. a suitable place for the trap, macora remembered having seen, a few miles down the river; and thither they repaired. on the way, they passed the ruins of the deserted village, and many of the natives recognised amid the heaps of rubbish the places that had once been their homes. five miles farther down, they reached the place which was to be enclosed as a hopo. it was a narrow valley or pass, leading from a large forest to the river-bank,--and the variety and quantity of spoor over its surface, proved that most animals of the country daily passed through it. the forest consisted chiefly of mimosa-trees, whose leaves are the favourite food of the giraffe. plenty of other timber was growing near, such as would be needed in constructing the required inclosure. macora promised that his people should go to work on the following day; when pits should be dug and trees felled for the fence of the hopo. willem inquired if they had not better first make sure that giraffes were in the neighbourhood, before expending their labour in constructing the trap. this macora declared was not necessary. he was quite certain that they would be found by the time the trap was ready for receiving them. he also advised the hunters to refrain from molesting any giraffes they might see before the inclosure should be completed, which, according to his calculation, would be in about two weeks. the hunters now began to understand the difficulties of the task they had undertaken, and were thankful for the good fortune that had brought them the assistance of the makololo chief. but for him and his people, it would have been idle for them to have attempted taking the giraffes alive. well mounted, they might ride them down and shoot as many as they pleased, but this would have been but poor sport; and even groot willem would, in due time, have got tired of it. it was not for this they had come so far. next morning, the work of making the hopo was commenced; and to inspire the young hunters with the hope that the labour would not be in vain, macora showed them the spoor of a drove of giraffes that had visited the river during the night. the chief would not allow his guests to take any part in the toil, and unwilling to be idle, groot willem, hendrik, and arend determined on making an excursion down the river. hans remained behind, content in the pursuit of his botanical studies, joined to the amusement of killing antelopes, and other game for the use of macora's workmen. swartboy remained with him. wishing to be as little encumbered as possible on an excursion, intended to last only for a couple of days, willem and his companions took with them but one horse, besides those for the saddle. this was in the care of congo, who, of course, followed his master, "baas willem." nothing could be more beautiful than the scenes passed through on the first day of their hunt. groves of palms, and other trees, standing over flower-clad plains on which gnoos, hartebeests, and other antelopes were browsing in peace. a flock of gayly-plumaged birds seemed at home in every tree; and everything presented to their view was such as fancy might paint for a hunter's paradise. on that day, our adventurers had their first view of the lordly giraffe. seven of those majestic creatures were seen coming from some hill that stretched across the plain. "don't move," exclaimed hendrik, "and perhaps they will stray near enough for us to get a shot before we are discovered." on came the graceful animals across the sunlit plain, like living towers throwing long shadows before them. the trees in perspective seemed lower than their crested heads. when within about two hundred yards of the hunters, the latter were discovered by them. turning suddenly in their tracks, the giraffes commenced a rapid retreat. "our horses are fresh. let us run them down," exclaimed willem. "in spite of what macora has said, i must kill a giraffe!" the three leaped into the saddles, and started in pursuit of the flying drove, leaving congo in charge of the pack-horse. for some time, the horsemen could not perceive that they were gaining on the camelopards trotting before them in long shambling strides. they were not losing ground, however, and this inspired them to greater speed. when the chase had been continued for about four miles, and the horses began to show signs of exhaustion, the pace of the giraffes was also observed to have become slower. they, also, were distressed by the rate at which they had been moving. "one of them is mine," shouted willem, as he spurred forward in a final charge. a huge stallion, exhibiting more signs of distress than the others, had fallen into the rear. the hunters soon came up with him; and, separating him from the herd, they fired a volley into his massive body. their shots should have brought him down; but, instead of this, they seemed only to reinvigorate his wearied limbs, and he strode on faster than ever. the hunters only paused long enough to reload, and then, resuming the chase, once more overtook the giraffe. another volley was fired, groot willem taking aim just behind the animal's shoulder, the others firing skyward towards its head. the giraffe stopped suddenly in its tracks, and stood tottering like a forest-tree about to fall. its head began waving wildly, first to the right and then to the left. a shuffle or two of its feet for a time, enabled it to maintain its equilibrium, and then it sank despairingly to the earth. proudly the hunters dismounted by the side of the now prostrate but once stately creature,--once a moving monument, erected in evidence of its creator's wisdom, but now with its form recumbent upon the carpet of the plain, its legs kicking wildly in the agonies of death. chapter nineteen. the camelopard. there is perhaps no animal living so graceful in form, more beautiful in colour, and more stately and majestic in appearance than the camelopard, now generally known by the french appellation of giraffe. measuring eighteen feet from the hoof of the fore leg to the crest of its crown, it stands, as an american would express it, "the tallest animal in creation." there is but a single species of the giraffe, and from the elegance and stateliness of its shape, the pleasing variety and arrangement of its colours, and the mildness of its disposition, its first appearance in europe excited considerable interest. although this animal was well known to the ancient romans, and indeed, played no inconsiderable part in the gorgeous exhibitions of that luxurious people, yet, with the ultimate overthrow of the roman empire, the camelopard finally disappeared from europe, and for several centuries remained a perfect stranger to the civilised world. it is not until towards the close of the fifteenth century, that we again hear of the giraffe's appearance,--when it is related that lorenzo de medici exhibited one at florence. the first of these animals seen in england was a gift from the pasha of egypt to george the fourth. it arrived in , and died during the following year. on the th of may, , four giraffes were exhibited in the zoological gardens at regent's park. they were brought from the south-west of kordofan, and were transported to london at an expense of pounds three shillings and one penny. from a casual glance at the giraffe, its fore legs would appear nearly twice as long as the hind ones, but such is not the case. this difference of appearance is caused by the great depth of shoulder, compared with the hips. in proportion to the rest of its body, the camelopard has rather a small head, upheld by a neck nearly six feet in length, gently tapering towards the crown. the animal's height, reckoning from the top of the head to the hoofs of the fore feet, is about equally divided between neck, shoulders, and legs. measured from the summit of the hips to the hoofs of the hind feet, it rarely exceeds six and a half, or seven feet. the head of the giraffe is furnished with a pair of excrescences, usually called horns, although very unlike the horn of any other animal. they are of a porous bony texture covered with short, coarse bristles. naturalists have, as yet, failed to determine for what purpose these osseous processes are provided. they cannot be either for offence or defence, since they are too easily displaced to afford any resistance in the case of a collision. the eyes of the camelopard are worthy of all praise. they are of large size, even softer and more gentle than those of the far-famed gazelle, and so placed that it can see in almost every direction without turning its head. all its senses are very acute; and being an animal of timid habit, it can only be approached by man when mounted upon a fleet horse. the camelopard feeds on the leaves and blossoms of an umbrella-shaped tree,--a species of mimosa, called mokhala by the native africans, and cameel-doorn (camelthorn) by the dutch settlers of the cape. as a grasper and feeler, the tongue of the giraffe is used, as the trunk of the elephants; and its great height enables it to gather the leaves of the mokhala far beyond the reach of the latter. the camelopard's skin is exceedingly thick,--often as much as an inch and a half--and so difficult of penetration, that frequently, twenty or thirty bullets are required to bring the creature to the ground. these wounds it receives and suffers in silence; for the giraffe is dumb. unlike that of most other animals, its hairy coat becomes darker with age. the colour of the female is somewhat lighter than the male, and she is also of much inferior stature. the camelopard can only defend itself by kicking; and it uses its heels in this way more effectively than any other creature,--the horse not excepted. the prominence of its eyes enables it to see behind, when directing its heels against an enemy, and so secures its taking a certain aim; while the blow it can give will crush in the skull of a man, or leave him with a couple of broken ribs. if unmolested, it is among the most innocent of animals. a creature so strangely shaped, and possessing so much speed and strength, was certainly designed by the creator for some other use than browsing upon the leaves of mimosa-trees; but that use, man has not yet discovered. chapter twenty. a race for life. leaving the body of the giraffe very reluctantly, (groot willem having a strong desire to take it along with him,) the hunters started off in search of the river. much to their gratification, the luize, or another stream equally as large, was seen not far from them, and they rode along its bank for the purpose of finding a place where they might water their horses, now thirsty after the long run they had made in chase of the giraffe. for about half a mile they found the stream inaccessible, by reason of the steepness of its banks; but a small pool was discovered a short distance from the river, and by this they halted to give their weary horses a little rest. these also needed food; and it was the intention to give them an hour or two upon the grass that grew luxuriantly around the pool. the saddles were taken off, and the horses turned out to graze upon it. "i suppose that cong will have sense to pack up and follow us," said hendrik. "yes," answered groot willem, "i think we may expect to see him here within two hours." "but are you sure that he can find us?" "certainly he can," replied willem. "he knows that we are bound down the river, and the stream will guide him. if not, he has spoor'em along with him. we should probably meet him on his way if we were to go up the river." "but we don't want to go up at present," said hendrik. "our way is down." "then we had better stay here till he comes." while they were thus talking, there was heard a dull, heavy sound, accompanied by a real or fancied vibration of the earth. the trees in a neighbouring grove appeared to be shaking about,--some being upset as if a violent hurricane was sweeping down among them. the horses took the alarm; threw up their heads, snorted, and galloped to and fro, as if uncertain which way to retreat. next moment, from among the moving trees, emerged a herd of elephants, each or most of them uttering trumpet-like cries as they entered upon the open plain. the horses galloped off the ground; and the hunters, believing that their lives depended on recovering them, started in pursuit. almost on the instant, this purpose had to be relinquished. one of the elephants, in advance of its fellows, was charging upon them; and they would have enough to do to secure their own retreat. the others went after the horses, and all seemed to have gone mad with the exception of three or four that remained by the pool. the situation of the hunters was now one of imminent danger. a well-directed volley might stop the charge of the elephant rushing towards them, and put the others to flight. this seemed to be the idea of all three; for each took aim at the same instant of time and fired in the same direction. the volley was delivered in vain. the elephant, with louder rear and longer strides, came thundering on, only infuriated by their attempt to check its course. there was no time to reload; and all three retreated, with a terrible apprehension of being overtaken, and that one or two others of them should fall a victim to the gigantic pursuer. they ran towards the stream. to have gone in any other direction would have been to impale themselves upon the trunks of the other elephants, now also coming towards them, aroused to rage by the cry of their wounded companion. they succeeded in reaching the bank, and thought of throwing themselves into the water; when a shout from arend counselled them to a different course. "follow me," cried he, and the next instant he was seen upon the trunk of a cotton-tree that had fallen across the stream. so close was the enraged elephant by this time, that groot willem, who was hindmost, felt the tip of its trunk touching the calf of one of his legs, as he scrambled on to the tree. the top of the tree was several feet lower than the bank of the river where its roots still adhered; and in descending the trunk, they had, as hendrik said, to "climb downwards." the branches had lodged on some rocks in the middle of the stream, which had prevented the tree from being carried away by the current that ran rapidly past the spot. for a while, they considered themselves safe; and, although their situation would have been far from agreeable under ordinary circumstances, they experienced the indescribable emotions of happiness that are felt after a narrow escape from some great peril. the elephant was tearing at the upturned roots of the tree, and making other impotent attempts to get at them. they were besieged, but in no danger for the time of a closer acquaintance with the besieger. on examining their place of refuge, they saw that the rock on which the tops of the tree rested, was not more than thirty feet in circumference at the water's edge; and not half that at the top, which was about ten feet in diameter. there was but little more than room for them to stand upon it; but, as the branches were large and long, they had plenty of room to move about, proceeding in much the same manner as monkeys would have done in a similar situation. from the behaviour of the enemy, he seemed to have come to a perfect understanding of the position in which they were placed; and, for a minute or two, he appeared to be meditating whether he should abandon the siege, or continue it. meanwhile, the hunters, after resting for a few moments from their late severe exertion, commenced reloading their rifles and preparing for further hostilities. as though aware of their intention, the elephant quietly walked away. "he is off now," said groot willem, "but we had better not be in any hurry to follow him. i can endure a little more rest." "i hope we shall not have to make a longer stay than will be agreeable," remarked hendrik. "but we must not leave here until the whole herd has taken its departure. unlike any we have seen before, these elephants do not seem to be the least afraid of us." the position in which our hunters were placed was several feet below the level of the river's bank, so that they were unable to see anything of the plain above. arend proposed returning up the trunk of the tree and giving the enemy a parting shot, should the animal be still within range. to this, groot willem and hendrik objected. they were willing the elephant should depart, if so inclined, without further molestation from them. a few minutes passed and arend again proposed going up to see if their enemy was near. this was also opposed by the others. "no, not yet," said willem. "let us not show ourselves on any account. he may be still watching for us, and, seeing you, may think we are impatient to get away. that would encourage him to remain. we must be as cautious as if we were dealing with a human enemy." half an hour passed, and then groot willem ascended the tree, until his head was on a level with the bank. one glance was sufficient, and, with a grave countenance, he looked back to his companions. "it is as i thought," said he, "the brute is still there. he is watching for us. he wants revenge; and i believe that he'll have it. we shall be hungry before we get away from here." "where is he?" asked hendrik. "at the pool close by, giving himself a shower-bath; but i can see that he keeps constantly turning his eye in this direction." "is he alone?" inquired arend. "yes; the others appear to have gone off. there is only himself by the pool. we have wounded him; but, for all that, he is able to move rapidly about; and we shall have to kill him outright before we can pass him upon the plain." to this there was no answer, and, groot willem again returning to the rock, all three laid hold of their guns, and prepared to attack the enemy. chapter twenty one. a creature hard to kill. groot willem again ascended the tree, this time armed with his roer, and followed by his two companions. the elephant was still at the pool; and, to make him leave it and draw nearer, willem showed himself on the bank. this plan did not succeed. the elephant saw him, but with reason or instinct that seemed almost human, it was evidently waiting until they should leave their retreat before again commencing hostilities. "it's of no use my firing from here," said willem, "i must endeavour to get nearer. don't be in my way, for in all probability, there may be another chase." the distance from the tree to the pool was close upon a hundred yards; and, after walking from the bank about one third of that distance, willem came to a halt. the elephant, coolly and philosophically, awaited his approach, apparently satisfied to let him come as near as he pleased. the position in which the animal stood was unfavourable for willem to make his favourite shot; but, as it would not move, he was obliged to fire at its head. the report of his gun was answered by a roar and an impetuous charge. willem instantly made for the tree, and secured his retreat, with the elephant but a few paces in his rear. at the same time--and without evincing the slightest acknowledgment--the huge beast received two further shots from hendrik and arend. while the guns were being reloaded, the monster again retired to the pool. there it was saluted by seven more balls without even once attempting to approach its tormentors in their place of retreat. it now wanted but two hours to sunset, and dark heavy clouds were descried rolling up from the south-west. thirteen shots had been expended on the elephant, and to all appearance it was still uninjured. there was a prospect of compulsory confinement before them. they might have to remain in their aqua-arboreal retirement the whole night under the pelting of a pitiless storm. three more shots were fired, without any apparent result. the rain soon came down,--not in drops, but dishfuls. often as they had been exposed to heavy showers, none of them could remember witnessing anything like that. all their care was devoted to keeping the ammunition and the locks of their guns dry; and any attempts at breaking the blockade to which they were subjected, was, for a time, relinquished. by the last light of day, groot willem made another reconnaissance and found the elephant still patiently waiting and watching. a night so dark that they could not distinguish each other by sight now mantled the river, and the heavens above continued pouring forth their unabated wrath. they might now have stolen away unknown to the besieger; but they had no longer the desire to do so. confident that the animal could not keep its feet till morning, after the rough handling it had received, they resolved upon staying till it fell, and securing its fine tusks. two or three hours passed, and still the rain kept falling, though not quite so heavily as at first. "i don't like this sort of thing," said hendrik. "swart and cong, in the pits, could not have been much unhappier than we are. i should like to know if the enemy is still on guard. what do you say to our going off?" "we mustn't think of it," counselled arend. "even if the elephant be gone, we cannot find our horses in such a dark night. if it be still waiting for us, we could not see it five paces off, while it might see us. we had better stay when we are till morning." "your advice is good, arend," said willem. i don't believe that we have a gun among us that could be discharged; if attacked, as we are now, we should be defenceless. arend's suggestion was adopted, and they resolved to remain upon the rock till morning. during the night, the rain continued to pour, half drowning them in their exposed situation. the hours passed slowly and wearily. they began to have serious doubts of ever seeing day again; but it came at length. just as the first faint gleams of the aurora appeared in the east, they were startled by a sudden crashing among the branches of the tree, and the next moment, they saw the bridge by which they had reached the rock, in the act of being carried away by the current! "look out!" shouted arend; "the tree is off. keep clear of the branches, or we shall be swept along with it." all rushed together to the summit of the rock, reaching it just in time to avoid the danger thus indicated; and, in another moment, their communication with the main land was entirely cut off. the dawn of day found them on an islet of stone, of such limited extent that there was barely standing-room for the three. the river, swollen by the flood, lipped close up to their feet, and was threatening to rise still higher. there was the prospect--not a very pleasant one--that they themselves might be carried off after their treacherous bridge. the elephant was no longer a cause of the slightest anxiety. the means by which they might have placed themselves within the reach of that danger had been removed; and, like prometheus, they were bound to a rock. the banks on both sides were too high for them to effect a landing, even should they be able to stem the rapid current. all three could swim, and it might be possible for them to reach the shore by swimming down stream to some place where the banks were on a level with the water. but to this method of getting out of their difficulty, there were several objections. their guns would have to be left behind, and could not be recovered. a distant view of them lying upon the rock might be all they would ever have. to abandon their arms was a thing not to be thought of. their hunting would be over for that expedition. besides, they were in a part of the river where the current was swift, turbulent, and strong. it would carry them down with irresistible force. the rapids were full of rough jagged rocks, against which their bodies might be crushed or lacerated; and the chances were that some of them might never succeed in reaching the shore in safety. "and there is another reason why i don't like taking this water trip," said hendrik. "i noticed yesterday, just as we came forward here, a couple of enormous alligators. in all likelihood, there are scores of them." "then i say, stop where we are for the present," said arend. "alligators are always hungry, and i don't relish to be eaten by them." "i am not yet so hungry as to leave my roer behind me; therefore, i second your proposal," said groot willem. it was carried _nemini dissentiente_. they did stay where they were, but not very patiently. the sun ascended high into the heavens. its beams seemed to have their focus on the spot where they were standing. they never remembered having experienced a day so hot, or one on which all felt so hungry. hendrik and arend became nearly frantic with the heat and the hunger, though groot willem still preserved a remnant of calmness. "i wonder if that elephant is watching for us yet?" said he. "if so, he is what swartboy calls congo,--an 'ole fool! i'm sorry we can't oblige him by paying him a visit, and rewarding him for his prolonged vigil." willem's attempt at being witty was intended to cheer his disconsolate companions. but it was a sad failure. neither could reply to it even by a smile. chapter twenty two. a separation. all day long did they stay on the islet of stone. they were no longer apprehensive of being swept away by the flood. they saw that it had reached its highest, but its subsidence had not yet commenced. the sun was already in the zenith, hotter than ever, literally roasting them upon the rock. the situation was intolerable. "shall we have to stay here another night?" impatiently asked hendrik. "it looks deuced like it," answered willem. "and to-morrow, what shall we do then?" inquired arend. "there may be no better chance of getting off than there is now." "that is true," said willem. "we must think of some way of getting out of this disagreeable prison. can any of you think of a plan?" "i have a proposal to make," said hendrik. "let one of us take to the water and look down stream for a landing-place. if he succeeds in reaching the bank in safety, he could come up again, and by swinging out one of those long climbing plants we see hanging to the trees, there would be some chance of the other two catching it. by that means we may get off." "that's not a bad idea," rejoined arend; "but which of us is to run the risk of the swim. for my part, i'm quite willing to incur it." "there is certainly great danger," said hendrik; "but there is also danger of starvation if we stay here." "quite true," rejoined arend. "but for my part, i would rather feed a crocodile than die of hunger myself. so i'm willing to risk the swim. if you don't see me on the bank in three or four hours you may conclude that either the crocodiles have eaten me, or that i've been shattered among the rocks." the others would not listen to arend's self-sacrificing proposal; and for a time, it was debated among them, as to who should run the risk, each protesting what under other circumstances he would scarce have done,--that he was a better swimmer than either of the other two. as each insisted on taking the peril upon himself,--and none of them would yield the point, a proposal was made to cast lots. this was done; and hendrik, the suggester of the plan, was the one chosen by fate to carry it into execution. "i am glad of it," said he, after the thing had been decided. "it is but just that i should be permitted to carry out my own proposal. so here goes!" hastily undressing himself, he shook hands with arend and willem, dropped into the flood, and was away with the rapidity of an arrow. anxiously the others gazed after him; but in less than three minutes, he was no longer under their eyes, the rough rapid current having carried him clean out of sight. two hours passed, which were spent by arend and groot willem in, a state of anxious suspense. two hours more and it became terrible. "night is fast approaching," remarked arend. "if hendrik does not return before night, i shall swim after him." "yes, we may as well, while we have the strength to do it," answered willem. "if you go, so will i. we shall start together. how long do you think we should wait?" "not much longer. certainly within a mile, he ought to have found a place where he could land. that distance he must soon have made, at the rate he was travelling when he left us. he should return soon now, or never." another hour passed and still no signs of hendrik. "remain you, willem," proposed arend, "and let me go alone." "no," replied the great hunter; "we go together. i once thought that i should never abandon my gun as long as i lived; but it must be. we must not stay here any longer. i grow weaker every hour." the two were taking off their boots and preparing to enter the water, when their ears were saluted by the sound of a familiar voice. congo was seen upon horseback on the bank of the river, just opposite the rock. "nebber fear, baas willem," shouted he. "i come back by-'m-by." as he said this, he galloped away. the loud roar of an elephant proclaiming the cause of his sudden departure. "o heavens!" exclaimed arend. "how much longer must we stay here?" "until to-morrow, i expect," answered willem. "congo cannot return to the camp and be back before to-morrow." "but do you think he will go off without trying to assist us?" "yes. what can he do alone? nothing. he knows that, and has gone for help. of himself, he could not kill the elephant; and even if it was not there, he could do nothing to get us off the rock." "the distance to the bank must be about twenty yards. of course there is a way by which we may be got ashore; but it will require a rope. the climbing plants would do, but congo has not noticed them. i believe that he understood at a glance the difficulties to be overcome, and has gone to the camp for assistance." "i hope so," replied arend, "and, if such be the case, we need not fear for ourselves. we have now only to endure the annoyance of waiting. my only anxiety is for hendrik." willem made no reply, but by his silence arend could perceive that he had but little hope of ever seeing hendrik gain. slowly the sun went down and the night once more descended over the rolling river. their anxiety would not allow them to sleep, even had they not been hindered by hunger. of water they had a plentiful supply,--too much of it,--although this was not obtained without some difficulty, as they had to dip it up in one of their powder-flasks, emptied for the purpose. another morning dawned, and the sun made his appearance,--again red and fiery,--his beams becoming fiercer as he ascended the cloudless sky. they had but a few hours more to wait until they might expect the return of the kaffir; but would he surely come? they knew that travelling in africa was a very uncertain business. their present position was proof that some accident might occur to hinder him from reaching the camp. by this time they were almost certain that some serious misfortune, perhaps death itself, had befallen hendrik. as if to confirm them in this belief, just then three large crocodiles were seen swimming around the rock, lingering there, as though they expected ere long to get their sharp teeth into the flesh of those who stood upon it. the great hunter became angered at the sight. it suggested the probable fate of their companion, as it might, in time, be their own. he seized hold of his roer, and, drawing the damp charge, freshly loaded the gun. aiming at the eye of one of the hideous monsters, he pulled trigger. the loud report was followed by a heavy plunging in the water, and the behaviour of the crocodile gave evidence of the correctness of the hunter's aim. after springing bodily above the surface, it fell back again, and commenced spinning around, with a velocity that threw showers of spray over those, who stood watching its death-struggles. its two companions retreated down the river, and, as the brothers saw them depart, the thoughts of both were dwelling upon the same subject. both were thinking of hendrik! we also must go down stream, and see what has become of him. chapter twenty three. from bad to worse. on finding himself in the water as he parted from his companions, hendrik had not much exertion to make. a gentle motion of the limbs sustained him on the surface, and he was borne onward with a velocity that promised a speedy termination of his voyage. some place must soon be reached where the banks would be low enough to be ascended, and the current not too quick to hinder him from crossing to the shore. he was spirited past several rocks, one of which he only avoided with great difficulty, so swiftly did the current carry him along. when about a mile from his companions, as he supposed himself, he saw that the banks on both sides were shelving and he tried to reach the shore. the current was still rapid as ever, and for each foot made in the direction of the land, he was borne several yards down the channel of the stream. the velocity with which he was moving awoke in his mind a vague sense of a danger not thought of before starting, and altogether different from those that had been taken into calculation. his voyage, so far, had been successful. he had escaped unharmed by rocks or crocodiles; but he had evidence that a danger, as much, if not more to be dreaded, now threatened him. the water seemed gliding down an inclined plane, so rapidly was it sweeping him on; and beyond this, directly before him, he could hear the roaring of a cataract! what had been at first only a conjecture, soon became a certainty. he was going at arrow-like speed towards the brow of a waterfall. throwing all his energies into the effort, he struggled to reach the shore at a point where the bank was accessible. he had nearly succeeded. ten feet nearer, and he would have been able to grasp the o'erhanging bushes. but that distance, little as it was, could not be accomplished, and on he glided towards the engulfing fall. on the brink of the water-precipice he saw the sharp point of a rock jutting about three feet above the water. more by good luck, than any guidance on his part, he came within reach of it as he was hurried onward. reaching out, he caught hold; and hugging it with both arms, he was able to retain his hold. his body was swung around to the leeward of the rock, until his legs hung dangling over the fall. although the force of the current was partly broken by the interposition of the rock, it required him to exert all his strength to save himself from being washed over. after a time, he succeeded in gaining a footing. there was a little ledge on the rock just large enough for one foot, while the other sought support on the pointed apex. to have attempted to swim ashore could only end in his destruction. though almost within leaping distance of the bank, he had no place to spring from, and to have fallen short, would have been fatal. he could do nothing but remain as he was. hours passed, and the torture of standing in one position irksome at that, became unbearable. he could only obtain rest by getting into the water again and hugging the rock with both arms as he had done before. but this method of resting himself, if such it could be called, could not be endured longer than two or three minutes, and he was compelled soon to return to the upright attitude. "there is not the least danger of crocodiles here," thought he while in the water hanging on to the rock. "should one pass this way, it would not have time for touching me, even if it were starving." all night long did he continue in this dread position. morning dawned, and once more he had to endure the agony of gazing on the bank within a few feet of where he stood, though as unapproachable as if miles of moving water separated him from it. fortune seemed determined to torture him to the last extreme. there was no hope of his gaining the bank above, and it now occurred to him to look below. craning out as far as he could, he made an inspection of the fall. it was about thirty feet in clear descent. below, the water ran frothing away and soon became smooth and tranquil, as if reposing after the violent leap. should he allow himself to be carried over the cataract? this was the question he now commenced considering. if he could only have assured himself that there was deep water underneath, he would at once have decided to commit himself to the descent. but there was the probability that he might be precipitated upon jagged rocks, and of course killed by the fall. besides, he saw that the banks below were steep on both sides, and he might have to swim for a long distance before being able to land. after a descent of thirty feet he might be incapable of continuing above the surface of the water. at all events, he would be in no condition for a long swim. after long and earnestly debating the question in his own mind he gave up the thought of making the too perilous attempt. notwithstanding the agony arising from his own position, he was not free from concern for his comrades left upon the rock. willem and arend would in all likelihood come after him, if they had not already done so. one or the other, or both, might have left the rock and been carried over the cataract in the night, unseen by him during the darkness. as the time passed on, his sufferings approached the point of despair. they at length became so great that once or twice was he tempted to put a termination to them by giving his body to the cataract, and his soul to him who had bestowed it. but this demon of temptation was driven out of his mind by a mental vision of angelic loveliness. the remembrance of wilhelmina van wyk came before him like some fair angel, commanding him to hope and wait. he obeyed the command. chapter twenty four. reunion. time was passing. they upon the islet rock were getting very impatient for the return of congo. they were certain that he would bring assistance with as little delay as possible, but most of his journey would have to be made in the night,--a dangerous time for travelling. he had now been gone long enough to reach the camp and return. "sister ann" on the watch-tower of bluebeard's castle could not have gazed more earnestly than did they for his reappearance upon the bank above them. their anxious vigil was at length rewarded. near the hour of noon their ears were greeted by shouts, and shortly after they saw hans, congo, and macora standing on the bank above them. the chief was accompanied by about a score of his followers, carrying long ropes by the direction of congo. "where is hendrik?" was the first question of hans, asked in a trembling voice. "we cannot tell," was the reply. "he swam down the river in the hope of being able to make the bank below. we have great fear that some misfortune has befallen him." while the three yagers continued the solemn conversation, macora took a number of his people a short distance up the river. near the bank was found the prostrate trunk of a tree about fifty feet in length. it had long been down; and was quite dead and dry. after making the lines fast to one end of it, it was pushed into the stream and directed in such a manner as to drift down to the rock on which the two youths were standing. the other end of the rope was firmly grasped by several of macora's men. swiftly the log, carried by the current, came in contact with the rock; when the men, keeping the rope on a taut stretch, prevented it from going farther. with the nimbleness of a couple of cats, willem and arend sprang on to it, and, setting themselves astride, were hauled to the bank, where both were at length safely landed. the first thing they saw, was the body of the elephant at which they had fired so many shots. the animal had at length succumbed, sinking into its eternal sleep in spite of its implacable anger. as the hunters were no longer in any anxiety for themselves, their apprehensions became all the more keen for the fate of their missing friend. although suffering greatly from fatigue as well as the want of food, willem and arend would not stay even to eat, till a search had been made for him. there is no sentiment of the human mind, unless it is self esteem, that is capable of resting on so unstable a foundation as hope. hendrik had now been absent more than twenty-four hours. the chances were a hundred to one against their ever seeing him again, either dead or alive; and yet they had hope. provided with food to eat along the way, they started down the river,-- many of the makololo _very_ unwillingly. they had just performed a journey of near thirty miles in only a few hours' time, and of course they were weary. but this was not the only reason why their exertions were prolonged with some reluctance. they had been told of the manner in which hendrik had left his companions; and, guided by reason,--instead of a strong feeling of friendship,--unlike hans, willem, and arend, they had no hope of seeing him again. for, from their acquaintance with the country, they knew of the cataract; and were confident that he must have been carried over the falls; thence a shattered, inanimate mass rolling onward to ocean. when little more than a mile down stream, groot willem discharged his gun. the report echoed in afar along the banks. every one paused and stood listening to hear if there should be any response. it came. faintly and from afar they could distinguish the sounds of a human voice. uttering a shout of joy, the three hunters rushed forward, and soon after, when hans shouted "hendrik," they heard from the river the words, "here, this way." a minute more, and they were standing within a few feet of the object of their search, and had a full comprehension of what had hindered him from returning to the succour of his companions. as the makololo had come out well provided with comestibles, the hungry hunters were fed to their full satisfaction and then all went back to the place where the elephant had breathed its last. there forming their camp, they kindled fires, and made ready to pass the night,--the followers of macora feasting upon one of their favourite dishes,--baked elephant's foot. congo had still his tale to tell. when deserted by the others in their pursuit of the giraffes, he had waited two or three hours, expecting them to return. he then started off along their spoor, but being hampered by caring for the pack-horse, he progressed but slowly. night overtook him by the body of the dead giraffe. unable through the darkness to follow the trail any farther, he remained by the carcass till morning. by that time, the heavy rain had obliterated the spoor so completely that even spoor'em, the hound, could only follow it with great difficulty. after a time, congo saw that the horse-tracks separated, going in different directions. he followed one set of them for some time till the horse himself was found, but without saddle, bridle, or rider. this was willem's horse, that had taken flight on the approach of the elephants. congo had gone the wrong way for finding his master, and he now returned upon the horse's tracks. this, of course, brought him to the place where the elephant had first charged; and, on reaching the bank of the river and looking over, he saw the situation in which the hunters were placed. but the wounded elephant was there, and this, charging upon him, hindered him from continuing the observation. he had seen enough to knew that he must go to the camp for assistance, and this was just what he did. they passed the night by the pool, pleasantly enough. the joy of once more being together would have deprived them of sleep, had it not been for their extreme weariness. but hans and the chief, seeing the other three so exhausted, did not insist on hearing the details of the dangerous adventure; and at an early hour the camp was buried in the silence of slumber. two horses had been lost. this, under the circumstances, was a serious misfortune; but their own lives had been miraculously preserved; and none of them was now disposed to find fault with fortune for anything that had occurred. next morning, they started back to the place where the giraffe-trap was being constructed. on reaching it, they found swartboy impatiently waiting for their return. his expressions of joy at seeing them once more safe and sound were accompanied with the declaration that they had been more fortunate than he had expected, considering that they had gone forth with only congo for their guide. chapter twenty five. mistakes of a night. as nearly two weeks would be required for constructing the hopo, groot willem determined on making another hunting expedition. there was plenty of game in the immediate neighbourhood; but the chief strongly protested against the firing of guns, lest the sounds should betray their presence in the place. several giraffes had been seen in the mimosa groves, and the banks of the river were marked with their spoor. macora objected to their being alarmed, as it would drive them away before the pen could be got ready for them. groot willem was a hunter, and out on a hunting expedition. this being the case, he could not remain for two weeks idle; and taking hendrik and congo along with him, he left the camp to visit a river, which, according to the chief's account, lay about thirty miles to the north-west. they expected to reach it in one day, and could have done so, but for a large drove of elands, which was encountered upon the way, and the pursuit of which delayed them. they encamped that night, as they supposed, about five miles from the river, and the next morning continued on, to reach it. a ride of between ten and fifteen miles was made, but no river was arrived at. early in the afternoon, they came upon a tiny rivulet running out of a pool, or _vley_. supposing it to be a tributary of the river they were in search of, they concluded that by following it down, they should reach the main stream. this, however, they were in no haste to do, since the country around the pool appeared to be the best sort of hunting-ground. the fresh tracks of many varieties of animals could be seen in the mud; and willem proposed that they should stay over night and lie in wait by the vley. to this hendrik agreed; and the horses were tethered out to graze. a suitable place for a pit was chosen twenty paces from the pool, and, in less than an hour, two excavations were made, in which the hunters might conveniently conceal themselves. early in the evening, leaving congo at some distance off, under the protection of a large fire, they repaired to the pits, and there commenced their silent vigil. the first animals that made their appearance were antelopes of a small species; and, as the hunters were not in want of food, no attempt was made to hinder the little creatures from having their drink and retiring. suddenly there was a commotion in the herd, which ended in a rush from the pool. a leopard had pounced on one of them, and, as the others left the ground, the leopard was seen shouldering its victim with the intention to carry it off. as it turned side towards them, willem fired, and the large heavy bullet from the roer went crashing through the creature's ribs. with a loud roar it sprang upwards; then, standing on its hind feet, it walked forward a few paces and fell. the shot had been discharged at random through the dim light, but a better could not have been made with the most deliberate aim, and in the light of day. after this, the pool was visited by hyenas, jackals, and various other creatures not worth the powder that would be required in killing them. some time elapsed, during which the hunters had nothing else to interest them than listening to the snarls, laughter, and growling of the carrion-eaters assembled around the pool. "i can't say there's much sport in this," muttered hendrik, discontentedly. "i've hard work in keeping awake." another hour passed without their seeing any game worthy of their attention, when willem, too, became weary of inaction. they were thinking of vacating the pits and joining congo by the camp-fire, when something heavier than hyenas was heard approaching the spot. with only their eyes above the surface of the ground, they gazed eagerly in the direction from which proceeded the sound. two large animals appeared through the darkness, evidently approaching the vley. "quaggas!" whispered willem, as he strained his eyes to assure himself of their species. "yes," answered hendrik. "let us knock them over. they're not much good, but it will serve to wake us up." doubtful whether a shot at anything better might be had that night, groot willem was nothing loath, and was the first to fire. the animal at which he had aimed fell forward, and they heard a heavy plunging, as it rolled over into the pool. its companion was about turning to make off when hendrik fired. there was no apparent interruption to its flight, and hendrik was under the impression that his shot had missed. he was soon undeceived, however, by hearing the animal fall to the earth with a dull heavy sound, at the same time uttering a groan, which did not seem unfamiliar, and yet was not the cry of a quagga. without saying a word, both leaped out of the pits, and hastened towards the fallen animals, with a strong presentiment that there was something amiss. the animal brought down by hendrik was first reached. it was not a quagga, but a horse! "a horse!" exclaimed willem as he stooped over the carcass to examine it. "it is not mine, thank god, nor yours neither." "that is rather a selfish remark of yours, willem," said hendrik. "the horse belongs to some one. i can see a saddle-mark on its back." "may be," muttered willem, who thought nearly as much of his steed as his great roer. "for all that i'm glad it isn't mine." they then proceeded to the vley, where the other horse was still struggling in the shallow water. as it was evidently unable to get to its feet, and wounded to the death, another shot was fired to release it from its misery. wondering to whom the two horses could belong, they returned to the camp-fire; both under the impression that they had destroyed enough of animal life for that night. early the next morning they left the pool, and, continuing down stream, within two hours reached the river they had been so long in search of. here they determined to stop until the next day, and their horses were again tethered out; and, as they were somewhat wearied, they lay down to take repose under the shade of a mokhala tree. from this they were startled by the loud barking of spoor'em and the calls of congo. springing to their feet they found themselves surrounded by a party of about forty africans, some armed with spears, while others carried bows and arrows. from the hostile attitude of the new-comers the hunters saw that they meant mischief; and, seizing their guns, they determined to defend themselves to the last. chapter twenty six. captured. pushing in front of groot willem, congo entreated him not to make resistance; and so strong seemed his desire that they should surrender without making an effort to maintain their freedom, that he caught hold of the gun which hendrik had already brought to his shoulder. "poison! arrows and spears all poison!" shouted the kaffir, who appeared well-nigh scared out of his senses. both willem and hendrik had heard, seen, and read enough of the african tribes who use poisoned spears and darts, to feel something of congo's alarm. they were not cowards, but they saw before them several men carrying weapons more deadly at short distance than their own fire-arms. only one drop of blood had to be drawn by the point of one of their javelins, to cause certain death accompanied by horrible agonies! they could not expect to conquer thirty or forty men, without receiving a scratch or two in the encounter; and knowing this, they took congo's advice and surrendered. when the kaffir saw that the capture of himself and his masters had been effected without a battle, he recovered his self-possession, and demanded of the natives the cause of their strange conduct. an individual then stepped forward who appeared to have some influence over the others; and by his eloquence congo became a little wiser, and a great deal more alarmed. the african spoke in a language which only the kaffir understood. he stated that he had lost two horses,--both of which had been killed at a vley where they had gone to drink. although grieved at the loss of his horses, both which he had received as presents, he was quite happy in having discovered the party whom he believed to have wilfully destroyed his property. the hunters directed congo to inform him that the horse had been shot by mistake,--that they very much regretted the circumstance; and were quite ready and willing to make ample compensation for the damage he had sustained. this the black chief declared was all he required, and the hunters were invited to accompany him to his village, where they could talk over the terms of compensation. all started up the river, but the behaviour and methodical division of their escort convinced the hunters that they were considered as captives. "this is very unfortunate," said hendrik. "we shall have to part with something we can ill spare. they will not be satisfied with trifles, and perhaps will want our horses in exchange for those killed." "they shall not have them then," rejoined willem, with an air of determination, forgetting at the moment that he was a prisoner, and the horses already in possession of their captors. about a mile from the place where the africans had come upon them, they reached a small collection of huts, from which issued a large number of women and children. it was evidently the kraal of their captors. the leader of the party lost no time in proceeding to business. he was anxious to have his claim settled; so also were groot willem and hendrik. congo was again called to act as interpreter. the black chief desired him to inform his masters, that the horses he had lost were of immense value. they had been given to him by an esteemed friend, a portuguese slave-merchant; and he declared that, in his opinion, they were the best horses in the world. no others could replace them. "very well," said groot willem, when this communication had been made; "ask him what he expects us to pay." "all this ceremony is not for nothing," remarked hendrik, while congo was again talking to the chief. "we shall have some trouble in getting off from this fellow unless we surrender everything we've got." "he mustn't be too greedy," replied willem, "or he will get nothing at all. we have performed a silly action, and expect to pay for it." "those are brave words," answered hendrik, "but i don't think we have power to act up to them. it will be they who will dictate terms; and what can we do?" the chief, before making known his conditions, desired it to be understood that, a mistake having been committed, on that account he would not be hard upon them. he would not punish them for what they had done, more than to require compensation for his loss, which he at the same time gave them to understand was wholly irreparable. from the appearance of the horses they had killed, the hunters believed that the animals had been left behind by some slave-trader, too merciful to take them any farther. they had evidently been used up by a long journey, and the chief had probably been thanked by their former owner for allowing them to die a natural death in his dominions. the amount of damage was at length declared by the plaintiff, who was at the same time acting as judge. "tell them," said he to the interpreter, "that all i require, by way of compensation, will be their own horses along with their guns and ammunition." "what!" exclaimed groot willem, jumping to his feet in rage, "give them my horse and roer? no, not for all the horses in africa." hendrik was no less surprised and enraged at the attempt to extort from them; and, seeing the folly of continuing the parley any longer, the youths, without saying a word, walked off towards their horses, intending to mount and ride off. this intention was opposed by the chief and others of the tribe, when an affray ensued, in which groot willem measured his strength against half a score of the natives. in their attempt to take his gun from him, several were hurled to the earth, and amongst them the chief himself. he did not desire to discharge the piece. a shot could only have killed one, while his enemies were legion. whether they would have conquered him without taking his life, or not, was doubtful, had not one of the africans, more cunning than his fellows, adopted an ingenious expedient to terminate the struggle. seizing a large cone-shaped basket, used for catching fish, he ran behind the young hunter and clapped it, extinguisher-like, over his head. the basket was immediately laid hold of by two or three others; by whom the giant was dragged to the earth and held there until they had bound him with thongs of zebra hide. before this feat had been accomplished hendrik had received a blow from one of the natives that prevented him from making any resistance; and he too was trussed up for safe keeping. congo had not interfered in the outrage on his masters, but on the contrary he seemed rather pleased at the turn events had taken. this, however, did not prevent the africans from tying him like the others. the rage of hendrik, on awaking from a brief period of stupor and finding himself fast bound, would be difficult to describe. there can be no greater agony to a brave and sensitive man than to find himself helpless for revenge after having undergone a deep humiliation. groot willem, no less brave but of a different temperament, was more resigned to the indignity they were enduring. his anger had been aroused by the attempt to take from him a thing he greatly prized,--his gun. he had been defeated in trying to retain it; but now that it was gone, and along with it his liberty, he determined to exert some degree of philosophy and patiently wait for what should happen next. congo, who had appeared indifferent to seeing his masters bound,--in fact rather pleased at it,--now looked sad enough while submitting to similar treatment. his fellow-captives could have no sympathy, since his behaviour had not failed to beget suspicions of his ingratitude. chapter twenty seven. in thongs. the prisoners were compelled to remain inactive spectators of a division of their property, most of which was appropriated by the chief himself, as a sort of compensation for the loss of his horses, and the damage his own person had sustained in the capturing of one of his prisoners. for, before securing groot willem, he had been sent to the earth under a blow from that sturdy hunter's roer. beyond this present humiliation, the hunters had placed themselves under another and more serious obligation,--that of satisfying a desire for revenge. "it is no use, baas willem," said the kaffir, who had managed to get close beside his master. "we'll be killed for showing fight." congo next expressed his opinion that, had no resistance been offered to the chief, an opportunity might have been afforded them for returning to macora. he was quite positive now that no chance for this would be allowed, not even to himself, who had only been pretending to be a traitor for the sake of gaining favour, and thus being enabled to assist them, his young masters. "do you think they really intend to kill us, congo?" asked willem. "yaas, baas. sure they intend it," answered the kaffir. "they 'fraid now to let us go." "but, if they intend killing us, why do they not do so at once?" inquired hendrik. congo explained, that their captors belonged to a wandering tribe of zooloo kaffirs, a warlike people, who had but little respect for white men. they were of a race that demanded tribute of the portuguese at the north, and obtained it; and he was sure that they would never forgive the insult of their chief being knocked down in the presence of his subjects. that, alone, would lead to their being killed. his explanation of the reason why they were not killed immediately showed him to be so well acquainted with the manners and customs of the people into whose hands they had fallen, that, after its relation, willem and hendrik could no longer doubt the truth of his assertions. he said that white men were never put to death within sight of the kraal, lest the affair might be talked of by the women and children in the presence of other white men who might pass through the country. although all might be well aware of their fate, but few would witness their execution. they would be led away some night, two or three miles from the village and then put to death. their executioners would return to the kraal with the story that they had been sent back to their own country. the chief, congo believed, was not yet ready to witness their execution, being too well pleased with his late acquired property to think of any other business for the present. willem and hendrik, after all that had been told them, were not prepared to give up every hope. some chance to escape might offer, though it should be with bare life; for they could not expect to take with them their horses and guns. as evening came on, the watch over the prisoners seemed less strictly kept than during the earlier hours of the day. but in vain they strove to rend the thongs that bound them, or slip from their embrace. they had been too securely tied, most likely by one whose experience, alas! had been but too well perfected in the enslavement of his own unhappy countrymen. during the evening, an individual was observed approaching. stepping up to where groot willem was bound, he commenced an earnest scrutiny of his features. willem fancied that the man had a familiar look, and, examining him attentively, he recognised no less a personage than the banished sindo, the individual whom he had saved from the wrath of macora. here was a sudden transition from despair to hope. surely the would-be chief could not be ungrateful! perhaps he would intercede in their behalf! this was but his duty. willem strove to make him understand that he was recognised, hoping the knowledge of that would stimulate him to exert himself on their behalf. the attempt wholly failed. with a scornful expression upon his features, the man moved away. "that's sindo," muttered willem to his fellow-prisoners. "he appears at home among them. will he not assist us?" "yaas, that is sindo," said congo, "but he no help you." "why do you think so, cong?" "he no big enough fool do dat." this might be true. sindo had once got into trouble through treason, and had narrowly escaped death. he would be a fool to incur such a danger again, in the new home he had found for himself. this was the construction groot willem was inclined to put on the african's conduct. sindo was acting ungratefully. he had not shown the slightest sympathy for those who had befriended him in his hour of adversity. on the contrary, he had cut their acquaintance in the most unceremonious manner. all night long they lay in their thongs. morning came and still they were not set free. "what does this treatment mean?" asked hendrik. "what do they intend doing with us?" "i am beginning to have fears that congo is right," answered willem. "they do mean harm. they have robbed and kept us tied up all night. those acts look suspicious." "but dare they deprive us of life?" asked the ex-cornet. "we are white men, and of a race who avenge each other's wrongs. will they not be afraid of the consequences of proceeding to extremities?" "so i once would have thought," replied willem, "but from the way we are now treated, i believe they fear nothing." "i tell you, baas willem," joined in congo, "the chief here got too much fear." "indeed! he has a peculiar way of showing it." "i mean, he's 'fraid to let us go. we'll have to die, baas willem." the kaffir uttered these words with a resigned expression of countenance, that proclaimed him inspired by a firm conviction of their truth. "must this be, hendrik?" said willem, turning to his companion. "it hardly seems possible. tell me, am i dreaming?" "i can answer for myself," replied hendrik, "for i was never more awake. the rheims around my wrists are nearly cutting off my hands. i shall die if i have to remain tied up much longer. but dare these people put us to death?" for a time, the captives remained silent. they were reflecting upon the many atrocities which they had heard to have been committed by zooloo kaffirs on the white settlers of the cape country,--deeds of unprovoked violence performed much nearer the reach of retribution than these now were. the savages into whose hands they had fallen were protected by distance from any chance of being chastised from the south; and they had no respect for the cowardly portuguese of the north. this was not all. the hunters had first done them an injury, and then refused what had been demanded for compensation. in that resistance, a chief had been outraged by a blow. moreover, there was property which the natives dearly prized; and the safest way to secure it would be to render their captives incapable of ever afterwards claiming it, or seeking redress for the spoliation. the whole case wore a black look. our adventurers began really to believe that congo was telling the truth, when he said, they _would have to die_! chapter twenty eight. led out to die. another day passed over, and no change was made in the treatment of the prisoners. in fact very little notice was taken of them, except by the women and children. the chief with some others of the tribe spent the day amusing themselves by firing the captured guns at a target, and learning the use of the various articles they had taken from their captives. "what are they waiting for?" exclaimed hendrik in an impatient tone. "if they are going to put us to death, it would be almost better for us than to endure this misery." "true," rejoined willem; "life is not worth much, suffering as we do; still, where there's uncertainty, there is hope. think of that, hendrik. we have seen nothing of sindo to-day. how carefully the ungrateful wretch keeps out of our sight!" "if we were not in need of a friend," said hendrik, "i dare say he would acknowledge our acquaintance. but never mind. he's the last that will ever prove ungrateful, since we're not likely ever again to have an opportunity of befriending any one in distress." night came on, and amongst the tribe the captives observed an unusual excitement. several of the men were hurrying to and fro carrying torches and evidently making preparations for some great event. the horses were also being saddled. "i tole you so," said congo. "they take us away to die." willem and hendrik remained silent spectators of what was going on. a party of the natives then approached them, and the three prisoners were set loose from the trees. some scene, solemn and serious, was about to be enacted; but worn out with their misery, and weary of their long imprisonment, almost any change appeared a relief. the chief of the tribe was now seen mounted on willem's horse, heading a procession of from ten to twelve men. he rode off towards the pool, where his horses had been killed. the prisoners were conducted after him. spoor'em and the other dogs accompanied the party, wholly unconscious of the fears that troubled their masters. as the procession passed out of the village, the old men, women, and children were ranged along the road, to see them depart. these gazed after them with expressions of curiosity, not unmingled with pity, though there were some that appeared to show satisfaction. the captives observed this, and talked of it. why did they, the villagers, feel so much interested in their departure? they had not taken much heed of their arrival; and but little attention had been paid to them while bound to the trees. why should there be now? there was but one answer to these questions. the natives were looking upon them with that expression of sad curiosity with which men gaze upon one who is about to suffer a violent death. the chief was carrying willem's roer, and from his behaviour he seemed preparing for an opportunity to use it. at intervals he brought it to his shoulder and glanced along the barrel. "ask them where we are being taken, congo," said hendrik. the kaffir spoke to one of the natives who was near him, but only received a grunt in reply. "he don't know where we go," said congo, interpreting the gruff answer to his question, "but i know." "where?" "we go to die." "congo!" exclaimed willem, "ask after sindo. he may do something to save us, or he may not. there can be no harm in trying. if not, we may get him into some trouble for his ingratitude. i should feel a satisfaction in that." in compliance with his master's command, congo inquired for sindo. the chief heard the inquiry and immediately ordered a halt, and put several questions to his followers. "the chief just like you, baas willem," said congo. "he too want know where sindo am." the procession was delayed while the parley was going on. after it had ended, the chief and another rode back to the village;--they were now about half a mile distant from it. the prisoners, with their guards remained upon the spot. the chief was absent nearly an hour, when he returned seemingly in a great rage. by his angry talking, every one was made aware of the fact. congo listened attentively to what he said. "he's talking about sindo," said the kaffir. "he swear he kill dat nigga to-morrow." "i hope he'll keep his oath," said willem. "i suppose we have succeeded in awaking his suspicions against the wretch he was harbouring; and he will be punished for his ingratitude. he should have tried to save us,--even at the risk of having again to make change of his tribe." the march was again resumed, the chief leading the way with two of his subjects, one on each side of him carrying torches. after proceeding a little farther the prisoners recognised the spot where they had been made prisoners. the chief then delivered an harangue to his followers, which congo interpreted to his fellow-captives. the bearing of it was, that the white strangers had wilfully and maliciously killed two of his horses,--the finest animals in the world. they had refused to make such reparation as lay in their power; and, when he had attempted to recompense himself for their loss, he had been resisted, knocked down, and severely injured in the presence of his own people. he stated, furthermore, that it was the unanimous opinion of the oldest and wisest of his subjects, that for these crimes the prisoners ought to be punished,--that the punishment should be death; and that he had brought them to the spot where the first offence had been committed as a proper spot for executing this just decree. after congo had translated the speech to his fellow-captives, they directed him to inform the chief that he was welcome to the horses, guns, and other property, if he would let them depart, and they would promise never to return to his country or trouble him any more. moreover, they would send him a present, by way of ransom for their liberty and lives. in answer to this communication they were told, that, as they were white men, their words could not be relied upon. instead of presents, they would be more likely to seek some revenge; and that, to guard against this, he was determined they should die. against this decision they were not allowed to make any appeal. from that moment no attention was paid to anything they said. their guards only shouted, when congo attempted to put in a word; while those who were around the chief began to make preparations for carrying out the dread sentence of death. chapter twenty nine. just in time. it was soon known to the captives, what mode of death was to be adopted for them. the gestures of the chief made it manifest, that he was about to make trial of his new weapon,--willem's roer. one reason why his prisoners had been spared so long may have been for the purpose of learning how to use the weapon with effect, on an occasion so important as the execution of two white men. the rheims that bound hendrik's wrists had been tied much tighter than was necessary. the green hide had shrunk in the burning sun to which the prisoners had been exposed during the day. in consequence, his hands were lacerated and swollen, and he was suffering more torture than either of the others. this was not all the agony he was enduring. the fate congo at first only conjectured had now assumed a horrible certainty. death seemed inevitable; and hendrik's active mind, susceptible of strong emotions, became painfully anxious at the approach of death. he feared it. nor did that fear arise from an ignoble cause. it was simply the love of life, and the desire to cling to it. he who loves not life is unworthy of its blessings; for those who hold them cheap, and would part with them willingly, have either not the sense to appreciate, or are so evil as only to know life's bitterness. hendrik had a strong desire to live,--to enjoy future days;--and, as he looked upon the preparations being made to deprive him of it, he felt an unutterable anguish. of all his regrets at parting with the world, there was one supreme,--one thought that was uppermost. that thought was given to wilhelmina van wyk. he should never see her again! his love of her was stronger than his love of life. "willem," he exclaimed, "must this be? shall we die here? i will not,--i cannot!" as he spoke, the whole strength of his soul and body was concentrated into one effort for regaining his liberty. he struggled to release his wrists from the rheims. the effort was not without a result. it sent the drops of blood dripping from the ends of his fingers. groot willem was not unmoved in these dire moments. he too had his unwillingness to die,--his chapter of regrets. one, that he should never again see his relatives; another, that the object for which he had undertaken the expedition could never be accomplished. the faithful kaffir was not rendered insensible by knowing that death was awaiting him, and now near at hand. "baas willem," he said, looking pityingly upon his young master, "you be going to die. i bless that god your father and mother has told me about. i never more go back to graaf reinet, to see them cry for you." the arrangements for the execution were by this time completed; but the cruel chief was not allowed to try his skill in the manner he had designed. just as he was about to raise the roer to his shoulder and take aim at one of the condemned captives, a large party of dark-skinned men made their appearance upon the spot. in the scene of confusion caused by their arrival, the would-be murderers knew not whether they were friends or foes, until they heard a war-cry that was strange to their ears, and saw themselves surrounded by a body of stalwart warriors armed with bows, spears, and guns,--at least two guns were seen, carried by two white men, whom the captives joyfully recognised. it was hans and arend. their companions were macora and his makololo. the reprieve was effected in an instant, and along with it the release of the prisoners. there was no occasion for the shedding of blood, for there was no resistance made on the part of the intended executioners. their captives were at once delivered up along with their guns, horses, and other property,--the principal part of which was restored before any explanation could be given. and now again was groot willem called upon to obey the dictates of a humane heart, and intercede with macora to obtain mercy for others. but for him, the makololo chief would have put to death every zooloo upon the ground, and then proceeded to their village to seek further retaliation. they all united in restraining him from violence; and the baffled murderers were permitted to take their departure without the least outrage being inflicted upon them. "your arrival was very fortunate," said hendrik, addressing hans and arend. "just in the nick of time; but to me it is very mysterious. how came you and your friends here to know of our dilemma?" "there's no great mystery about it," answered hans. "when we were told this morning that you were captured and in danger of being killed, of course we started immediately, and have been travelling all day in hot haste to your rescue." "but how was it possible for you to learn that we were in trouble?" "from sindo, the man macora was going to kill for his ambition." sindo, then, had not been ungrateful; he had walked, or rather run, all night, to give warning of the danger threatening those to whom he owed his life. having no influence among their captors, he knew that the only plan for serving the captives was to give notice to those who had power to assist them. this act of gratitude he had successfully accomplished. there is many a slip between the cup and the lip. the adage was in their case illustrated. but for the mention of sindo's name, as the captives were being conducted to the place of execution, awakening in the zooloo's mind a suspicion of treachery, the rescuers would have arrived too late. the delay caused by the inquiry after sindo, at the village, was that which had caused the cup to slip. the released captives now inquired for sindo, wishing to embrace him. he was not upon the ground. completely exhausted with his long run, he had not been able to return with the deliverers, but had remained at the camp, where the hopo was being constructed. no time was lost in staying by a spot fraught with so many unpleasant memories; and by the dawn of day our adventurers and their african friends were well on the way towards their encampment. on reaching it they found swartboy in a state of strange mental confusion, through joy at their return, and anger at congo, for having allowed those under his care to get into such terrible trouble. the service that sindo had rendered his white friends fully re-established him in the favour of macora, and he was invited to make his home again among his own people,--an invitation that was eagerly accepted. chapter thirty. the hopo. groot willem was, for the time, cured of the desire to seek further adventures in the chase. he had come to the place for the express purpose of procuring two young giraffes, and taking them safely to the dutch consul. the experience of the last few days had shown him that his object would not be better accomplished by thus exposing himself to the chances of dying some horrible death. guided by this dearly-bought belief he was contented to amuse himself by joining the makololo in the construction of the trap. in this work he was assisted by the other three, all of whom were now thinking more of home than of giraffes, or anything else. the trap was to consist of two high fences converging upon each other, so as to form a figure somewhat in shape like the letter v. they were to be about a mile and a half long; and at the point of convergence a space was to be left open, wide enough to permit of the largest animal to pass through. beyond the angle, or where it should have been, had the fences met, was dug a pit about forty feet long, fifteen wide, and eight deep. heavy trunks of trees were laid along its edges, slightly projecting over them. the intention was, that any animal driven through would be precipitated into the pit from which escape would be impossible. near it the fences were made of great strength and height, to resist any attempt at leaping over them, or pressing them down. the pit was covered with reeds and rushes; and no means were neglected to make the hopo as effective as possible for the purpose required of it. working with a will,--both white hunters and black makololo,--the hopo was soon pronounced complete, and ready to receive the game; and the next day was appointed to carry out the objects of its construction. a mimosa forest lay in front of it,--for on this account had the situation been selected. this forest was to be "beaten" by the men of macora, and all its four-footed denizens driven into the trap. early in the morning the whole tribe, with the white hunters and their dogs, mustered for the grand drive. they were divided into two parties. willem, hendrik, and macora led one to the left, while hans, arend, and a principal warrior and hunter of the makololo conducted the other to the right, thus taking the mimosa forest on both flanks. the area to be surrounded was about four miles in length and three in breadth. on arriving at its northern edge, the great cover was entered by the beaters along with most of the dogs. the white hunters, who were mounted on their own horses, and some of the makololo who rode upon oxen, kept along the borders, to prevent the startled game from breaking cover at the sides. for a time the beaters and their canine companions appeared vying with each other, as to which could make the greatest noise; and the effect of their united efforts was soon observed by those riding outside the timber. before they had proceeded half a mile from the point of separation, they had sufficient evidence that the repose of many species of wild beasts had been disturbed. mingled with the loud trumpeting of elephants were the sounds of crashing branches, the roar of lions, the shrieks of baboons, and the wild, horribly human, laughter of hyenas. those riding outside had been instructed by macora to keep a little in the rear of the line of beaters; and the wisdom of this counsel was soon made clear to groot willem and hendrik. a herd of elephants broke from the bushes, but a few yards ahead of them, and were allowed to shamble off over the plain unmolested. they were not wanted in the trap. some zebras also broke from the cover soon after and they also were permitted to escape scot free. when not far from the termination of the drive, at that side where willem and hendrik were guarding, a grand drove of buffaloes rushed into the open ground. fortunately the party were at some distance from the timber at the time, and also a little to the rear of the rushing herd, else they would have had some difficulty to escape from being run over and trampled to death. several of the buffaloes left the forest nearly opposite to them, and in joining the main drove they took a course that caused the hunters some hard riding to get out of the way of their horns. immediately after the fortunate escape of the buffaloes,--fortunate for the hunters themselves,--the eyes of groot willem were blest with the sight of the objects he most desired to see. a small herd of seven or eight giraffes, in escaping from the skirmishers, noisily advancing among the trees, shot forth into the open ground. they were near the funnel-shaped extremity of the trap. if once outside the fence they would get off; and the toil of two weeks would all have been undertaken to no purpose. striking the spurs into the sides of his horse, groot willem, followed by hendrik, galloped forward to cut off their retreat. never did willem remember a moment of more intense excitement. two young giraffes were seen with the herd. were they to escape the enclosure of the _hopo_? a few seconds would decide. the herd and the hunters were now moving in two lines at an angle to each other, their courses rapidly converging. this was soon observed by the timid giraffes; and, unconscious of the danger that threatened them, they turned and were soon within the wide and far-extended jaws of the hopo. had they continued in their first course only a few paces farther, they would have been safe from the fate that awaited them; but, as man himself often does, in seeking safety they took the direction leading to danger. the beaters had now reached the termination of the mimosa forest; and the parties from both sides were now coming together to the open ground. within the two walls of the hopo they could see before them a living, moving mass, composed of many varieties of animals; among them they saw with regret two elephants and a rhinoceros. towering far above the heads of all others were those of the giraffes, which seemed striving to be the foremost in precipitating themselves into the pit. the mass of moving bodies became more dense, as the space in which they moved grew contracted by the enclosing fences. when about a quarter of a mile from the pit, the sagacious elephants turned, and, seeing an army of men and dogs advancing towards them, broke through the fence and were free. several zebras--much to the delight of the hunters--followed through the breach they had made. the camelopards were too far ahead to avail themselves of this means of escape. they were doomed to captivity. the makololo were all mad with the excitement of the chase. uttering discordant ear-piercing yells, they rushed onward, impatient to witness the struggles of the multitudes of victims certain to be precipitated into a hole, towards which they were rushing heedless of all else but fear. every demoniac passion existing in earthly life appeared to be fully aroused within the souls of their pursuers. they seemed frantic with rage at the escape of the elephants, though these would undoubtedly have defeated the object for which the hopo had been erected. their only object seemed to be the destruction of animal life, the shedding of blood, the sight of agony. chapter thirty one. disappointed. before reaching the pit, several antelopes and other animals had been passed,--killed or injured in the crush and rush. such of these as were still living, received but a passing glance and a blow from those who were hastening onward to a scene more wild--more frightful and horribly human in origin and execution--than words will describe. the novelty and excitement of the scene, and the infectious example of the maddened africans, inspired groot willem and his companions with a savage, blood-seeking intoxication of mind that urged them forward with nearly as much insane earnestness as the most frenzied of the makololo. the herds they had been driving before them were now concentrated into a quivering, struggling, noisy mass. the pit was soon full of roaring, bellowing, bleating, growling victims of the chase, that were piled one upon another, until hundreds escaped by passing over the backs of those that had preceded them. when the overflowing of the pit had passed off, and the hunters came up to gaze on what remained, they beheld a scene never to be forgotten in life. underneath, they could hear the roaring of a lion, being smothered by its favourite game. for the first time, it had too many antelopes within its reach. there was one creature in the crowd that was not to be overlain by the others. it was the muchocho, or white rhinoceros, they had seen while driving in the game. every time it moved, bodies were crushed, bones broken, and the cries of rage and distress from what seemed a miniature representation of a perdition for animals became imperceptibly diminished by several voices. the muchocho was apparently standing on its hind legs in the bottom of the pit, while the upper part of its body was supported by the creatures that were screaming under its immense weight. mingled with the struggling mass were seen some of the camelopards; and, fearing they might be subjected to the destroying power of the huge rhinoceros, willem placed the muzzle of his roer near one of its eyes, and fired. the report of the gun was scarcely heard, so stunning to the ears of all was the fracas that continued; though the effect of the discharge was soon evident on the muchocho. it ceased to live. all hands now set to work at clearing the pit, in order to save the young giraffes from being killed; that is, if they were yet living. rheims with loops at the ends were thrown over the heads of the antelopes and other small game, by which they could be hauled out. after a short time spent at this work, a partial clearance was effected. the body of a young giraffe was now carefully got out. it was examined with an interest verging on delirium. it was quite warm, but lifeless, its neck being broken. one of the old ones,--a large bull,--struggling violently, was now the most conspicuous animal in the pit, and being, as hendrik said, "too much alive," was killed by a bullet. the head and neck of another young giraffe was seen, whose body was nearly buried under animals larger than itself. it was apparently unharmed. every care was taken to get it out without injury, and it was drawn gently up and two rheims placed around its neck, in order to hinder it from running away. it was not more than two months old,--just the age the hunters desired,--but it soon became evident that there was something wrong. while continuing its struggle for freedom, they observed that one of its fore feet was not set on the ground. the leg was swinging to and fro. it was broken. the creature was young, bright, and beautiful, but could not be taken to the colony. it could never visit europe. the only favour that could be shown this suffering, trembling, frightened victim of groot willem's ambition was to put it out of pain by shooting it, and the young hunter witnessed its death with as much pity and regret as he had felt at the loss of poor smoke. the pit was at length emptied; and the hunters now paused to contemplate their spoil. seven giraffes had been destroyed, nearly all of them by having their necks broken. these, six or seven feet in length, had been too delicately made to resist the impetus of the heavy herds passing over them. although they had failed in procuring what they wanted, it was not yet proved that the hopo had been built in vain. it might still be available for another time. so they were informed by macora, who said that, in two or three days, other giraffes might be found in the mimosa grove, and a second drive could be tried. this partly reconciled the hunters to the disappointment of the day, though all felt a strong regret that two of the beautiful creatures, such as they wished-for, had been driven into the trap only to die. many herds might be discovered, without having among them any young, such as the two now lying dead at their feet. other young camelopards might be caught and killed; but many failures must occur before groot willem would relinquish the undertaking for which he had travelled so far. the time was not wholly lost to the makololo, for a supply of food had been obtained that would take them some time to preserve, and longer to eat. the day after the grand hunt, long rheims, suspended on upright poles, were covered with strings of meat drying in the sun, while all the bushes and small trees in the vicinity were festooned after the same fashion. for the dried meat, or _biltongue_, only the best and favourite portions of each animal were used, and the rest was removed beyond the encampment, where it formed a banquet for vultures, hyenas, and other carrion creatures of the earth and air. three days after the butchery, all that remained of the slaughtered animals was the dried meat and polished bones. chapter thirty two. driven away. four days after the unsuccessful attempt to capture the young giraffes in the hopo, the spoor of others were found on the river-bank. another herd of camelopards had made a home in the forest of _cameel-doorn_. some of the herd were young. this was evident from the spoor. the hopes of groot willem, that he might succeed in accomplishing his dearest wishes, were again high and strong; and his companions were no less enthusiastic. another attempt to fulfil their mission might be successful. if so, hendrik and arend within a few weeks would be in the society of those of whom they were hourly thinking, and hans would be making preparations for the long-contemplated visit to europe. the chief macora had not shown the least inclination to abandon them on the failure of the first attempt. he had promised his assistance until the object they desired should be obtained; and, although domestic and political duties called him home, he stated his determination to stay with them. his promise had been given to willem, and everything was to be sacrificed before that could be broken. for his devoted friendship the hunters were not ungrateful. they had learnt by this that without his assistance they could do nothing. on the evening before the day intended for the second trial of the hopo, the giraffe hunters, in high spirits, were sharing with the chief their last bottle of schiedam, as a substantial tribute of respect to the man who had made their wishes his own. while indulging in pleasant anticipations of the morrow, their designs were suddenly upset by a communication from sindo. he had but just returned from a journey to the north,--to the place where he had found a home after being banished by macora,--to the tribe which owned for its chief him whose horses had been shot by our hunters. sindo's visit had been a stolen one, for the purpose of bringing away his wife and children. in this he had been successful; but he had also succeeded in bringing away something more,--information that the zooloo chief, that our young hunters had offended, was still thirsting for revenge for his losses and disappointments. he had seen moselekatse, the tyrant-king of all that part of africa, and had informed him that the makololo chief, macora,--his old enemy,--had returned to his former home, and had robbed a friend of the noble chief moselekatse of valuable property,--of horses, guns, and slaves. a large force had immediately been sent to capture macora and his people, or chase them, as sindo said, "out of the world." the enemy might be expected in two or three hours! sindo's warning was not unheeded; and scouts were at once sent out to watch for the approach of the enemy. a danger that macora had already apprehended was now threatening them. early next morning the scouts returned with the report that moselekatse's warriors were indeed coming. they had camped during the night about five miles off, and might be upon them within an hour. hastily springing upon their horses, arend and hendrik galloped off in the direction of the enemy, for the purpose of making a reconnaissance. during their absence the others were packing up all their valuables, and making preparation for either a fight or a flight. the two cornets returned half an hour afterwards, bringing the report, that about three hundred armed men were approaching. "there is not the least doubt but that they mean war," said hendrik. "we rode up to within three hundred yards of them. immediately on seeing us they commenced yelling, and rushing about the plain; and, as we turned to ride back, several spears were sent after us." "then the sooner we get away from here the better," suggested hans. "there are too many of them for us to hold our own with." "macora does not seem to think so," observed groot willem. all turned to the chief, who, along with his men, was observed making preparations for a pitched battle. "ask him, congo," said willem, "if he thinks we can drive the enemy back." the kaffir made the inquiry, and was told, in reply, that moselekatse's men were never driven back except by superior numbers, and that they certainly would not be defeated by a few. "but what means that? is he going to stay here for all of us to be killed?" to this question the chief answered that he and his men were going to act according to the desire of his friend willem. "then they shall be off as quick as possible," said willem. "none of them shall lose their lives on my account, if i can help it." not a moment was lost in getting away from the ground and so sudden was the departure that the makololo had to leave behind them the dried meat they had taken so much trouble in curing. the retreat was not commenced one moment too soon. as groot willem and hendrik remained a little behind the others, they beheld the enemy approaching the spot that had been relinquished by the makololo, apparently eager for a conflict. there was no longer a doubt of the real object of their visit. they had come for the purpose of taking vengeance. their cries and angry gestures proclaimed it; and, without waiting to see or hear more, the young hunters put spurs to their steeds and joined macora in the retreat. chapter thirty three. the retreat. macora and his party were in hopes that the pursuit might not be continued far,--that the enemy, satisfied in having broken up their camp and driven them off the ground, would return to their own country. in this hope they were doomed to disappointment. it turned out that those in pursuit of them formed an expedition sent out by moselekatse for the purpose of extending his dominion and there was not the least likelihood that the tyrant would relinquish his object until he had obtained success. this soon became the conviction of macora; and he lost no time in hastening back to his home, and preparing for the invasion. as the makololo are of a race superior to most other south african tribes, the young hunters were surprised to see the feeling of alarm exhibited by them on learning that on of moselekatse's armies was advancing to attack them. in place of preparing to resist the approaching foe, a majority of the makololo seemed only to contemplate flight. a little information from macora concerning moselekatse was a satisfactory explanation of this mystery. he informed his white guests that the matabili--that is, the people of moselekatse--were the greatest warriors in southern africa,--that moselekatse, their king, could command five thousand men, and that frequently his orders to the officers who led them to battle were to give no quarter to the enemy. macora admitted that his own people were not cowards, but that he could not maintain a war against such a king as moselekatse. he was quite certain that, should they make a stand and give battle to the foe, at least one half of his tribe would be killed. they would moreover be stripped of all their property, and what was left of the tribe would have to become slaves of the tyrant, and look after his cattle. there was but one way of holding their own with moselekatse; and that was to remove everything of any value beyond his reach. by this means had macora and his people maintained their independence for several years, and the same method must be resorted to again. this was the decision arrived at; and, on reaching his own kraal, macora at once put the design into execution. the cattle were hastily collected and driven off, while the men, women, and children started after them, each carrying a load of household utensils, elephants' teeth, and such other property as could be conveniently removed in such a hasty decampment. the women, children, and cattle were sent on in advance, while macora and his warriors followed behind as a rear-guard, to protect them against any surprise. some time would be required in crossing the limpopo, and, as the distance to the nearest drift was about five miles, there could be danger of an attack before all could effect the crossing of the stream. this fear was fully realised. the ford was not a safe one; and there was great difficulty in getting some of the cattle to take it: many of them had to be assisted in landing on the opposite bank. all this required time; and, before the crossing was completed an alarm was given. the matabili were coming up in the rear. so accustomed were moselekatse's warriors to success in any engagement, that they made no halt before commencing hostilities, although not more than two hundred of them had got forward upon the ground. armed with assegais, and defended with shields, they rushed forward with hideous yells, exhibiting an insatiate thirst for blood that can only be acquired by long familiarity with deeds of violence. but although the makololo had fled from their home without striking a blow in its defence, they now proved themselves warriors in the true sense of the word. rushing to the encounter, they met the matabili hand to hand, and in the conflict that followed both parties fought with the fury of demons. one might have supposed that macora's principal object was the protecting of his white friends. from the behaviour of his men it was evident that he had commanded them to keep between the young hunters and the enemy. but the opportunity for practising a little of their own profession was not lost upon the two young soldiers hendrik and arend. they were foremost to fire on the matabili; though their example was quickly followed by willem and hans, who took their first sight at the body of a human being along the barrel of a gun. as the four pieces were discharged, a like number of moselekatse's men went to the earth; and two more were shot down the next instant by macora, sindo, and another makololo, all three of whom chanced to be armed with muskets. under cover of their horses the hunters loaded again, and four more of their enemies were prevented from taking any further part in the conflict. could the assailants have closed with those who were shooting them down, the hunters would soon have fallen before their assegais, but this they were prevented from doing by the makololo. protected by their shields, and each side having great skill in using them, a single pair of the native combatants would contend for a long time before either would be seen to fall. this, however, was not the case when any of the four hunters selected an antagonist for his aim. every report of their guns was followed by the fall of a dusky assailant; and the matabili warriors soon discovered the thinning of their ranks. they learnt too, that fire-arms, which they had long held in contempt, might, if properly handled, become very destructive weapons. they now saw that they had made a mistake in commencing the action so confidently, and before the arrival of their full force, and were at length compelled to retreat, leaving more than thirty of the dead upon the ground. in the affray, macora lost but six men, and was so gratified with the result that he was half inclined to pursue his enemies, in the hope of rendering the victory more substantial and complete. knowing, however, that any advantage he might obtain would be but temporary, that several thousand men would soon be against him, and that in the end he would be compelled to retreat, he abandoned the idea of pursuing the discomfited enemy, and continued the crossing of the stream. by sunset the whole tribe, with all their property, was safe on the opposite shore, where the warriors were placed in a strong position to repel any attempt on the part of the matabili to effect a crossing. this being done, the retreat was continued. macora had now no country. he had lost his home, by assisting his white friends. he was now a fugitive, with a vengeful foe in his rear, and without friends in front. his tribe was too small to command respect amongst those he might encounter upon his march. they would soon hear that he was pursued by the great chief moselekatse, and there was a prospect of his people being hunted from place to place, and allowed no rest until robbed of all their cattle,--their only wealth,--and perhaps also of their lives. while willem and his companions were regretting the misfortunes they had been the means of bringing upon their protector, the chief's greatest trouble appeared to be his disappointment in having failed to assist them. the last things taken over the river were the bodies of the makololo killed in the battle; and these were buried during the night. on the contrary, the bodies of the matabili were left where they had fallen, to be stripped of their flesh by the beasts of prey. to give the hunters some idea of the character and customs of his enemies, macora informed them that none of the matabili ever buried their dead, not even their own kindred; but that sons will drag the bodies of their parents out from their village into the open plain, and there leave them to the tender mercies of the hyenas and vultures. during the night, the roars, growls, and other evidences of brutish strife, heard across the river, convinced the makololo guard left there, that by morning only the bones of their slain enemies would be found upon the field of battle. this was music to the ears of the makololo, while the thought of their having defeated the renowned warriors of moselekatse almost compensated them for the loss of their homes. chapter thirty four. tyranny and loyalty. before a start could be made the next morning, moselekatse's braves were seen assembling in large force on the opposite bank of the river. as we have said, the women, children, and cattle had been sent forward with all possible haste, while most of the men remained to check the advance of the enemy, and, if possible, cover the retreat for another day. the bushman swartboy had been put in charge of several oxen laden with ivory,--a responsible trust, that partly reconciled him to the annoyance of leaving his white masters behind, and with no one to look after them but congo, who, as he asserted, was always leading them into trouble. on leaving home, the young hunters had taken the precaution to bring with them several guns, besides those used in the chase; and now the reserve pieces were brought out and made ready for use. by early daybreak the matabili commenced crossing. urged by the fear of the tyrant's displeasure, in case their cowardice being reported to him, they advanced recklessly into the stream. the first five or six were shot down. this did not check the ardour of the others, who rushed madly down the bank, and commenced wading through the water, which rose above their waists. the only landing-place on the opposite side was by a small galley or ravine, not more than ten feet in breadth. to ascend through this gulley would be a work of some difficulty, even if unopposed. but with the passage disputed by the spears of the opposing makololo, it would be one of desperate danger. for all that, the matabili determined on the attempt, and were soon in the act of making it. plunging madly across the drift, they were soon gathered in a grand crowd at the entrance of the gulley, and striving to ascend it five or six at a time. the passage would admit of no more. at the first glance macora saw the advantage of his position, and encouraged his men to hold it. not one of a dozen of the matabili, who strove to enter the ravine, succeeded in getting up its slippery sides. without a firm footing their assegais and shields could not be used to any advantage; and their dead bodies were soon swept off by the current of the river. those who succeeded in getting a little way up the gulley were opposed by enemies on both sides of it, and easily speared to death. meanwhile the white hunters were constantly loading and firing upon those who could not be reached by the spears of the makololo; and in less than ten minutes the enemy again discovered that they had made a mistake. they saw the impracticability of getting across the river while opposed from the opposite bank. when this fact became fully comprehended, they retreated to the other shore, and the roar of battle was again hushed, or only continued by wild cries of vengeance. in this second combat only four or five of the makololo were wounded; their wounds being caused by assegais thrown by those who had no other opportunity of using their weapons. knowing that, should he abandon such a good position for defence, his enemies would immediately pursue, macora determined to hold it, if possible, until such time as the unprotected portion of his tribe could get to some point distant from the scene of danger. for two hours the hostile parties on both sides of the river remained without further strife, except that which might be called a war of words. threats and taunting speeches were freely exchanged, and mutual invitations to come across,--none of which was accepted. it was at length determined by macora and his people to leave the place, and proceed after the retreating tribe. it was not to be done, however, without a _ruse_; otherwise the matabili would immediately cross and follow them. but this very thing had been thought of by hendrik, who now laid his plan before the chief. "let all of your people steal off," said he to macora. "the trees will hinder the enemy from seeing them go. we that are mounted can easily escape at any time. let us stay, then, and keep showing ourselves to the enemy as long as we can deceive them." the plan appeared feasible, excellent. macora at once gave consent to its being put into execution. "stay," said groot willem. "don't make any movement till i open practice upon them with my long roer. i think the gun will carry to where they are, over yonder. an occasional bullet whistling past their ears will let them know that some of us are still here, and keep them from suspecting that the others are gone." as willem spoke, he crept out to a projecting point upon the bank, and, taking aim at a big matabili who stood conspicuous on the other side, let fly at him. the man, with a loud yell, tumbled over in his tracks, while others, also exposed, hastened to conceal themselves behind the bushes. at this crisis the makololo stole silently away, leaving their chief, with sindo and one or two others who had horses, along with the four hunters, to guard the crossing of the stream. during nearly an hour that they remained by the drift, no other attempt was made by the matabili to approach near the bank. nothing was seen of them; and macora, beginning to suspect that they might have withdrawn from the place and got over by some other drift, suggested the giving up the guard, and hastening on after his tribe. there was good sense in the suggestion; for if the matabili had found another crossing, the tribe might be in danger. it was determined, therefore, to withdraw, but in such a way that the enemy might still believe them to be there. several articles of dress were hung upon the bushes, only slightly showing towards the opposite side of the stream, and in such fashion as to look like a portion of their persons; and then, groot willem firing a last shot from his great gun, the guard withdrew one after another, riding stealthily off among the trees. the sun was not more than an hour high, when they overtook their retreating comrades on foot, and a little later, all going together, came up with the women and children. as it was now near sundown, and water chanced to be close at hand, they decided to halt there for the night. the makololo chief was fortunate in overtaking his people at the time he did. ten minutes later and they would have met with a greater misfortune than had yet befallen them; for, scarce had macora commanded the halt, when a party of about a hundred matabili were discovered hovering upon the flanks of the proposed camping-place, that, but for the arrival of macora and his men, would have instantly made their attack. this party of the enemy must have crossed a drift higher up the river, as it was from that direction they appeared to have come. not thinking themselves strong enough to begin the assault, for their design had been to come up with the women and children while the warriors were by the river, the matabili kept their distance. but this was soon increased by the action of the white hunters, who, mounted on their horses and making use of their guns, were more than a match for the hundred. these riding towards them, and firing a few shots, sent the matabili scampering off to a safer distance. having chased the hundred warriors out of sight, they returned to the camp, where they found macora in a state of great anxiety. he could see nothing before him but the destruction of himself and his tribe. groot willem demanded an explanation of his increased apprehension, and reminded the chief that in their encounters with the enemy they had been so far successful. macora stated in reply his belief that two of more detachments of moselekatse's army had been sent against him. they would yet unite and show no quarter to him, his tribe, or his friends. their losses in the last two encounters had been too great for them to show the least mercy. he furthermore informed his guests that none of moselekatse's warriors dare return to their chief unsuccessful. both they and their leaders would be put to death; and this knowledge would stimulate them to a total recklessness of danger and a determination to succeed in their enterprise. "there is but one plan i can think of," continued the makololo chief,--"but one way of saving my poor people, and that is, by sacrificing myself. by hurrying on to the west, they may yet succeed in evading the pursuit of these matabili, and join their own kindred under the sway of the great chief sebituane. he would be able to protect them. as for me," added macora with a sigh, "i cannot go along with them." the young hunters asked for an explanation, and it was given. owing to some long past misunderstanding, macora had incurred this ill-will of sebituane, who never forgot nor forgave an offence, and, were he to return there, would surely order him to be killed. macora's advice to the hunters was, that, provided as they were with horses, they should remove themselves out of the reach of danger, by taking their departure for their homes. this generous counsel groot willem at once refused to follow, and all the rest joined him in declining it, each saying something to give encouragement to the other. as for macora's own people, they now gave a rare proof of their loyalty. when counselled by their chief to save themselves, and leave him to his fate, one and all rebelled against the proposal; the warriors loudly declaring that sooner than forsake him they would die by his side. for the first time in their lives our adventurers saw a chief who appeared to suffer affliction from being too much beloved by his people! he proposed saving their lives at the expense of his own, by requesting them to carry him a captive to sebituane! but his followers were loyal to a man: to a man they rejected the proposal. chapter thirty five. welcome tidings. the white hunters were greatly vexed at thought of the trouble they had brought upon the chief and his tribe, and tried to devise some plan by which all might be extricated from their difficulties. they proposed that macora and his people should seek refuge from their enemies by retreating to the country of the bakwains,--a western branch of their own great nation, the bechuanas, which was not far-away. in reply to this proposal, macora said that none of those people would give them protection. they dreaded to incur the displeasure of moselekatse, and, to keep friends with him, would even assist his warriors in their destruction. the hunters then proposed that macora should take leave of his tribe and accompany them to the south, while his followers might go on to the country of sebituane. this plan the chief emphatically declined to adopt. death would be preferable to that. he would not desert those who had so nobly stood by him. moreover, it was still doubtful whether they could succeed in reaching sebituane. they might look for the matabili by the break of day; and, encumbered as they were with women, children, and cattle, their flight was too slow for safety. this opinion macora expressed to some of his followers, and, at the same time, told them that there was one ox belonging to the tribe that the matabili should not have. he described the ox as the fattest one in their possession. his men took the hint; and in less than two hours an ox was killed, cooked, and eaten. early in the evening, a fire was seen and shouts were heard not more than half a mile from them. they believed that a body of their enemies was encamped near, and only waiting for a concentration of their forces before commencing another attack. they were agreeably disappointed about this; for, when morning dawned, their eyes were gratified by the sight of two large covered wagons outspanned upon the plain, with several oxen and horses grazing near them. they were at no great distance off, and must have come there in the night. it could be nothing else than an encampment of white hunters or traders. our adventurers, one and all, rode hastily for the camp, and in a few minutes were exchanging salutations with the owners of the wagons. as they had conjectured, it was a party of traders. they were from port natal. they had been on an excursion to the north, and were now returning to the port. they were attended by some kaffirs who had accompanied them from natal, and also a number of natives they had picked up in the north. while our adventurers were trying to obtain from them a supply of ammunition and such other things as they stood in need of, their attention was called to macora, by seeing that individual behaving somewhat after the manner of a mad man. although his people were more than half a mile away, he was shouting to them and gesticulating in the most violent manner, as if imparting some communication or command. the hunters looked in every direction, and with feelings of apprehension. they expected to see the matabili again coming to the attack. but no foe was in sight. it was not until the chief had succeeded in attracting the attention of his followers, and had worked them into a high state of excitement, with what he was saying to them, that our hunters understood the meaning of his words and gestures. it turned out that some of the native attendants who accompanied the white traders were from the country of sebituane, and, therefore, the kindred of macora's people. only a few days before they had left their native place. from these, the chief had learnt that sebituane was no longer a living man. he had died some weeks before, leaving his daughter ma-mochisane in full authority at the head of the makololo nation. macora was no longer afraid of returning to his nation. his only fear, now, was that the matabili might come up in such strength as to destroy all chance of his ever revisiting his native land. there was now an opportunity for his followers to have a secure and permanent home; and, at thought of this, old and young exerted themselves to hasten their departure from the perilous spot. the party of traders consisted of three white men with nine african attendants, all of them well-armed. their assistance--especially those who had fire-arms--might have been very valuable to the hunters in the difficulty in which they now found themselves. groot willem, wholly unconscious that there were people who would not do as they would be done by, lost no time in telling them of the danger that threatened himself and his friends, and that they were every moment expecting an attack from a large party of hostile matabili. he expressed his pleasure at the good fortune that had brought them a distance at such an opportune moment. he fancied that his communication would be sufficient to secure the co-operation of the traders, and that they would at once take the retreating party under their protection. to his great surprise and indignation, as also that of his friends, the effect of his story upon the traders was the very opposite to that he had anticipated. they had not time for another word of conversation, but immediately commenced _inspanning_ their oxen. in ten minutes after, they were _trekking_ to the south-east, _en route_ for port natal. they were not the men to endanger their lives and property by remaining longer than they could possibly avoid in the society of those who had the misfortune to be surrounded by enemies. had there been in the minds of our adventurers the slightest desire to abandon the chief macora in his hour of need, the conduct of the white traders would have killed it. the mean behaviour of the latter had one good effect. it inspired all hands with a determination to do their best in making their retreat before the matabili; and the march was immediately resumed. men, women, and children were all equally active and earnest in getting beyond the reach of the pursuing foe. they knew that a long journey was before them, and a powerful and merciless enemy in their rear. even the dogs seemed to understand the danger that menaced their masters, and exerted themselves in urging along the droves. by travelling until a late hour, a good distance was made that same day; and as nothing was seen or heard of the pursuing savages, our adventurers began to think that the pursuit had been abandoned. although riding on horses, they were far more fatigued than the makololo, who went on foot, and who, used to such an exodus, thought nothing of its toils. the hunters would gladly have given up their flight, thinking there was no longer a need for it. "it is only the wicked and foolish who flee when no man pursueth," was their thought. but in this, the chief did not agree with them. instead of neglecting to take precautions, he was very particular about all the appointments of their night camp, stationing guards around it, and outlying pickets, to prevent any sudden surprise. never, since the retreat commenced, had he appeared more apprehensive of an attack. our hunters became anxious to ascertain for what reason all these precautions were being taken; and with congo's assistance, they made inquiry. the explanation macora condescended to give was, that moselekatse's warriors never slept till they had accomplished their purpose. they would certainly not relinquish the pursuit without a greater defeat than they had yet sustained. they were, he said, only waiting until their different parties could be got together, and they should be in force sufficient to insure the destruction of him and his tribe. in two days more he would be able to reach the makololo territory, where they would all be safe; and for that reason he was determined not to neglect any means that might secure the safety of his followers or that of the guests under his protection. his own life was little to him compared with the duty he had to perform for others. next morning, they were on the move before daybreak, and hastening forward with all possible speed. hendrik, arend, and hans accompanied macora with some reluctance, partly because they believed that flight was no longer necessary. "never mind," urged groot willem, to encourage them. "it will only last two days longer, and we are going to a part of the country we have not yet visited." before noon, there was some reason for believing that macora had reasoned aright. a party of the matabili suddenly appeared in advance of the route they were pursuing. it was not large enough to attempt opposing the progress of the makololo, and, on seeing the latter, fled. in the afternoon, some scouts that had been left in the rear hastened with the news that a large body of the enemy was coming up in pursuit. the forces of moselekatse had become concentrated; and the hunters now agreed with macora that flight could no longer avail them, and that in less than twenty-four hours a contest would be inevitable. it would never do to be attacked when on the march. they must halt in some place favourable for defence. there was no such place within sight, but macora believed he might find a more defensible position on the bank of the river; and towards that he hastily proceeded. chapter thirty six. besieged. it wanted but an hour to sundown when the makololo reached the river. the enemy could not be far-away, and preparations were immediately commenced for receiving them. hendrik and arend, laying claim to more wisdom in military affairs than the others, rode a little in advance for the purpose of choosing the battle-field. good fortune had conducted them to a spot favourable to the carrying out of their scheme. a little above the place where they first struck the stream, the current had made a sort of horseshoe bend, leaving a peninsula, which, during the rainy season when the river was swollen, formed a large island. the narrow and shallow channel was here uncovered with water to the width of about fifty yards, and over this the cattle were driven. quickly did the makololo secure themselves and their property in a position where they could not be surrounded. there was but one way in which the enemy could easily reach them,--by the isthmus, which was not more than fifty yards in width. growing by the side of the river and on the edge of the isthmus, was a gigantic nwana-tree, which nature had been for hundreds of years producing,--as hendrik declared, for the special purpose of saving them. the nwana is one of the most remarkable trees of the african forest. some of them obtain the extraordinary size of ninety feet in circumference, and are lofty in proportion. its wood is as soft as a green cabbage-stalk, and has been pronounced "utterly unserviceable." the hunters did not find it so. amongst other implements brought from graaf reinet were two good axes, which their former experiences of a hunter's life had taught our young adventurers were indispensable on an expedition. the nwana-tree was to be felled across the bar, so as to block up the approach to the peninsula. it would form a barricade behind which an enemy could be efficiently opposed. swartboy produced the axes, and the hunters set to work to cut down the tree,--two working at a time, and in turns relieving each other. at every blow the axes were buried in the soft spongy wood. a grand gingerbread cake could not have yielded more readily to their efforts. fortunate that it was so, as they believed that their safety depended on felling this forest monarch before the arrival of the matabili. the latter could not be far-off, and every exertion was made to get the fortress ready for receiving the attack. there was a doubt as to the direction the tree would take in falling. should it topple over into the water, their labour would be lost, and the way would be open for the matabili to reach them by a rush. should it fall across the isthmus, it would form an insurmountable barrier to their enemies. in silence and with intense interest did the makololo stand watching for the result. at length the tree began to move; slowly at first, but as they gazed upon its trembling top, they could see that it was going to come down in the right direction. gaining velocity as it got lower, a swishing sound was made by its branches as they passed through the air; and then the gigantic mass struck the ground with a crash, till its huge trunk lay stretched across the isthmus, filling it from side to side, with the exception of a few feet at each end. they had now a barricade that could not be easily broken, if but manfully defended. they were ready to receive the attack of the foe. they would not have long to wait. as night came down, large fires were observed in the distance. the matabili had evidently arrived, and were probably waiting for day, to obtain a knowledge of their position before they should commence the attack. before taking their stand by the river, macora had called for four volunteers to proceed by stealth from the spot, and if possible reach some neutral tribe that might come to his rescue. he was now in a position from which he could not move without the certainty of being defeated and of course destroyed. he might be able to maintain it for several days; and knowing that his enemies would not raise the siege until compelled to do so, his only hope was that of obtaining aid from some neighbouring chief, jealous of the encroachments of the matabili. anxious to become fully reinstated in the good opinion of his chief, sindo was the first who had offered to go upon this perilous scout. three others having also volunteered, they had been despatched in couples,--one pair leaving an hour after the departure of the first. this division of the embassy was to insure a greater chance of its being successful. if one couple should have the ill luck to get captured, the other might escape. by the earliest hour of day the enemy began to show himself, not far from the fortified camp. from the top of the fallen nwana our hunters could see a large crowd of dusky warriors, that appeared to number at least six hundred. to oppose these, macora had not more than two hundred and fifty men who were capable of taking part in the fight. at either end of the great trunk, as already stated there was an open space that would require to be carefully watched. at both points macora had placed some of his bravest warriors, while the others were distributed along the barricade, with instructions to spear any of the enemy that should attempt to scale it. the matabili had already examined the position and appeared confident of success. they had at last brought their game to bay, and were only resting from the fatigue of the long chase before taking steps to "carry the fortress." it was bright daylight as they advanced to the assault. dividing themselves into two parties, they made a rush at the open spaces by the ends of the barricade. a fierce conflict came on which lasted for some ten minutes, and at length resulted in the assailants being forced to retreat, after leaving several of their warriors dead in the gaps. but this temporary victory was not obtained without loss. eight of the makololo had also fallen dead, while several others were severely wounded. macora's features began to assume an anxious and troubled expression. knowing that an enemy of superior force to his own was before him, that all means of retreat was now cut off, and that an attempt to enter the enclosure had nearly proved successful, he could not avoid feeling a gloomy foreboding for the fate of his people. he knew too well the disposition of the matabili to suppose that they would easily relinquish their design. fear of moselekatse's displeasure on account of the losses they had already sustained, as well as the prospect of plunder, would inspire them with the determination to fight on as long as there was the slightest hope of obtaining a victory. no assistance could be expected from other tribes of the makololo in less than three days. could his position be maintained for that time? as the chief looked at the dead and wounded lying around him, this question could not be answered in a satisfactory manner. his foes were too numerous, and repeated attempts would in the end enable them to succeed. this was the belief of the makololo chief; and, notwithstanding his confidence in the wisdom and strategic prowess of the white hunters, he was now in a state of great anxiety. two hours after the attack the only matabili in sight were those they had killed, but for all that it was well known that the survivors were not far off. night descended over the scene. the camp-fires of the enemy could be distinguished through the darkness; but that signified nothing. morning found our adventurers still undisturbed. to all appearance moselekatse's warriors, yielding to despair, had returned to their chief, to suffer the punishment that would certainly follow from their permitting themselves to be defeated. this was the belief of the white hunters, who now earnestly urged macora to make no further delay, but hasten on towards his countrymen. this advice the chief positively refused to follow. he admitted the superiority of his allies in the arts of hunting and even war, but in a knowledge of the character of moselekatse and his warriors he knew himself to be their superior. he was now in a position where he and his people might successfully sustain themselves, and he disliked leaving it, lest they should fall into some ambuscade of the enemy. had he not had reasons for expecting assistance, the case might have been different, but confident that aid would be immediately sent to him, he thought it better to remain where they were. believing that there was a possibility of the chief being in the right, groot willem and his companions of course consented to remain; not, however, without stipulations. if within thirty-six hours there was no appearance of either friends or enemies, macora promised that he would continue the march towards his country. chapter thirty seven. not quite too late. the stipulated time passed, and nothing was seen of the matabili; neither was anything known of the result of the mission of sindo and his companions. the young hunters were now quite certain that their enemies had relinquished the idea of conquering a band protected by the intellects and weapons of white men, and that they had returned home. with this opinion, that of the chief did not quite coincide. nevertheless, according to the agreement, he commenced making preparations for departure. the cattle were driven out of the enclosure, and again started along the track, all acting as drovers, and urging the animals onward with as much energy as if they believed that the enemy was in close pursuit. to groot willem and his companions there was something very inconsistent in the conduct of the makololo. they fought like brave men when forced to face the foe but now that no enemy was near, they exhibited every sign of cowardice! at willem's request, congo asked the chief for an explanation of this unaccountable behaviour. macora admitted the truth of what was said, but added that his white friends would see nothing strange in it, if they were only better acquainted with the strategy of moselekatse and his warriors. the precaution of keeping scouts in the rear was not neglected; and, a few hours after the march had commenced, one of these brought the news that the matabili were in pursuit. as macora had supposed, they had been waiting for him to forsake a position so favourable for defence. as the white hunters had now experienced the advantage of receiving the pursuers in a fortified place, hendrik and arend, spurring their horses, rode some distance in advance of the herds, for the purpose of selecting a second battle-field. in finding this, fortune refused to favour them for the second time. the country through which they were now passing was an open plain, presenting no natural advantages for anything but a "fair field and no favour." this was not what they required. "we have gone far enough," said hendrik, after galloping about a mile. "our friends can hardly reach this place before being overtaken. we must turn back to them." "of course we must," mechanically replied arend, who was earnestly gazing across the plain. hendrik turned his eyes in the same direction, and to his surprise saw from twenty to thirty men coming rapidly towards them. "we are going to be surrounded!" said arend, as he turned his horse to retreat. without further speech, the two galloped back to their companions. "macora was right," said hendrik, as he joined groot willem and hans. "we should not have left the place where we were able to keep these matabili at bay. we have made a mistake." while macora was being informed that warriors had been seen ahead, several of the scouts driven in reported that a large body of the matabili was rapidly approaching from the rear. for a moment hans, hendrik, and arend were not quite certain that the white traders they had met the day before were much to blame for withdrawing from the scene of danger. to them life seemed of too much value to be relinquished without some powerful reason. hopes long and dearly cherished were now before the minds of our young adventurers. they could not avoid thinking of their own safety. but they had too much honour to think of deserting the brave makololo, whom they themselves had been instrumental in bringing into trouble. they all looked to groot willem, who would not abandon the brave chief, to whom they were so much indebted,--not even to save his own life. they faltered no longer. macora's fate should be theirs. the chief was now urged to order a halt of his people; and, in compliance with the request, he gave a shout that might have been heard nearly a mile off. it was answered by several of those in advance, who were driving the cattle; but amongst the many responsive voices was one that all recognised with a frenzied joy. the sound of that particular voice was heard at a great distance, and only indistinctly, but on hearing it the makololo commenced leaping about the ground like lunatics, several of them shouting, "sindo! sindo!" all hastened forward as fast as their limbs could carry them, and in a few minutes after were met by a large party of makololo warriors, who communicated the pleasing intelligence that more were coming up close behind. sindo and his companions had succeeded in the accomplishment of their mission. ma-mochisane, just at that crisis, chanced to be on a visit to the southern part of her dominions, and to have with her many warriors of different tribes of her people. macora, a friend of her childhood, was remembered. the desire of aiding him was backed by the hereditary hatred for the matabili, and not a moment was lost in despatching a party of chosen fighting men to his assistance. they had arrived just in time. two hours later, and those they had been sent to rescue would have been engaged with their enemies without the advantage of a position favourable for defence. the result was that, instead of encountering a small band of outcast and wearied makololo, moselekatse's men found themselves opposed by a large force of warriors fresh and vigorous for any fray,--men who had often been led to victory by the noble chief sebituane. moselekatse's soldiers saw that there was but one way of saving themselves from the disgrace that threatened them; that was by a sudden change in the tactics they had been hitherto pursuing. they resolved on an immediate onslaught. they made it, only to be repulsed. after a short conflict they were completely routed, and retreated in a manner that plainly expressed their intention to discontinue the campaign. from that hour the young hunters never heard of them again. three days after the retreat of the matabili our adventurers were introduced at the court of ma-mochisane by macora, who made formal declaration of his fidelity to his new sovereign. on the return of the chief from his long exile he was enthusiastically received by his countrymen,--the more as from his having incurred the resentment of the matabili. chapter thirty eight. a talk about home. "i have a favour to ask of you, my friends," said hendrik, the day after they had been introduced at court. "i want a little information, if either of you can give it." "very well," said willem; "i, for one, will do all in my power to instruct you. what do you wish to know?" "if we are to stay in this part of the world any longer," continued hendrik, "i wish some one to give me a good reason for our doing so. i am ready to return home." "and so am i," said arend. "and i also," added hans. "the last three or four weeks have given me quite enough of hunting giraffes, or anything else. we have been hunted too much ourselves." "i'm sorry to hear you talking in this way," said groot willem, "for _i_ am not ready to return yet. we have not accomplished the purpose for which we set forth." "true," replied hendrik, "and i believe we never shall." "why do you think so?" asked willem, with a look of surprise. "tell me why i should _not_ think so," answered hendrik. "to begin with general principles, people are rarely successful in every undertaking in life. we have been fortunate on our two former expeditions, and we have no great cause to complain should we be disappointed in this one. we cannot always expect to win. fortune is fickle; and my chief desire now is that we may reach home in safety." "i am not prepared to go home yet," rejoined willem, in a way that told his companions he was in earnest. "we have only been in the neighbourhood of the limpopo for a few short weeks; and we have been successful in getting a good many hippopotamus teeth. we have made but one attempt to capture giraffes; and i have not come more than a thousand miles, to relinquish an undertaking because i have met with one failure. what are we here for? the journey from graaf reinet to this place should not be made for nothing. we must have something to show for the loss of our time, besides the loss of our horses; and when we have made four or five more unsuccessful attempts at procuring what we came for, then i'll listen patiently to your talk about returning,--not before." hendrik and arend were thinking of the many narrow escapes from death they had met within the last few weeks, but perhaps more of their sweethearts. hans could not withdraw his thoughts from the anticipated voyage to europe but these motives for action would have been powerless as arguments with groot willem, even had they made use of them. he had come to the north for two young giraffes. both time and money had been lost in the expedition, and his companions could give no substantial reason why they should not make some further attempt to accomplish the object for which it had been undertaken. willem was generally inclined to yield to the wishes of his companions. on trivial affairs, he never made them unhappy by any spirit of opposition, nor did he suffer himself to be made so. but they could not control him now. it was not in the nature of either hans, hendrik, or arend to return home and leave him alone; and since he continued, as hendrik said, "obstinate as a _vlacke varke_" they were reluctantly compelled to remain. they were told that within one day's journey to the west, there was a large forest of _cameel-doorn_, where giraffes were often seen, and they determined to pay this forest a visit. macora had become a great favourite at court; and, having the business on hand of establishing his tribe in a new home, he could not accompany them. he assured them, however that there was no fear of their not finding giraffes in the aforesaid forest, as well as a convenient place for constructing a trap to capture them. they would also have men to assist them. in order not to put them to any trouble in communicating with him, he sent four of his best messengers along with them, two of whom were to be sent to him whenever the hunters had any important news to communicate. with feelings of renewed pleasure, our young hunters once more set forth upon an expedition, which, instead of being a retreat from savage foes, was but the parting from friends,--that might be met again. hendrik and arend had occasionally forgotten the allurements of home in the excitement of the chase; but when driven from one place to another, and often in danger of losing their lives, it is not to be wondered at that their thoughts should revert to the tranquil scenes of civilised life. swartboy was highly delighted at thought of parting with the makololo. for several days past he had been sorrowing within himself at the misfortune of being found in bad company, or professing to sorrow for it. what the bushman's real opinions were, will ever be an unimportant mystery on earth; though he never lost an opportunity of endeavouring to prove that all the misfortunes occurring to his masters had been owing to the fact that they were guided by congo,--that they had been in company with people who spoke a language the kaffir could understand, and that he himself could not. this he seemed to think was sufficient reason for any trouble that might befall them. they had left the tribe now, and swartboy had become one of ten, and not one among hundreds. he had certain duties to perform that gave him a status in the company. his complaints and suggestions were now listened to, and he began to give expression to the hope that he might yet succeed in bringing the expedition to a successful issue! on the way to the mimosa forest nothing of any interest occurred, even to hans, who, along the route, kept lingering behind his companions to examine the plants that were to be seen along the way. there was one little incident, however. apparently a very interesting one to the dogs. while passing an elevation that might almost have been called a mountain, a troop of chacmas, or dog-faced baboons was seen descending from the summit, probably in search of water. the hunters had often heard that dogs have a greater hatred for these animals than for any others; and they now had strong evidence of the truth of this statement. only one dog of the whole pack had ever encountered chacmas before; yet, immediately on seeing them, all seemed aroused to the highest pitch of fury it was possible for canine nature to attain. simultaneously they rushed towards the baboons, baying savagely as they ran. sheer instinct seemed to have stirred them to this animosity against animals whose aspect, in some respects, resembled their own. "ride forward," shouted willem, "or our dogs will be killed." up to this time the baboons had shown no disposition to retreat. they appeared to think that the trouble of fighting dogs was not so great as that of returning up the mountain; but at the first report of groot willem's roer, they scattered off after a fashion that left the dogs not the slightest chance of overtaking them. only one of them remained behind, and it was the animal that had received the shot. being wounded, it was immediately attacked by the dogs, who could not be choked off till they had torn the ugly brute into shreds. chapter thirty nine. among the mimosas. the hunters were now intent upon but one object,--that of procuring the giraffes. the roar of a lion near the camp could not have drawn them out of it. an elephant carrying many pounds of ivory was a sight that did not awaken sufficient interest to tempt a pursuit. all had a full appreciation of the task to be accomplished before they could return to their home, and they would allow nothing to interfere with the business before them. by the side of the mimosa grove, which was now to be the scene of their labours, ran a small stream. on its banks they soon discovered the spoor of giraffes. some of the tracks were of small dimensions, evidently the hoof-marks of young calves. groot willem was in high spirits. there was once more a prospect of satisfying his hunter ambition. his companions, though not so confident of success, were equally as anxious to obtain it. the day after their arrival on the borders of the _cameel-doorn_ forest, a drove of giraffes was seen coming out from among the timber and making their way to the stream. the timid animals, unaware of their proximity to man, walked on until within one hundred and fifty yards of the spot where the hunters stood, before seeing the latter. they then turned suddenly, and with a swift but awkward gait retreated westward across the open plain, and entirely away from the mimosa forest. hendrik and arend were with some difficulty restrained from pursuing them. there was an opportunity for an exciting chase; and to remain inactive and see the giraffes disappear over the plain, required a strong self-denying effort. it was groot willem who held them in check. "did you not see that there were three young ones in the drove?" said he. "their home is very likely in this forest and we must not frighten them away from it." "they have already been hunted," answered hendrik. "i am sure i saw an arrow sticking in the side of one of them. some black has amused himself by torturing a creature he was unable to kill." "it's a great pity they saw us at all," said willem; "but they will probably return to the shelter of the trees. we must make sure that they have their haunt about here; and then we can send for some of macora's people, and let them build us another trap. that appears to be the only way of catching them." another day passed, in which the hunters amused themselves in killing reed bucks and other game in larger quantities than they required. nothing more of the giraffes was seen; and on the next day the party started off on the spoor of the giraffes they had seen. another mimosa forest was discovered about fifteen miles farther to the west; and on riding around it, they came upon a small lagoon. its banks were trampled with the hoof-marks of many giraffes, some of which were very small. they had evidently been lately made, and by the same drove they had seen three days before. from this it was evident that the flock frequented both forests. "we have seen quite enough for the present," said willem. "our next plan is to send for macora's promised assistance, and construct another trap." in this all the others agreed; and then arose the question. where shall the trap be built? "we may as well have it at the other grove," said hendrik, "for we can easily drive them back to the place where they were first seen." no strong reasons could be advanced against this suggestion, and it was adopted. next morning two of the makololo were despatched to macora, for the purpose of claiming his promised assistance; and all went back to the forest first visited, and there encamped. on the day the chief's workmen were expected to arrive, hendrik and arend had ridden a few miles up the stream seeking for something to destroy. impelled by that incomprehensible desire for taking life so natural to the hunter, they could not rest quietly at night unless they had killed something during the day. they had arrived at a thick belt of forest, consisting of acacias and evergreen shrubs, and trees of the strelitzia, zamia, and speckboom, when their ears were assailed by the sound of breaking branches, and the unmistakable rushing of some large animals through the thicket. "prepare yourself, arend; we may have some sport here," cried hendrik, and both drew rein to await the _denouement_. a few seconds only elapsed when the forms of two full-grown giraffes were observed breaking from the thicket. on the back of one of these was a leopard. blood was streaming down its breast, and it was reeling wildly in its gait. knowing that the leopard is a cowardly creature, and that its capability for taking its prey is so great that it rarely suffers from want of food, and never where there is an abundance of game, the youths knew that its attack on the giraffe must have been caused by some other motive than that of satisfying the appetite of hunger. its young had been disturbed in their lair, or the giraffes had in some other way aroused its animosity. on reaching the open ground it was seen that the unencumbered giraffe quickly forsook its companion, which was now showing unmistakable signs of being able to go but a very little farther. its life-blood was flowing from its neck, and the stately monster was about to topple over under the injuries it had received from its fierce, agile enemy. the hunters were spectators of an incident such had probably never before happened,--that of a leopard killing a giraffe. circumstances had favoured the beast of prey; and the huge ruminant, that had in some unconscious way aroused its anger, was being destroyed by an animal not the tenth part of its own strength or bulk. two dogs that were along with the hunters, not heeding the voices of their owners, essayed to take a part in the destruction of the innocent creature. both ran yelping after it, and endeavoured to lay hold of its heels. lifting one of its feet, the tottering camelopard dashed it with unerring aim against one of the dogs, with a force that threw the cur several feet backward, where it lay sprawling in the last convulsive motions of life. by making this effort, the reeling body of the giraffe lost its balance, and throwing its head violently to one side it fell heavily to the earth, its shoulders covering part of the leopard's body, and crushing the latter to death. like samson, the leopard had brought destruction upon itself! handing the reins of the bridle to arend, hendrik walked up within a few feet of the leopard's head, and put an end to its snarling screams by a ball through the brain. what little life remained in the giraffe soon departed from it, along with the blood which the beast of prey had let out of its veins. standing over the two carcasses, the hunters tried to arrive at some comprehension of the strange scene they had witnessed. they had heard of a lion having ridden on the back of a giraffe for a distance of many miles, and had treated the story as a fabrication. before them was evidence that a leopard had travelled no little distance in a similar manner. why should not a lion do the same? notwithstanding the thickness of the hide that covered the neck of the giraffe, it had been torn to shreds, that were hanging down over its shoulders. the long claws and tusks of the leopard had been repeatedly buried in its flesh, arteries and veins had been dragged from their beds and laid open, ere the strength and life of the animal had forsaken it. this could not have been the work of a few seconds. several minutes may have been required for inflicting the injuries the giraffe had suffered, and during that time its merciless foe was probably wholly unconscious that it was being borne far from the scene where the attack had been commenced. death had saved it from the surprise of discovering that, in the practice of its ferocious fury, it had been carried far away from the young it was making such efforts to defend. chapter forty. another disappointment. three days after the departure of the messengers, macora's promise of aid was again fulfilled by the arrival of thirty workmen. a site for the hopo was chosen about half a mile from the forest edge, and the construction of it was immediately commenced. anxious to learn the result of another attempt at capturing giraffes, the hunters toiled early and late. two of them were constantly handling the axes, felling small trees, which the blacks transported to the place where they were to be used, while the other two superintended the setting of the sticks. the labour of constructing this trap was not so great as the other, for a more convenient site had been chosen. the two fences were to be placed a little beyond the sides of the mimosa grove, which was not more than half a mile wide; nor was the pit made so large as the first; and by toiling nearly all the time from sunrise to sunset, the contrivance was got ready for use in seven days. while the work was progressing, several giraffes had been seen in the neighbourhood, and the hopes of the hunters were once more in the ascendant. all were in high spirits with the prospect that, within two or three days, they might be on their return to graaf reinet. to make more sure of success they paid a visit to the second mimosa grove, taking along with them a large party of the makololo. their object was to drive the giraffes out of that tract of timber into the one where the trap was being prepared for them. during their excursion no camelopards were seen in this second grove; but this, in the opinion of the hunters, was of little consequence. they would be discovered in the place where they were wanted; and in this hope they hastened back to the hopo. the same means for driving the giraffes into the trap were again employed. a regular battue was established,--all hands taking share in it. the makololo, accompanied by their dogs, and making as much noise as lay in their power, passed through the tract of timber, while willem and hendrik rode along one side, and hans and arend on the other. as the beaters drew near the end where the trap was established, willem began to have an apprehension that something was wrong. no herds of large game were seen escaping from the cover. no sounds of crashing sticks and breaking branches struck upon his ear. the forest seemed deserted by all but the noisy makololo, who were working their way through its shady aisles. the termination of the battue was at length reached. within the pen were seen enclosed a few small antelopes of common species, a pair of brindled gnus, and some wild hogs. this was a bitter disappointment. the giraffes had got away, no one knew how or where. they might return again; but no one could be certain of this. those amongst the makololo who professed to be best acquainted with their habit, expressed the belief that they had migrated to same extensive forests far-away towards the south, and that no more camelopards might be found in that neighbourhood for the six months to follow. they (the makololo) were anxious to return to their homes. perhaps this may have guided them in their opinion. they had huts to build, and land to cultivate for their families, and had neglected these duties in obedience to the command of their chief. the hunters could not reasonably detain them longer, and, though with reluctance, permitted them to take their departure. three days were passed in riding about the neighbourhood, and exploring it within a circle of twenty miles. several small groves of _cameel-doorn_ were found, but no camelopards could be seen. they had evidently forsaken that district or country, and might not return for many weeks or months. the makololo appeared to have spoken the truth. "i don't say that we have been acting like fools," said arend; "but i will say that we deserve to be called nothing else, if we squander any more time in search of what fate has decreed that we are not to obtain." "go on, arend!" exclaimed hendrik. "i could not talk more sensibly myself." "i have nothing more to say at present," said arend, with a significant shake of the head, as much as to say that the subject was too plain to require discussion. "what should we do, hans?" asked groot willem. "start for home," was the ready answer. "i am now of hendrik's opinion," continued the botanist. "we should not expect to be successful in every undertaking, and we have for some time been engaged on one in which we seem destined to fail." "very well," said groot willem. "let us first go back to the country of macora. it will be so far on our way to graaf reinet." seeing that swartboy was anxious to give his opinion on this important subject, hendrik was kind enough to give him a chance by asking for it. the bushman possessed to an extraordinary degree the not unusual accomplishment of saying a very little in a great many words. fortunately, for the gratification of his vanity, the hunters were at supper, and had time to listen to his circumlocution. the failure of the expedition so far was, in swartboy's opinion, wholly owing to congo. he had known from the first that no success could attend them while guided by a kaffir, or any race of blacks whose language a kaffir could understand. swartboy further informed them that in his childhood he had daily seen giraffes; and that if they were amongst his countrymen, the bushmen, who, in his opinion, were honest and intelligent compared with other africans, they would have no difficulty in procuring what they required. this communication, to those who knew that the bushmen were, perhaps, the lowest specimens of humanity to be found in all africa, only created a smile on the faces of his listeners; but with this proof of his eloquence swartboy seemed quite satisfied. on their arrival at macora's new settlement, the chief expressed much regret at the failure of their expedition, but could give willem but little or no hope that there was other chance of success, at least for some time to come. camelopards, he said, often migrated from one district to another, travelling for several days at a time, and often going thirty or forty miles a day. a drove containing young ones, such as were required, might not be seen in the neighbourhood for several weeks. he still promised to render all the assistance himself and tribe were capable of affording. willem might have remained to try another trap, but the voice of his companions was in favour of at once setting out for graaf reinet. this soon became too emphatic for him to resist, and the great hunter had to yield. a sort of compromise was, however, agreed upon, which was that they should go home, not on a direct course for graaf reinet, but through the country of the bechuanas,--crossing some districts inhabited by the bushmen. thence they could turn eastward and homeward. in this journey willem promised to cause them no unnecessary delay; and his companions agreed to do their best in aiding him to accomplish his cherished purpose. in macora's tribe were four young men who had a strong desire to visit the white settlements, and learn something more of the customs of a civilised people than could be gathered from occasional hunters and traders. these young men were furnished by their friends with an outfit of oxen, and some merchandise in the shape of leopard skins, ostrich-feathers, and ivory. they were instructed by macora to render all the assistance they could to his friend willem and his young associates. on leaving, the hunters were escorted by the chief and other leading men of the tribe for a distance of several miles. at parting with these, our adventurers had every reason to know that they were taking leave of true friends. the chief and sindo were nearly disconsolate at the separation, especially from groot willem, to whom both declared that they owed their lives. each promised sometime to pay him a visit in his far-away home. the hunters started forth on their journey under the firm impression that amongst the makololo were men possessing almost every noble attribute of human nature. chapter forty one. a herd of buffaloes. when on what might be termed the way back to graaf reinet, hans, hendrik, and arend were on very good terms with themselves and everybody else. this was not the case with groot willem. he moved on along with the others because there was still a prospect of meeting with giraffes; but the fear of reaching the settlements without taking a pair of young ones back with him was a source of constant annoyance. he was inclined to linger on the road, and never lost an opportunity of delaying the march in pursuit of different animals, either for amusement or for food. on the third morning after parting with macora a large herd of buffaloes was observed. they were pasturing around the base of a hill about half a mile from the line of route on which our travellers were proceeding. in an instant groot willem was in his saddle and riding towards them. the others seemed rather reluctant to accompany him. "here's a delay of another day," exclaimed arend. "willem will kill a buffalo, and insist on our staying to eat it." "very likely," said hendrik; "but i don't see why he should have all the sport to himself." leaping into their saddles hendrik and arend rode after willem, and were followed by two of the makololo mounted on oxen. the patient and philosophical hans remained behind, to await their return. following a course that would place him in advance of the herd, willem, who did not wish to frighten the buffaloes by charging rapidly upon them, was soon overtaken by the others. the buffaloes--more than two hundred in number--were all moving in one direction, but very slowly, as they were engaged in grazing. when the hunters had got within about three hundred yards of them, they all raised their heads, and, after gazing for a moment at the strange creatures who had come to disturb their repast, again lowered them, and continued quietly pasturing. the leader of the herd had not yet given the signal for flight. "we must ride farther to the left and get round them," suggested willem. "some of the old bulls may charge upon us, and, if so, we had better retreat up the hill." by the time the hunters had reached the sloping ground, and got within a hundred paces of the herd, several of the bulls had placed themselves in an attitude of defiance, and stood fronting the enemy, as if to cover the retreat of the cows and calves, for there were several of them in the drove. a good shot is seldom made from the back of a horse. knowing this, the hunters dismounted; and, taking steady aim, fired, each having selected a victim. the three shots were discharged within the same number of seconds; and, on firing, each of the hunters hastened to regain his saddle. on receiving the volley, several bulls broke from the line and charged furiously forward upon their assailants. at sight of them, the horses, anxious to get out of the way, began to pitch and rear, so that it was difficult to mount them. hendrik and arend succeeded in regaining their saddles; but willem failed. the horse which had often carried him within a few yards of an enraged elephant, was new struck frantic with fear at the bellowing of the wounded bulls. as they made their impetuous charge, he endeavoured to get loose from his master. the more the hand of willem strove to restrain him, the more anxious he seemed to be off; and notwithstanding the hunter's great strength, he was dragged on the bridle until one of the reins broke; and the other was pulled through his grasp with a velocity that cut his fingers nearly to the bone. by this time one of the bulls was close up to him. notwithstanding his great size, groot willem was neither unwieldy nor awkward in action. on the contrary, he was swift of foot; but, for all this, there was no hope of his being able to outrun an african buffalo. so sudden had been the charge of the angry animals, that one of the oxen ridden by the makololo, had not time to be got out of the way, and was abandoned by his owner. as good luck would have it for willem, the unfortunate ox was the means of saving his life. charging upon it, the buffalo thrust one of its long horns through the ribs of the ox, lifting the saddle clear from its back, and laying the animal itself along the earth, dead as if struck down by a pole-axe. the buffalo was itself now attacked by three or four dogs, that served for some time to engage its attention. for a good while its canine assailants continued to keep clear of both its hoofs and horns; till one of them, essaying to seize it by the snout, was struck down and trampled under foot. the vindictive nature of the african buffalo was now displayed before the eyes of the spectators. not contented with having killed the dog, it knelt down upon the carcass, crushing it under its knees, as if determined to leave not a bone unbroken! the animal seemed angry with itself for its inability to mangle its victim with hoof and horns, at the same time. while this scene was transpiring, groot willem was given time to reload his roer. a bullet through its body brought the buffalo again to its knees, from which it had just arisen to continue the pursuit. bellowing in a manner that caused the air to vibrate for a mile around the spot, the creature once more rose to its feet, staggered a pace or two, and then sank back to the earth, to rise no more. it had been severely wounded by the first fire, and the grass for a large space round it was sprinkled with its blood. groot willem was not the only one who had been charged upon. arend and hendrik were also obliged to retreat, each pursued by a brace of bulls. fortunately the hill was close at hand, and against its sloping side they urged their horses both with whip and spur. the immense weight of the buffalo bull hinders him from running rapidly up hill, although in the contrary direction he will often overtake a horse. as the animals in question soon perceived the hopelessness of the chase, they abandoned it; and trotting back to the drove, now going off over the plain below, they left the young hunters in quiet possession of the spoil they had obtained. this was what the hunters supposed they would do. they soon saw their mistake, as the four bulls, instead of continuing on after the retreating drove, turned suddenly to one side, and rushed towards a wounded bull that was lagging a long way in the rear. a spectacle was now witnessed which caused astonishment to those who saw it. instead of trying to protect their injured companion, the four bulls set upon it, flinging it from its feet, and goring it with their horns. this cruel treatment was continued until the unfortunate animal lay still in death. they did not appear to be inspired by any feeling of rage, but only acting under some instinct not understood. there seemed something horrible in this attack upon their disabled companion. but alas! it was not so very unlike what, often occurs among men,--misfortune too frequently turning friends into enemies. after settling with their wounded comrade, the four bulls continued their retreat, and soon overtook the herd they had tarried to protect. the buffalo shot by willem was the largest our hunters had yet killed; and curiosity led them to make a note of its dimensions. it was eight feet in length, and nearly six in height to the summit of the shoulders. the tips of its long horns were five feet three inches asunder. across one shoulder, and a part of the neck, was a broad scar more than two feet in length. this scar was conspicuous at some distance, notwithstanding the animal's hide was covered with a thick coat of dark brown hair, showing that it was not very far advanced in years. the wound leaving this mark had evidently been given by the claws of a lion. this they knew to be the case, from seeing three scratches parallel with each other, showing where the lion's claws had been drawn transversely across the shoulder. some steak and other choice portions, being cut from the brace of bulls, were packed upon the saddle croup to be carried away; and after a short halt, and a feast upon fresh buffalo beef, our adventurers resumed their interrupted journey. chapter forty two. the poisoned spring. on the evening of the eighth day after leaving macora the hunters encamped on the bank of a small stream, which they computed to be about one hundred and twenty miles south of the place from where their return journey commenced. within the mind of groot willem, there was still a lingering hope that they might again meet with giraffes; and he had never lost an opportunity of looking for them along the route. the delays caused by his explorations had been a source of constant annoyance to the others; but as willem had a will of his own,--one, nevertheless, united with a disposition so cheerful as to be proof against any attempts at a controversy,--his companions were compelled to be content with the knowledge that they were slowly progressing towards graaf reinet. in the morning after entering their new camp, they arose to look upon a scene more beautiful than any other they had yet beheld in the extended country over which they had wandered. near them was a grove of oleander bushes, loaded with beautiful blossoms. every branch was adorned by the presence of two or more beautiful green sugar-birds,--the _certhia (nectarinia) famosa_. nothing in nature can exceed in splendour the plumage of the sugar-bird. the little vale in which the hunters had encamped seemed a paradise, bathed in golden sunlight; and even the cattle appeared to leave it with some reluctance. on moving down the bed of the watercourse, they found that they were not travelling by the side of a running stream, but by what, in the dry season, was a chain of lakelets or water-holes. after crossing a bar between two of these ponds, they were much annoyed by a horrible stench borne upon the breeze, and coming from the direction they intended to take. as they journeyed on, so offensive grew the smell that a halt was made, and a resolution passed without a dissenting voice, that they should turn to the east and get to windward of this offensive odour, still unexplained. while doing this, they observed to the west, a flock of vultures, wheeling high up in the air; and, down upon the plain below, hundreds of jackals and hyenas were seen leaping about. so large an assemblage of these carrion-feeding creatures called for an explanation; and, on riding nearer, the hunters saw a number of dead antelopes lying within a few feet of each other. as they rode farther along the plain, more dead antelopes were seen, and they began to fear that they had entered some valley of death, from which they might never go out. the mystery--for such it was to them-- was readily cleared up by the makololo and congo. the antelopes had been drinking water from a pond or spring poisoned by the natives; which proved that our travellers had arrived in the neighbourhood of some tribe of the bechuanas. of this method for wantonly destroying animal life, practised by many of the native african tribes, the hunters had often heard. the many stories which they had been told of the wholesale destruction of game by poison, and which they had treated with incredulity, after all, had not been exaggerated. they estimated the number of dead antelopes lying within a circumference of a mile, at not less than two hundred. one of the water-holes of the chain by which they had halted, had been poisoned. a herd of antelopes had quenched their thirst at the place, and had only climbed up the bank to lie down and die. "we have been very fortunate," remarked groot willem, "in not encamping by the poisoned water ourselves. had we done so, we would all, by this time, have been food for the jackals and hyenas, as these antelopes now are." to this unqualified surmise, congo did not wholly give his assent. he believed that men would not be likely to drink a sufficient quantity of the water to cause death; though he further stated that their cattle and horses, had they quenched their thirst at the pond, would have been killed to a certainty. for the sake of procuring three or four antelopes for food, with the least trouble, the bechuanas had destroyed a whole herd. this is the usual economy practised by those who live in a land teeming with a too great abundance of animal life. to get away from the sickening scene thus presented to their view, even groot willem was willing to continue the journey; and it was resumed, all being thankful that the distance accomplished on the day before had not been so long, by a mile or two, as it might have been. knowing that they were in the neighbourhood of bechuanas, the makololo professed some fear for their cattle. they said that these might be stolen or taken from them by force. but the hunters believed such fears too flattering to the bechuana character. from all they had heard of the people composing that numerous nation, they were under the impression that they were too cowardly and indolent to be regarded with any apprehension. the next morning, when continuing their journey, arend, who was riding a little in advance, suddenly reined up, at the same time, calling out-- "i see a kraal and a field of maize." groot willem and hendrik rode forward, and became convinced that arend was in the right. almost at the same instant, the hunter descried other objects in which he was more interested than in a village of bechuanas, or anything belonging to them. two large elephants were seen moving across the plain, in the direction of the maize-field. "let us steal upon them silently," suggested willem. "we need not all go. two or three will be enough. some one must stay with the cattle." saying this, he rode off, followed by hendrik and arend. hans assented to stay behind, attended by swartboy; and congo, with the assistance of the makololo, halted the cattle and pack-horses; thus tarrying, they were witnesses of what they expected to prove an interesting scene. they saw nothing to prevent the stalkers from obtaining a fine opportunity for a shot; and they knew that a wounded elephant seldom seeks safety in flight. one or both of the animals would be killed; and the violent death of an elephant is, under all circumstances, a spectacle painfully interesting. "but for us," said groot willem, as he rode by the side of hendrik, "those elephants would destroy that field of maize. the owners of the field could not prevent them, if they were to try. they cannot even frighten them away from their work of devastation." the young hunter was soon to be undeceived. chapter forty three. excitement for all. the two elephants were moving along what seemed to be a narrow path leading to the maize-field, or the kraal beyond it. they were in no great haste, but going as though conscious that a favourite article of food was near, and that they were pretty sure of obtaining it. "when once they get engaged upon the corn," said hendrik, "they are ours. they won't notice us, and we shall have an opportunity for getting a good shot." suddenly one of the elephants--the foremost one--was seen to sink into the earth! the other stopped for a moment, as though endeavouring to comprehend the cause of his companion's disappearance. it then turned round and commenced carefully treading the back track. "a pit," exclaimed hendrik. "one of the elephants has gone down into a pit." "on, on! let us kill the other," shouted groot willem, as he urged his gigantic horse into a gallop. hendrik and arend galloped after. the retreating elephant was apparently in no haste to get out of their way, but moved leisurely along. when the three youths were within a hundred yards of it, uttering a trumpet-like sound, it turned and charged toward them. expecting something of the kind, they were not unprepared. groot willem instantly brought the roer to his shoulder and fired. the loud report of the gun was accompanied by the sharp cracks of the two rifles carried by his companions. hendrik and arend wheeled their horses to the right; willem turned to the left, and the huge monster rushed between them. for a moment it stopped, as if undecided which to pursue first. had the three gone in the same direction, there probably would not have been an instant's hesitation, and one of them would have risked being overtaken. that moment of indecision gave them time for forming a plan, and gaining a start upon their pursuer. "the pit! the pit!" shouted hendrik. "ride for the pit!" his command was instantly obeyed. the elephant turned, and, observing the direction of their retreat, continued to pursue them; but in a slow, leisurely way, as though not wholly decided whether to follow them or not. at that instant was heard a loud prolonged bellowing,--the voice of an elephant in the agony of despair. it proceeded from the pit. the pursuer instantly came to a stand. the cry of its companion in distress awoke a feeling more human than that of revenge. it was fear,--a fear that seemed to control its power of reasoning, since it immediately turned tail and retreated from the danger that had befallen its friend. while making its retreat, it appeared to choose the tracks made by the horses in approaching the spot; as though instinct admonished it that by so doing it would avoid any pitfalls that might be constructed on the plain. "after him! follow him up," cried arend. "hans is in danger." only a short while was spent in reloading their guns; then, urging their horses to the greatest speed, they galloped after the elephant. hans and his dusky companions had not been uninterested spectators of the actions of the others, and now saw that they would soon be called upon to become actors in a similar scene. the elephant was rushing rapidly down upon them, but the thought of flight only arose in their minds to be immediately dismissed. the pack-horses must be defended at all cost; and the young botanist, bidding swartboy and congo look after them, rode out in front to meet the advancing foe. he was mounted on a horse that would not stand quiet for two seconds at a time; and as his life might depend on the correctness of his aim, he dismounted for the purpose of firing. his horse, released, galloped away from his side. the wounded elephant was not more than fifty paces off, and now turned in pursuit of the horse, apparently without seeing the enemy it should have feared most. this was the opportunity for hans, and he did not allow it to escape him. steadily raising the gun to his shoulder, he aimed at the huge creature, just behind its fore leg, as the latter was thrown forward in the stride. on shambled the enraged monster with a deafening roar. the other horses had already broken from the control of their keepers, and were galloping in different directions. a few long stretches and the tusks of the elephant were close upon congo's steed, which chanced to be crossing the line of pursuit at right angles. in another instant the horse was tossed into the air, and, passing six or eight feet high above the monster's back, fell heavily upon the ground behind it. but the kaffir had slid out of the saddle and stood upon the ground unharmed. the effort made in destroying the horse was the last the wounded elephant was able to perform. the dogs were clustering upon its heels; and as it reeled wildly about to get at them, it seemed to grow giddy, and at length fell heavily along the earth. "i do believe," said hendrik, who at this moment rode up along with willem and arend,--"yes, i'm quite certain that the dogs think they have dragged that elephant down!" "den they is as big an ole fool as congo," said swartboy who was annoyed at the fact that the kaffir had just performed a feat for which he would receive the approbation of his young masters. congo only answered with a smile. he had again aroused the jealousy of his rival, and was satisfied. the elephant, which proved to be a very large bull, expired a few minutes after falling. its tusks were over five feet in length, and to swartboy was given the task of extracting them. the horse ridden by congo was of course no longer available; and the lading of another had to be distributed amongst the remaining pack-horses, to provide the kaffir with a mount. the spot was soon deserted. hendrik, groot willem, and arend, were anxious to be off to the pit, into which the other elephant had fallen, having never seen one caught in that way before. "hans," inquired hendrik, "will you look after everything here, or will you come along with us?" "o, i prefer staying," said the quiet hans. "perhaps by doing so i may again come in for the lion's share of the sport, as i have just now." "we must take congo along with us," suggested arend. "it is certain there will be some of the natives at the pit. we saw several houses near the maize-field, and there is no doubt a large kraal." "yes, come with us, congo," commanded his master, as he rode off, followed by all the others except the good-natured hans and his servant swartboy, who usually came in for the biggest share of the business, while the others appropriated the amusement. chapter forty four. the pit. we believe there is a different sound expressed by each of the words, roar, shriek, yell, and scream: but the first expression of pain or terror of the elephant in the pit,--the sound that had caused its companion to retreat, seemed a combination of all the above. since it first shook the surrounding atmosphere, it had been often repeated and the young hunters, familiar with most methods of killing elephants, were under the impression that the one in the pit was being subjected to some torture more horrible than any they had ever heard of. "they have probably placed a pointed stake in the pit," observed hendrik, as they approached, "and the animal is impaled upon it." on coming nearer to the place, they saw that there were people around the pit,--both men and women. one of the men, intensely ethiopic in appearance, came forward as the hunting party approached, and by signs offered for sale the tusks of the elephant still roaring underneath them. "we are safe with these people," remarked congo. "they are used to traders, and will do us no more harm than to cheat us in a bargain, if they can." on arriving at the pit, our adventurers saw that it was not a square hole with an upright stake in the centre, as hendrik had supposed. it was oval at the top and contracted to a point at the bottom, in the shape of an inverted cone, leaving no level space on which the elephant could stand. its four feet were jammed together; and, compelled to support the weight of its immense body in this position, the agony it suffered must have been as intense as the creature was capable of enduring. this pit, the plan of which was devised with devilish ingenuity for producing unnecessary torture, was about nine feet long and apparently seven or eight in depth, and the struggles of the elephant only had the effect of wedging its huge feet more closely together and increasing its tortures. two pits had been dug but a short distance from one another; and the wisdom of this plan had a living illustration before their eyes. although the two had been nicely concealed, and the excavated earth carried away from the place, both had been discovered by the elephant, but one of them too late. had there been but one, it would not have been caught, for it evidently had placed a foot on the first, detected the hidden danger, and, while in the act of avoiding it, had fallen suddenly and irrecoverably on to the other. all the men standing around were armed, the most of them with assegais or spears, but they were making no attempt to end the agony of the captured elephant. groot willem stepped in front of it, and was raising the long barrel of his roer to the level of one of the elephant's eyes, when he was stopped by two or three of the blacks, who rushed forward and restrained him from discharging the piece. congo, who had professed to understand what they said, told willem that the elephant was not to be killed at present. "what can be the reason of that?" exclaimed arend. "can they wish the animal to live, merely for the sake of witnessing its sufferings? it cannot be saved. it must die where it is now." "i'll tell you how it is," said hendrik. "they have a fine taste for music, and they intend keeping the elephant in that pit, like a bird in its cage, for the purpose of hearing the fine notes it is giving out." one of the blacks was armed with a gun, all but the lock, which last was wanting! the attention of groot willem was particularly directed to this weapon, its owner holding it out before him, and making signs that he wished some powder and a bullet for the purpose of loading it. willem desired to be informed how the ammunition was to be used, but the black, by a shake of his woolly head, candidly admitted that he did not know. "ask him what he brought the gun here for," said willem, speaking to congo. in answer to the question, the man made another confession of ignorance. a little excitement was now observed amongst the blacks, and another party was seen approaching from the direction of the village. they brought news that the head man of the kraal was coming in person, and that he was to have the honour of killing the elephant. he had lately purchased a new gun from some _smouse_ or trader, and he was about to exhibit his skill in the use of it, before the eyes of his admiring subjects. on the arrival of the chief, the young hunters saw that the gun in his possession was a common soldier's musket, very much out of order, and one that a sportsman would hesitate about discharging. "the man will never kill the great brute with that thing," said hendrik. "he will be far more likely to kill himself, or some of those around him. if the elephant waits till it is despatched in that way, it stands a good chance to die of starvation." the chief seemed very vain of being the owner of a gun, and anxious to show to his subjects the proper mode of despatching an elephant. standing about twenty-five paces from the pit, he took aim at the animal's head and fired. the report of the musket was followed by a roar more expressive of rage than pain, and a small protuberance on the elephant's head showed that the ball had done no more than to cause a slight abrasion of the skin. the operation of reloading the musket was performed in about six minutes and again the chief fired. this time, standing at the distance of fifteen paces. the elephant again astonished the chief and his followers, by continuing to live. another six or seven minutes were passed in loading the gun, which was again fired as before. the only acknowledgment the huge beast made of having received the shot, was another loud cry of impotent rage. the company around the pit was then joined by a party not hitherto on the ground. it consisted of hans with swartboy and the other followers of the expedition. they had extracted the tusks of their elephant, lashed them with rheims to the pack-saddles of two horses, and brought them along. "what is all this about?" asked hans. "can't you kill that elephant? i've heard several shots." "they will not allow us to try," replied groot willem. "a chief is trying to kill it with an old musket, and will neither allow me to fire, nor that well-armed gentleman standing near him." willem pointed to him who carried the gun without a lock. at this moment, a communication was made to the kaffir by the native chief. annoyed at his want of success, he had some doubts as to his weapon being what had been represented by the smouse from whom he had purchased it. he wished to make a comparison of its destructive power with one of their guns, and groot willem was invited to take a shot at the elephant. "but, baas willem," said congo, as he finished this communication, "you not do that, you not shoot the elephant." "why?" asked willem, in surprise. "you kill um with you roer, and then they want from you. they want it, and sure take it." "take what--the elephant?" "no, baas willem, the roer," answered the kaffir. though not afraid of having his gun taken from him, groot willem and his companions were unwilling to have any difficulty with the blacks; and the invitation of the chief was courteously declined. the excuse made was that, after the failure of the great man himself, any similar attempts on their part would certainly be unsuccessful. a general invitation was now given to the company to join in despatching the elephant; and it was immediately assailed by more than a dozen men armed with assegais and javelins. they succeeded in killing it in a little less than half an hour; and, during that time, the torture to which the poor beast was subjected aroused the indignation of our adventurers, who, if allowed, could have released it from its agonies in half a score of seconds. they were true hunters, and, although not sparing of animal life, they took no delight in its tortures. chapter forty five. on the karroo. after killing the elephant, the natives commenced the less difficult task of cutting it up and carrying it off to their kraal. the feet were reserved for the especial use of the chief; and, while waiting for some of his dependents to procure them, he granted our hunters an audience. they were desirous to learn whether the kraal was ever visited by traders,--a class of people they were anxious to meet, though groot willem was more anxious to know whether giraffes ever visited the neighbourhood. congo was called, and for some time he and the chief were heard talking in loud tones, and both at the same time; neither exhibiting the least inclination to listen to one another! their voices grew louder and louder; and our adventurers saw that they were engaged in a hot dispute, that threatened to end in something more unpleasant than a war of words. "what does he say, congo," asked willem. "i don't know, baas willem," answered the kaffir with a shake of the head, that betrayed some shame at his own ignorance. "how is that?" demanded his master. "can't you understand the language he speaks?" "no, baas willem, he talks no zooloo, no kaffir of any kind." "then why were you pretending to interpret his language a few minutes ago?" asked hendrik. "i was trying to learn it," answered congo, in a tone conveying the belief that he had given a satisfactory answer. "we have no time to stop here for you to learn a language," said hendrik. "and if you can't converse with the man why did you not say so? how came you to tell us what he was saying a few minutes ago?" the attention of all was now called to swartboy, who seemed overpowered with joy. it was some time before he was able to make himself understood; but at last he was heard to mutter:-- "i tole you that congo was a ole fool. now you all see for yourselfs. look at 'im! don't he look four, five, six times fool. i tole ye so." "can _you_ understand what the chief says?" asked groot willem. "yaas, baas willem; any swartman know dat." "then talk to him yourself. you know what we wish to learn from him." the bushman's features now assumed a quizzically comical expression; and from this the hunters saw that he had become serious. going up to the chief he commenced a conversation, from which willem learned, after it was translated to him, that no giraffes had been seen in the neighbourhood for many moons. very few traders visited the tribe; and those who had done so had not left a good name behind them. the chief lived in the kraal seen not far away; and the hunters were invited to pay him a visit. this invitation was immediately accepted by willem, who seemed to have lost all desire to return to graaf reinet again. this attempt on the part of willem to delay their homeward journey was easily defeated by hendrik. "why should we go to their kraal?" asked he. "we shouldn't be allowed to leave it for two or three days, and we want to go on in search of giraffes. there are none here." with this argument willem was well pleased; and they prepared to continue their journey. before making a move, they saw most of the elephant's flesh taken away by the bechuanas. three oxen were laden with it, and several of the natives staggered under heavy loads,--covered from head to foot with long strips cut from the animal's sides. some of the blacks carried large square flakes of the flesh with their heads thrust through a hole cut in the centre,--the broad disk descending over the shoulders like the skirts of a mexican's _serape_. the sight of these people apparently clothed with bleeding flesh, and staggering under its weight towards their homes, was, as hendrik observed, an "antidote against hunger, effectual for at least a month." after taking leave of the tribe, our travellers continued on towards the south. it was quite dark before they arrived at a suitable camping-place. they had met with no water since leaving the pools passed in the morning, and the cattle were sadly in want of it. unable to make much progress in the darkness that came thickly over them, the animals--both oxen and horses--were unladen and a halt was made, with the intention of resuming the march at the first dawn of day. by early morning they were on the move, anxious to reach water as soon as possible. for several miles they journeyed over a tract of ground, the surface of which resembled that of the ocean lashed by a storm. it was a constantly recurring series of abrupt undulations, like huge billows and the troughs between them. now for the first time they noticed the great difference that thirst produces between horses and cow cattle. the latter seemed to think that they could obtain relief by quietly yielding to the enervating effect of thirst, and travelling as slowly as their drivers would permit them. they were urged forward with much difficulty, and the makololo were constantly wielding their huge _jamboks_ to induce them to go quicker. with a rolling gait they crawled unwillingly forward, their tongues protruding from their mouths, each offering as perfect a picture of despair as could well be imagined. the horses on the contrary seemed eager to get over the ground as quickly as possible. they appeared to act under the guidance of reason, as if knowing that they were still far from the wished-for water, and that the faster they travelled the sooner it would be reached. throughout the afternoon hendrik and willem rode in advance of the others, anxiously looking out for spring, pool, or stream. the all-sustaining fluid must be found that night, or their cattle would perish. their knowledge of this filled them with forebodings for the future, and they travelled on almost as despairingly as their oxen. they had made a great mistake in so imprudently parting with the bechuanas, without making inquiries about the country through which they should have to travel. had they done so, they might have avoided the difficulty their indiscretion had now brought upon them. a little before sunset a hill, higher than any they had seen during the day, was descried to the right of their course. at its base they saw growing a grove of stunted trees. raising their heads and cocking their ears, the horses ridden by willem and hendrik started off towards the hill at a brisk pace, each uttering a low whimpering, that their riders interpreted into the word _water_. before reaching the grove they passed a dead lion, part of which had been eaten by some carrion-feeding denizens of the desert. by the side of the carcass were also seen three or four dead jackals, which they supposed the lion to have killed before giving up the ghost himself. on reaching the grove, they discovered a small pool of muddy water; and with outstretched necks their horses rushed towards it. by its edge lay the dead body of a buffalo; and near by a hyena in the same condition. "hold your horse!" exclaimed hendrik, suddenly reining in his own. "perhaps the water is poisoned. see that buffalo and hyena,--and we have just passed the other dead animals." it required all their strength to hinder the horses from plunging into the pool. only by turning their heads in the opposite direction and driving the spurs into their sides, did they succeed in keeping them away from the water. even then the suffering animals seemed determined to rear backwards into the pool; and it was not without a struggle that they were forced away from it. the hunters now rode back to meet their companions and warn them off, till the water in the pool should be tested by swartboy, congo, and the makololo. chapter forty six. the pool of death. on coming up with their companions the two pioneers reported the glad tidings that water had been found. but the joy caused by this announcement was at once changed into gloom, when they expressed their doubts as to the purity of the element. hans and arend at once dismounted, and, taking swartboy and two of the makololo along with them, went on towards the pool. on reaching it, swartboy at once pronounced the water to be poisoned. it had been done, he said, with two separate kinds of poison, both of the deadliest nature. a bundle of roots that had been mashed between two stones was seen lying in the water, and floating on its surface was a large quantity of the skins of some poisonous species of berry. there was no help for it. they must avoid the danger by going another way, or their animals, at scent of the water, could not be restrained from drinking it. the buffalo had quenched its thirst and then sought the shade of the trees to lie down and die. the strong lion had tasted of the poisoned fluid, but his strength had not saved him. a few paces from the pool, and he had fallen down in his tracks. the jackals had partially devoured the lion, then slaked their thirst with the deadly draught, and returned to their repast only to renew, but never to finish it. after satisfying themselves that the pool had been poisoned, they were about returning to their companions, when they observed a great commotion amongst the cattle and horses of the expedition. the former were lowing, the latter neighing, in an unusual manner. the two horses which had already visited the imperilled spot, seemed especially impatient of control; and, in the efforts made by hendrik to restrain him, the girth of his saddle got loose and was broken. as he dismounted for the purpose of repairing it, the horse broke away from him and galloped back towards the pool, uttering its shrill neigh, as if a signal for the others to follow. the invitation was not slighted. the pack-horses immediately swept off in pursuit. the oxen seemed suddenly awakened to new life. either instinct, or the example of the horses, had admonished them that water was near. the oxen, carrying heavy loads, that for the last few miles had been goaded onward with great difficulty, became suddenly reinvigorated and joined in the general stampede. the whole cavalcade had soon escaped beyond control. now occurred a race between the thirsty cattle and their owners, as to which should first reach the pool. hans, arend, and the two makololo formed a line in front of it and strove to check the impetuous charge. their efforts proved vain. mad with the agony of thirst, the beasts had no longer any respect for the authority of man; and they who were trying to stay them from self-destruction only saved _themselves_ from being trodden under foot, by getting quickly out of the way. as the pond was not more than ten feet in diameter, and could only be approached on its lower edge, all the animals were unable to reach it. the first horse that approached the water, was instantly pushed into it by two others close following him, and, by the time the three had fairly commenced imbibing the poisoned fluid, they were charged upon by several of the oxen. heavy blows with jamboks and the butt-ends of rifles produced no effect in forcing the animals away. everything was unheeded but the mad raging desire of quenching their thirst. fortunately for the hunters, all their cattle could not drink at the same time, as they stood in each others' way. for about ten minutes, there was a scene of indescribable confusion amidst shouts and struggling. the three horses and two of the oxen, jammed tightly together, were unable to get out again,--even had they been so inclined. so firmly had they become wedged against each other and the high bank above, that neither could move a step. the hole was about three feet in depth and the bodies of the five animals completely filled it up. some others of the cattle, failing to reach the water from the low bank, scrambled up to the high one; but, on looking down, they could see nothing but the backs of the five animals in occupation. one of the oxen, in a tremendous effort made to get its mouth to the water, was borne down and trampled under the feet of the others. after more than half an hour of hard work, the hunters, assisted by their black companions succeeded in driving all the animals away, except the five that retained possession of the pool. these five never left it. three horses and two oxen were the loss that was sustained. they were pack animals that had thus perished; and fortunately they were not laden with powder, or any substance easily injured. the packs were at once removed from them and placed on the backs of others,--an arrangement that, from that time forth, caused congo and swartboy to make their journey on foot. with this, congo seemed quite satisfied. the loss of his "mount" did not trouble him so much as the fear that he should lose spoor'em, his favourite hound, whose sufferings, as well as those of the other dogs, were now painful to witness. by this time they had journeyed a few miles beyond the poisoned pond; the shade of night had again commenced gathering over the plain. they saw they would have to continue their journey throughout the night. the emergency would not admit of the least delay, for every hour was fast taking away what little strength was left either to themselves or their animals. but which way should they go? that was the question that required answering. they did not think of returning to the north; but there were the east, south, and west for them to choose from. which of those directions was the likeliest for water? this question the young hunters were wholly unable to answer, and must have left themselves to the guidance of chance, had they not been accompanied by swartboy. the bushman suggested a course, of which, not only the makololo, but congo approved. for all this, his proposal was prefaced by the usual complaint against the kaffir, as the cause of all their misfortunes. having established this fact to his satisfaction, he proceeded to inform his masters, that he had heard much in his boyhood of the manners and customs of the bechuanas. some weak tribe of that nation, he thought, had sought refuge from an enemy by making their home in the great karroo, or desert, through which the expedition was now passing. they had poisoned the pool for the purpose of preventing their enemies from receiving a supply of water while pursuing them. they who had done so could not be expecting an enemy from the north, nor yet from the south, where other tribes of their kindred dwelt. they could only look for foes from the east, from the land of the zooloo kaffirs; whom swartboy declared to be the curse of the earth. for these reasons, swartboy believed that a tribe of bechuanas would be found to the west, and that, by a journey of a few hours in that direction, their kraal might be reached. no one had any argument against this reasoning of swartboy; and, yielding to his suggestion, the march was again commenced, with their faces turned westward. there was one thing that gave the hunters a hope. it was the knowledge that they were not in that part of south africa, where there is any very extensive _karroo_. they were too far to the south-east to have strayed into the great kalahari desert. the karroo they were traversing, might be a small one, which could be crossed in a few hours had they been able to travel with any speed. unfortunately, they were not. so exhausted were their animals that the use of jamboks and the strongest language, spoken in the dutch, english, hottentot, kaffir, and makololo tongues could not make them move one step faster than two miles to the hour. this rate of travelling will annihilate a great distance, but only in a great deal of time; and, knowing that their cattle could not hold out much longer, our adventurers began to fear that their hunting expedition would turn out something worst than a failure. chapter forty seven. the water-root. throughout that long and dreary night they toiled on, driving the cattle before them. guided by the southern cross they pursued nearly a straight course. when morning dawned upon the scene, they observed that the surface of the country still continued the same,--presenting that lumpy appearance with which during the last two days they had become so familiar. although all were hungry, weary, and suffering grievously from thirst, there was no time for making a stop. the cattle must be taken on as speedily as possible, or abandoned, along with their loads. slowly the sun climbed up into the sky, until it was directly over their heads; and yet, judging by the appearance of the country, they had not moved a step from the place where they had first entered upon the karroo. the landscape around them seemed exactly the same! "we have had about enough of this sort of travelling," remarked hendrik, "and it's quite time that we began to think of ourselves, and not quite so much of our property." "what do you wish?" asked willem. "abandon the pack-oxen?" "we shall probably have to do so in the end. it appears as if the time had come. we had better save our horses and ourselves and let the others go." "you forget, hendrik," rejoined his brother, "that we are not all mounted. we cannot desert those who are afoot." "of course not," answered the young cornet, "but even swart, who is not a fast traveller, could go two miles to one he is doing now, with all his time engaged in urging forward the animals." this conversation was interrupted by a shout from swartboy himself. he was standing over a little plant with narrow leaves, that rose not more than six inches above the surface of the plain. it was the stem of the water-root,--a plant that, on the karroos of south africa, has saved the lives of thousands of thirsty travellers, that would otherwise have perished. several stems of the plant were seen growing around the spot, and the bushman knew that the want from which all had been suffering, would be at least partially supplied. a pick-axe and spade were hastily procured from a pack carried by one of the oxen; and swartboy commenced digging around the stem of the plant first discovered. the earth, baked by the sun nearly as hard as a burnt brick, was removed in large flakes, and the bulb was soon reached,--at the depth of ten or twelve inches below the surface. when taken out, it was seen to be of an oval shape, about seven inches in its longest diameter, and covered with a thin cuticle of a bright brown colour. the juicy pulp of the water-root was cut into slices, and chewed. it tasted like water itself, that is, it had no taste at all. assegais and knives were now called into active play; and so abundant was the plant growing near, that in a short time every man, horse, and ox had been refreshed with a bulb. the first root obtained by congo was shared with spoor'em, the hound, which, with his tongue far-extended, had been crawling along with much difficulty. the young hunters might have passed over miles of karroo covered with the bulb, without knowing that its slender, insignificant stems were the indication of a fountain spread bountifully beneath their feet. congo and the makololo were also ignorant of the character of this curious plant; and all would have gone on without discovering it, had swartboy not been of the party. for the advantage he had given them, by introducing them to the plant, the bushman claimed nearly as much credit as though he had created it. as no one was disposed to underrate the service he had done, he obtained what appeared full compensation for all the annoyance he had felt at being so long neglected. partly refreshed by the cooling sap of the water-root, the cattle behaved as though they thought there was still something worth living for. they moved forward with renewed animation; and a long march was made in the course of the afternoon. just as the sun was setting, several huts were descried to the south; and our travellers continued towards them, quite confident that a full supply of water would be found near the huts, which, as they drew towards them, proved to be a kraal of the bechuanas. the fear of losing their cattle was no longer felt. before arriving at the huts, their owners came forth to meet them. their first salutation was a statement of their surprise that any travellers could have succeeded in reaching their secluded habitation. swartboy replied to this by a request to be conducted to the nearest place where water could be obtained,--of course to the stream, pools, or wells that supplied the kraal. the answer was astounding. it was that they knew of no open water within less than a day's journey! months had passed since any of them had seen such a thing, and all the inhabitants of the kraal had been living without it! "what does this mean?" demanded hendrik. "surely they are telling lies. they don't want to give us the water and their story is but a subterfuge to conceal it. tell them, swart that we don't believe them." the bushman did as he was desired, but the bechuanas only reiterated their previous statement. "what nonsense!" exclaimed arend. "they take us for such fools as to suppose people can live without water! they have a supply somewhere. we must make a search for it and help ourselves." "no, baas arend," interposed swartboy. "don't do this. they show us water by an by. we better wait." acting under the advice of the bushman, the oxen were unladen, and a camp established close to the kraal. although pretending to be satisfied with the statement of the bechuanas, that they were living without water, our travellers had their eyes on the alert, sending glances of inquiry in every direction, in the hope of discovering where the much-desired element was kept. they saw not the slightest indications of stream or pool, well or water-hole, of any kind. the place all around had the same sterile appearance as that of the country over which they had journeyed for the last two days, and certainly things looked confirmatory of the bechuanas' statement. after all, they might be telling the truth! it was not very cheering to think so; and our travellers became quite disconsolate. swartboy, however, did something to assure them, by counselling them to say nothing, but submit quietly,--trusting to time and patience. they followed his instructions, for the want of knowing what else they could do. they felt that they were in his hands; and, observing his confident manner one and all awaited the end without murmuring. chapter forty eight. an odd sort of suction pump. it was not long before all were convinced of the prudent course which swartboy had counselled them to pursue. had they insisted on being supplied with water, or made an attempt to take it by force, they would have been disappointed. they would not have been able to find a drop within many miles of the place where more than two hundred people were living. for all this, there was water not far off; and, trusting to that feeling of generosity which rarely fails when relied upon, they were at length supplied with it. water was brought to them. not much at first, but in small quantities, and carried in the shells of ostrich-eggs. they soon had enough to satisfy their own thirst and allow them to turn their attention to the wants of their cattle. after drinking off the contents of an ostrich shell, groot willem by signs, directed the attention of the woman who had given it to him, to the suffering condition of his horse. the woman, who could not exactly be called an "ornament to her sex," only shook her wool-covered head and walked thoughtfully away. "unless we can get some drink for our horses," said willem, turning to his companions, "we must keep on. if we stop much longer here the animals will die." "wait, baas willem," said swartboy; "the heart of the bechuana grow bigger soon. he like de bushman." swartboy's prophecy proved correct. not long after it was spoken, one of the bechuanas came to the camp, and asked to be conducted to the chief. groot willem was immediately pointed out by swartboy as the individual who answered to that appellation, and the black walked up to him. his errand was to say that the horses and cattle could only be watered _one at a time_. this was satisfactory enough. willem's horse, as belonging to the chief of the party, should be supplied first, and was led away by the man, its owner following at its heels. a short distance from the kraal they came to a well, from which a covering of earth had recently been removed. the well, for some purpose, had been concealed, as if it were a pitfall for the capturing of elephants. with a bucket made of buffalo hide, water was drawn out, until the horse had as much as he cared to drink. he was then led away and another brought to the place, and then another, and after them the cattle, until all the animals had drunk to their satisfaction. this method of watering them showed some intelligence on the part of the bechuanas. it avoided the struggle and confusion which would certainly have taken place, had the thirsty animals been driven to the well at the same time. that evening the hunters had a long conversation with the head man of the kraal, swartboy acting as interpreter. the chief said that his tribe had once been large and powerful; but what from desertion, and wars with the kaffirs, they had become reduced to their present number. in order to live in peace and security, he had sought refuge in the solitary karroo, where the hardships to be encountered in reaching his remote home would deter any enemy from making the attempt. in order to make assurance doubly sure, he admitted having caused several water-holes to be poisoned; and he appeared greatly satisfied at telling them how, on one occasion, his plan had met with a splendid success. a party of his kaffir enemies had partaken of the water from one of the poisoned pools, and had died upon the spot. this portion of the narrative, which was interpreted by swartboy, seemed to give the latter as much satisfaction as it did the chief himself. he grinned with intense delight as he translated the account of this strange episode. in order to give his guests an exalted idea of his greatness the chief informed them that he was brother to kalatah. groot willem expressed a wish to know who or what the great kalatah might be. the chief was astonished, not to say chagrined, at the confession of so much ignorance, and the hunters were instantly enlightened. kalatah was the most noble warrior, the best brother, the most loyal subject, in fact the best man in every way, that ever lived, and his memory was, and ought to be, respected over the whole world. this was news to our adventurers, and they were anxious to learn more of the chief and his wonderful relative. willing to gratify his guests, he further informed them that the kaffirs had made another attempt to reach the remote kraal in which he now dwelt. they had entered the karroo with a large force well prepared for crossing it, and would probably have succeeded, had they not been led astray. his brother, kalatah, had deserted to the enemy for the express purpose of becoming a false guide, and under this pretence he had succeeded in drawing them off the scent. he had conducted them far to the north, and into the heart of the great kalahari desert. not one of these befooled foemen lived to return to their own country, all having perished by thirst. "but kalatah! what of him?" eagerly inquired the listeners. "how did he escape the same fate?" "kalatah did not escape it," coolly answered the chief. "he perished with the rest. he sacrificed his own life for the sake of saving his countrymen!" this act had endeared him to the memory of his people; and the hunters, on hearing it, became convinced that the bechuanas, whom they had been taught to regard as a soul-less, degraded people, had still soul enough to respect the performance of a noble action. next morning our travellers were made acquainted with the method by which the water was obtained for the daily supply of the kraal. none was allowed to be exposed either to the sun or to view, the well being carefully covered up with a thick stratum of turf. the kraal had been built near a spring, which had of course decided the selection of its site; and over the spring a new surface had been given to the ground, so that the presence of water underneath could not be suspected. in order to obtain it for daily use, a hollow reed was inserted into a small, inconspicuous aperture, left open for the purpose, and covered by a stone when the reed was not in use. the water was drawn up by suction,--the women performing the operation by applying their lips to the upper end of the reed, filling the mouth with the fluid, and then discharging it into the egg-shells. the water supplied to the hunters on their first arrival had been "pumped" up in this original fashion! the well was only uncovered and the bucket called into requisition, upon rare and extraordinary occasions, such as that which had arisen from the necessity of supplying the horses and cattle of their guests. our travellers remained for two days in the karroo village, during which they did not suffer much from _ennui_. they had sufficient employment in mending their travelling equipments; and the delay gave their cattle a chance of recruiting their strength, sadly exhausted by the long toilsome journey just made. the whites of the party were much interested in observing the habits and customs of the simple people among whom they had strayed. none of the bechuanas appeared to have the slightest wish to go away from the place they had chosen for a permanent home. to them it afforded tranquillity, and that was all that could be said of it, for it afforded little besides. that was all they required. not one of them seemed afflicted with ordinary human desires. they had no ambition, no curiosity, no love of wealth,--none of those wants that render wretched the lives of civilised people. a place less suited for the abode of men could scarce have been found, or even imagined. the soil was sterile, unproductive, and rarely visited by game worthy of being hunted. the few roots and other articles of food they were enabled to raise, furnished but a precarious subsistence. so limited was their supply of ordinary utensils, that even the most trifling article was in their eyes valuable, and anything given them by their guests was received with a gratitude scarce conceivable. they had discovered the art of living in peace and happiness, and were making the most of the discovery. from what they were told by the villagers, our travellers could not expect to get out of the karroo in less than two days, and no water could be obtained along the route. but, as their cattle were now well rested, they were not so apprehensive, and after a friendly leave-taking with the bechuanas, they once more continued their journey. the trouble they had given to their simple hosts was remunerated without much cost. a glass bottle that had once contained "cape smoke," was thought by the latter to be of greater value than a gun; and, taking their circumstances into account, they were perhaps not far astray in their estimate. chapter forty nine. scenes seldom visited. knowing that the longer they should be in reaching the next watering-place the weaker their cattle would become, our travellers strove to perform more than half the distance in less than half the time. on their first day's journey after leaving the kraal, they went about twenty-five miles; but on starting the next day they saw that not more than half that distance was likely to be accomplished, and that their principal work would consist in plying the jamboks. towards noon they came upon a tract of country, the greater portion of which had once been flooded with brackish water, and was now slightly incrusted with salt. the reflection of the sun's rays on this incrustation gave it the appearance of water; and, on seeing it, the cattle, horses, and dogs rushed forward, anticipating a grand pleasure in quenching their thirst. on discovering what it was, the animals gave out their various expressions of disappointment. the horses neighed, the oxen bellowed, and the dogs barked and howled. a constant _mirage_ floated over the plain, magnifying and distorting the appearance of everything within view. where the saline incrustations did not cover the ground, there grew a short, sour herbage, browsed upon by _blesboks_, _wilde beests_, and several other species of antelopes. these animals, as well as some stunted trees, at times appeared suspended in the air, and magnified far beyond natural size. high up in the air could be seen the reflection of animals that were many miles distant from the place they appeared to be occupying. these optical illusions were the cause of much annoyance to the thirsty travellers,-- especially to their animals, unable to understand them. excited with the hope of quenching their thirst, they were with much difficulty prevented from rushing about in pursuit of the phantom that was so terribly tantalising them. the cattle had been a long time without salt, and had a strong desire to lick up the saline incrustation, that in some places covered the earth to an eighth of an inch in thickness. this increased their thirst, and caused them to hasten forward to the next deceptive show that spread itself before them. in place of meeting water, they only found that which strengthened the desire for it. our travellers seemed to have reached a land where phantoms and realities were strangely commingled. they saw spectral illusions of broad lakes, with trees mirrored upon their placid surface. a sun of dazzling brightness seemed shining from the bottom of an unfathomed sea, and a forest appeared suspended in the air! but along with these fair fancies there were many unpleasant realities. for the first two or three hours after entering amid such scenes, they could not help feeling interested. in time, however, the interest died away as their vision became accustomed to the strange appearances. one yet awaited them, stranger and more extraordinary than any yet witnessed. about three hours after the sun had passed the meridian, they arrived at a place that resembled a small island in the midst of an ocean. water was rolling down upon them from every direction, and had their eyes not been so often deceived, they could easily have imagined that the dry earth upon which they stood was about to be instantly submerged. while contemplating this singular scene, their attention was called to another no less singular. it was that of a gigantic bird moving across the sky, not in flight, but walking with long strides! they might have been alarmed but for their knowledge of what it was. an ostrich somewhere on the karroo was being reflected by the _mirage_, and magnified to ten times its natural size. on a former expedition our hunters had seen much of the singular phenomena produced by the _mirage_. they had witnessed many, many spectacles, but the one upon which they were now gazing excited their admiration more than any they had ever encountered. the reflected ostrich was perfect in shape, and his stalk so natural that, but for what they knew, they might have believed that something as extraordinary as anything seen by john the revelator had descended to the earth from another world. such a sight, appearing in the sky that overhangs hampstead heath, would have converted all london to a belief in the prophecies of the reverend doctor gumming. as they stood gazing upon it, a cloud came rolling up the heavens, carried along by a breeze that had commenced blowing from the west. by this the _mirage_ was destroyed, and the vast spectral image suddenly disappeared. the phantom shapes were seen no more; and soon after the travellers saw before them some real ones, that led them to believe they were approaching the limit of the karroo. the ground was higher, more uneven, and covered by a more luxuriant vegetation. water would be found at no great distance. this fact was deduced from the presence of some zebras and pallahs, seen feeding near, as they knew that neither of those animals ever strays far from the neighbourhood of a stream. near what may be called the border of the karroo, the hunters came across what to them was a prize of some value. it was an ostrich-nest, containing seventeen fresh eggs, which afforded the raw material for an excellent dinner. this was soon cooked and eaten; and our travellers continued their march. but swartboy had a passion either for killing ostriches, or procuring their feathers. possibly the _penchant_ might have been for both; but, be that as it may, he was unwilling to go away from the nest, even after the eggs had been extracted from it. knowing that his masters intended to encamp by the first watering-place they should meet, he determined to stay behind for an hour or two and rejoin the travelling party in the evening; and as no one made objection he did so. his prejudice in favour of poisoned arrows, and against the use of fire-arms, as weapons of offence, had been gradually removed; and he had for some time past been induced to shoulder a double-barrelled gun capable of carrying either bullets or shot. with this gun the bushman seated himself upon the edge of the ostrich's nest, and was left in this attitude by the others as they moved away from the spot. just as the sun was setting a dark grove of timber loomed up before their eyes; and on reaching it they discovered a stream of water. the impatient oxen would not allow their packs to be taken off till after they had quenched their thirst, after which they went vigorously to work upon the rich herbage that grew upon the banks of the stream. it was full two hours before swartboy made his appearance by the camp-fire. its light illumined a set of features expanded into an expression that spoke of some grand satisfaction. he had evidently gained something by remaining behind. success had attended his enterprise. in his hands were seen the long white plumes of an ostrich,--the trophies of his hunter skill,--that even in africa are not so easily obtained. his story was soon told. he had lain flat along the ground close by the ostrich's nest until the birds had returned. they had come back in company, and swartboy had secured them both as a reward for his watchful patience. he had brought the plumes with him, not as a mere evidence of his triumph, but intended to be taken on to graaf reinet, and there presented to his "totty." the bushman stated that he had seen a large flock of ostriches while waiting for the two he had killed. he had no doubt but what they could be found on the following day; and, as it was necessary that the cattle should have a little time to rest and recover themselves after the toils of the karroo, an ostrich-hunt was at once agreed upon, and for that evening ostriches became the chief topic of conversation around the camp-fire. chapter fifty. a talk about ostriches. the ostrich (_struthio camelus_) is supposed to be the benonim, jaanah, and joneh, mentioned in the bible. it is the _thar edsjanmel_ or camel-bird of the persians, of which everybody knows something and of which nobody knows all. with the general appearance of the bird, i presume that my young readers are already acquainted, and shall therefore say little or nothing about it. the stumpy-footed, two-toed, long-legged, kicking creature has wings that are apparently more useful to man than to itself. in fact, the possession of these apparently superfluous appendages is generally the cause of its being hunted by man and by him destroyed. it is one of those unfortunate creatures, persecuted to gratify the vanity of other perhaps equally unfortunate creatures, called fashionable ladies. a full-grown ostrich is usually between seven and eight feet in height, but individuals have occasionally been met with measuring more than ten. its nest is merely a hole in the sand, about three feet in diameter, and usually contains twenty eggs. half this number may be seen lying outside the nest, and elsewhere scattered over the plain. these are supposed to be intended as food for the young when they have first broken the shell. this supposition, however, is not founded upon the observation of any fact to justify a belief in it. job (chapter ), speaking of the ostrich, says, she "leaveth her eggs in the earth, and warmeth them in the dust, and forgetteth that the foot may crush them, or that the wild beast may break them. she is hardened against her young ones as though they were not hers: her labour is in vain without fear." this account does not altogether correspond with modern observation. in the heat of the day, when the eggs are under the burning sun, the ostrich can well afford to leave them for a while and go off in quest of food. at night, when it is cool and the eggs need protection, the bird is ever to be found doing its duty, and the male ostrich is often seen in charge of the young brood, and assiduously guarding them. at such times, if molested, the old birds have been known to act in the same way as the partridge or plover, by shamming lame, so as to mislead the intruder. from much more now known of the ostrich, it cannot be said to be wanting in paternal or maternal instincts; and the idea of its being so has only originated in the fact of their nests being so often found deserted during the hot hours of the day. the food of the ostrich generally consists of seeds and leaves of various plants. owing to the nature of the dry desert soil on which it is obtained, the only species it can procure are of a hard, dry texture; and it is supposed to be for the purpose of assisting nature in their digestion that the bird will swallow pebbles, pieces of iron, or other mineral substances. some have been disembowelled, in whose stomachs was found a collection so varied as to resemble a small curiosity shop or geological museum. stones have been taken out of the stomach of an ostrich each weighing more than a pound avoirdupois! when this great bird is going at full run,--for of course it cannot fly,--its stride is full twelve feet in length, and its rate of speed not less than twenty-five miles to the hour. it cannot be overtaken by a horseman, and its capture is generally the result of some stratagem. it always feeds on the open plain, where it can obtain an unobstructed view, and be warned in good time of the approach of an enemy. it possesses a sharp vision, and from the manner its eyes are set in its small, disproportioned head, held eight or ten feet above the surface of the ground, it can take in the whole circle of the horizon at a glance. on this account the utmost caution is required in approaching it. in one respect the author of the book of job has closely followed nature in his description of this bird; for "god hath deprived her of wisdom, neither hath he imparted to her understanding." the ostrich is a stupid creature, and is often captured by taking advantage of its stupidity. nature seems to have placed in its little head the belief that in running to the leeward it will encounter some impassable barrier, and be overtaken by whatever pursues it. ostrich-hunters are well acquainted with this peculiarity, and on approaching a flock they always ride to the windward. this manoeuvre is observed by the birds, who believe that an attempt is being made to cut off their retreat in the only direction in which it can be successfully made. they immediately start on a course which, if continued, must cross that taken by the hunters. owing to the greater distance it has to run, the latter often get near enough to bring the bird down with a shot. were the silly bird to retreat in the opposite direction, it would be perfectly safe from pursuit. the feathers of the ostrich are beautifully adapted to the warm climate of the desert country it inhabits. they allow a free circulation of the air around its skin, while giving shade to its body. the white plumes of the male bring the greatest price, and sometimes sell for pounds the pound, troy weight, of only twelve ounces. the black feathers seldom fetch more than a fourth of the price. two species of ostrich are found on the great plains of south america, and one other in australia. none of these attain the gigantic proportions of the african, nor are their plumes at all comparable in beauty or value to those of the _struthio camelus_. ostriches were once a favourite article of food with the romans; and it is stated that the brains of six hundred of these birds were consumed at one feast. the flesh is still eaten, but only by the native africans. the bird possesses great strength, and can run at a rapid rate with a man mounted on its back. it was undoubtedly designed by its creator for some other purpose than that of contributing to the gratification of man's vanity. ostriches are easily domesticated. this is done to some extent by the arabians, who breed and bring them up for the sake of the feathers, as also to procure them as an article of food. but the more enlightened people of the present day make no other effort to ascertain their utility, than to keep a pair or two of them shut up in a public garden for children and their nurses to gaze at. chapter fifty one. another delay. next morning, the hunters were early in the saddle, and off for the karroo. for some distance, they rode along the bank of the stream which was fringed by a growth of willow-trees. this course was taken to get to windward of the ostriches, in the hope of having a shot at them as they ran up the wind. had their object been to stalk any other species of animal, they would have advanced upon it from the leeward. before they had gone a great way over the karroo, five huge bipeds were seen about a mile away. they were ostriches. they were apparently coming towards them with great speed, and the four hunters extended their line to cut off an advance which the stupid bird mistakes for a retreat. they were moving in long rapid strides; and, as they drew nearer, the hunters saw that, to obtain a good shot, they must gallop farther to the north. the birds were going in a curved line that would carry them away from the place where the hunters expected to have met them. to get within sure range, these saw that they would have a sharp ride for it, and their horses were instantly put to their full speed. though the ostriches appeared to be running in a straight line from the place where they had started, such was not the case. they were curving around just sufficiently to avoid the hunters, and yet get to the windward of them. their pace being much faster than that of the horses, they succeeded in crossing the course pursued by the latter, about three hundred yards in advance of them. willem and hendrik hardly taking time to pull up, dismounted and fired. but not with the desired result. the ostriches were at too great a distance, and ran on untouched. knowing that a stern chase after them would prove a failure, the hunters came to a stop. several other ostriches were afterwards seen; but, as on the open karroo, it was found impossible to approach them; and our adventurers were compelled to return to their camp without taking back a single feather. their want of success was a source of great gratification to swartboy. he could kill ostriches afoot, while four white men, although well-armed and mounted on fast horses, had failed to do so. the bushman could not avoid making an exhibition of his conceit, and he proceeded to inform his masters that if they were very anxious to obtain ostrich-feathers, he could easily put them in the way. as none of the hunters were inclined to put swartboy's abilities for ostrich-hunting to a further test they acknowledged their defeat and resumed the interrupted journey. after leaving the karroo, the hunters entered into a very beautiful and fertile country possessed by small tribes of peaceful bechuanas, who had long been allowed to remain undisturbed by their warlike neighbours, for the reason that they lived at a great distance from any hostile tribe. it was a country willem was reluctant to pass rapidly through; for, after leaving it behind, he knew there would be very little hope of again seeing giraffes. along the way, little groves of the _cameel-doorn_ were occasionally seen; but, for all this, no camelopards. at a village, passed by them on the route, they were informed that giraffes sometimes visited the neighbourhood, and that there was no time of the year, but that, with a little trouble, some of these animals might be found within a day's distance. this information, hendrik, arend, and hans heard rather with regret: they knew that it was likely to cause another impediment to their homeward journey. in this they were not deceived. willem stoutly declared that he would proceed no further for the present; at the same time, telling the others that, if they were impatient to reach graaf reinet, they might go on without him. this, all three would willingly have done, had they dared. but they knew that, on reaching home, they would be unable to give any satisfactory explanation for deserting their companion. people would inquire why they had not remained to assist the great hunter in his praiseworthy enterprise. what answer could they give? there was both honour and profit to be derived by delivering two young giraffes to the dutch consul, and they would not have been unwilling to share in both, if the thing could have been conveniently accomplished. for all that, they would have preferred returning home without further delay, but for the determination of willem to remain. the four makololo were also a little chafed at the delay. they were anxious to see something of the wonders of civilisation, but their impatience was not openly expressed. before setting out, they had been instructed by macora in all things to be guided by willem; and they had no intention of disobeying. congo was the only one who was wholly indifferent to the future. his home was with groot willem, and he seemed to have no more concern or remembrance for graaf reinet than his dog spoor'em. choosing a convenient place for their encampment within a few miles of the bechuana village, the youths resolved to stop for a while, and make a final effort at capturing the camelopards. should they succeed in finding these animals, yet fail in taking any of them alive, groot willem promised that he would make no further opposition to returning home. as all knew that the promise would be faithfully kept, they consented to stay for a few days without showing any signs of reluctance. crossing the country with a general course to the south-west, ran a stream, along which was a belt of timber, or rather a series of disconnected copses. the trees were mostly mimosas. in every copse could be seen some trees with torn branches, and twigs cut off, an evidence that they had been browsed upon by the camelopards; while the spoor of these animals appeared in many places along the edge of the stream. as the damage done to the mimosas, and the tracks in the mud, showed signs of having been recently made, our hunters came to the conclusion that giraffes could not be far off. "something whispers me," said willem, "that we shall succeed at last. i left home with the intention of never returning without two young giraffes; and i have not yet relinquished the hope of seeing graaf reinet again. we will make no more pits; but let me once more set my eyes on a giraffe and, mark me, it is mine, if i have to run it down and capture it with my own hands." "that is not possible," remarked hendrik. "true, you might catch a wild elephant; but what would you do with it? or, rather, what would it do with you?" "that question i shall take into serious consideration after i've caught my giraffe," answered willem. "i can only say now, that, if i meet with one, i'm not going to part with it alive,--not if i have to exchange my horse for it." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ three days were passed in riding about the country; and, during that time, the hunters saw not a single giraffe. in this respect, they were more unfortunate than swartboy and the makololo, who remained at the camp. on the evening of the third day which the hunters had spent in beating some groves up the river, swartboy reported, on their return, that two giraffes had passed within sight of the camp. he described them as an aged couple that had, no doubt, been often hunted. to these ancient inhabitants of the mimosa forest, the bushman ascribed the spoor and other signs of giraffes that had been seen. he had compared the tracks of the animals that trotted past the camp, with those on the banks of the stream, and he pronounced both to have been made by the same feet. swartboy further informed his young masters that he could have captured the two animals he had seen, but did not, because they were old, and not worth the trouble. if hendrik, arend, and hans were inclined to place but little reliance on this boast of the bushman, they gave to the rest of his story more than a fair share of credence. to them it was positive evidence that any longer stay in the neighbourhood would be simply a waste of time. willem saw that they were once more inclined on defeating his plans, but it only strengthened him in the resolution to continue a little longer in the place. each of the four had a cherished project he was anxious to see fulfilled. willem's wish was to obtain two young giraffes; and his three companions found that there was no chance of his relinquishing his design,--at least, not for many days. two more were passed upon the spot, and then our young adventurers, who, although young in years, were old in friendship, came very near parting company. at this crisis, a spectacle was presented to their eyes that had the happy effect of once more uniting them for a common purpose. chapter fifty two. a hopeless chase. while the hunters were at breakfast, they were startled by the dull, heavy sound of footfalls, and the yelping of wild dogs. a quarter of a mile to the eastward they saw approaching them a large drove of springboks, accompanied by a band of giraffes. more than a hundred of the antelopes, and between twenty and thirty camelopards were flying before a few _wilde honden_. the wild hounds of south africa hunt in packs, and proceed upon a well-organised plan. the whole pack is never engaged in running upon the view. some remain in reserve, and, guided by the voices of those that are running, frequently save space by cutting off angles. this they can do whenever the chase is not made in a straight line. in this manner they relieve each other, and the pursuit is continued until the game becomes exhausted and is easily overtaken. the perseverance, energy, and cunning displayed by these animals is something wonderful. they do not commence a hunt until driven to it by hunger, and then it is often carried on for many hours, their tenacity of purpose being shown by their continuing the chase till their victim falls down before them. they were in full run after the springboks, and one of those animals was sure to reward their skill and labour by affording them a dinner. the giraffes were foolish enough to think, or act, as though the _wilde honden_ were hunting them; and in place of remaining still and permitting the dogs to pass, or turning to one side, the foolish creatures ran on with the springboks. at the time they came up with the hunters, they were already exhibiting signs of distress. to groot willem it was a gratifying sight. a herd of giraffes was at hand. some of them were evidently young ones. three of them he observed were apparently but a few weeks old. the very things for which he had travelled so far were now before his eyes, apparently coming to deliver themselves up. it was not until the springboks swerved to the right to avoid the horsemen, that these little animals became separated from the giraffes. the latter continued on along the edge of the stream, while the former, pursued by the wild dogs, made off towards some hills to the north. the speed of the camelopard is not quite equal to that of a horse, and the hunters knew that the desired objects could be overtaken; but what then? the giraffes might be shot down, but how were they to be taken alive? there was no time for reflection. the necessity of commencing the chase, and the excitement of following it up, occupied all the time of the hunters. after a sharp run of about two miles, the camelopards began to show further signs of distress. already exhausted by their flight before the hounds, and now pursued by fresh horses, their utmost efforts did not save them from being overtaken; after a two-mile chase our hunters were riding upon their heels. a portion of the herd, becoming separated from the rest turned away from the bank of the stream. there were but three who went thus,--a male and female followed by a young one,--a beautiful creature. groot willem gazed longingly upon it as he galloped by its side, and became nearly mad with the desire to secure it. the pace of the three had now been changed from a gallop to a trot, in which their feet were lifted but a few inches from the ground, and drawn forward in an awkward shambling manner, that proved them exhausted with their long run. still, they ran on at a pace that kept willem's horse at a sharp canter. in a short time he had got out of sight both of the main herd and his comrades. nothing could be seen of either. he might have reflected that there was some risk of losing himself; but he did not. all his thoughts were given to the capture of the young giraffe. slower and more slow became the pace both of pursuer and pursued, the horse streaming with sweat, and nearly ready to drop in his tracks. "why should i follow them farther?" thought willem. "why should i kill my horse for the sake of gazing a little longer on a creature i cannot take?" though conscious of the folly he was committing, willem could not bring himself to abandon the chase. by his side trotted the young giraffe, beautiful in colour, graceful in form, and to his mind priceless in value. but how was it to become his? the coveted prize, although apparently but a few weeks old, and nearly exhausted by its long race, was still able to defy any efforts he might make to check its laboured flight. he was now more than a mile from the river, and his horse was tottering under him, nearly exhausted by its long exertions. what should he do? stop, give his horse a rest, and then return to his companions. this was the command of common sense; but he was not guided by that. for the time, he was insane with excitement, anxiety, and despair. he was mad, and acted like a madman. the hopes and aspirations he had been for months indulging in were concentrated into the hour; and in that hour he could not yield them up. he was too much exasperated to reason calmly or clearly. a little extra exertion on the part of his horse might place him in advance of the three giraffes; and he might drive them back to the river. "yes," exclaimed he, nearly frantic with the fear of losing what seemed so nearly gained. "if i cannot catch this young giraffe, i can drive it. i'll drive it to graaf reinet. it shall not escape me!" plunging his spurs into the foam-covered flanks of his horse, he sprang forward in advance of the three giraffes; and as he expected, they came to a halt. pulling up, he wheeled round facing them, while the two old giraffes turned at the same time and made off in the back direction. as they did so, one of them came in contact with the tottering calf, that for a second or so, seemed to become entangled between its legs; and at their separation, the young one staggered a pace or two and fell heavily upon the earth. chapter fifty three. a weary watch. throwing himself out of his saddle, willem seized the fallen creature, and hindered it from rising, by keeping its head close pressed against the ground. this was easily done, for the long slender neck of the animal, without much muscular strength, gave him a good chance of holding it down. the weight of the huge hunter's body was sufficient for that, without any exertion of his strength. meanwhile the old ones continued their flight, while willem's horse, relieved of his load, proceeded to refresh himself by browsing upon the dry herbage that grew near. willem had obtained what he wanted, a young giraffe. it was actually in his possession. he was holding it under perfect control, and yet it appeared to him that he was as far as ever from the realisation of his hopes! now that he had got the giraffe, all that he could do was to keep it on the spot where it had fallen. the instant its head might be released from his hold it would spring to its feet again and escape in spite of all his efforts to retain it. he could not allow it to go thus. he had hoped too wildly, travelled too far, and waited too long, for that. the fear that he would still have to surrender his prize or destroy it, was to him a painful thought, and it was only relieved by the hope that in time he might be joined by his companions. they might discover the spoor of his horse, and come to him. in that case there would be no difficulty. the giraffe could then be secured with rheims and become their travelling companion for the rest of the journey to graaf reinet. about their coming there was much uncertainty,--at least, their coming in time. they would wait for his return perhaps, until the next morning, before starting out in search of him. before their arrival, the young giraffe would kill itself with the violent exertions it still continued to make. it was kicking and struggling as if it wanted to leap out of its skin. such terrible throes could not fail to injure it. willem was himself suffering from thirst. a long afternoon was before him. it would be followed by a long night,--one in which the lion, that prowling tyrant of the african plains, would be seeking his supper. would the hunter be allowed to retain possession of his prize? his steed, the faithful creature that had carried him through so many perils, was wandering away from his sight. the horse, too, might stray beyond the chance of being found again. he might be devoured by wild beasts. the horse could still be recovered. would it not be better to abandon the giraffe and endeavour to get back to his companions? by remaining where he was, he might lose all three,--his horse, his prize, and his own life. what was best to be done? the young hunter was never more perplexed in his life. he was in an agony of doubt and uncertainty. streams of perspiration were pouring down his cheeks, and his throat felt as if on fire. slowly he saw the horse strolling away, until he was almost beyond the reach of his vision, and yet could not bring himself to a determination as to what should be done. he had travelled fifteen hundred miles to capture two such creatures as the one now underneath him. he had seized upon one, and, if his companions had done their duty, they might have taken another. this thought counselled him to hold on to the captured giraffe; and he saw the horse disappear over a swell of the plain, just as the sun sunk down below the horizon. for a long time, the giraffe struggled wildly to release itself. then it remained quiet for a while, not as if it had given up the intention to escape, but as if reflecting on some plan to free itself. again it would recommence its struggles, and again rest awhile, as though gathering strength for a fresh effort. gradually it grew resigned to its position, and seemed to breath more tranquilly, while its exertions were less frequent and more feeble. it had learnt that it could remain in the presence of man without meeting death. it had become familiar with his company, and conscious of its own inability to part from it, while man opposed its efforts. night came down and found willem still seated by the side of the giraffe, with his arms around its neck. he had the satisfaction of thinking that his companions would now be uneasy at his absence. he felt sure that within a few hours congo and spoor'em would be upon his track, with the others following; and, when all should arrive, the young giraffe would be secured. the prospect of such a termination to his adventure did much to make him disregard the agony he was enduring. he soon discovered he was not to be left alone in his vigil; nor was his right to the prize to be left undisputed. his first visitors were hyenas; but their laughter--apparently put forth at seeing him in his ludicrous position--did not induce him to abandon it; and the fierce brutes circled around him, smiling and showing their teeth to no purpose. they were too cowardly to attempt an attack; and their efforts to frighten him were more amusing than otherwise. soon after sunset the night became very dark,--so dark that although the hyenas approached within a few paces, nothing could be seen of them except their shining eyes. it was just such a night as lions select for going in search of prey,--so dark that the king of beasts can move about unseen, and, while thus protected by invisibility, will pounce upon a man with as much confidence as he will upon a springbok. as willem was trying to while away the time by hopeful thoughts, the air was shaken around him, by a voice which he knew to be the roar of the lion. one was abroad seeking blood. the clouds that had been for some time rolling up from the south-west became blacker at the instant, and seemed separated by streams of fire, while the low murmurings of distant thunder could be heard far-off in the sky. they were signs that could not be mistaken. a tropical storm was approaching. the voice of the lion told that he was doing the same. every moment it could be heard, nearer, and more intensely terrifying. which of them would come first,--the storm or the beast of prey? it seemed a question between them. already heavy rain-drops were plashing around him. thirsting as he was, this would have been a welcome sound, but for that other that proceeded from the throat of the lion. the hunter's familiarity with the habits of the great cat gave him a good idea of how he might expect the latter to approach him. there would be a simultaneous bound and roar, followed by the mangling of a body and the crunching of bones, which he could hardly doubt would be his own. willem was not often tortured with fear, though at that moment he was not free from apprehension. still, he awaited the event with calmness. most people, when frightened, feel an irresistible desire to make a sudden departure from the place where they have been seized with the malady; but this was not the case with groot willem. he had the sense to know that by making a move he might run into the jaws of the very danger he wished to avoid; for the roar of the lion gives no guide to the direction the animal may be in. besides, he was not yet so badly scared as to think of abandoning the prize he had taken such trouble to retain. the rain now came down, and for some time continued to fall in torrents. brief periods of darkness were followed by gleams of electric light, dazzling in its brilliancy. in a few minutes the fiercest of the storm appeared to be over, and then, as a wind-up to it, there came a long continued blaze of lightning, more brilliant than ever, and a peal of thunder louder than any that had preceded it. by that flash willem was nearly blinded. the electric shock seemed to strike every nerve in his body, and, had he been standing erect, he certainly would have fallen to the ground. the instant after, so intensely black was all around that he might well have thought for a moment or two that the flash had destroyed his power of vision; but there was another thought on his mind more terrible than this. when the heavens and earth were illumed by that flash, he had obtained a momentary glimpse of an object that drove from his mind every thought but that of immediate death. there was a lion within ten feet of him, just crouching for a spring! willem would have rushed out of the way, and, abandoning the giraffe, have fled far from the spot. this was his first instinct, but unfortunately he was unable to yield to it. prostrated, body and soul, by the electric fluid, that had struck the earth within a few feet of him, for a time he was unable to stir. the first distinct thought that came into his mind was astonishment at finding the minute after that the claws of the lion were not buried in his flesh! the blow that had stunned him was not from the paw of the lion, but the lightning. it had saved his life, as the king of beasts, scorched and terrified by the shock, had retreated on the same instant. the storm soon passed over, and a small patch of clear sky appeared opening up on the western horizon. it was soon after occupied by the disk of a silvery moon, under whose soft light willem continued his vigil, without further molestation from either lion or hyenas. the giraffe was still alive and lying quietly upon the ground; but, from its long and laboured respiration, willem began to fear that it might die before he would have the chance to release it from the irksome attitude in which he felt bound to retain it. chapter fifty four. chance better than skill. the camelopards followed by hans, hendrik, and arend had continued up the bank of the stream; and, being the main body of the herd, were pursued without the hunters having noticed the defection of willem. with such noble game in view, and in hot pursuit of it, these three youths were as much excited as groot willem himself. full of ardour they pressed on. their horses were spurred to such a speed as soon brought them close upon the heels of the flying game. it was only then that willem was observed to have parted from them. he was seen half a mile off, and fast increasing the distance. he was heading northward. this discovery scarce caused them a thought. each was too much interested in his own chase to think of the others. they soon closed in upon the giraffes, that had been driven into a sharp bend of the river. the hunted animals, on perceiving the obstruction, turned back, but found their retreat cut off. the pursuers were coming on behind them. arend, who was to the right of the others, was just in time to prevent the giraffes from escaping with dry hoofs, by riding rapidly in advance of his companions. the herd was again headed towards the river. in forcing them round, arend was placed within a few yards of the largest. the instinctive desire to bring down such a grand creature could not be resisted, and, without bringing his horse to a stand, he placed the barrel of his rifle on a line with the camelopard's head and fired. skill or chance favoured him, and the giraffe dropped to the shot. though a gigantic creature, standing sixteen feet in height the one small bullet, scarce bigger than a pea, was all that was necessary to bring its towering form to the earth. it had been hit on the side of the head, just behind the eye; and, as it received the shot, it raised its fore feet from the ground, spun around as on a pivot, and then fell heavily on its side. as though desirous of putting a period to its sufferings as soon as possible, as soon as it was down it commenced beating the ground violently with its shattered head. the remaining giraffes were driven on toward the stream, where, seeing no other way of avoiding the enemy that pursued them, they plunged into the water. the stream was neither broad nor deep, yet was it one that could not be conveniently crossed at that particular spot. the bank on both sides rose several feet above the water; and, from the way in which the animals were wading across, it was evident they were going upon a soft bottom. not until several of them had reached the opposite shore and made an ineffectual attempt to get out of the channel, did our hunters have any hope of capturing one of the young giraffes. hitherto they had not thought of being able to take them alive. they had entered upon the chase solely for its excitement, and for the destroying of animal life; but on seeing the camelopards struggling in the stream, they became animated with the same hope that was inspiring groot willem about the same time, but on a far distant part of the plain. "they can't get up the bank," shouted hendrik, "and there are two young ones among them. let us try to get hold of them." to carry out hendrik's proposal, but little time was lost in arranging a plan. it was instantly decided that they should separate, and one try to reach the other side of the stream. this task was assigned to hendrik. riding beyond the bend of the river, he reached a place where the bank was shelving and, dashing in, he soon gained the opposite shore. a part of the equipment of each horse ridden by the hunters was a long rheim made of buffalo hide, and used for the purpose of tethering their animals when upon the grass. at one end of the rheim hendrik had a loop, such as is used in the lazos of spanish america. this was the means he intended to make use of for capturing the young giraffes. on riding opposite to them he found them still in the water. wearied by their late run, they were standing quietly, apparently too much exhausted to raise their feet out of the soft ooze in which they were sinking deeper and deeper. two or three of the stronger ones alone continued their struggle to gain the shore, though not one of the drove seemed to think of making escape by moving up or down the stream. they were deterred from this by the presence of hans and arend, who had placed themselves on projecting points of the bank, above and below. the appearance of hendrik directly in front of them caused a change in their attitude. led by a large male, they commenced plunging about as if determined to make a break up stream. but arend, who was in that quarter, had only a few paces to go before again appearing to be directly ahead of them, and this brought them a second time to a stand. after a short pause and a good deal of violent plunging, they now turned down stream, in hopes of escaping that way. so sharp was the bend of the river, that hans, who guarded there, was able to show himself, as if right in front of them, and by loud shouts he once more brought them to bay. as a further encouragement to the hunters to continue the attempt at capturing the young giraffes, they noticed that these made but slight efforts to escape. the mud at the bottom was too tough for the strength of their slender limbs. in the narrow stream they were unable to get out of reach of the rheims, which all three of the hunters had now detached from their saddles, and were looking out for an opportunity to use. in their efforts to avoid their enemies, the frightened camelopards now rushed to and fro, wearily dragging their feet from the mud, until they were hardly able to move. hendrik, who was nearest, after two or three ineffectual trials, at length succeeded in throwing his snare over the head of one of the young ones. as soon as he had done so, he leaped out of his saddle, and made fast the other end of his rheim to a tree. there was no chance for the giraffe to break away after that. however strong it might be in the body, its long slender neck was too feeble to aid it in a violent effort; and it soon submitted to its confinement. "try and catch the other," exclaimed hendrik to his companions, pointing to the second of the young giraffes. "make haste, and you will have it. see! it's stuck in the mud. quick with your rheim, hans, quick!" in a second or two, hans, obeying the call, succeeded in throwing his snare, and the second of the young giraffes became a captive. as this was all that was wanted, the rest of the herd received no further attention,--the hunters being wholly occupied with the two they had taken. left free, the crowd of camelopards once more made a break to get off down stream. in their struggles to escape, one of the young--that captured by hendrik--was borne down and trampled under the water. it was not carried off. the rope still retained it; but, although it remained in the hands of its captors, it was only in the shape of a carcass. it was partly drowned by its head being carried under water, and partly choked by the noose having tightened around its neck. as soon as the herd had gone off, the three hunters turned their attention to the captive that was still alive. it was at first fairly secured, so as to prevent the noose from slipping, and then carefully led out of the stream. for some time it struggled to get free, but, as if convinced that its efforts would be idle, it soon desisted. exhausted with the long race, as well as by its subsequent exertions in the water, it was the more easily subdued. our three hunters were in ecstasies. they had now obtained one young giraffe, and there was a possibility of their yet procuring another. the feat of capturing these creatures, that had baffled so many hunters, was proved not to be impossible. after all, groot willem had not been like a child crying for the moon. he had hoped for nothing more than might be accomplished. the welfare of their captive was now their greatest care; and, to give it an opportunity of recovering from its fright, as also to get it a little better acquainted with its new companions, they resolved to allow it an hour's rest before returning to the camp. the young giraffe was too much exhausted to make any further effort at freeing itself. with the mild and gentle character of the camel, and nothing of the leopard in its nature, the giraffe soon becomes resigned to captivity. chapter fifty five. a reverse of fortune. having given their captive the desired rest, during which it had displayed its good sense by remaining most of the time in quiet, the hunters prepared to drive it to their camp. mounted on their horses, arend and hans each took the end of a rheim, which was fastened midway to its neck. they intended to ride a little in advance of the captive, keeping also some distance apart from each other. this would hinder it from turning either to the right or left. hendrik was to come on behind and urge the creature forward, should it show a disposition to try the strength of its neck by hanging back upon the rheims. this plan worked extremely well. the young captive was compelled to follow the two horsemen in an undeviating line; and every attempt made to remain stationary or go backwards was rewarded by a blow from hendrik's jambok. then the strain on the ropes would instantly be relieved by the animal springing forward. in this manner the creature was conducted along without the slightest trouble; and near the middle of the afternoon, they reached the place from whence they had started out on the hunt. on the ground they discovered their pack-saddles, cooking utensils, and other impedimenta, but nothing was seen of congo, swartboy, the four makololo, or the cattle! all were away! moreover, they had hopes of meeting groot willem on their return, and were anticipating great pleasure from the encounter. they knew how rejoiced he would be at their success. but where were the camp followers? where were swartboy and congo? there was a mystery in their absence that none of the three hunters could solve. why had the property been left exposed by those placed in charge of it? could the makololo have robbed them of their cattle? had congo and swartboy proved traitors? this was very improbable. but why were they not there? for some time our adventurers could do nothing but wait, in the hope that time would explain all, and bring the absentees back. not an ox, horse, or dog was to be seen. the bundles of ivory, enveloped in grass matting, were lying where they had been left in the morning. if a robbery had been committed, why was this valuable property left untouched? as no one could make answer, the solution had to be left to time. evening came on, and the three hunters were still distracted by conflicting hopes, fears, and doubts. the prolonged absence of willem now began to cause them a serious apprehension. it was time something should be done towards finding him; but what were they to do? where should they seek? they knew not; still, they should go somewhere. as night approached, leaving hans to take care of the young giraffe, arend and hendrik started off in the direction in which willem had last been seen. the twilight was fast disappearing before they had proceeded a mile from the camp, but under its dim light they perceived congo and swartboy coming towards them. they were only accompanied by the dogs. the two hunters hastened forward, and soon came up with them. hendrik commenced hastily questioning the bushman, while arend did the same to the kaffir, in the endeavour to get some information of what had so much mystified them. the questions "where is willem?" "where are the cattle?" "why did you leave the camp?" "where are the makololo?" were asked in rapid succession, and to all they received but one answer,--the word "yaas." "will you not tell me, you yellow demon?" shouted hendrik, impatient at not getting the answer he wished. "yaas, baas hendrik," answered swartboy; "what you want to know first?" "where is willem?" this was a question that, in the bushman's way of thinking, required some consideration before he could venture on a reply; but while he was hesitating, congo answered, "we don't know." "ha, ha! congo is a fool," exclaimed swartboy. "we saw baas willem going away this morning with the ress of you, after the tootlas." it was not until the youths were driven nearly wild with impatience that they succeeded in learning what they wished. willem had not returned, and the two africans knew less about the cause of his absence than they did themselves. during the day, the cattle, in feeding, had strayed to some distance over the plain. the four makololo had gone after them, and had not returned. swartboy and congo admitted that they had slept awhile in the afternoon, and only on awaking had discovered that the cattle and makololo were missing. they had then started out in search of both. they had found the ambassadors of macora in great trouble. a party of bechuanas had chanced upon them, and taken from them the whole of the cattle! the makololo were in great distress about the affair, and, fearing they would be blamed for the loss of the cattle, were afraid to return to the camp of the hunters. they were then halted about two miles down the river, and were talking of going back to their home, quite certain that the white hunters would have nothing more to do with them. the folly of having left their property unprotected, when in the neighbourhood of african tribes whose honesty could not be relied on, now, for the first time, occurred to our adventurers. the bechuanas, who will steal from each other, or from the people of any nation, in all probability would not have taken the cattle, had one of the whites been present to claim ownership in them. the bechuana robbers had found them in the possession of only four strange men, africans, who belonged far north, and had no right to be within bechuana territory. the opportunity was too good to be lost, and, so tempted, they had driven the animals away. there could be no help for what had happened,--at all events, not for the present. to discover the whereabouts of willem was the care that was most pressing, and they one more proceeded in search of him. as the night had now come on they could have done nothing of themselves, but the presence of congo, accompanied by his hound spoor'em, inspired them with fresh hope, and they proceeded onward. after a time it became so dark that arend proposed a halt until morning. to this hendrik objected, congo taking sides with him. "do you remember the night you were under the baobab-tree, dodging the borele?" asked hendrik. "say no more," answered arend. "if you wish it i am willing to go on." swartboy was sent back to the camp to join hans, while the kaffir and spoor'em led the way. under the direction of hendrik they soon came to the place where willem had been last seen. there were no signs of him anywhere. the joy with which they had returned to their camp had now departed. something unusual had happened to their companion,--something disastrous. their cattle and pack-horses were lost, driven away they knew not whither, by a tribe that might be able to retain them, even should they be found. under these circumstances what cared they any longer for the captured giraffe. such were the reveries of hendrik and arend as they followed their kaffir guide through the gloom of the night. chapter fifty six. the search for willem. to all appearance, congo had some secret method of communicating to the dog spoor'em what was required of him. the animal ran to the right and left, keeping a little in the advance, and with its muzzle close down to the surface, as if searching for a spoor. most of the time it was out of sight, hidden by the darkness, but every now and then it would flit like a shadow across their track, and they could hear an occasional sniff as it lifted the scent from the ground. they had not proceeded more than half a mile in this manner when spoor'em expressed a more decided opinion of something that interested him, by giving utterance to a short, sharp bark. "he's found the spoor," exclaimed congo, hastening forward. "i told um do that, and i knowed he would." they were all soon up with the dog, which kept moving forward at a slow trot, occasionally lowering its snout to the grass, as though to make sure against going astray. unlike most other hounds, spoor'em would follow a track without rushing forward on the scent, and leaving the hunters behind. arend and hendrik knew this, though still uncertain about being on the traces of groot willem. the night was so dark they could not distinguish footmarks, and they had not the slightest evidence of their own for believing that they were on the tracks of willem's horse. "how do you know that we are going right, cong?" asked hendrik. "we follow spoor'em; he know it," answered the kaffir. "he find anything that go over the grass." "but can you be sure that he is following the spoor of willem's horse?" "yaas, master hendrik, very sure of it. spoor'em is no fool. he knows well what we want." with blind confidence in the sagacity both of the kaffir and his dog, the two hunters rode on at a gentle trot, taking more than an hour to travel the same distance that willem had gone over in a few minutes. there was a prospect that the trail they were following might conduct them back to the camp, and that there would be found the man they were in search of. willem would be certain not to return over the same ground where he had pursued the giraffes, and they might be spending the night upon his tracks, while he was waiting for them at the camp. this thought suggested a return. another consideration might have counselled them to it. a thunder-storm was threatening, and the difficulties of their search would be greatly increased. but all inclinations to go back were subdued by the reflection that possibly willem might be in danger, and in need of their assistance, and with this thought they determined to go on. the dog was now urged forward at a greater speed. the storm was rapidly approaching; and they knew that, after the ground had been saturated by a fall of rain, the scent would be less easily taken up, and their tracking might be brought to an end. the elements soon after opened upon them, but still they kept on in the midst of the pelting rain, consoling themselves for what was disagreeable, by the reflection that they were performing their duty to their lost friend. it was not until the thunder-shower had passed over, that spoor'em began to show some doubt as to the course he was pursuing. the heavy rain had not only destroyed the scent but the traces of the footmarks, and the dog was no longer able to make them out. for the last half hour, they had been moving through an atmosphere dark as erebus itself. they had been unable to see each other, except when the universe seemed illumed by the flashes of lightning. the night had now become clear. the moon had made her appearance in the western sky; and the search might have been continued with less difficulty than before, but for the obliteration of the spoor. the dog seemed bewildered, and ran about in short broken circles, as though quite frantic at the thought of having lost the use of the most important of his senses. "we shall have to return at last," said hendrik, despairingly. "we can do nothing more to-night." they were about to act according to this advice, when the loud roar of a lion was heard some half mile off, and in the direction from which they had just ridden. in going back that way they might encounter the fierce creature. "i have kept the lock of my rifle as dry as possible," said arend, "but it may not be safe to trust it. i think i shall reload." drawing the rifle out of the piece of leopard skin with which the lock had been covered, arend pointed the muzzle upwards and pulled trigger. the gun went off. as the report fainted away in the distance, the far-off sound of a human voice could be heard as if shouted back in answer to the shot. what they heard was the word "hilloo." they hastened in the direction from whence the sound seemed to proceed. even the dog appeared suddenly relieved from its perplexity, and led the way. in less than ten minutes they were standing around willem, delighted at finding him in safety, and in the possession of a live giraffe. "how long have you been here?" asked hendrik, after the first moments of their joyful greeting had passed. "ever since noon," was willem's reply. "and how much longer would you have stayed, had we not found you?" "until either this giraffe or i should have died," answered willem. "i should not have abandoned it before." "but supposing you had died first, how would it have been then?" asked arend. "no doubt," replied willem, "something would very soon have taken me away. but why don't you take my place here, one of you? i must stretch my legs, or i shall never be able to stand upright again." hendrik placed his hands on the head of the giraffe, and willem with some difficulty arose, and, after walking around the prostrate animal, declared that he had never been happy until that moment. it was decided that they should not attempt to stir from the place until morning; and the rest of the night, with the exception of an hour or two devoted to sleep, was passed in asking questions and giving explanations. willem was a little woeful about the loss of his riding-horse, and also on learning of the robbery of the cattle; but these misfortunes could not entirely counteract the joy he felt at having taken the young giraffe. "this creature is quite tame now," said he; "and if i cannot find my horse again, i shall ride it to graaf reinet. before i do that, however, i shall use it in catching another. i must and shall have two, and we can easily find another chance. you and hans ought to be ashamed of yourselves. the three of you have not done so well as i. you have allowed two or more young giraffes to escape, while i, single-handed, captured all the young that were in the herd i followed." arend and hendrik glanced significantly at one another while congo stared at both of them. a shake of the head given by hendrik was understood by the two who were in the secret, for congo had been told of the capture of the second giraffe, and of course not a word was said to willem of that affair. his companions preferred giving him a surprise. chapter fifty seven. an encounter between old acquaintances. when morning dawned, the first thought of the hunters was to contrive some plan for getting the young giraffe to the camp. willem expressed surprise at his companions having come out without their rheims. the reason given by hendrik for their having done so was that they did not think they would require them; besides, they had left the camp in a hurry. they did not anticipate much difficulty in taking back the giraffe. it appeared so weak and submissive that their only fear was of its not being able to make the journey. for all that, without ropes or lines to lead it, there might be difficulty enough. it might take a notion to resist, or get clear out of their clutches. "i must have a line of some kind," said willem, "even if i have to cut a thong from the hide of one of your horses. i have been standing, or rather sitting, sentry over this creature too long, and have travelled too far for the sake of finding it, to allow any chance of its escaping now. it is but half what we want; and if any of you had been worthy the name of hunter, you would have taken the other half." a few hundred yards from the spot grew a copse of young trees,--slender saplings they were, forming a miniature forest, such as one would like to see when in search of a fishing-rod. going to this grove, willem selected out of it two long poles, each having a fork at the end. one of these was placed on each side of the captive giraffe, in such a manner that the forked ends embraced its neck, and when so tied, by twisting the twigs together, formed a sort of neck halter. by this means the creature could be led along, one going on each side of it. arend grasped the end of one of the poles and hendrik the other. so long had the young camelopard been kept in a prostrate position, that it was with some difficulty it managed to get to its feet; and, after doing so, its efforts to escape were feeble, and easily defeated. at each attempt to turn to one side, its head was instantly hauled to the other, and it soon discovered that it was no less a captive on its feet than when fast confined in the recumbent attitude. finding its struggles ineffectual, it soon discontinued them, and resigned itself to the will of its captors. mounting their horses, arend and hendrik held the poles by which the giraffe was to be guided, while willem and congo walked on behind. in this manner the captive was conducted towards the camp. more than once during their journey willem reiterated the reproach already made to his companions. if they had only shown as much energy and determination as he had done, they might now have been ready to take the road for graaf reinet, with a triumphant prospect before them. "i would have followed this giraffe," said he, "until my horse dropped dead, and then i would have followed it on foot until it became mine. i had determined not to be defeated and survive the defeat. ah! had any of you three shown a particle of the same resolution, we might have abandoned our cattle with pleasure, and started on a straight line for home by daybreak to-morrow morning." arend and hendrik allowed the elated hunter to continue his reproaches uninterrupted. they were quite satisfied with their own conduct; and each had the delicacy to refrain from telling willem, that, without their assistance, his capture of the young giraffe would only have resulted in the misfortune of losing his horse, and suffering many other inconveniences. they knew that willem, when free from the intoxication caused by the partial fulfilment of a long-cherished design, would not claim any greater share in the credit of the expedition than he was really entitled to. moreover, his joy at having captured the giraffe was somewhat damped by the fear that his horse had gone off for good. he was confident that, should he again get possession of him, another giraffe could be taken. with the herd that had been hunted, he had seen two other young ones. they might be found a second time; but there would be a difficulty in running them down, unless he was once more on the back of his tried steed. by noon the camp was reached, when about the first thing that came under the eyes of groot willem was a young giraffe standing tied to a tree! beside it was his own horse! the horse had been brought back by the makololo, who found him straying over the plain as they were themselves returning to the camp. the presence both of the horse and the makololo was at once explained. their original intention to visit the country of the white men had been abandoned by them on account of the loss of their cattle. without these, they had no means of making the long journey that still lay before them. there seemed nothing for them but to go back to their home to macora. but they were unwilling to set off without taking leave of their late travelling-companions; and, as they were at the same time afraid of being blamed for the loss of the white hunters' cattle, as well as their own, they passed the night in great distress, uncertain as to what they should do. just as morning dawned, they descried willem's horse grazing close to the spot where they were encamped. they had last seen the great hunter on this horse's back, going in pursuit of the giraffes; and they were anxious to learn why the animal was now separated from its rider. they knew that it was greatly prized by its owner, and they believed that, by taking it back to him, they would be forgiven for their neglect. in this, they were not mistaken. about the other animal--the young giraffe that stood tied to a tree--groot willem neither asked nor received any explanation. he held his tongue about that. he had been over thirty hours without tasting food, and now without uttering another word, he set to work upon a dinner that swartboy had cooked for him, and, after showing that his discomfiture had not robbed him of his appetite, he stretched himself along the grass and fell into a sound sleep. the hunters had now but one more task to perform before taking the direct route towards graaf reinet. they must make an effort to recover the horses and cattle of which they had been despoiled. the sooner this work should be commenced, the better the prospect of success; but groot willem, on being awakened and consulted, declared that he would do nothing but sleep for the next twelve hours; and, saying this, he once more sank into a snoring slumber. as the others could take no important step without him, they were compelled to leave the matter over, till such time as the great hunter should awake, which was not before breakfast-time of the following day. chapter fifty eight. the lost are found. after breakfast had been eaten, it was proposed to start off in search of the stolen property; and groot willem, not without reluctance, was prevailed upon to accompany the others. he was loath to part even for a few hours from the captives he prized so highly. his wildest dreams had been realised. two young giraffes had been taken and were gradually getting tamed. he could caress them. they could be conducted with but little trouble to the colony of graaf reinet,--thence delivered to the dutch consul, and both money and fame would be the reward. since returning to the camp and seeing the second giraffe, his companions had heard no more boasting about his own prowess, nor reproaches for their negligence. but now came the question of the ivory and other articles still lying in the camp. with such a large quantity of valuable property to transport to the settlements, the pack-horses and cattle were worth making an effort to recover; so, leaving hans with swartboy and two of the makololo to guard the camp, the others started off with the intention to seek and, if possible, find them. believing that the tribe of bechuanas that had taken them would be found living somewhere near a stream of water, they resolved to first proceed down the river on which they had their camp; and in this direction they set off. for the first five miles nothing could be seen of the spoor of either horses or cattle. but the ground was hard and dry, and, even if cattle had been driven over it, it would have been impossible to take up their spoor. it had rained heavily, and that would do something to obliterate any tracks that might have been made. soon they came to a place where the river-bank was low and marshy, and this they examined with care. they saw the hoof-marks of many animals that had quenched their thirst at the stream, all plainly impressed upon the soft earth. to their joy they perceived amongst them the tracks of horses and cattle, and easily recognised them as those of the animals they had lost. beyond doubt they had been driven over the river at that point. pleased at such a good beginning, they continued on, more hopefully. they were now sure that they had come in the right direction. the spoor still led down the bunks of the stream. three or four miles farther on, they came within sight of a kraal, containing about forty huts. as they drew near, several men ran forward to meet them, and instantly demanded their business. swartboy informed them that they were looking after some stolen horses and cattle. a tall, naked man, carrying a huge parasol of ostrich-feathers, acted as spokesman for the villagers. in reply to swartboy, he stated that he knew what cattle were; that he had often seen such animals, but _not lately_. he had never seen any horses and knew not what sort of animals they were. as it chanced, the rain that had fallen upon the preceding night had so softened the ground that all footmarks made since could be distinguished without the slightest difficulty. it was evident the man with the parasol had not thought of this; for our adventurers at once saw that he was telling them a story. they had proofs that he was, by the sight of several horse-tracks with which the ground was indented around the spot where they had halted. they were so fresh as to show that horses must have been there but an hour ago; and it was not likely they could have been on that ground without being seen by the villagers and their chief. without saying another word to the natives, our party preceded on to the kraal. as they drew near, the first thing that fixed their attention was the skin of an ox freshly taken from the carcass, and hanging upon one of the huts. swartboy, who was an acute observer, at once pronounced the hide to have belonged to one of the oxen he had lately assisted in driving; and the two makololo were of the same opinion. they pointed out to the white hunters the marks of their own pack-saddle. none of the villagers who stood around could give any explanation of the presence of the hide. none of them had ever seen it before; and the features of all were painfully distorted into expressions of astonishment when it was shown them. passing out from the kraal the white hunters rode off over a plain that stretched northward. they did so because they saw something there that looked like a herd; and they conjectured it might turn out to belong to themselves. they were not astray. the herd consisted entirely of their own stolen animals. they were guarded only by some women and children, who fled wildly screaming at the approach of the white party. riding up to the cattle, groot willem and hendrik galloped on after the frightened women, who, by the efforts they were making to escape, plainly showed that they expected nothing short of being killed if overtaken. too glad at recovering their property, the hunters had not the slightest desire to molest the helpless women, and yet, without intending it, they caused the death of one. as they galloped after the affrighted crowd, one of the women was seen to lag a little behind, and then fall suddenly to the earth. the two horsemen pulled up, and then turned in the direction of the woman who had fallen. on getting near, they noticed that dim, glassy appearance of the eyes that denotes death. hendrik dismounted, and placed his hand over her heart. it had ceased to beat. there was no respiration. the woman was dead: she had been frightened to death. by her side was a child not more than a few months old. and yet it gazed upon hendrik with eyes flashing defiance. its animal instinct had not been subdued by the fear of man, and its whole appearance gave evidence of the truth of an assertion often made, that an african child, like a lion's cub, is born with its mental faculties wonderfully developed. by this time the other women had gone far out of reach, and none of them could be recalled. hendrik was not inclined to leave the child by the side of its dead mother. undecided what to do, he appealed to willem, who, by this, had come up. "we have frightened the soul out of this woman," said he, as the great hunter drew near. "she has left a child behind her. what shall we do with it? it won't do to leave the poor thing here." "this is unfortunate, certainly," said willem; as he gazed at the dead body. "the blacks will think that we killed the woman, and will ever after have an opinion of white men they should not have. we must take the child to the kraal, and give it up to them. we can tell them that the woman died of her own folly, which is only the truth. hand the piccaninny to me." as hendrik attempted to obey this request, the child by loud screams protested against being taken away from its mother. its resistance was not alone confined to cries. like a young tiger, it scratched and bit at the hands that held it; thus exhibiting a strange contrast to the conduct of its adult kindred, the bechuanas, who have an instinctive fear of white men as well as a distaste for hostilities in any way. holding the young black under one arm, willem galloped after the cattle, that, with the aid of the others, in less than an hour, were driven up to the kraal. the only one missing was the ox whose hide had been seen upon the hut. the child was delivered over to the chief. swartboy explained to him the circumstances under which it had been found; and at willem's request advised the bechuanas never again to molest the property of other people. to the surprise of our adventurers, not only the chief but several of his elders loudly declared that they knew nothing whatever of the cattle, or the women found in charge of them; but, while they were thus talking, the two makololo pointed out the men who were loudest in declaring their ignorance, as the very ones who had driven the animals away! to escape from the discordant clamour of their tongues, the hunters turned hastily away, taking their cattle along with them. hendrik and arend felt some inclination to punish the blacks for their treachery, as well as the loss of time and the trouble they had occasioned. this, however, was forbidden by the great-hearted willem, who could no more blame the natives for what they had done than the bird that picks up a worm upon its path. "these poor creatures," said he, "know no better. they have never been taught the precepts of religion; and to them right and wrong are almost the same thing. leave them to learn a lesson from our mercy." chapter fifty nine. a lion hunt. once more our adventurers turned their faces homeward. contrary to their expectations, the young camelopards caused them but little trouble. a single rheim attached to the neck of each was sufficient to lead them along. the manner in which both had been captured, had taught them in their first lesson, that man's will was superior to their own; and they were thenceforth either too cunning or too silly to resist it. before driving them far along the road, there would have been little danger of their straying, even if left free to do so. like tame elephants, they knew neither their own strength nor swiftness, and soon became as easily managed as any of the horses or horned cattle. for several days no incident worthy of notice occurred, nor did our adventurers much desire that any should. they had obtained all they required; and even groot willem, before so enthusiastically fond of hunting, would not have turned aside to kill the finest koodoo that ever trod the plains of africa, unless its flesh had been absolutely wanted for food. after a journey of two more weeks, swartboy found himself in a land inhabited by many of his countrymen,--the bushmen. it was a land he had long been looking forward to visit, and with pleasant anticipations,-- not from any sunny memory of youthful joy, but merely from that prejudice in favour of native land, natural to all mankind. he had ever represented to his young masters that the bushmen were a race of noble warriors and hunters,--that they were kind, hospitable, intelligent, and in every respect superior to the countrymen of his rival congo. they were now in a country inhabited by several wandering tribes of these people, and where opportunities might not be wanting to test the truth of swartboy's assertions. one soon presented itself. early one afternoon they arrived at a settlement of bushmen,--a kraal of their kind, containing about fifty families. on learning that they would have a long distance to travel, before finding a place to encamp, our adventurers resolved to stay by the bushmen's village for the night. the first exhibition given of the hospitality swartboy had boasted of was by the whole tribe begging for tobacco, spirits, clothing, and everything else the travellers chanced to possess; while the only consideration they could give in return was the permission to draw water from a pool in the neighbourhood of their kraal. during the night a young heifer, belonging to the headman of the village, was carried off by a lion; and in the morning two of the natives were ordered to follow the beast and destroy it. the hunters had often heard of the manner in which the bushmen kill lions; and, anxious to see the feat performed, they obtained permission to accompany the two men on their expedition. the only implements carried by the bushmen for the destruction of the king of beasts were a buffalo robe, a small bow, and some poisoned arrows, with which each was provided. the lion was traced to a grove of trees, about a mile and a half from the kraal. to this place our adventurers proceeded, curious to see a lion die under the effects of a wound given by a tiny arrow, as also to learn how the bushmen would approach such a dangerous creature near enough to use such a weapon. gorged with its repast, there was no difficulty in getting near the lion. as the bushmen anticipated, the fierce brute was enjoying a sound slumber. silently the two drew near--so near as almost to touch the sleeping monster. the spectators, who had stopped at some distance off, dismounted from their horses, and, with rifles ready for instant use, at a few yards behind the bushmen, followed the latter, whose courage they could not help admiring. only one of the bushmen drew his bow. the other holding his buffalo robe spread out upon both hands, went nearer to the lion than the one who was to inflict the mortal wound. there was a moment of intense interest. in one second the lion could have tossed the bodies of the two little men, crushed and mangled, to the earth. in another moment the tiny arrow was seen sticking in the monster's huge side between two of the ribs. just as the fierce brute was springing to his feet with a loud growl,--just as he had caught a glimpse of the human face,--the buffalo skin was flung over its head. he ran backwards, turned hastily around, and disengaged himself from the robe; and then, astonished at the incomprehensible encounter, fled without casting another glance behind! so far as destroying him was concerned, the task of the bushmen was accomplished. the poisoned arrow had entered the animal's flesh, and they knew he was as sure to die as if a cannon-ball had carried off his head. but the bushmen had still something to do. they must carry back to their chief the paws of the lion, as proof that they had accomplished the errand on which they had been despatched. they must follow the lion until he fell; and, curious to witness the result, our adventurers followed them. slowly at first, and with an apparent show of unconcern, the lion had moved away, though gradually increasing his speed. the arrow could not have done much more than penetrate his thick hide; and, fearing that he might not die, willem expressed some regret that he had not given the brute a bullet from his roer. "i am very glad you did not," exclaimed hans, on hearing willem's remark. "you would have spoilt all our interest in the pursuit. i want to see the effect of their poisoned arrow, and learn with my own eyes if a lion can be so easily killed." the wounded animal retreated for about a mile, then stopped and commenced roaring loudly. something was evidently amiss with him, as he was seen turning as upon a pivot, and otherwise acting in a very eccentric manner. the poison was beginning to do its work, and each moment the agony of the animal seemed to be on the increase. he laid himself down and rolled over and over; he then reared himself upon his hind legs, all the while roaring like mad. once he appeared to stand upon his head. after a time he attacked a tree growing near, and, tearing the bark both with claws and teeth, left the branches stained with his blood. he seemed as if he wished to rend the whole world! never had our adventurers, in all their hunting experience, been witnesses to such terrific death-struggles. the sufferings of the great beast were frightful to behold, and awakened within the spectators a feeling of pity. they would have released it from its misery by a shot, had they not been desirous to learn all they could of the effects of the poison. from the time the lion ceased to retreat, till the moment when he ceased to live, about fifteen minutes elapsed. during that time the spectators saw a greater variety of acrobatic feats than they had ever witnessed in one scene before. as soon as the creature was declared dead, the bushmen cut off its paws and carried them back to the kraal. chapter sixty. a sudden reverse of fortune. on the third morning after leaving the bushmen's kraal, our adventurers were awakened by the loud cries of a troop of black monkeys that appeared in a neighbouring grove. something was giving them trouble. this could be told by the cries, which were evidently those of distress. as breakfast was being prepared, and the cattle laden for a start, willem and hendrik strolled towards the grove from whence the cries came. they were now more frightful than ever, and translated from the monkey language seemed to say "murder!" in a tree where there were between fifteen and twenty of those quadrumana, each about the size of an ordinary cat, was seen a young leopard, trying to capture a black monkey for his breakfast. to avoid this enemy, the apes had crawled out on the small slender branches, where the leopard dared not follow them, knowing that his weight would precipitate him to the ground. for some time our adventurers amused themselves by watching the abortive efforts of the leopard to procure the means of breaking its fast. he would pursue a monkey along the limb until the branch became too small to be trusted any farther. he would get within two or three feet of the screaming ape, and then stretch out one of his paws, while displaying his white teeth in a smile, as though desirous of shaking hands with the creature he was intending to destroy. finding his efforts to reach that particular monkey useless, he would then leave it, to go through the same game with another. one of the apes was at length chased out upon a large dead limb that extended horizontally from the trunk. the top had been broken off, and there being no slender twigs on which the monkey could take refuge, there was nothing to prevent the leopard from following it to the extremity of the branch and seizing it at leisure. there was no other branch to which the monkey could spring; and it was fairly in a dilemma. on perceiving this, it turned to the hunters who stood below, and gazed at them with an expression that seemed to say, "save me! save me!" the leopard was so intent on obtaining his breakfast that he did not notice the arrival of the two hunters until they were within twenty yards of the tree, and until he was close pursuing the monkey along the dead limb. at this point, however, he paused. he had caught sight of "the human face divine," and instinct told him that danger was near. he gazed upon the intruders with flaming eyes, as if very little would induce him to change the nature of his intended repast. "reserve your fire, hendrik!" exclaimed willem as he brought the roer to his shoulder; "it may be needed." the leopard answered the report of the gun by making a somersault to the earth. there was no necessity for hendrik to waste any ammunition upon him. he had fallen in the agonies of death; and, without even waiting for his last kick, willem took hold of one of his hind legs and commenced dragging the carcass towards the camp. the camp was not far-away, and they soon came within sight of it. to their surprise they saw that it was in a state of commotion. the horses and cattle were running in all directions, and so too were the men! what could it mean? the answer was obtained by their seeing a huge dark form standing in the middle of the camp. they recognised it as the body of a black rhinoceros, one of the largest kind. the fierce brute had taken his stand in the middle of the camping-ground, and seemed undecided as to which of the fugitives he should follow. his ill-humour had arisen from the circumstance that, on seeking the place where he was in the habit of quenching his thirst, he had found it occupied by strange intruders. a black rhinoceros would not hesitate to charge upon a whole regiment of cavalry; and the manner in which the one in question had introduced himself to the camp was so impetuous as to cause a precipitate retreat both of man and beast,--in short, everything that was free to get off. one of the young giraffes had been too strongly secured to effect its escape. it was struggling on the ground, and by its side was an ox that the borele had capsized in his first impetuous onset. the second of the giraffes was fleeing over the plain, and had already gone farther from the camp than any of the other animals. it seemed not only inspired by fear, but a renewed love of liberty. the borele soon selected an object for his pursuit, which was one of the pack-horses, and then charged right after him. meanwhile willem and hendrik hastened on to the camp, where they were joined by two of the makololo. all the others had gone off after the cattle and horses. the giraffe, in its efforts to escape, had thrown itself upon the ground, and was fastened in such a way that it was in danger of being strangled in the rheims around its neck. as though to insure its death, the ox that had been gored by the borele became entangled in the same fastenings, and tightened them by his violent struggles. the first care of the returned hunters was to release the young giraffe. this could have been done immediately by setting it free from its fastenings; but then there was the danger of its following the example of its companion, and taking advantage of the liberty thus given to it. as the ox, whose struggles were nearly breaking its neck, had been gored by the borele and severely wounded, he saw it would be no use letting him live any longer, and without more ado he received his quietus from hendrik's rifle. the giraffe was now released, and restored to its proper fastenings. by this time the others had caught up with most of the horses and cattle. none of them, except the one selected for especial pursuit by the borele, had gone far, but, turning when out of danger, were easily caught. this was not the case with the camelopard that had got loose and fled among the foremost. its flight had been continued until it was no longer seen! it had entered the grove from which willem and hendrik had just come, and there were ten chances to one against their ever seeing it again. had willem been on horseback at the time it ran off from the camp, he would have stood a chance of recapturing it, but, as it had now twenty minutes of start, the chances were very slight indeed. not a moment was to be lost, however, before making the attempt, and, accompanied by hendrik, congo, and the dog spoor'em, willem started off for the forest, leaving the others to continue the task of collecting the animals still scattered over the plain. but one brief hour before, willem van wyk was the happiest hunter in existence, and now he was about the most miserable. one of the two captives, for which he had suffered so many hardships, had escaped, and in all probability would never be again seen by the eyes of a white man. the realisation of his fondest hopes was delayed for a time,--perhaps forever. one camelopard was of but little value to him. he must have two; and fortune might never assist them in obtaining another. he was not sure of being able to keep the one that still remained. death might take it out of their hands. it had been injured in the struggle; and, before leaving camp he had noticed that the efforts of the makololo to get it to its feet had not succeeded. his great undertaking--the chief purpose of the expedition--was as far as ever from being accomplished. such were the thoughts that tortured him, as he urged congo and the dog to greater haste, in following the spoor through the forest. chapter sixty one. the lost found. the forest which willem at first feared might be miles in extent, proved to be but a mere strip of timber, through which he soon passed, discovering an open plain on the other side. nothing could be seen of the camelopard, though its tracks were found leading out upon the plain. willem's wishes were very difficult to meet. at first he was afraid the giraffe would be lost in a dense forest, where he would be unable to gallop after it on horseback. now, when contemplating the vast plain before him, he feared that the flight of the escaped captive might be continued for many miles, and he regretted that it had gone out of the timber. the trees would have given it food and shelter, where it might have stayed until overtaken; but it was not likely to make halt on an open plain. it must now be many miles off, since they could see nothing of it. the tracks could be followed but very slowly,--not half so fast as the animal itself had made them, while going in search of the kindred from which it had been so rudely separated several days before. the longer they continued to take up the spoor, the farther they would be from the animal that had left it. all this was fully understood by our adventurers. "it's no use going farther," remarked hendrik. "we have lost the creature beyond all hope of recovery. we may as well turn back to camp." "not a bit of it," answered willem. "the giraffe is mine, and i sha'n't part with it so cheaply. i'll follow it as long as i have strength left me sufficient to sit upon my horse. it must stop sometime and somewhere; and, whenever that time comes, i shall be there not long after to have another look at it." thinking that an hour or two more of what he considered a hopeless chase, would satisfy even willem, hendrik made no further objections, but continued on after congo, who was leading along the spoor. the sun had by this crossed the meridian, and commenced descending towards the western horizon. they had started from camp without eating breakfast; and their sudden departure had prevented them from bringing any food along with them. thirsty and feeble from the long fast, and the fatigue of tracking under a hot sun, they continued their course in anything but a lively fashion. "willem!" at length exclaimed hendrik, suddenly pulling up his horse, "i am willing to do anything in reason, but i think we have already gone on this worse than wild-goose chase, a good many miles too far. we can scarce get back to the camp before nightfall, and i shall commence returning now." "all right," answered willem. "i can't blame you. you are free to do as you please; but i shall go on. i need not expect others to act as foolishly as myself. this is my own affair, and you as well as congo had better turn back. leave me the dog, and i can track up the giraffe without you." "no! no!! baas willem," exclaimed the kaffir. "i go with you and spoor'em. we no leave you." willem, congo, and the dog moved on, leaving hendrik gazing after them. he remained on the spot where he had pulled up his horse. "now this is interesting," muttered the young cornet, as he saw them go off upon the spoor. "i have been acting without motives,--acting like a fool ever since we have been out on this expedition. circumstances have driven me to it and will do so again. yes. i must follow willem. why should i desert him when that poor kaffir remains true? if his friendship worth more than mine?" spurring his horse into a gallop, hendrik was soon once more by the side of his forsaken companion. willem had a strong suspicion that he was himself acting without reason, in seeking for an object he could hardly expect to find. this sage reflection did not prevent him from continuing the search. half distracted by the loss of the camelopard, he was scarce capable of knowing whether he now acted sensibly, or like a fool! to all appearance hendrik had only followed him for the purpose of prevailing upon him to return. every argument that could be advanced against their proceeding farther was used by the young cornet,--all to no purpose. willem was determined to proceed, and persisted in his determination. evening approached, and still was he unwilling to give up the search. they could not return that night, for they were now nearly a day's journey from the camp. "willem is mad,--hopelessly mad," thought hendrik, "and i must not leave him alone." they journey on together, and in silence, hendrik fast approaching that state of mind in which he had just pronounced willem to be. but their journey was approaching its termination. it was nearer than either of them expected to a successful issue. a clump of trees was seen rising up over the plain. they were willows, and indicated the proximity of water. towards these the tracks appeared to lead in a line almost direct. the giraffe, guided by its instinct, had scented water. the horses ridden by the trackers did the same, and hastened forward to the clump of trees. there was a pool in the centre of the grove, and on its edge an animal, the sight of which drew an exclamation of joy from the lips of groot willem. it was the escaped camelopard. a second joyful shout was caused by their perceiving that it was again a captive. the loose rheim, which it had carried away round its neck, had become entangled among the bushes, and it was now secured so that they had no difficulty in laying hold of it. had they not come upon the spot, it would have perished either by the suicidal act of half-strangulation, from thirst, or by the teeth of some fierce predatory animal. the rheim was now unwound from the saplings to which it had attached itself, and the giraffe released from its irksome attitude. no harm had yet befallen it. "now, hendrik," exclaimed willem, as he gazed upon the captive with an expression of pride and pleasure, "is it not better that we have saved this poor creature than to have left it to die a horrible death?" "yes, certainly," answered his companion. "much good may sometimes result from what may appear a foolish course of conduct." satisfied with the result of his perseverance, willem was quite indifferent as to whether his conduct had been foolish or otherwise. congo did not seem the least surprised at the good fortune of his master; probably for the reason that he had the utmost confidence in his wisdom, and never for a moment had doubted that the giraffe would be discovered. willem never was without the means of lighting a fire,--he was too fond of a pipe for that,--and near a large blazing heap of wood they remained until the first appearance of day. the journey back to the camp was a tedious one, but was made with much less heaviness of spirit than they had suffered when leaving it to go in search of the lost giraffe, which fortune had so favoured them in finding. chapter sixty two. with the hottentots. on reaching the camp, willem and hendrik found their companions anxiously awaiting their return. the horses and cattle had all been recovered, and the borele that had caused their dispersion had been shot by hans and arend. its attack had caused a delay of two days, and the loss of an ox. again the journey towards graaf reinet was resumed, and day by day was prosecuted with all the speed that could be made in safety to their animals. the return journey was not completed until they had suffered many hardships, and had more than once nearly lost the two young giraffes. on passing through the hottentot country, they saw many large plains from which the grass had lately been burnt; and not a morsel could be obtained for the subsistence of their animals. amid the herbage charred by the fire, they frequently saw the remains of serpents and other reptiles, that had been scorched to death. during the passage across these burnt tracts, the travellers suffered much from hunger and thirst, as did also their animals. such hardships groot willem seemed not to heed. his only care was for the young giraffes; his only fear that they might not safely reach their destination. but each hour of the toilsome journey was cheered by the knowledge that they were drawing nearer home; and all that was disagreeable was endured with such patience as sprang from the prospect of a speedy termination to their toils. the latter part of their route lay through a part of southern africa, farther to the west than any they had yet visited. they passed through lands inhabited by certain tribes of natives, of whom they had often heard and read, but had never seen. of some of the customs of those unfortunate people classed amongst that variety of the _genus homo_ known as the "hottentot," they one afternoon became fully and painfully acquainted. beneath the shade of some stunted trees they found an aged man and a child not more than eighteen months old. the man, who could not have been less than seventy years of age, was totally blind; and by his side was an empty calabash, that had evidently once contained water. with the assistance of swartboy, as interpreter, it was ascertained that he had lately lost by death an only son and protector. there was no one now to provide for his wants, and he had been carried far-away from the home of his tribe, and left in the desert to die! the child had lost its mother, its only parent, and had been "exposed" to death at the same time and for the same reason,--because there was no one to provide for it. both old man and infant had been thus left exposed to a death which must certainly ensue, either by thirst, hunger, or hyenas. this horrid custom of the hottentots was not entirely unknown to our adventurers. they had heard that the act, of which they now had ocular evidence, was once common among the inhabitants of the country, through which they were passing, but, like thousands of others, they had believed that such a barbarous custom had long ago been discontinued, under the precept and example of european civilisation. they saw that they were mistaken; and that they were in the neighbourhood of a tribe that had either never heard these precepts of humanity, or had turned a deaf ear to them. knowing that a hottentot kraal could not be many miles away, and unwilling to leave two human beings to such a fearful fate, the travellers determined to take the helpless creatures back to the people who, as swartboy worded it, had "throwed 'um away." strange to say, the old man expressed himself not only willing to die where he sat, but showed a strong disinclination to being returned to his countrymen! he had the philosophy to believe that he was old and helpless,--a child for the second time,--and that by dying he was but performing his duty to society! to be placed again in a position where he would be an incumbrance to those whom he could not call kindred was, in his opinion, a crime he should not commit! our adventurers resolved upon saving him in spite of himself. it was not until late in the afternoon that they reached the kraal from which the outcasts had been ejected. not a soul could be found in the whole community who would admit that the old man had ever been seen there before, and no one had the slightest knowledge of the child! the white men were advised to take the objects of their solicitude to the place where they properly belonged. "this is interesting," said hendrik. "we might wander over all southern africa without finding a creature that will acknowledge having seen these helpless beings before. they are ours now, and we must provide for them in some way or other." "i do not see how we can do it," rejoined arend; "i'm quite sure that they are now with their own tribe, and it is they who should provide for them." a second effort was made to persuade the villagers to acknowledge some complicity in the attempt to starve two human beings. but they had already learned that their conduct in such a custom was considered by white people as a crime, and, ashamed of what they had done, they stoutly stood to the story they had first told. strangest of all, the feeble old man confirmed all their statements, and, as some proof of the truth of what they had said, he informed the travellers that the chief and several others whom he called by name, were men incapable of practising a deception! this he professed to know from a long acquaintance with them. the hunters were now within the territory over which the colonial government claimed and sometimes enforced dominion, and the hottentots were threatened with the vengeance of english justice in the event of their not taking care of the old man and child, or should they again expose him as they had already done. they were told that a messenger should be sent to them within a few weeks, to learn if their orders had been obeyed; and, having delivered up the two helpless beings to the headman of the village, the travellers once more proceeded on their way. chapter sixty three. "the dutchman's fireside." a few more days' journey brought them into a neighbourhood inhabited by several dutch "boers." they were now travelling upon a track dignified by the name of "road," which only benefited them so far as between the rivers it conducted them without difficulty from one crossing-place to another. for the first time in several months they saw fields under cultivation by white labour, and were able to procure a substance called "bread." one evening, as they were preparing to encamp near the habitation of a well-to-do appearing boer, they received an invitation from the proprietor to make his house their home for the night. a heavy cold rain had been falling most part of the day, and to all appearance the weather would be no better during the night. the invitation was gladly accepted, and the travellers, grouped around the wide hearth of the boer's kitchen fire, were enjoying that sense of happiness we all feel to a greater or less extent when perfectly secure from a storm heard raging without. the horses and cattle had been driven under large sheds. the young giraffes were secured in a place by themselves. congo, swartboy, and the makololo were in a hut near by, with some hottentot servants of the baas boer. their host was a free-hearted, cheerful sort of fellow, only too thankful that circumstances had given him some guests to entertain him. his tobacco was of the best quality, and the supply of "cape smoke"--the native peach brandy--was apparently unlimited. according to his own account, he had been a great hunter during his youth; and there was nothing he liked better than to relate incidents of his own adventures in the chase, or to listen to the tales of others. the only fault he had to find with our heroes was, that they were too moderate in the use of his "cape smoke." he was a convivial man,--one who knew of nothing better to do after a long day's work than getting what is termed "jolly" in the company of friends. he did not care to imbibe alone, and he declared that nothing looked worse than that, except to see a man drinking too often in the presence of others, when they refused to do justice to his generosity. according to his own account, he had been hard at work on his farm throughout all that day, and in the rain. why, then, should he not cheer himself after such protracted exposure? the "smoke" was the very thing to do it. his guests were welcome to the best his house could afford, and all the compensation he would ask in return for his hospitality would be the satisfaction of seeing them make themselves at home. on the part of the boer there was a strong determination to make his guests intoxicated; but this was not observed by them. they only believed that his hospitality was pushed a little too far,--so much so as to be rather annoying. but this was a fault they had observed in many, who were only trying to put on their best behaviour, and, considering its unselfishness, it could be readily excused. notwithstanding the many hardships groot willem and his companions had endured in their various excursions, they had never deemed it necessary to use ardent spirits to excess; and the frequent and earnest entreaties of the boer, backed by his fat and rather good-looking "vrow," could not induce them to depart from their usual practice of abstemiousness. the boer pretended to be sorry at his inability to entertain his youthful guests. notwithstanding his assertions to the contrary, however, the hunters passed a long and pleasant evening by his fireside. the supper provided for them, as well as everything else, except some of their host's hunting stories, was very good. it was so seldom that the man had an opportunity of entertaining guests, that it seemed ingratitude on their part to deprive him of the pleasure he enjoyed; and, yielding to his solicitations, they did not retire until a late hour. but there had been one chapter in the conversation of the evening to which none of our adventurers listened with much pleasure. it was a statement made by the boer, after he had partaken of several glasses of the "smoke." "ish ver shorry you go get the money for the two _cameels_," said he. "mine two bruders and mine vrow's bruder stand chance to lose it now. ish ver shorry for them, you know." on further conversation it was discovered that his two brothers and a brother of his wife had left for the north seven months before, on a hunting excursion, their principal object being to procure the two young giraffes for which the reward of five hundred pounds had been offered. they were to visit the country of the bakwains, and had taken with them a native servant who belonged to that tribe. their return was hourly expected, and had been so for more than a month, though nothing had been heard of them since their departure. it was but natural that the boer should prefer that his own kinsmen might obtain the reward, instead of a party of strangers; and his having so candidly expressed his regrets in that regard was rather a circumstance in his favour. his guests ascribed it to his open, straightforward manner, made a little more free by application of the "smoke." it was not until an old dutch clock in a corner of the kitchen had struck two, that the young men--who pleaded their fatigue after a long day's march--were allowed to retire to their beds. they were shown into a large room, where a good soft couch had been prepared for each of them. their arduous journeying seemed nearly over; for they had reached a place where people slept with their faces screened from the faint light of the stars, and without depending on the nature of the earth beneath them for the quality of their couch. chapter sixty four. "strayed or stolen." it was not until ten o'clock next morning that hans awoke and then aroused his companions. "we should be ashamed of ourselves," exclaimed willem, as he hastily commenced making his toilet. "we have swallowed too much smoke and overslept ourselves!" "no," answered hans, who was always anxious to prove himself the philosopher of the company. "we should rather feel pride in the circumstance that the small quantity we drank has produced so great an effect. it is proof that we have not been in the habit of indulging in the use of ardent spirits, and that pride we should ever strive to maintain." the travellers were soon in the presence of their host and hostess, whom they found waiting to do the honours of a well-appointed breakfast, to which each of the hunters except willem sat down. willem could not be contented to eat, until he had looked to the property in which he professed to have a much greater interest than his companions, and he would not sit down to the breakfast-table till he had paid a visit to his darling giraffes. walking out of the house he went toward the sheds where the cattle and native servants had been housed for the night. on entering the hut where he had left his black companion the evening before, he had before him a melancholy evidence of the evils of intemperance. the four makololo were rolling about upon the floor, moaning heavily, as though in the last agonies of death. swartboy and congo, more accustomed to the effects of strong drink, only showed by their heavy breathing that they were endeavouring to recover from their night's debauch by indulging in a sound slumber. they were quickly roused to consciousness by willem, who used the toe of his boot for the purpose; though even this rude appliance had no effect on any of the four makololo. the kaffir sprang to his feet, and, as though trying to carry his head in his hands, reeled out of the room. he was followed by his master, who saw that all efforts at inducing the makololo to resume their journey would be for several hours unavailable. on moving around to the shed where the two giraffes had been tied, willem was somewhat alarmed by an indescribable expression seen on the features of congo. the eyes seemed as if about to start from the kaffir's head! the distance between his chin and nose had alarmingly extended, and his whole appearance formed a frightful picture of astonishment and fear. to willem there needed no explanation. one glance was enough. the camelopards were gone! the bushman and kaffir had promised to watch over them in turns, and had both neglected their duty by getting drunk. willem uttered not one word of reproach. hope, fear, and chagrin kept him for a moment silent. within his mind was struggling a faint idea that the giraffes had been removed by some servants of the boer to a place not far-away,--perhaps to a more secure shed. this hope was dashed with the fear that they had been stolen, or had helped themselves to freedom, and might never again be found. during the first moments of his agony and despair groot willem had the good sense to blame himself. he had been as negligent as either of the two terror-stricken men now standing before him. he should not have left to others the sole care of what he prized so highly. for the sake of a few hours of better fare than that to which he had lately been accustomed, why had he neglected to look after a prize that had cost so many toils and so much time in obtaining? why could he not have lived a few days longer, as he had done for so many months, watchful, thoughtful,--on the alert? all would then have been well. a search of five minutes among the huts and sheds told him that the giraffes were certainly gone. the task was to recover them. directing swartboy and congo to make all the inquiries they could, as to the time and manner of their disappearance, the great hunter turned despairingly towards the house to communicate to his companions the misfortune that had befallen them. the news took away every appetite. the grand breakfast prepared by the vrow and her dusky handmaidens was likely to remain uneaten; for all, starting up from their seats, hastened towards the shed where the giraffes had been confined. the hospitable boer expressed a keen sympathy for their misfortune, and declared his willingness to spend a month, if need be, with all his servants, in the recovery of the lost camelopards. "all dish comes of dranking do mush smokes," said he. "mine beoples last night all got more so drunk; put dey must do so no more. i shall spill all de smokes on the ground, and puy no more forever." one of the giraffes had been tied to a post forming part of the shed in which they had been shut up. the post had not only been torn out of the earth, but from its fastenings at the top, and was lying on the ground, six or eight paces from where it had formerly stood. two other posts adjoining had been pushed down, making a breach in the enclosure sufficiently large for the giraffes to have made their exit. had they been tied to trees as usual, they could not have escaped. the rheims around their slender necks would have held them. perhaps by the weight and strength of their bodies they had pushed down the stockade, and the rheims had slipped over the ends of the posts after they had fallen. in this manner they might have escaped. but, though it seemed simple enough, still there was something strange in it, and our travellers thought so. the captives had lately shown no disposition to get free, and it was odd they should do so now. moreover there must have been a premeditated, jointly-contrived plan between them, and this could hardly be supposed to exist. they were gone, however, and must be sought for and brought back. for this duty congo was already making preparations, though with very little prospect of success. rain had been falling heavily all the night, and had destroyed any chance of the lost animals being tracked, even by spoor'em. within a large enclosure, contiguous to the boer's dwelling, more than five hundred cattle had been penned up during the eight. these had been turned out to graze that morning, and, in consequence, the ground was everywhere covered with the hoof-marks of horses and cattle. a full hour was spent in finding a track that could, with any certainty, be pronounced that of a giraffe, and this had been made by the animal going in the direction of the sheds. of course it was the spoor of the camelopards when first led up on the evening before. "hendrik," exclaimed willem, nearly frantic with despair; "what shall we do? those giraffes are somewhere, and must be found." "they are just as likely to have gone in one direction as another," answered hendrik, "and suppose we look for them in the direction of graaf reinet." this remark but increased willem's despair, for it showed an unwillingness on the part of his comrade to make any farther delay on account of their misfortune. the boer declared himself willing to furnish horses and men for a search, if the hunters could ascertain, with any certainty, the direction the runaways had taken. hans now volunteered a bit of advice, which was listened to by willem, as being the most sensible yet given. "our late captives," said that philosopher, "have made the most of a good opportunity for escaping. it was, no doubt, done under an instinct; and the same instinct will be likely to guide them back toward their native land. if we go in search of them, let the search be made in the direction from whence they came." "mine poys," broke in the boer, "dare ish no use lookin' if they goed that way. dey will not wait fast enough for anypoddy to catch up to 'em." hendrik and arend expressed themselves of the same opinion. "congo, you black scoundrel!" exclaimed willem, "where are our giraffes? which way shall we look for them?" in answer to this question the bewildered kaffir could only shake his aching head. willem had great faith in congo's instinct, and was not satisfied with the limited information received from him. "do you think, congo, we had better follow the spoor we made in coming here?" he asked. again the kaffir shook his head. "you sooty idiot!" exclaimed the distracted questioner, "answer me in some other way. no more wabbling of your head, or i'll break it for you." "i don't think at all now, baas willem," said congo. "my head feel too big for the question you put 'um." hendrik was about to observe that there was a vast difference between the kaffir and his master, but, not wishing to vex the latter any more, he proposed that something should be done besides talking. "hans," exclaimed willem, "you stay here and look after our property. all the others who wish it can come along with me; but whoever does must get into his saddle in the shortest possible time. i'm off this instant in search of the fugitives." so saying, groot willem made a rush towards the shed under which his horse had been stabled, and, putting on the saddle with his own hands, he sprang into it and rode hastily away. chapter sixty five. the last of a family. hendrik and arend, who had imitated his movements, alone followed groot willem from the house. the boer, after promising so much, appeared so dilatory in his preparations that no dependence could be placed on his aid and the three hunters galloped off without waiting for any of the farm, or any of his servants, of whom they had seen several. his excuse for not making more haste to provide help was, that no one could tell the direction in which the runaways had gone, and that to search for them in the north, when the animals might have strayed south, was sheer silliness. much to the surprise or all, congo had stayed behind instead of accompanying groot willem, according to universal custom. the kaffir's solicitude for the safety of his young master had been so great on all former occasions, and he had shown such an unwillingness to be separated from him, that his present behaviour was a surprise to everybody who knew him. he was allowed to have his own will and way, for it was known that any efforts at making him useful, by denying him this privilege, would be of no avail. true and faithful as he had ever shown himself, his actions were seldom controlled by the others. "as soon as we get a mile or two away from the house," said hendrik, "we may be able to discover their tracks. it is no use our examining the ground over which so many cattle have passed. but supposing we should learn that we are on the right course, what then, willem?" "then we must follow it till the giraffes are retaken," answered willem. "i should have but little hope of catching them again," he continued, "did i not know that they are now quite tame. i should as soon think of my own horse absconding, and going a hundred miles into the wilderness, to avoid me. we shall find the giraffes if we persevere; and, once found, they won't hinder us from catching them." from the quiet behaviour of the giraffes for the last three weeks, arend and hendrik could not deny the truth of willem's assertions; and all three urged their horses forward, more anxious than ever to come upon the spoor of the strays. after passing beyond the ground tracked by the farm cattle, they once more came out upon the so-called road, along which they had travelled the day before. but for more than a mile, after the most careful examination, no spoor of giraffe, old or young, was to be seen. even those made by them on the day before could no longer be distinguished in the dust. the rain, with the tracks of other animals coming after, had obliterated them. the state of the ground they were examining was now favourable for receiving a permanent impression; and, as none appeared, they became satisfied that the runaways had not returned that way. after a long consultation which came near ending in a wrangle, willem being opposed by his companions, it was decided that they should ride round in a circle of which the dwelling of the boer should be the centre. by so doing, the spoor of the lost animals should be found. it was the only plan for them to take, and slowly they rode on, feeling very uncomfortable at the uncertainty that surrounded them. the country over which they were riding was a poor pasture with patches of thinly growing grass. a herd of cattle and horses, old and young, had lately gone over the ground, and often would the eye catch sight of tracks so like those made by a giraffe that one of the party would dismount for a closer examination before being able to decide. to groot willem this slow process was torturing in the extreme. he believed that the giraffes were each moment moving farther away from the place. after the search had been continued for nearly two hours, a spoor was at length found that was unmistakably that of a camelopard. with a shout of joy willem turned his horse and commenced taking it up. it was fresh,--made but a few hours before. under the excitement of extreme fortune, whether it be good or bad, people do not act with much wisdom. so thought hendrik as he called the attention of willem to the fact that they had started out for the purpose of finding the spoor but not following it; that they would require the help of congo and spoor'em; that they must provide themselves with food and other articles necessary for a two or three days' journey. believing that, by the time they could go back to the house and return, the giraffes would gain a distance of not less than ten or fifteen miles, hendrik's suggestions seemed absurd, and his companion, without heeding them, kept on along the trail. hendrik and arend could do nothing but follow. before they had gone very far, arend made the observation that the tracks they were now following appeared too large to have been made by the young giraffes. "that's all a fancy of yours," rejoined willem, as he hurried on. "there appears to have been only one that went this way," said hendrik, after they had gone a little farther. "never mind," answered willem, "we have no time to look for the other. it won't be far away from its companion, and we shall probably find them together." notwithstanding what willem said, his comrades were convinced that they were following the track of only one giraffe, and that larger than either of those that had been lost. they again ventured to give their opinion about it. "nonsense!" exclaimed willem. "there has not been a giraffe in this part of the country for the last ten years, except the two we ourselves brought here." this statement would have been indorsed by every settler for a hundred miles around. for all that, it was a wrong one, as our adventurers soon had reason to be convinced. before they had gone another mile, the large body and lofty head of a giraffe loomed up before their eyes! on seeing it, they put spurs to their horses and rode straight toward it. they got within about three hundred yards of it before their approach was discovered. for the first ten minutes of the chase that then ensued, the distance between the hunters and the retreating giraffe remained about the same. gradually it began to diminish. the giraffe appeared to become exhausted with only a slight exertion; and on reaching a piece of marshy ground, where its feet sunk into the mud, it made a violent struggle and then fell over on its side. on riding forward to the spot, the hunters had an explanation of why the chase was so soon over. they were only surprised that the creature had been able to run at all. it proved to be an ancient male of which but little was left but the skin and bones. it looked as though it was the last of its race, about to become extinct. on its back and other parts of its body were lumps as large as walnuts, the scars of old wounds, where musket-bullets had been lodged in its body several years before! the rusty head of an arrow was also seen protruding from its side. it had the appearance of having been hunted for a score of years, and hundreds of times to have been within an inch of losing its life. its enemy, man, had overtaken it at last, and was gazing upon its struggling not with exultation, but rather with pity and regret. they felt no triumph in having run down and captured a thing that had been so long struggling with death. groot willem, who had been for a time highly elated with the prospect of recovering the lost giraffes, was again in great despondence. much time had been squandered in this purposeless pursuit. he was not one to yield easily to despair; and yet despair was now upon him. there was every symptom of a dark night coming down, and it was now near. inspired either by pity or revenge, he sent a bullet from his roer into the head of the struggling skeleton; and, throwing himself into the saddle, he turned the head of his horse once more towards the house. an attempt had been made to recover the lost giraffes. it had failed. night was close at hand. nothing more could be done for that day, and willem now declared his willingness to return to graaf reinet and die. hope had departed from his heart, and he no longer felt a desire to live. hendrik and arend, although sympathising with him in their common misfortune, exchanged looks of congratulation. they would now be permitted to go home. chapter sixty six. news of the lost. the sky had been overclouded all day, and continued so as the sun went down. over them descended a night as dark as erebus. perceiving the impracticability of getting that night to the house of the boer,--a distance of ten or fifteen miles,--the disappointed trackers dismounted, and staked their horses upon the grass, determined to wait for the return of another day. the night was passed in fitful slumbers around a camp-fire, where they were only visited by a flight of large moths, and some laughing hyenas, that by their harsh cachinations seemed to mock them in their misery. they were in a district of country from which the most noble of its denizens seemed to have been driven, and the most despicable only remained. when morning dawned they again climbed into their saddles and continued on towards the kraal of the boer. when, as they supposed, within about five miles of the house, they met two strange horsemen coming in the opposite direction. "goot morgen, shentlemens!" saluted one of the strangers as they drew near. "i'm glat to meet some ones coming your ways. hash you seen anything of our horses?" "do you mean those you are now riding?" asked hendrik. "no, not these, but five other horses,--no, three horses and two mares,--all mitout either sattles or pridles; one red horse mit one eye and a white poot on the left behind leg, one mare mit a star on the front of his head, und--" "no," interrupted hendrik, "we have been out since yesterday morning, but have seen no stray horses of any description; not a horse except those we are riding ourselves." "then we need not look in the direction you have been," said the other horseman, who spoke english with a proper accent. "will you please tell us whence you have come?" hendrik gave them a brief history of their course during the last twenty-four hours; and, in doing so, mentioned the object of their expedition,--the search after the giraffes. "if that's what you've been after," said the man who spoke proper english, "perhaps we can assist you a little. from what you tell me, i presume you must have been staying at the kraal of mynheer van ormon. yesterday morning we were looking for our horses about ten miles south of his place, when we saw two giraffes, the first i had ever seen in my life. we were badly mounted, and unprepared for hunting anything except our strayed horses, else we should have given chase." "ten miles to the south of the kraal!" exclaimed willem, "and we seeking for them twenty to the north. what fools we have been. what were the giraffes doing?" he asked earnestly, turning towards the man who had one more awakened within him the sweet sentiment of hope. "were they grazing or going on?" "they were travelling southward at a gentle trot, but increased their speed on seeing us. we were not within a quarter of a mile of them." our adventurers were too impatient to stay longer on the spot; and, after getting a few further directions, they bade the strangers good day and hastened on towards the house. on entering its enclosure the first person they encountered was the boer mynheer van ormon. "i see pat luck mit you, mine poys," said the dutchman, as they rode up to him. "i knowed it would pe so. the cameels have goed too far for you." "yes, too far to the south," answered willem. "we have heard of them, and must be off immediately. where are our companions?" "they goed away yester morgen to live where the oxen get grass. they now waiting for you at the south." "that's all right," said hendrik. "we must hasten to join them; but i think we'd be better of something to eat first. i'm starving. mynheer van ormon, we must again trespass on your hospitality." "so you shall, mine poys, mit pleasure all around; put who told you i vas mynheer van ormon?" "the same two men who told us about the giraffes. they were looking for some stray horses." "dat mush be mine neighbour cloots, who live fifteen miles to the east of thish place. they say they see the cameels. where an' when they see 'em?" "yesterday morning, about ten miles south of this place, they said." "may be dey be gone to graaf reinet to say you are coming. ha, he, hi! dat ish ver' goot." the boer then conducted his guests towards the dwelling. on passing a hut by the way, the hunters were surprised at seeing congo suddenly disappear around a corner! on the part of the kaffir, the encounter appeared both unexpected and undesired, as he had started back apparently to avoid them. this was a new mystery. "ho congo! come back here," shouted willem. "why are you here? why are you not with the others?" the kaffir did not condescend to make answer, but skulked into the hut. the boer now proceeded to explain that the kaffir had expressed a wish to be employed at his place, and had declared that he would proceed no further with his former masters, who had cruelly ill-treated him for allowing the giraffes to escape. he denied having done anything to influence this strange decision. "this cannot be," said willem. "there must be some mistake. he is not telling the truth if he says that we beat him. i may have spoken to him somewhat harshly; i admit having done so, but i did not know he was so sensitive. i'm sorry, if i have offended him, and am willing to apologise." mynheer van ormon stepped up to the door of the hut and commanded the kaffir to come forth. when congo showed himself at the entrance, willem apologised to him for the harsh language he had used, and, in the same manner as one friend should speak to another, entreated him to forget and forgive, and return with them to graaf reinet. during this colloquy the sharp eyes of the boer were glancing from master to servant, as though he knew what the result would be. they showed a gleam of satisfaction as the kaffir declared that he preferred remaining with his new master; and the only favour he now asked of willem was some compensation for his past services. had congo been one of the brothers, hans or hendrik von bloom, willem could not have done more towards effecting a reconciliation. at length, becoming indignant at the unaccountable conduct of his old servitor, he turned scornfully away, and, along with hendrik and arend, entered the house. after seeing a joint of cold boiled beef, a loaf of brown bread, and a bottle of cape wine placed before his guests, the boer went out again. hastily repairing to one of the sheds, he there found a hottentot servant at hard work in saddling one of his horse. "piet," said he, speaking in great haste, "quick, mine poy! chump into your saddle, and ride out to the north till you meet mine bruder and shames. tell them not to come more so near as half a mile to the house for one hour. make haste an' pe off!" two minutes more and the hottentot was on the horse, galloping away in the direction given to him. having satisfied their hunger, thanked their host and his fat vrow for their hospitality, and bidden them farewell, our adventurers started off for the south, anxious to rejoin hans, and continue the search after the giraffes. chapter sixty seven. why congo turned traitor. unwilling to trespass any longer on the hospitality of mynheer van ormon, hans had left the house with the intention to encamp somewhere near it, and wait for the return of his companions. to this the boer had made but little opposition, and his guest proceeded to prepare the makololo for a removal. they were still suffering all the horrors of a recovery from their first spell of intoxication, and, on entering the hut where they had passed the night, hans found them full of that species of repentance that leads to strong resolutions of future reformation. on being informed of the loss of the giraffes, their remorse seemed as if it would tempt them to suicide, and one of them, while tearing his wool-covered head, kept repeating the word _kombi_, _kombi_! hans knew that this was the name of a virulent poison much in use amongst the makololo. the four unfortunate men were willing to take upon themselves the whole blame of allowing the giraffes to escape, and seemed grateful for the mercy of being allowed to live any longer! after the cattle and horses had been loaded, and all got ready for a start, congo expressed his determination to stay behind. "what does this mean, congo?" asked hans. "are you angry at what your master said to you? you must forget that. he meant no harm. what do you intend doing?" "don't know, baas hans," gruffly answered congo; "don't know nuffin'." believing that the kaffir was only displeased with himself for his conduct on the night before, and that he would soon recover from his "miff," hans made no attempt to dissuade him. accompanied by swartboy and the makololo he moved away, driving the cattle before them, and leaving congo and his dog behind. he went in a southerly course, as the grass looked more tempting in that direction. when about three miles from the house he came upon a grove of trees, through which ran a little rivulet. on its bank he determined to make camp, and await the return of his companion. the manner in which he had left the boer had been rather sudden and unceremonious, and, if called upon to give an explanation of it, only some half-developed reasons would have presented themselves to his mind. of these, however, there were several. one was the desire of removing the makololo, now under his sole care, from the temptation of swallowing any more "cape smoke." this apprehension, however, was altogether groundless, and not even a relief from aching heads and self-condemnation could have induced the subjects of macora to drink any more for the present. hans possessed a philosophic spirit, and, under most circumstances, could wait patiently. swartboy and the makololo were in want of rest, to enable them to recover from their last night's debauch. the cattle and horses were in need of the grass that grew luxuriantly on the banks of the stream. all, therefore, could pass the day with but little inconvenience arising from the absence of the others. as the night came on, the cattle were collected; and, availing themselves of the habits to which they had been long since trained, they lay down close to the large fire that had been kindled by the edge of the grove. the night passed without any incidents to disturb them; but, just as day broke, they were awakened by the barking of a dog, and soon after greeted by a familiar voice. it was that of congo. "i thought you would think better of us and return," said hans, pleased once more to see the face of the faithful kaffir. "yaas, i come," answered congo, "but not to stay. i go back again." "why! what's brought you, then?" "to see baas willem; but he no here. tell him when he come back to wait for congo. tell him wait two days, four days,--tell him always wait till congo come." "but willem will go to the house before he comes here, and you can see him yourself." "no; may be i off with the boer oxen. i work there now. tell baas willem to wait for congo." "certainly i shall do so," answered hans; "but you are keeping something hid from me. why do you wish to see your master, if you are so offended as to have forsaken him. what is your reason for staying behind?" "don't know," vaguely responded the kaffir. "dis fool congo don't know nuffin'." "der's one thing i mus say for congo," said swartboy, "he mos allers tell the troof. he jus done so now." the kaffir smiled as though satisfied with swartboy's remark. after again requesting that willem should be told to wait his return, he hastened away, followed by the dog spoor'em. there was a mystery in the conduct of the man that hans could not comprehend in any other way than by taking the explanation he had himself given. congo seemed certainly either to be a fool or acting in a very foolish way. as the morning advanced, hans began to believe that the trackers had proved successful in their search. the spoor of the giraffes must have been found and followed, or they would have been back before then. from his knowledge of willem, hans was certain that once on the spoor he would never leave it as long as he had strength to continue. the giraffes had become tame, and there was no reason why they should not be easily retaken. but just as the sun had mounted up to the meridian, this hope was dispelled by the appearance of willem and his comrade coming back empty-handed. "you have been unsuccessful," said hans, as they rode up. "well, never mind; there is still a hope left us, and that is, to get safely home." "we have another hope besides that," replied willem. "we have heard of the giraffes. they were seen yesterday morning about seven miles to the southward of this spot. they are between us and our home, and we are not hunters if we don't recover them yet. we must be off after them immediately." swartboy and the makololo were directed to drive in the cattle, and all commenced making preparations for a departure. "we shall miss congo and spoor'em," said willem, while the cattle were being loaded. "we shall want them badly now." "ah!" exclaimed hans, "i had nearly forgotten to tell you that congo was here this morning, and wished me to say you were to wait until he came to you. he was very anxious to see you, and said you were to wait for him four days, or longer, if he did not see you in that time." "fortunately there will be no need for that delay," rejoined willem. "i have just seen the ungrateful rascal,--not half an hour ago." "indeed. and what did he want?" "only to dun me for the wages due him for the last year of his services. i have never been more deceived about a man in my life. i could not have believed it possible that congo would thus turn traitor and desert me." the conversation was discontinued, as all became busy in making ready for a start. chapter sixty eight. light out of darkness. in half an hour afterwards the hunters had broken up their camp. "i feel sorry about having to leave congo behind," said willem, as the cattle were being driven across the stream. "not that i care a straw for him, the ungrateful wretch, but that we may be unable to find the spoor of the giraffes, not having him with us. he and spoor'em would be worth everything now." "i think," rejoined his brother, "there's not much chance of our recovering them. we are now in a settled country where they will find but little rest. they will either be driven out of it or killed by whoever comes across them." "i have thought of all that," replied willem; "still, i shall hope for a day or two longer. i can better survive the loss, if nobody else succeeds in obtaining the reward offered for them; but should that brother of whom the boer spoke, as being gone on a similar expedition to ours,--should he perform the feat we have failed to accomplish, then i shouldn't care to live much longer." before they had gone very far, all noticed that there was something wrong with swartboy, who seemed also inclined to turn back, and was muttering some gibberish to himself, as was his habit when in any way perplexed or annoyed. the excitement in his mind at last became too strong to be restrained, and, drawing near willem, he asked:-- "what was that, baas willem, you said jus now 'bout the bruder of dat dutchman?" "i hardly remember, swart," answered willem. "some thing about his going after giraffes and getting the reward instead of ourselves. why do you ask?" "but did they gone nort same as we been a doin'?" "yes, so the boer told us." "how long was dat ago?" "seven months, i think he said." "why for you no tell me afore?" this question willem did not think worth answering, and swartboy for a few minutes was left to his thoughts. presently he recommenced the conversation. "baas willem," said he. "i think we bess stop, and talk a bit. congo no fool, but swartboy. swartboy a fool, and no mistake 'bout dat." "well, what has that to do with our stopping for a talk?" asked willem. "the boer's bruder, he come back from the nort without catch any giraffe," replied the bushman. "i tink he got some now." a light suddenly dawned on the mind of hans, who stood listening to this dialect. the mysterious conduct of congo appeared better than half explained. a halt was immediately ordered, and all gathered around swartboy. nearly twenty minutes was taken up in obtaining from the bushman the information he had to give. from the answers made to about a hundred questions, the hunters learned that, in the hut where he, congo, and the makololo had been so freely entertained, they had seen a hottentot who had lately returned from a journey to the north. this swartboy had understood from a few words the man had muttered while under the influence of the "smoke." during the evening, the hottentot had been called away from the hut, and swartboy had seen no more of him, nor thought anything of what he had said. now, however, on hearing that the boer had a brother who had gone northward on a giraffe hunt, swartboy conceived the idea that the drunken hottentot had not been there alone. in all likelihood he had accompanied the expedition. it had returned unsuccessful; and the boer's brothers had stolen the two giraffes that were now missing. the more this conjecture was discussed, the more probable it appeared. no doubt congo had some suspicion that there was something wrong, and he was keeping it to himself lest he might be mistaken. had he stayed behind in the hope of ascertaining the truth? his rude behaviour to his former master in the presence of the boer might have been only a ruse to mislead the latter, and give an opportunity for carrying out some detective contrivance. it was all in keeping with the kaffir character, and willem was but too delighted to think that such was the explanation. "i thought at the time i last saw him," said willem, "that there was something in his behaviour unlike what would be shown by a traitor. it seemed to contradict his words. i believe that we have all been very stupid. i hope so. i shall go back and see congo immediately. i shall demand an explanation. he will tell me all, if i can only get the boer out of the way." "i have another idea," said hendrik. "the two men we saw hunting for horses, and who told us they had seen our giraffes to the south, were a couple of liars. they did not speak like men telling the truth. i can see it now: we were simpletons to have been so easily deceived. they were the boer's own brothers,--the very men who have robbed us!" "yes," said hans; "and they had the assistance of mynheer van ormon in doing it. how easy it is to understand his profuse hospitality now. we have indeed been duped." the belief that the giraffes had been stolen was now universal, and our adventurers were only too glad to think so. they much preferred that this should be the case than to think the animals had strayed. there would be a far better chance of recovering them. it is easy to believe what we most desire, and all agreed that the property had been surreptitiously taken from the shed. without saying another word, groot willem turned his horse upon his tracks, and rode back towards the kraal of mynheer van ormon. the boer met him outside the enclosures, apparently surprised to see him return. the moment willem set eyes upon the man's face, he saw that there was something amiss. he observed a strong expression of displeasure, accompanied with a glance of uneasiness. "i have come back to have a chat with my old servant," said willem. "he has been with me for so many years that i don't like to part with him on slight grounds." "ver goot," answered van ormon. "you can see him when he come home. he hash goed after the oxen. if you pleash, take him along mit you when you leave." as the sun was now about setting, willem knew that the kaffir must soon be coming in with the cattle, and he rode off from the house in the hope of meeting him. soon a large herd was seen approaching from the plain, and, riding around it, willem found congo in company with two hottentots. while in the presence of his companions, the kaffir would not speak to him, but was apparently devoting every thought to the task of directing the movements of the herd. his old master seemed unworthy of his notice. "we have been all wrong in our conjectures," thought willem: "congo has really deserted me. no man could keep up such an appearance as he is doing. i may go back again." he was about to turn away, when congo, observing that both the hottentots had gone a few yards ahead, and were busy talking to one another, muttered in a low tone: "go back, baas willem, and wait at you camp. i come dar to-morrow mornin'." willem was not only satisfied, but overjoyed. those words were enough to tell him that his kaffir was still faithful,--that he was acting for the best, and that all would yet be well. he returned to his companions as cheerful and happy as he had been two nights before, while sitting by the dutchman's fireside and, under the exhilarating influence of the schiedam. chapter sixty nine. the kaffir discovers too much. when congo was made aware that the giraffes were missing, he believed himself more to blame than any one else. conscience told him that he had neglected his duty. his regret for what had happened inspired him with a strong resolve to do all in his power towards recovering the lost animals. on examining the broken stockade through which they had escaped, he had doubts as to its being their work. in crushing out the posts with the weight of their bodies they must have made a noise that he should have heard; for the giraffes had been tied within ten yards of where he had passed the night. the posts to which they had been attached had not been dragged away, as would have been the case had the animals drawn them out with their rheim fastenings. he had a suspicion that they had been taken down by human hands; but, as the others did not appear to think so, he fancied there might be a possibility of his being wrong. he therefore kept his suspicions to himself. had he said that the giraffes could not have knocked down the stockade without his hearing them, he would have been told that he was too drunk to hear anything, and his testimony discredited. he knew that he was not. he had observed something else to confirm his suspicion. he remembered the hottentot, who in his cups declared that he had lately been to the north, where he had seen giraffes hunted and killed. he had heard the hottentot called out from among the company, and by a man who spoke "boerish english." the voice was not that of the proprietor of the place, whom he had seen early in the evening; and yet he had observed no other white man about the establishment. moreover, some saddled horses he had seen in the stables the night before were also gone. it was these things that had determined him to stay at the house and watch. on pretence of hiring himself to the boer he was permitted to remain. every day something turned up to confirm his suspicions. he had seen the hottentot sent off, while willem, arend, and hendrik were eating their breakfast inside; and, soon after their departure, he had witnessed the arrival of two white men, who appeared to consider the place their home. those men, he believed, had been there on the night when the giraffes were missed, and congo suspected them to be the thieves. he saw them go off again in the direction they had come, equipped as for a hunting expedition, or for some distant journey. he would have followed them, but dared not, lest his doing so might be observed and excite the suspicion of the boer. believing that they would not go far that night, he made up his mind to track them on the following morning. stealing away from the shed, where he slept, he took up their spoor as soon as the first light of day would allow of it, and, following this, he soon saw enough to assure him that his suspicions were correct. a journey of ten miles brought him amongst some ranges of steep hills, separated from each other by deep, narrow gorges. on ascending to the top of one of these, he perceived a small column of smoke rising from a ravine below. throwing his hat upon the ground, and commanding the dog spoor'em to keep a watch upon it, he stalked forward and soon obtained a view of what was causing the smoke. it was a fire kindled under the shadow of some _cameel-doorn_ trees, as if for the bivouac of hunters. judging by two animals that stood tied to the trees, congo knew that they who had kindled the fire were not hunters, but thieves. the animals in question were giraffes,--young ones,--the same that congo had been driving before him for some hundreds of miles. contrary to his expectations, there appeared to be but one man in charge of them; and that, neither of the two he had seen the evening before at van ormon's. the men he had been tracking must have visited the camp and gone off again. their absence was but of little consequence. the giraffes were there, and that was all he wanted. he could now go back and guide the real owners to the spot, who would then be able to reclaim their property. had the two men he had traced to the camp been seated by the fire, he would no doubt have succeeded in accomplishing his plans. but unfortunately they were not. after noting the topography of the place, so that he might easily recognise it, he turned to depart. before proceeding twenty paces on his way, he was startled by the report of a gun. the sound was followed by a howl of pain, which he knew came from the hound spoor'em. at the same instant, trotting out from some bushes on the brow of the hill, he saw two mounted men. one glance told him they were the men he had seen the evening before it the house of van ormon. they were those on whose track he had come. crouching among the bushes, he endeavoured to avoid being seen; but in this he was unsuccessful. a shout from one of the men told him that he was discovered, and soon after the hoof-strokes of the galloping horse told that they were rapidly approaching his hiding-place. though swift of foot, there was no chance for him to escape; for all that, instinct led him to take to his heels. for some distance down hill, which was very steep, he was able to keep in advance of his mounted pursuers. but once on the level ground, the horsemen soon closed upon him, and the chase was brought to an abrupt termination by one of them striking him from behind with the butt of his gun, and rolling him flat upon his face. chapter seventy. congo a captive. the horsemen pulled up with a shout of exultation. "what did you stop for?" asked the one who had struck the blow. "why didn't you keep on running?" he added with a fiendish laugh, as he leaned over the prostrate body of the kaffir. "yaas, why don't yer go on to tell where der two cameels be, to der fools whom found um?" asked the other. "why don't yer do datch?" the two men who were addressing the half-unconscious congo were the same two willem, arend, and hendrik had met the day before,--the men who had directed them to search to the south. one was the brother of mynheer van ormon, the other was his brother-in-law. they were men who had for many years been living on the borders of the colony,--part of their time engaged in fighting kaffirs and griquas, and robbing them of their cattle, the other part in trading with the natives for ostrich-feathers and ivory. they had lately returned from an unsuccessful expedition to the north, the object of which had been to procure two young giraffes, in order to obtain the reward or price offered for them by the consul of the netherlands. on seeing within the kraal of their kinsman mynheer van ormon, the very animals they had sacrificed so much time in vainly searching for, they could not resist the opportunity of appropriating them. their idea was, to conceal the animals for a few weeks among the hills, until those to whom they properly belonged, giving them up as lost, should return to their homes. the giraffes might then be taken to cape town, and disposed of, without the original owners ever knowing anything of the trick that had been played upon them. unfortunately for congo, they had that morning been in search of something for food, and had returned just in time to see him playing spy upon their camp. "this is the villain who pretended to quarrel with his master and leave him," said the man who had knocked the kaffir down. "i told van ormon to send him off with the others, but he was sure the fellow did not wish to assist them, and could not if he would. by his folly our game has been nearly lost. we've just been in time; but what are we to do with the black brute, now that we've caught him?" "kill him!" replied the other, who was the brother of van ormon. "he mus never got to de white mens. dey would come and rob us all." "very likely. some people are bad enough to do anything; but i have half killed this fellow already,--you may do your share, and finish him, if you like." "no shames; as you pegins this little job, it is besh you finish it yourself." bad as were the two ruffians into whose hands congo had fallen, neither of them liked to give him the _coup de grace_, and, undecided what else to do with him, they tied his hands behind his back. he was then assisted to his feet, and, reeling like a drunken man, was led towards their camp. congo soon began to recover from the effects of the blow, and became sensible of the danger he was in. by their talk, he could tell that they intended putting him out of the way. from their savage looks and gestures he could see there was but little hope of his life being spared. his captors would not dare to let him escape. he had learned too much to be allowed to live. no assistance could be expected from his master and companions. they were waiting for him far-away. "is this the game you have brought back?" exclaimed the man sitting over the camp-fire, as the others came up dragging their captive after them. "yes, and as you are the cook, you must dress it for our dinners," replied he who answered to the name of "shames." "well, why don't you tell me what this means?" interrogated the first. "only this: we have caught a spy. we have been tracked by him to this place. but there's no great harm done yet. we're in luck, and nothing can go wrong with us. our catching this fellow is a proof of it." a long consultation was now carried on between the ruffians, in which they all agreed in the necessity of putting the prisoner to death. it would never do to let him live. he would in the end bring them into trouble, even if kept a prisoner for years. his tongue must be silenced forever. there was but one way of silencing it. that was, never to allow him to leave the place alive. there was a point upon which his captors were a little in doubt. had the kaffir undertaken the task of tracking them upon his own responsibility, or with the knowledge and at the instigation of his masters? in the former case only, would they be safe in destroying him. in the latter, the act might be attended with danger. to make sure of this, one of the three men--van ormon's brother it was--proposed going back to the house, there, if possible, to ascertain how the case stood. to this the other two readily consented; and, mounting his horse, he rode off for the kraal of his kinsman. as soon as he was gone, the others tied congo to a tree, and then seating themselves under the shade of the _cameel-doorn_, they proceeded to amuse themselves with a game of cards. four hours passed,--hours that to the kaffir seemed days. he was in a state of indescribable agony. the thongs of hide that bound his wrists to the branches were cutting into the flesh, and besides, there was before his mind the positive certainty that he had not much longer to live. the fear of death, however, scarce gave him so much mental pain as his anxiety to know something of the fate of his companions, and his wish that groot willem should recover the giraffes. he now regretted that he had not revealed his suspicions at the last interview with his young master. this might have saved the hunters from their loss and himself from the fate that now threatened him. it was too late. he had acted for the best, but acted wrongly. in the afternoon van ormon's brother came riding back to the camp. "well! what news?" asked james, as he came within speaking distance. "it ish all right. dey don't know nothing of what's up. mine bruder have constant watch over their camp. they be in von quandary, and will soon go home." "is van ormon sure that they hadn't any communication with this kaffir?" asked james. "yesh! they had. one of them came to the house, and saw this fella yesterday. but for all that, blackee never said von leetle word to him. they were well watch while they wash togedder." "then perhaps it is not all right, as you say. they may have the same suspicion that led him here. why the deuce don't they go off home? i don't like their hanging about so long." "i tell you, shames, it ish all right. we have only to get rid of the spy. he must never see the fools who own him, again. what ish we to do with him?" "send a bullet through his body," said the man who had been left in charge of the giraffes. "yes; he must be killed in that way or some other, certainly," said james; "but which of us is to do it? it's a pity we did not shoot him down while he was running. then was the time. i don't like the thing, now that i've cooled down." bad as the ruffians were, none of them liked to commit a murder in cold blood. they had determined that congo must die, yet none of them wished to act as the executioner. after a good deal of discussion and some wrangling, a bright idea flashed across the brain of van ormon's brother. he proposed that their prisoner should be taken to a pool that was some distance down the gorge; that he be tied to a tree by the side of the pool, and left there for the night. "i see de spoor of lion dare every mornin'," said he, grinning horribly as he spoke. "i'll bet mine life we find no more of dis black fella ash a few red spots." this plan was agreeable to all; and at sundown the kaffir was released from his fastenings, conducted down the narrow valley, and firmly spliced to a sapling that stood close to the edge of the pool. to provide against any chance of his being heard and released by a stray traveller, a stick was stuck crosswise in his mouth, the bight of a string made fast over each end of it, and then securely knotted at the back of his head. after taking a survey of his fastenings, to see that there was no danger of their coming undone, his cruel captors made him a mocking salute; and, bidding him "good bye," strode off towards their camp. chapter seventy one. a fight by firelight. anxiously did groot willem wait for the next morning and the promised visit from congo. but the morning came and passed without any congo, willem became impatient, and could not content himself any longer in the camp. "this will not do," he exclaimed, as he saw that the sun was again going down in the sky. "we must not remain here. perhaps congo _cannot_ come. of course he cannot, or he would have been here before now. we must look for him, but it will not do for all of us to go together. hendrik, will you come with me?" hendrik readily responded to the invitation. the two mounted their horses and rode off towards the residence of van ormon. from the behaviour of congo when willem had last seen him, the latter was quite certain that his visits at the kraal were not desired. the kaffir probably supposed that they might interfere with his plans, by bringing suspicion upon himself. this, however, did not prevent willem from going to see him once more. congo had broken his promise; and that was a proof that something must be wrong. on their new visit to mynheer van ormon, this gentleman did not take the slightest trouble to show them civility. "dat plack villen you call congo," said he, "goed away last night. we thought he vash mit you. when you fints him again take him to der tuyfel, if you likes, and keep him dare." "do you think he has gone away from this place?" asked willem of hendrik, as they rode out from van ormon's enclosures. "yes," answered hendrik; "i see no reason to doubt it." "but why did he not come to me, as he promised?" "there's some good reason for his not having done so." "i wish i knew in what direction he has gone." "that difficulty may soon be removed," said hendrik. "i fancy i can tell it to a point of the compass. it will be found a little to east of north." "why do you say that?" "because it was in that quarter we encountered the two men on the day after the giraffes were missing. moreover, we know they are not south, for that is the way those false guides wanted us to take." too excited to return to camp without doing something, willem proposed that they should ride out on the plain towards the north-east, and see whether anything could be learned about congo. to this hendrik agreed; and, after going southward about a mile from van ormon's house, they turned, rode circuitously around it, and then struck off for the north-east. they had no great hope of finding the object of their search, but it was necessary for them to do something; and, as hendrik's surmise was not without some probability, they kept on. after making about five miles across the plain, they came within sight of some hills that began to loom up on the horizon to the north-east. they were still, to all appearance, about four miles distant. "just the place where our property might be concealed," suggested hendrik. "no one would hide giraffes on a plain. if we do not find them yonder, and this very night, we deserve to lose them." the sun was just setting as they reached the crest of the first range of hills. looking back over the road they had just travelled, a horseman was seen coming across the plain, a mile distant from the spot where they had halted. "if we watch that man," said hendrik, "and not let him see us, we shall probably find what we're in search of. if not one of the thieves themselves, he looks to me very like a messenger going to them from van ormon's. from the behaviour of the boer, i'm now convinced that our giraffes have been stolen, and van ormon himself is the thief." riding in among some trees, they dismounted, and, securing their horses in the cover, watched the man who was approaching from the plain. in the twilight, they saw him toil slowly up the slope, a little to the east of them, and then continue his course over the summit of the ridge, going on toward the next. the night was now so dark that he could not be kept in sight without their riding very near to him. in this there would be danger. the hoof-strokes of their horses might be heard. to avoid this they permitted him to keep far in the advance, and rode slowly and noiselessly after, trusting to chance to conduct them upon his track. fortune favoured them. on mounting a hill about half a mile from the place where they had last seen the lone horseman, they came in sight of a camp-fire that appeared burning in the bottom of the ravine below. both dismounted, tied their horses to the trees, and silently stole towards the light. it grew larger and brighter as they advanced upon it. without the slightest danger of being themselves seen, they drew nearer and nearer, until they could make out the figures of three men seated around the fire. these appeared engaged in an earnest confabulation. but for the messenger who had gone back to the house of mynheer van ormon, willem and hendrik might have long wandered amongst the hills without seeing anything to reward them for their journey. as it was, they saw that which caused willem a thrill of joy,--so intense he could scarce restrain himself from crying out. congo's suspicions, whether based upon instinct or reason had not been idle fancies. tied to a tree under the glare of the camp-fire stood two young giraffes,--the animals that had not strayed but been stolen. a hurried consultation took place between the two hunters. they must obtain possession of their property, but how? they did not wish to be killed in the endeavour to right themselves, and they did not wish to kill those who had robbed them, if they could avoid doing so. "let us give them a chance," said willem. "if they will surrender the stolen giraffes peaceably, we shall let them off. if not, then i mean to shoot them down without mercy. we must take the law into our own hands. there is not a court or magistrate within one hundred miles of us." while they were thus hastily arranging upon a plan of action, the three men seated around the fire commenced cooking their suppers. only a few words more were interchanged between willem and hendrik, who had come to an understanding as to how they should act. carrying their guns at full cock, they stepped silently forward side by side and close together. under cover of the timber they advanced within ten paces of the unsuspecting thieves, and then boldly stepped out into the light. "keep your seats," cried groot willem in a loud, commanding voice. "the first of you that stirs shall die like a dog!" the man known as "shames," showed signs of an intention to spring to his feet and seize hold of a gun that lay near. "don't! for your soul's sake, don't!" shouted the great hunter. the warning was not heeded; and the man rushed toward the gun, took it up and at once brought it to the level. but before he could touch his trigger, willem's roer delivered its loud report, and the thief fell forward on to the fire. van ormon's brother, not heeding the fate of his companion, made some show of resistance; but this was instantly ended by a blow from the butt of groot willem's gun, which he now held clenched in his hand. the third of the thieves did not stay for similar treatment, but bolted from the camp at a pace that would have left most horses behind him. the guns of all three were picked up, discharged, and then smashed against a tree. the giraffes were untied and taken up to the place where the horses had been left. after which, willem and hendrik mounted into their saddles, and, leading the camelopards behind them, commenced a backward march toward camp, where they had left their companions. the fate of the two men left by the fire remained from that moment unknown to our adventurers. nor did they care to inquire about it. before leaving the spot, it was seen that neither of them had received a mortal wound; and, as there was still one unharmed to take care of them, in all probability they recovered. _that_, at least, was the hope and belief of the hunters. chapter seventy two. all right once more. on finding himself tied to a tree, gagged, and abandoned congo could see but one chance of his being released from his confinement, and that was by some beast of prey. he was quite sure that those who had left him there would never return to relieve him. his reflections were anything but pleasant. they bore some resemblance to those of a sick man, who has been assured by his physician that there is _no_ chance for him to recover. the kaffir was not one to give way to a cowardly fear of death, but there was another thought in his mind almost as disagreeable, and that was the chagrin he felt of not being able to see his beloved master again, and make known his discovery of the giraffes. he even thought, while waiting for his approaching fate, that, if by any means he could let groot willem know where his property was concealed, he could then die content. an hour passed, and a heavy darkness gathered around him. it was the shades of night. a few small animals of the antelope kind came trotting up to the pool, and quenched their thirst. they were followed by some jackals. other visitors might soon be expected,--visitors that might not depart without rudely releasing him from his confinement. half an hour later, and his eyes, piercing through the gloom of the night, became fixed upon a quadruped, whose species he could not well make out. it appeared about the size of a leopard. it was crawling slowly and silently towards him. it drew nearer; and just as he thought it was about to spring upon him, it uttered a low, moaning noise. congo recognised the dog spoor'em. for a moment there was joy in the african's soul. the faithful dog was still living, and had not forsaken him. if he was to die, it would be in company of the most affectionate friend a man can have among the brute creation. groot willem and the giraffes were for a while forgotten. as the dog crawled close up to him, congo saw that it carried one leg raised up from the ground, and that the hair from the shoulder downwards was clotted with blood. spoor'em appeared to forget the pain of his wound, in the joy of again meeting his master, and never had congo felt so strongly the wish to be able to speak. gagged as he was, he could not. not one kind word of encouragement could he give to the creature that, despite its own sufferings, had not forsaken him. he knew that the dog was listening for the familiar tones of his voice, and looked reproachful that he was not allowed to hear them. congo did not wish even a brute to think him ungrateful, and yet there was no way by which he could let spoor'em know that such was the case. not long after the arrival of the dog, congo heard the report of a gun. to the sharp ears of the kaffir it seemed to have a familiar sound. it was very loud, and like the report of a _roer_. it sounded like groot willem's gun, but how could the hunter be there? congo could not hope it was he. some minutes of profound silence succeeded the shot, which was then followed by three others, and once more all was still. a quarter of an hour passed, and hoof-strokes were heard on the hill above; a party of horsemen were riding along the crest of the ridge. congo could hear their voices, mingling with the heavy footfall of the horses. they were about to pass by the spot. "the thieves," thought congo. "they are shifting their quarters." they were not more than a hundred yards from the tree where he was tied; and, as they came opposite, and just as he became satisfied that they were going on without chance of seeing him, he heard a sort of struggle, followed by the words: "hold up a minute, hendrik; my horse has got on one side of a tree, and tootla the other." the voice was willem's, and "tootla" was the name of one of the young giraffes! congo made a desperate effort to free his hands from their fastenings, as well as to remove the stick that was distending his jaws. the struggle was in vain. there appeared no way by which he could sound an alarm and let his friends know that he was near. he could think of none. they were leaving him. they would return to graaf reinet, and he should be left to die at the foot of the tree, or be torn from it by wild beasts. he was almost frantic with despair, when an idea suddenly occurred to him. he could not speak himself, but why could not the dog do so for him. his feet were still free, and, raising one of them, he gave spoor'em a kick,--a cruel kick. the poor animal crouched at his feet and uttered a low whine. it could not have been heard thirty paces away. again the foot was lifted, and dashed against the ribs of the unfortunate dog, that neither made an effort to avoid the blow nor any complaint at receiving it. the only answer vouchsafed was but a low, querulous whine, that seemed to say, "why is this, master? in what have i offended you?" just as the foot was lifted for the third time, the air reverberated to a long, loud roar. it was the voice of a hungry lion, that appeared to be only a few paces from the spot. spoor'em instantly sprang to his feet, and answered the king of beasts by a loud defiant bark. the faithful animal that would not resist its master's ill-treatment, was but too ready to defend that master from the attack of a third party. in the bark of spoor'em there was an idiosyncrasy. it was heard and instantly recognised. the moment after congo had the pleasure of hearing the tramp of horses, as they came trotting down the hill; and the voice of willem calling out to him! when released from the tree, and the gag taken from his mouth, the first words he uttered were those of apology to spoor'em, for the kicks he had just administered! from the demonstrations made by the dumb creature, there was every reason to believe that he accepted the apology in the spirit in which it was given! willem compelled congo, who had now been thirty-six hours without food, to mount upon his own horse; but this the kaffir would consent to do only on the condition that he would be allowed to take spoor'em up along with him. they at once started away from the spot, and by an early hour of the following morning reached the camp, where hans, arend, and the others had remained. swartboy, in the joy of seeing them again, increased by the sight of the giraffes, declared that he would never more call congo a fool. this promise he has never been known to break. in the afternoon, the journey towards graaf reinet was resumed. spoor'em being carried for two or three days on the back of one of the oxen, snugly ensconced in a large willow basket, woven by congo for that express purpose. chapter seventy three. conclusion. one evening, after a long day's journey, our adventurers found themselves within a few miles of home. a gallop of an hour or two, would place them in the society of the relatives and friends from whom they had been so long absent. arend and hendrik were impatient to ride forward, in advance of their companions. but each refrained from making the proposition to the other. greatly to their annoyance, they saw hans and willem halt at the house of a boer, and commence making arrangements for passing the night. this the two did with as little unconcern as though they were still hundreds of miles from home. both willem and hans possessed a fair share of old-fashioned dutch philosophy, that told them no circumstances should hinder them from being merciful to the animals that had served them so long and so well. early next morning, as the hunters passed through graaf reinet, on the way to their own homes, all the inhabitants of the village turned out to bid them welcome. by most of the people dwelling in the place, the young giraffes were looked upon with as much astonishment as the four makololo felt while gazing upon the spire of the village church. there was not an inhabitant of the place over ten years of age who had not heard something of the expedition on which our adventurers had set forth some months before. all knew the objects for which it had been undertaken; and course the majority had prophesied another failure in the accomplishment of what so many experienced hunters had already failed to effect. "we are now returning home in a respectable manner," remarked hendrik to the others, as he observed the enthusiastic spirit in which they were welcomed by the people. "yes," answered arend, "and it is to willem's perseverance that we owe all this." "i don't know that i've displayed any great perseverance as you call it," said willem. "i was as anxious as any of you to return home, but i did not like to come back without a couple of young giraffes. that was all the difference between us." the others made no reply, but rode on silently, thinking of the generosity of their gigantic companion. on former expeditions our adventurers had been absent even a longer time, but never did home seem so dear to them as now, and never did they find on their return so warm a welcome as that extended to them now. the two young ladies, truey von bloom and wilhelmina van wyk, were delighted at again meeting with their lovers, and, what is more, were honest enough to admit that such was the case. congo and swartboy endeavoured to repay themselves for the hardships of the past, by assuming grand airs over the other servants, domestics belonging to their masters, as also by an unusual indulgence in eating, drinking, and sleeping. groot willem had still another journey to accomplish. it was to accompany hans to cape town on his intended trip to europe, and to deliver to the dutch consul the captured camelopards. this journey, however, was not undertaken until he had given himself, his horses, and giraffes a month's rest. during this time, the makololo were treated with the greatest kindness by all the household of the two families to which their young friends belonged. before returning to the north, each was presented with a horse, a gun, and a suit of clothes; and several useful presents were sent by groot willem to his generous friend and protector, macora. previous to his departure for europe, hans desired to be present at two important ceremonies that must sooner or later take place, and in which the families of von bloom and van wyk were both more or less interested. but hans was impatient to set out on his intended tour, and hendrik and arend were much pleased that such was the case. under these circumstances, miss truey and miss wilhelmina were prevailed upon to appoint an early day for making the two cornets the happiest of men. the day after the double marriage, willem and hans started for cape town,--taking with them the giraffes and the ivory they had brought from the north. the animals that had cost so much time and toil in procuring were delivered to the consul, and the bounty money handed over. the camelopards became fellow-passengers of the young philosopher in his voyage to europe. willem parted with them and hans as the ship was getting "under way," and, on the same day, started back to his distant home in graaf reinet. there he still dwells, endeavouring to pass his time in peaceful pursuits; but this endeavour he finds great difficulty in carrying out,--partly through his own restless desire to seek new adventures, and partly through the solicitations of young jan and klaas, who, stimulated by the tales told by their elder brothers, are now keenly anxious to relinquish the pursuit of knowledge for that of game. hendrik and arend have no longer a desire to go in quest of such sport. home is now too dear to them; and both are satisfied to leave to their younger brothers the pleasure of spending a few months on the far frontier, and earning, as they so nobly did, the title of giraffe hunters. mr. sponge's sporting tour. r.s. surtees [illustration: _mr. sponge completely scatters his lordship_] transcriber's note: minor typos corrected and footnotes moved to end of text. to the right honourable lord elcho, in gratitude for many seasons of excellent sport with his hounds, on the border. this volume is inscribed, by his obliged and faithful servant, the author. preface the author gladly avails himself of the convenience of a preface for stating, that it will be seen at the close of the work why he makes such a characterless character as mr. sponge the hero of his tale. he will be glad if it serves to put the rising generation on their guard against specious, promiscuous acquaintance, and trains them on to the noble sport of hunting, to the exclusion of its mercenary, illegitimate off-shoots. _november _ chapter i our hero [illustration] it was a murky october day that the hero of our tale, mr. sponge, or soapey sponge, as his good-natured friends call him, was seen mizzling along oxford street, wending his way to the west. not that there was anything unusual in sponge being seen in oxford street, for when in town his daily perambulations consist of a circuit, commencing from the bantam hotel in bond street into piccadilly, through leicester square, and so on to aldridge's, in st. martin's lane, thence by moore's sporting-print shop, and on through some of those ambiguous and tortuous streets that, appearing to lead all ways at once and none in particular, land the explorer, sooner or later, on the south side of oxford street. oxford street acts to the north part of london what the strand does to the south: it is sure to bring one up, sooner or later. a man can hardly get over either of them without knowing it. well, soapey having got into oxford street, would make his way at a squarey, in-kneed, duck-toed, sort of pace, regulated by the bonnets, the vehicles, and the equestrians he met to criticize; for of women, vehicles, and horses, he had voted himself a consummate judge. indeed, he had fully established in his own mind that kiddey downey and he were the only men in london who _really_ knew anything about, horses, and fully impressed with that conviction, he would halt, and stand, and stare, in a way that with any other man would have been considered impertinent. perhaps it was impertinent in soapey--we don't mean to say it wasn't--but he had done it so long, and was of so sporting a gait and cut, that he felt himself somewhat privileged. moreover, the majority of horsemen are so satisfied with the animals they bestride, that they cock up their jibs and ride along with a 'find any fault with either me or my horse, if you can' sort of air. thus mr. sponge proceeded leisurely along, now nodding to this man, now jerking his elbow to that, now smiling on a phaeton, now sneering at a 'bus. if he did not look in at shackell's or bartley's, or any of the dealers on the line, he was always to be found about half-past five at cumberland gate, from whence he would strike leisurely down the park, and after coming to a long check at rotten row rails, from whence he would pass all the cavalry in the park in review, he would wend his way back to the bantam, much in the style he had come. this was his summer proceeding. mr. sponge had pursued this enterprising life for some 'seasons'--ten at least--and supposing him to have begun at twenty or one-and-twenty, he would be about thirty at the time we have the pleasure of introducing him to our readers--a period of life at which men begin to suspect they were not quite so wise at twenty as they thought. not that mr. sponge had any particular indiscretions to reflect upon, for he was tolerably sharp, but he felt that he might have made better use of his time, which may be shortly described as having been spent in hunting all the winter, and in talking about it all the summer. with this popular sport he combined the diversion of fortune-hunting, though we are concerned to say that his success, up to the period of our introduction, had not been commensurate with his deserts. let us, however, hope that brighter days are about to dawn upon him. having now introduced our hero to our male and female friends, under his interesting pursuits of fox and fortune-hunter, it becomes us to say a few words as to his qualifications for carrying them on. mr. sponge was a good-looking, rather vulgar-looking man. at a distance--say ten yards--his height, figure, and carriage gave him somewhat of a commanding appearance, but this was rather marred by a jerky, twitchy, uneasy sort of air, that too plainly showed he was not the natural, or what the lower orders call the _real_ gentleman. not that sponge was shy. far from it. he never hesitated about offering to a lady after a three days' acquaintance, or in asking a gentleman to take him a horse in over-night, with whom he might chance to come in contact in the hunting-field. and he did it all in such a cool, off-hand, matter-of-course sort of way, that people who would have stared with astonishment if anybody else had hinted at such a proposal, really seemed to come into the humour and spirit of the thing, and to look upon it rather as a matter of course than otherwise. then his dexterity in getting into people's houses was only equalled by the difficulty of getting him out again, but this we must waive for the present in favour of his portraiture. in height, mr. sponge was above the middle size--five feet eleven or so--with a well borne up, not badly shaped, closely cropped oval head, a tolerably good, but somewhat receding forehead, bright hazel eyes, roman nose, with carefully tended whiskers, reaching the corners of a well-formed mouth, and thence descending in semicircles into a vast expanse of hair beneath the chin. having mentioned mr. sponge's groomy gait and horsey propensities, it were almost needless to say that his dress was in the sporting style--you saw what he was by his clothes. every article seemed to be made to defy the utmost rigour of the elements. his hat (lincoln and bennett) was hard and heavy. it sounded upon an entrance-hall table like a drum. a little magical loop in the lining explained the cause of its weight. somehow, his hats were never either old or new--not that he bought them second-hand, but when he got a new one he took its 'long-coat' off, as he called it, with a singeing lamp, and made it look as if it had undergone a few probationary showers. when a good london hat recedes to a certain point, it gets no worse; it is not like a country-made thing that keeps going and going until it declines into a thing with no sort of resemblance to its original self. barring its weight and hardness, the sponge hat had no particular character apart from the sponge head. it was not one of those punty ovals or cheshire-cheese flats, or curly-sided things that enables one to say who is in a house and who is not, by a glance at the hats in the entrance, but it was just a quiet, round hat, without anything remarkable, either in the binding, the lining, or the band, but still it was a very becoming hat when sponge had it on. there is a great deal of character in hats. we have seen hats that bring the owners to the recollection far more forcibly than the generality of portraits. but to our hero. that there may be a dandified simplicity in dress, is exemplified every day by our friends the quakers, who adorn their beautiful brown saxony coats with little inside velvet collars and fancy silk buttons, and even the severe order of sporting costume adopted by our friend mr. sponge is not devoid of capability in the way of tasteful adaptation. this mr. sponge chiefly showed in promoting a resemblance between his neck-cloths and waistcoats. thus, if he wore a cream-coloured cravat, he would have a buff-coloured waistcoat, if a striped waistcoat, then the starcher would be imbued with somewhat of the same colour and pattern. the ties of these varied with their texture. the silk ones terminated in a sort of coaching fold, and were secured by a golden fox-head pin, while the striped starchers, with the aid of a pin on each side, just made a neat, unpretending tie in the middle, a sort of miniature of the flagrant, flyaway, mile-end ones of aspiring youth of the present day. his coats were of the single-breasted cut-away order, with pockets outside, and generally either oxford mixture or some dark colour, that required you to place him in a favourable light to say what it was. his waistcoats, of course, were of the most correct form and material, generally either pale buff, or buff with a narrow stripe, similar to the undress vests of the servants of the royal family, only with the pattern run across instead of lengthways, as those worthies mostly have theirs, and made with good honest step collars, instead of the make-believe roll collars they sometimes convert their upright ones into. when in deep thought, calculating, perhaps, the value of a passing horse, or considering whether he should have beefsteaks or lamb chops for dinner, sponge's thumbs would rest in the arm-holes of his waistcoat; in which easy, but not very elegant, attitude he would sometimes stand until all trace of the idea that elevated them had passed away from his mind. in the trouser line he adhered to the close-fitting costume of former days; and many were the trials, the easings, and the alterings, ere he got a pair exactly to his mind. many were the customers who turned away on seeing his manly figure filling the swing mirror in 'snip and sneiders',' a monopoly that some tradesmen might object to, only mr. sponge's trousers being admitted to be perfect 'triumphs of the art,' the more such a walking advertisement was seen in the shop the better. indeed, we believe it would have been worth snip and co.'s while to have let him have them for nothing. they were easy without being tight, or rather they looked tight without being so; there wasn't a bag, a wrinkle, or a crease that there shouldn't be, and strong and storm-defying as they seemed, they were yet as soft and as supple as a lady's glove. they looked more as if his legs had been blown in them than as if such irreproachable garments were the work of man's hands. many were the nudges, and many the 'look at this chap's trousers,' that were given by ambitious men emulous of his appearance as he passed along, and many were the turnings round to examine their faultless fall upon his radiant boot. the boots, perhaps, might come in for a little of the glory, for they were beautifully soft and cool-looking to the foot, easy without being loose, and he preserved the lustre of their polish, even up to the last moment of his walk. there never was a better man for getting through dirt, either on foot or horseback, than our friend. to the frequenters of the 'corner,' it were almost superfluous to mention that he is a constant attendant. he has several volumes of 'catalogues,' with the prices the horses have brought set down in the margins, and has a rare knack at recognizing old friends, altered, disguised, or disfigured as they may be--'i've seen that rip before,' he will say, with a knowing shake of the head, as some woe-begone devil goes, best leg foremost, up to the hammer, or, 'what! is that old beast back? why he's here every day.' no man can impose upon soapy with a horse. he can detect the rough-coated plausibilities of the straw-yard, equally with the metamorphosis of the clipper or singer. his practised eye is not to be imposed upon either by the blandishments of the bang-tail, or the bereavements of the dock. tattersall will hail him from his rostrum with--'here's a horse will suit you, mr. sponge! cheap, good, and handsome! come and buy him.' but it is needless describing him here, for every out-of-place groom and dog-stealer's man knows him by sight. chapter ii mr. benjamin buckram having dressed and sufficiently described our hero to enable our readers to form a general idea of the man, we have now to request them to return to the day of our introduction. mr. sponge had gone along oxford street at a somewhat improved pace to his usual wont--had paused for a shorter period in the ''bus' perplexed 'circus,' and pulled up seldomer than usual between the circus and the limits of his stroll. behold him now at the edgeware road end, eyeing the 'buses with a wanting-a-ride like air, instead of the contemptuous sneer he generally adopts towards those uncouth productions. red, green, blue, drab, cinnamon-colour, passed and crossed, and jostled, and stopped, and blocked, and the cads telegraphed, and winked, and nodded, and smiled, and slanged, but mr. sponge regarded them not. he had a sort of ''bus' panorama in his head, knew the run of them all, whence they started, where they stopped, where they watered, where they changed, and, wonderful to relate, had never been entrapped into a sixpenny fare when he meant to take a threepenny one. in cab and ''bus' geography there is not a more learned man in london. mark him as he stands at the corner. he sees what he wants, it's the chequered one with the red and blue wheels that the bayswater ones have got between them, and that the st. john's wood and two western railway ones are trying to get into trouble by crossing. what a row! how the ruffians whip, and stamp, and storm, and all but pick each other's horses' teeth with their poles, how the cads gesticulate, and the passengers imprecate! now the bonnets are out of the windows, and the row increases. six coachmen cutting and storming, six cads sawing the air, sixteen ladies in flowers screaming, six-and-twenty sturdy passengers swearing they will 'fine them all,' and mr. sponge is the only cool person in the scene. he doesn't rush into the throng and 'jump in,' for fear the 'bus should extricate itself and drive on without him; he doesn't make confusion worse confounded by intimating his behest; he doesn't soil his bright boots by stepping off the kerb-stone; but, quietly waiting the evaporation of the steam, and the disentanglement of the vehicles, by the smallest possible sign in the world, given at the opportune moment, and a steady adhesion to the flags, the 'bus is obliged either to 'come to,' or lose the fare, and he steps quietly in, and squeezes along to the far end, as though intent on going the whole hog of the journey. away they rumble up the edgeware road; the gradual emergence from the brick and mortar of london being marked as well by the telling out of passengers as by the increasing distances between the houses. first, it is all close huddle with both. austere iron railings guard the subterranean kitchen areas, and austere looks indicate a desire on the part of the passengers to guard their own pockets; gradually little gardens usurp the places of the cramped areas, and, with their humanizing appearance, softer looks assume the place of frowning _anti_ swell-mob ones. presently a glimpse of green country or of distant hills may be caught between the wider spaces of the houses, and frequent settings down increase the space between the passengers; gradually conservatories appear and conversation strikes up; then come the exclusiveness of villas, some detached and others running out at last into real pure green fields studded with trees and picturesque pot-houses, before one of which latter a sudden wheel round and a jerk announces the journey done. the last passenger (if there is one) is then unceremoniously turned loose upon the country. our readers will have the kindness to suppose our hero, mr. sponge, shot out of an omnibus at the sign of the cat and compasses, in the full rurality of grass country, sprinkled with fallows and turnip-fields. we should state that this unwonted journey was a desire to pay a visit to mr. benjamin buckram, the horse-dealer's farm at scampley, distant some mile and a half from where he was set down, a space that he now purposed travelling on foot. mr. benjamin buckram was a small horse-dealer--small, at least, when he was buying, though great when he was selling. it would do a youngster good to see ben filling the two capacities. he dealt in second hand, that is to say, past mark of mouth horses; but on the present occasion, mr. sponge sought his services in the capacity of a letter rather than a seller of horses. mr. sponge wanted to job a couple of plausible-looking horses, with the option of buying them, provided he (mr. sponge) could sell them for more than he would have to give mr. buckram, exclusive of the hire. mr. buckram's job price, we should say, was as near twelve pounds a month, containing twenty-eight days, as he could screw, the hirer, of course, keeping the animals. scampley is one of those pretty little suburban farms, peculiar to the north and north-west side of london--farms varying from fifty to a hundred acres of well-manured, gravelly soil; each farm with its picturesque little buildings, consisting of small, honey-suckled, rose-entwined brick houses, with small, flat, pan-tiled roofs, and lattice-windows; and, hard by, a large hay-stack, three times the size of the house, or a desolate barn, half as big as all the rest of the buildings. from the smallness of the holdings, the farmhouses are dotted about as thickly, and at such varying distances from the roads, as to look like inferior 'villas,' falling out of rank; most of them have a half-smart, half-seedy sort of look. the rustics who cultivate them, or rather look after them, are neither exactly town nor country. they have the clownish dress and boorish gait of the regular 'chaws,' with a good deal of the quick, suspicious, sour sauciness of the low london resident. if you can get an answer from them at all, it is generally delivered in such a way as to show that the answerer thinks you are what they call 'chaffing them,' asking them what you know. these farms serve the double purpose of purveyors to the london stables, and hospitals for sick, overworked, or unsaleable horses. all the great job-masters and horse-dealers have these retreats in the country, and the smaller ones pretend to have, from whence, in due course, they can draw any sort of an animal a customer may want, just as little cellarless wine-merchants can get you any sort of wine from real establishments--if you only give them time. there was a good deal of mystery about scampley. it was sometimes in the hands of mr. benjamin buckram, sometimes in the hands of his assignees, sometimes in those of his cousin, abraham brown, and sometimes john doe and richard roe were the occupants of it. mr. benjamin buckram, though very far from being one, had the advantage of looking like a respectable man. there was a certain plump, well-fed rosiness about him, which, aided by a bright-coloured dress, joined to a continual fumble in the pockets of his drab trousers, gave him the air of a 'well-to-do-in-the-world' sort of man. moreover, he sported a velvet collar to his blue coat, a more imposing ornament than it appears at first sight. to be sure, there are two sorts of velvet collars--the legitimate velvet collar, commencing with the coat, and the adopted velvet collar, put on when the cloth one gets shabby. buckram's was always the legitimate velvet collar, new from the first, and, we really believe, a permanent velvet collar, adhered to in storm and in sunshine, has a very money-making impression on the world. it shows a spirit superior to feelings of paltry economy, and we think a person would be much more excusable for being victimized by a man with a good velvet collar to his coat, than by one exhibiting that spurious sign of gentility--a horse and gig. the reader will now have the kindness to consider mr. sponge arriving at scampley. 'ah, mr. sponge!' exclaimed mr. buckram, who, having seen our friend advancing up the little twisting approach from the road to his house through a little square window almost blinded with irish ivy, out of which he was in the habit of contemplating the arrival of his occasional lodgers, doe and roe. 'ah, mr. sponge!' exclaimed he, with well-assumed gaiety; 'you should have been here yesterday; sent away two sich osses--perfect 'unters--the werry best i do think i ever saw in my life; either would have bin the werry oss for your money. but come in, mr. sponge, sir, come in,' continued he, backing himself through a little sentry-box of a green portico, to a narrow passage which branched off into little rooms on either side. as buckram made this retrograde movement, he gave a gentle pull to the wooden handle of an old-fashioned wire bell-pull in the midst of buggy, four-in-hand, and other whips, hanging in the entrance, a touch that was acknowledged by a single tinkle of the bell in the stable-yard. they then entered the little room on the right, whose walls were decorated with various sporting prints chiefly illustrative of steeple-chases, with here and there a stunted fox-brush, tossing about as a duster. the ill-ventilated room reeked with the effluvia of stale smoke, and the faded green baize of a little round table in the centre was covered with filbert-shells and empty ale-glasses. the whole furniture of the room wasn't worth five pounds. mr. sponge, being now on the dealing tack, commenced in the poverty-stricken strain adapted to the occasion. having deposited his hat on the floor, taken his left leg up to nurse, and given his hair a backward rub with his right hand, he thus commenced: 'now, buckram,' said he, 'i'll tell you how it is. i'm deuced hard-up--regularly in short's gardens. i lost eighteen 'undred on the derby, and seven on the leger, the best part of my year's income, indeed; and i just want to hire two or three horses for the season, with the option of buying, if i like; and if you supply me well, i may be the means of bringing grist to your mill; you twig, eh?' 'well, mr. sponge,' replied buckram, sliding several consecutive half-crowns down the incline plane of his pocket. 'well, mr. sponge, i shall be happy to do my best for you. i wish you'd come yesterday, though, as i said before, i jest had two of the neatest nags--a bay and a grey--not that colour makes any matter to a judge like you; there's no sounder sayin' than that a good oss is not never of a bad colour; only to a young gemman, you know, it's well to have 'em smart, and the ticket, in short; howsomever, i must do the best i can for you, and if there's nothin' in that tickles your fancy, why, you must give me a few days to see if i can arrange an exchange with some other gent; but the present is like to be a werry haggiwatin' season; had more happlications for osses nor ever i remembers, and i've been a dealer now, man and boy, turned of eight-and-thirty years; but young gents is whimsical, and it was a young 'un wot got these, and there's no sayin' but he mayn't like them--indeed, one's rayther difficult to ride--that's to say, the grey, the neatest of the two, and he _may_ come back, and if so, you shall have him; and a safer, sweeter oss was never seen, or one more like to do credit to a gent: but you knows what an oss is, mr. sponge, and can do justice to me, and i should like to put summut good into your hands--_that_ i should.' with conversation, or rather with balderdash, such as this, mr. buckram beguiled the few minutes necessary for removing the bandages, hiding the bottles, and stirring up the cripples about to be examined, and the heavy flap of the coach-house door announcing that all was ready, he forthwith led the way through a door in a brick wall into a little three-sides of a square yard, formed of stables and loose boxes, with a dilapidated dove-cote above a pump in the centre; mr. buckram, not growing corn, could afford to keep pigeons. chapter iii peter leather nothing bespeaks the character of a dealer's trade more than the servants and hangers-on of the establishment. the civiler in manner, and the better they are 'put on,' the higher the standing of the master, and the better the stamp of the horses. those about mr. buckram's were of a very shady order. dirty-shirted, sloggering, baggy-breeched, slangey-gaitered fellows, with the word 'gin' indelibly imprinted on their faces. peter leather, the head man, was one of the fallen angels of servitude. he had once driven a duke--the duke of dazzleton--having nothing whatever to do but dress himself and climb into his well-indented richly fringed throne, with a helper at each horse's head to 'let go' at a nod from his broad laced three-cornered hat. then having got in his cargo (or rubbish, as he used to call them), he would start off at a pace that was truly terrific, cutting out this vehicle, shooting past that, all but grazing a third, anathematizing the 'buses, and abusing the draymen. we don't know how he might be with the queen, but he certainly drove as though he thought nobody had any business in the street while the duchess of dazzleton wanted it. the duchess liked going fast, and peter accommodated her. the duke jobbed his horses and didn't care about pace, and so things might have gone on very comfortably, if peter one afternoon hadn't run his pole into the panel of a very plain but very neat yellow barouche, passing the end of new bond street, which having nothing but a simple crest--a stag's head on the panel--made him think it belonged to some bulky cit, taking the air with his rib, but who, unfortunately, turned out to be no less a person than sir giles nabem, knight, the great police magistrate, upon one of whose myrmidons in plain clothes, who came to the rescue, peter committed a most violent assault, for which unlucky casualty his worship furnished him with rotatory occupation for his fat calves in the 'h. of c.,' as the clerk shortly designated the house of correction. thither peter went, and in lieu of his lace-bedaubed coat, gold-gartered plushes, stockings, and buckled shoes, he was dressed up in a suit of tight-fitting yellow and black-striped worsteds, that gave him the appearance of a wasp without wings. peter leather then tumbled regularly down the staircase of servitude, the greatness of his fall being occasionally broken by landing in some inferior place. from the duke of dazzleton's, or rather from the tread-mill, he went to the marquis of mammon, whom he very soon left because he wouldn't wear a second-hand wig. from the marquis he got hired to the great irish earl of coarsegab, who expected him to wash the carriage, wait at table, and do other incidentals never contemplated by a london coachman. peter threw this place up with indignation on being told to take the letters to the post. he then lived on his 'means' for a while, a thing that is much finer in theory than in practice, and having about exhausted his substance and placed the bulk of his apparel in safe keeping, he condescended to take a place as job coachman in a livery-stable--a 'horses let by the hour, day, or month' one, in which he enacted as many characters, at least made as many different appearances, as the late mr. mathews used to do in his celebrated 'at homes.' one day peter would be seen ducking under the mews' entrance in one of those greasy, painfully well-brushed hats, the certain precursors of soiled linen and seedy, most seedy-covered buttoned coats, that would puzzle a conjuror to say whether they were black, or grey, or olive, or invisible green turned visible brown. then another day he might be seen in old mrs. gadabout's sky-blue livery, with a tarnished, gold-laced hat, nodding over his nose; and on a third he would shine forth in mrs. major-general flareup's cockaded one, with a worsted shoulder-knot, and a much over-daubed light drab livery coat, with crimson inexpressibles, so tight as to astonish a beholder how he ever got into them. humiliation, however, has its limits as well as other things; and peter having been invited to descend from his box--alas! a regular country patent leather one, and invest himself in a quaker-collared blue coat, with a red vest, and a pair of blue trousers with a broad red stripe down the sides, to drive the honourable old miss wrinkleton, of harley street, to court in a 'one oss pianoforte-case,' as he called a clarence, he could stand it no longer, and, chucking the nether garments into the fire, he rushed frantically up the area-steps, mounted his box, and quilted the old crocodile of a horse all the way home, accompanying each cut with an imprecation such as '_me_ make a guy of myself!' (whip) '_me_ put on sich things!' (whip, whip) '_me_ drive down sin jimses-street!' (whip, whip, whip), '_i'd_ see her ---- fust!' (whip, whip, whip), cutting at the old horse just as if he was laying it into miss wrinkleton, so that by the time he got home he had established a considerable lather on the old nag, which his master resenting a row ensued, the sequel of which may readily be imagined. after assisting mrs. clearstarch, the kilburn laundress, in getting in and taking out her washing, for a few weeks, chance at last landed him at mr. benjamin buckram's, from whence he is now about to be removed to become our hero mr. sponge's sancho panza, in his fox-hunting, fortune-hunting career, and disseminate in remote parts his doctrines of the real honour and dignity of servitude. now to the inspection. peter leather, having a peep-hole as well as his master, on seeing mr. sponge arrive, had given himself an extra rub over, and covered his dirty shirt with a clean, well-tied, white kerchief, and a whole coloured scarlet waistcoat, late the property of one of his noble employers, in hopes that sponge's visit might lead to something. peter was about sick of the suburbs, and thought, of course, that he couldn't be worse off than where he was. 'here's mr. sponge wants some osses,' observed mr. buckram, as leather met them in the middle of the little yard, and brought his right arm round with a sort of military swing to his forehead; 'what 'ave we in?' continued buckram, with the air of a man with so many horses that he didn't know what were in and what were out. 'vy we 'ave rumbleton in,' replied leather, thoughtfully, stroking down his hair as he spoke, 'and we 'ave jack o'lanthorn in, and we 'ave the camel in, and there's the little hirish oss with the sprig tail--jack-a-dandy, as i calls him, and the flyer will be in to-night, he's just out a hairing, as it were, with old mr. callipash.' 'ah, rumbleton won't do for mr. sponge,' observed buckram, thoughtfully, at the same time letting go a tremendous avalanche of silver down his trouser pocket, 'rumbleton won't do,' repeated he, 'nor jack-a-dandy nouther.' 'why, i wouldn't commend neither on 'em,' replied peter, taking his cue from his master, 'only ven you axes me vot there's in, you knows vy i must give you a _cor_-rect answer, in course.' 'in course,' nodded buckram. leather and buckram had a good understanding in the lying line, and had fallen into a sort of tacit arrangement that if the former was staunch about the horses he was at liberty to make the best terms he could for himself. whatever buckram said, leather swore to, and they had established certain signals and expressions that each understood. 'i've an unkimmon nice oss,' at length observed mr. buckram, with a scrutinizing glance at sponge, 'and an oss in hevery respect werry like your work, but he's an oss i'll candidly state, i wouldn't put in every one's 'ands, for, in the fust place, he's wery walueous, and in the second, he requires an ossman to ride; howsomever, as i knows that you _can_ ride, and if you doesn't mind taking my 'ead man,' jerking his elbow at leather, 'to look arter him, i wouldn't mind 'commodatin' on you, prowided we can 'gree upon terms.' 'well, let's see him,' interrupted sponge, 'and we can talk about terms after.' 'certainly, sir, certainly,' replied buckram, again letting loose a reaccumulated rush of silver down his pocket. 'here, tom! joe! harry! where's sam?' giving the little tinkler of a bell a pull as he spoke. 'sam be in the straw 'ouse,' replied leather, passing through a stable into a wooden projection beyond, where the gentleman in question was enjoying a nap. 'sam!' said he, 'sam!' repeated he, in a louder tone, as he saw the object of his search's nose popping through the midst of the straw. 'what now?' exclaimed sam, starting up, and looking wildly around; 'what now?' repeated he, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands. 'get out ercles,' said leather, _sotto voce_. the lad was a mere stripling--some fifteen or sixteen, years, perhaps--tall, slight, and neat, with dark hair and eyes, and was dressed in a brown jacket--a real boy's jacket, without laps, white cords, and top-boots. it was his business to risk his neck and limbs at all hours of the day, on all sorts of horses, over any sort of place that any person chose to require him to put a horse at, and this he did with the daring pleasure of youth as yet undaunted by any serious fall. sam now bestirred himself to get out the horse. the clambering of hoofs presently announced his approach. whether hercules was called hercules on account of his amazing strength, or from a fanciful relationship to the famous horse of that name, we know not; but his strength and his colour would favour either supposition. he was an immense, tall, powerful, dark brown, sixteen hands horse, with an arched neck and crest, well set on, clean, lean head, and loins that looked as if they could shoot a man into the next county. his condition was perfect. his coat lay as close and even as satin, with cleanly developed muscle, and altogether he looked as hard as a cricket-ball. he had a famous switch tail, reaching nearly to his hocks, and making him look less than he would otherwise have done. mr. sponge was too well versed in horse-flesh to imagine that such an animal would be in the possession of such a third-rate dealer as buckram, unless there was something radically wrong about him, and as sam and leather were paying the horse those stable attentions that always precede a show out, mr. sponge settled in his own mind that the observation about his requiring a horseman to ride him, meant that he was vicious. nor was he wrong in his anticipations, for not all leather's whistlings, or sam's endearings and watchings, could conceal the sunken, scowling eye, that as good as said, 'you'd better keep clear of me.' mr. sponge, however, was a dauntless horseman. what man dared he dared, and as the horse stepped proudly and freely out of the stable, mr. sponge thought he looked very like a hunter. nor were mr. buckram's laudations wanting in the animal's behalf. 'there's an 'orse!' exclaimed he, drawing his right hand out of his trouser pocket, and flourishing it towards him. 'if that 'orse were down in leicestersheer,' added he, 'he'd fetch three 'under'd guineas. sir richard would 'ave him in a minnit--_that he would!_' added he, with a stamp of his foot as he saw the animal beginning to set up his back and wince at the approach of the lad. (we may here mention by way of parenthesis, that mr. buckram had brought him out of warwicksheer for thirty pounds, where the horse had greatly distinguished himself, as well by kicking off sundry scarlet swells in the gaily thronged streets of leamington, as by running away with divers others over the wide-stretching grazing grounds of southam and dunchurch.) but to our story. the horse now stood staring on view: fire in his eye, and vigour in his every limb. leather at his head, the lad at his side. sponge and buckram a little on the left. 'w--h--o--a--a--y, my man, w--h--o--a--a--y,' continued mr. buckram, as a liberal show of the white of the eye was followed by a little wince and hoist of the hind quarters on the nearer approach of the lad. 'look sharp, boy,' said he, in a very different tone to the soothing one in which he had just been addressing the horse. the lad lifted up his leg for a hoist. leather gave him one as quick as thought, and led on the horse as the lad gathered up his reins. they then made for a large field at the back of the house, with leaping-bars, hurdles, 'on and offs,' 'ins and outs,' all sorts of fancy leaps scattered about. having got him fairly in, and the lad having got himself fairly settled in the saddle he gave the horse a touch with the spur as leather let go his head, and after a desperate plunge or two started off at a gallop. 'he's fresh,' observed mr. buckram confidentially to mr. sponge, 'he's fresh--wants work, in short--short of work--wouldn't put every one on him--wouldn't put one o' your timid cocknified chaps on him, for if ever he were to get the hupper 'and, vy i doesn't know as 'ow that we might get the hupper 'and o' him, agen, but the playful rogue knows ven he's got a workman on his back--see how he gives to the lad though he's only fifteen, and not strong of his hage nouther,' continued mr. buckram, 'and i guess if he had sich a consternation of talent as you on his back, he'd wery soon be as quiet as a lamb--not that he's wicious--far from it, only play--full of play, i may say, though to be sure, if a man gets spilt it don't argufy much whether it's done from play or from wice.' during this time the horse was going through his evolutions, hopping over this thing, popping over that, making as little of everything as practice makes them do. having gone through the usual routine, the lad now walked the glowing coated snorting horse back to where the trio stood. mr. sponge again looked him over, and still seeing no exception to take to him, bid the lad get off and lengthen the stirrups for him to take a ride. that was the difficulty. the first two minutes always did it. mr. sponge, however, nothing daunted, borrowed sam's spurs, and making leather hold the horse by the head till he got well into the saddle, and then lead him on a bit; he gave the animal such a dig in both sides as fairly threw him off his guard, and made him start away at a gallop, instead of standing and delivering, as was his wont. away mr. sponge shot, pulling him about, trying all his paces, and putting him at all sorts of leaps. emboldened by the nerve and dexterity displayed by mr. sponge, mr. buckram stood meditating a further trial of his equestrian ability, as he watched him bucketing 'ercles' about. hercules had 'spang-hewed' so many triers, and the hideous contraction of his resolute back had deterred so many from mounting, that buckram had begun to fear he would have to place him in the only remaining school for incurables, the 'bus. hack-horse riders are seldom great horsemen. the very fact of their being hack-horse riders shows they are little accustomed to horses, or they would not give the fee-simple of an animal for a few weeks' work. 'i've a wonderful clever little oss,' observed mr. buckram, as sponge returned with a slack-rein and a satisfied air on the late resolute animal's back. '_little_ i can 'ardly call 'im,' continued mr. buckram, 'only he's low; but you knows that the 'eight of an oss has nothin' to do with his size. now this is a perfect dray-oss in miniature. an 'arrow gent, lookin' at him t'other day christen'd him "multum in parvo." but though he's so _ter-men_-dous strong, he has the knack o' goin', specially in deep; and if you're not a-goin' to sir richard, but into some o' them plough sheers (shires), i'd 'commend him to you.' 'let's have a look at him,' replied mr. sponge, throwing his right leg over hercules' head and sliding from the saddle on to the ground, as if he were alighting from the quietest shooting pony in the world. all then was hurry, scurry, and scamper to get this second prodigy out. presently he appeared. multum in parvo certainly was all that buckram described him. a long, low, clean-headed, clean-necked, big-hocked, chestnut, with a long tail, and great, large, flat white legs, without mark or blemish upon them. unlike hercules, there was nothing indicative of vice or mischief about him. indeed, he was rather a sedate, meditative-looking animal; and, instead of the watchful, arms'-length sort of way leather and co. treated hercules, they jerked and punched parvo about as if he were a cow. still parvo had his foibles. he was a resolute, head-strong animal, that would go his own way in spite of all the pulling and hauling in the world. if he took it into his obstinate head to turn into a particular field, into it he would be; or against the gate-post he would bump the rider's leg in a way that would make him remember the difference of opinion between them. his was not a fiery, hot-headed spirit, with object or reason for its guide, but just a regular downright pig-headed sort of stupidity, that nobody could account for. he had a mouth like a bull, and would walk clean through a gate sometimes rather than be at the trouble of rising to leap it; at other times he would hop over it like a bird. he could not beat mr. buckram's men, because they were always on the look-out for objects of contention with sharp spur rowels, ready to let into his sides the moment he began to stop; but a weak or a timid man on his back had no more chance than he would on an elephant. if the horse chose to carry him into the midst of the hounds at the meet, he would have him in--nay, he would think nothing of upsetting the master himself in the middle of the pack. then the provoking part was, that the obstinate animal, after having done all the mischief, would just set to to eat as if nothing had happened. after rolling a sportsman in the mud, he would repair to the nearest hay-stack or grassy bank, and be caught. he was now ten years old, or a _leetle_ more perhaps, and very wicked years some of them had been. his adventures, his sellings and his returning, his lettings and his unlettings, his bumpings and spillings, his smashings and crashings, on the road, in the field, in single and in double harness, would furnish a volume of themselves; and in default of a more able historian, we purpose blending his future fortune with that of 'ercles,' in the service of our hero mr. sponge, and his accomplished groom, and undertaking the important narration of them ourselves. [illustration] chapter iv laverick wells we trust our opening chapters, aided by our friend leech's pencil, will have enabled our readers to embody such a sponge in their mind's eye as will assist them in following us through the course of his peregrinations. we do not profess to have drawn such a portrait as will raise the same sort of sponge in the minds of all, but we trust we have given such a general outline of style, and indication of character, as an ordinary knowledge of the world will enable them to imagine a good, pushing, free-and-easy sort of man, wishing to be a gentleman without knowing how. far more difficult is the task of conveying to our readers such information as will enable them to form an idea of our hero's ways and means. an accommodating world--especially the female portion of it--generally attribute ruin to the racer, and fortune to the fox-hunter; but though mr. sponge's large losses on the turf, as detailed by him to mr. buckram on the occasion of their deal or 'job,' would bring him in the category of the unfortunates; still that representation was nearly, if not altogether, fabulous. that mr. sponge might have lost a trifle on the great races of the year, we don't mean to deny, but that he lost such a sum as eighteen hundred on the derby, and seven on the leger, we are in a condition to contradict, for the best of all possible reasons, that he hadn't it to lose. at the same time we do not mean to attribute falsehood to mr. sponge--quite the contrary--it is no uncommon thing for merchants and traders--men who 'talk in thousands,' to declare that they lost twenty thousand by this, or forty thousand by that, simply meaning that they didn't make it, and if mr. sponge, by taking the longest of the long odds against the most wretched of the outsiders, might have won the sums he named, he surely had a right to say he lost them when he didn't get them. it never does to be indigenously poor, if we may use such a term, and when a man gets to the end of his tether, he must have something or somebody to blame rather than his own extravagance or imprudence, and if there is no 'rascally lawyer' who has bolted with his title-deeds, or fraudulent agent who has misappropriated his funds, why then, railroads, or losses on the turf, or joint-stock banks that have shut up at short notice, come in as the scapegoats. very willing hacks they are, too, railways especially, and so frequently ridden, that it is no easy matter to discriminate between the real and the fictitious loser. but though we are able to contradict mr. sponge's losses on the turf, we are sorry we are not able to elevate him to the riches the character of a fox-hunter generally inspires. still, like many men of whom the common observation is, 'nobody knows how he lives,' mr. sponge always seemed well to do in the world. there was no appearance of want about him. he always hunted: sometimes with five horses, sometimes with four, seldom with less than three, though at the period of our introduction he had come down to two. nevertheless, those two, provided he could but make them 'go,' were well calculated to do the work of four. and hack horses, of all sorts, it may be observed, generally do double the work of private ones; and if there is one man in the world better calculated to get the work out of them than another, that man most assuredly is mr. sponge. and this reminds us, that we may as well state that his bargain with buckram was a sort of jobbing deal. he had to pay ten guineas a month for each horse, with a sort of sliding scale of prices if he chose to buy--the price of 'ercles' (the big brown) being fixed at fifty, inclusive of hire at the end of the first month, and gradually rising according to the length of time he kept him beyond that; while, 'multum in parvo,' the resolute chestnut, was booked at thirty, with the right of buying at five more, a contingency that buckram little expected. he, we may add, had got him for ten, and dear he thought him when he got him home. the world was now all before mr. sponge where to choose; and not being the man to keep hack horses to look at, we must be setting him a-going. 'leicesterscheer swells,' as mr. buckram would call them, with their fourteen hunters and four hacks, will smile at the idea of a man going from home to hunt with only a couple of 'screws,' but mr. sponge knew what he was about, and didn't want any one to counsel him. he knew there were places where a man can follow up the effect produced by a red coat in the morning to great advantage in the evening; and if he couldn't hunt every day in the week, as he could have wished, he felt he might fill up his time perhaps quite as profitably in other ways. the ladies, to do them justice, are never at all suspicious about men--on the 'nibble'--always taking it for granted, they are 'all they could wish,' and they know each other so well, that any cautionary hint acts rather in a man's favour than otherwise. moreover, hunting men, as we said before, are all supposed to be rich, and as very few ladies are aware that a horse can't hunt every day in the week, they just class the whole 'genus' fourteen-horse power men, ten-horse power men, five-horse power men, two-horse power men, together, and tying them in a bunch, label it '_very rich_,' and proceed to take measures accordingly. let us now visit one of the 'strongholds' of fox and fortune-hunting. a sudden turn of a long, gently rising, but hitherto uninteresting road, brings the posting traveller suddenly upon the rich, well-wooded, beautifully undulating vale of fordingford, whose fine green pastures are brightened with occasional gleams of a meandering river, flowing through the centre of the vale. in the far distance, looking as though close upon the blue hills, though in reality several miles apart, sundry spires and taller buildings are seen rising above the grey mists towards which a straight, undeviating, matter-of-fact line of railway passing up the right of the vale, directs the eye. this is the famed laverick wells, the resort, as indeed all watering-places are, according to newspaper accounts, of 'knights and dames, and all that wealth and lofty lineage claim.' at the period of which we write, however, 'laverick wells' was in great feather--it had never known such times. every house, every lodging, every hole and corner was full, and the great hotels, which more resemble lancashire cotton-mills than english hostelries, were sending away applicants in the most offhand, indifferent way. the laverick wells hounds had formerly been under the management of the well-known mr. thomas slocdolager, a hard-riding, hard-bitten, hold-harding sort of sportsman, whose whole soul was in the thing, and who would have ridden over his best friend in the ardour of the chase. [illustration: mr. thomas slocdolager, late master of the laverick wells hounds] in some countries such a creature may be considered an acquisition, and so long as he reigned at the wells, people made the best they could of him, though it was painfully apparent to the livery-stable keepers, and others, who had the best interest of the place at heart, that such a red-faced, gloveless, drab-breeched, mahogany-booted buffer, who would throw off at the right time, and who resolutely set his great stubbly-cheeked face against all show meets and social intercourse in the field, was not exactly the man for a civilized place. whether time might have enlightened mr. slocdolager as to the fact, that continuous killing of foxes, after fatiguingly long runs, was not the way to the hearts of the laverick wells sportsmen, is unknown, for on attempting to realize as fine a subscription as ever appeared upon paper, it melted so in the process of collection, that what was realized was hardly worth his acceptance; saying so, in his usual blunt way, that if he hunted a country at his own expense he would hunt one that wasn't encumbered with fools, he just stamped his little wardrobe into a pair of old black saddle-bags, and rode out of town without saying 'tar, tar,' good-bye, carding, or p.p.c.-ing anybody. this was at the end of a season, a circumstance that considerably mitigated the inconvenience so abrupt a departure might have occasioned, and as one of the great beauties of laverick wells is, that it is just as much in vogue in summer as in winter, the inhabitants consoled themselves with the old aphorism, that there is as 'good fish in the sea as ever came out of it,' and cast about in search of some one to supply his place at as small cost to themselves as possible. in a place so replete with money and the enterprise of youth, little difficulty was anticipated, especially when the old bait of 'a name' being all that was wanted, 'an ample subscription,' to defray all expenses figuring in the background, was held out. chapter v mr. waffles among a host of most meritorious young men--(any of whom would get up behind a bill for five hundred pounds without looking to see that it wasn't a thousand)--among a host of most meritorious young men who made their appearance at laverick wells towards the close of mr. slocdolager's reign, was mr. waffles; a most enterprising youth, just on the verge of arriving of age, and into the possession of a very considerable amount of charming ready money. were it not that a 'proud aristocracy,' as sir robert peel called them, have shown that they can get over any little deficiency of birth if there is sufficiency of cash, we should have thought it necessary to make the best of mr. waffles' pedigree, but the tide of opinion evidently setting the other way, we shall just give it as we had it, and let the proud aristocracy reject him if they like. mr. waffles' father, then, was either a great grazier or a great brazier--which, we are unable to say, 'for a small drop of ink having fallen,' not 'like dew,' but like a black beetle, on the first letter of the word in our correspondent's communication, it may do for either--but in one of which trades he made a 'mint of money,' and latish on in life married a lady who hitherto had filled the honourable office of dairy-maid in his house; she was a fine handsome woman and a year or two after the birth of this their only child, he departed this life, nearer eighty than seventy, leaving an 'inconsolable,' &c., who unfortunately contracted matrimony with a master pork-butcher, before she got the fine flattering white monument up, causing young waffles to be claimed for dry-nursing by that expert matron the high court of chancery; who, of course, had him properly educated--where, it is immaterial to relate, as we shall step on till we find him at college. our friend, having proved rather too vivacious for the oxford dons, had been recommended to try the effects of the laverick wells, or any other waters he liked, and had arrived with a couple of hunters and a hack, much to the satisfaction of the neighbouring master of hounds and his huntsman; for waffles had ridden over and maimed more hounds to his own share, during the two seasons he had been at oxford, than that gentleman had been in the habit of appropriating to the use of the whole university. corresponding with that gentleman's delight at getting rid of him was mr. slocdolager's dismay at his appearance, for fully satisfied that oxford was the seat of fox-hunting as well as of all the other arts and sciences, mr. waffles undertook to enlighten him and his huntsman on the mysteries of their calling, and 'old sloc,' as he was called, being a very silent man, while mr. waffles was a very noisy one, sloc was nearly talked deaf by him. mr. waffles was just in the hey-day of hot, rash, youthful indiscretion and extravagance. he had not the slightest idea of the value of money, and looked at the fortune he was so closely approaching as perfectly inexhaustible. his rooms, the most spacious and splendid at that most spacious and splendid hotel, the 'imperial,' were filled with a profusion of the most useless but costly articles. jewellery without end, pictures innumerable, pictures that represented all sorts of imaginary sums of money, just as they represented all sorts of imaginary scenes, but whose real worth or genuineness would never be tested till the owner wanted to 'convert them.' mr. waffles was a 'pretty man.' tall, slim, and slight, with long curly light hair, pink and white complexion, visionary whiskers, and a tendency to moustache that could best be seen sideways. he had light blue eyes; while his features generally were good, but expressive of little beyond great good-humour. in dress, he was both smart and various; indeed, we feel a difficulty in fixing him in any particular costume, so frequent and opposite were his changes. he had coats of every cut and colour. sometimes he was the racing man with a bright-button'd newmarket brown cut-away, and white-cord trousers, with drab cloth-boots; anon, he would be the officer, and shine forth in a fancy forage cap, cocked jauntily over a profusion of well-waxed curls, a richly braided surtout, with military overalls strapped down over highly varnished boots, whose hypocritical heels would sport a pair of large rowelled long-necked, ringing, brass spurs. sometimes he was a jack tar, with a little glazed hat, a once-round tie, a checked shirt, a blue jacket, roomy trousers, and broad-stringed pumps; and, before the admiring ladies had well digested him in that dress, he would be seen cantering away on a long-tailed white barb, in a pea-green duck-hunter, with cream-coloured leather and rose-tinted tops. he was 'all things by turns, and nothing long.' such was the gentleman elected to succeed the silent, matter-of-fact mr. slocdolager in the important office of master of the laverick wells hunt; and whatever may be the merits of either--upon which we pass no opinion--it cannot be denied that they were essentially different. mr. slocdolager was a man of few words, and not at all a ladies' man. he could not even talk when he was crammed with wine, and though he could hold a good quantity, people soon found out they might just as well pour it into a jug as down his throat, so they gave up asking him out. he was a man of few coats, as well as of few words; one on, and one off, being the extent of his wardrobe. his scarlet was growing plum-colour, and the rest of his hunting costume has been already glanced at. he lodged above smallbones, the veterinary surgeon, in a little back street, where he lived in the quietest way, dining when he came in from hunting,--dressing, or rather changing, only when he was wet, hunting each fox again over his brandy-and-water, and bundling off to bed long before many of his 'field' had left the dining-room. he was little better than a better sort of huntsman. waffles, as we said before, had made himself conspicuous towards the close of mr. slocdolager's reign, chiefly by his dashing costume, his reckless riding, and his off-hand way of blowing up and slanging people. indeed, a stranger would have taken him for the master, a delusion that was heightened by his riding with a formidable-looking sherry-case, in the shape of a horn, at his saddle. save when engaged in sucking this, his tongue was never at fault. it was jabber, jabber, jabber; chatter, chatter, chatter; prattle, prattle, prattle; occasionally about something, oftener about nothing, but in cover or out, stiff country or open, trotting or galloping, wet day or dry, good scenting day or bad, waffles' clapper never was at rest. like all noisy chaps, too, he could not bear any one to make a noise but himself. in furtherance of this, he called in the aid of his oxfordshire rhetoric. he would halloo _at_ people, designating them by some peculiarity that he thought he could wriggle out of, if necessary, instead of attacking them by name. thus, if a man spoke, or placed himself where waffles thought he ought not to be (that is to say, anywhere but where waffles was himself), he would exclaim, 'pray, sir, hold your tongue!--you, sir!--no, sir, not you--the man that speaks as if he had a brush in his throat!'--or, '_do_ come away, sir!--you, sir!--the man in the mushroom-looking hat!'--or, 'that gentleman in the parsimonious boots!' looking at some one with very narrow tops. [illustration: mr. waffles, the present master of the laverick wells hounds] still, he was a rattling, good-natured, harum-scarum fellow; and masterships of hounds, memberships of parliament--all expensive unmoney-making offices,--being things that most men are anxious to foist upon their friends, mr. waffles' big talk and interference in the field procured him the honour of the first refusal. not that he was the man to refuse, for he jumped at the offer, and, as he would be of age before the season came round, and would have got all his money out of chancery, he disdained to talk about a subscription, and boldly took the hounds as his own. he then became a very important personage at laverick wells. he had always been a most important personage among the ladies, but as the men couldn't marry him, those who didn't want to borrow money of him, of course, ran him down. it used to be, 'look at that dandified ass, waffles, i declare the sight of him makes me sick'; or, 'what a barber's apprentice that fellow is, with his ringlets all smeared with macassar.' now it was waffles this, waffles that, 'who dines with waffles?' 'waffles is the best fellow under the sun! by jingo, i know no such man as waffles!' '_most deserving_ young man!' in arriving at this conclusion, their judgement was greatly assisted by the magnificent way he went to work. old tom towler, the whip, who had toiled at his calling for twenty long years on fifty pounds and what he could 'pick up,' was advanced to a hundred and fifty, with a couple of men under him. instead of riding worn-out, tumble-down, twenty-pound screws, he was mounted on hundred-guinea horses, for which the dealers were to have a couple of hundred, _when they were paid_. everything was in the same proportion. mr. waffles' succession to the hunt made a great commotion among the fair--many elegant and interesting young ladies, who had been going on the pious tack against the reverend solomon winkeyes, the popular bachelor preacher of st. margaret's, teaching in his schools, distributing his tracts, and collecting the penny subscriptions for his clothing club, now took to riding in fan-tailed habits and feathered hats, and talking about leaping and hunting, and riding over rails. mr. waffles had a pound of hat-strings sent him in a week, and muffatees innumerable. some, we are sorry to say, worked him cigar-cases. he, in return, having expended a vast of toil and ingenuity in inventing a 'button,' now had several dozen of them worked up into brooches, which he scattered about with a liberal hand. it was not one of your matter-of-fact story-telling buttons--a fox with 'tally-ho,' or a fox's head grinning in grim death--making a red coat look like a miniature butcher's shamble, but it was one of your queer-twisting lettered concerns, that may pass either for a military button or a naval button, or a club button, or even for a livery button. the letters, two w's, were so skilfully entwined, that even a compositor--and compositors are people who can read almost anything--would have been puzzled to decipher it. the letters were gilt, riveted on steel, and the wearers of the button-brooches were very soon dubbed by the non-recipients, 'mr. waffles' sheep.' [illustration] a fine button naturally requires a fine coat to put it on, and many were the consultations and propositions as to what it should be. mr. slocdolager had done nothing in the decorative department, and many thought the failure of funds was a good deal attributable to that fact. mr. waffles was not the man to lose an opportunity of adding another costume to his wardrobe, and after an infinity of trouble, and trials of almost all the colours of the rainbow, he at length settled the following uniform, which, at least, had the charm of novelty to recommend it. the morning, or hunt-coat, was to be scarlet, with a cream-coloured collar and cuffs; and the evening, or dress coat, was to be cream-colour, with a scarlet collar and cuffs, and scarlet silk facings and linings, looking as if the wearer had turned the morning one inside out. waistcoats, and other articles of dress, were left to the choice of the wearer, experience having proved that they are articles it is impossible to legislate upon with any effect. the old ladies, bless their disinterested hearts, alone looked on the hound freak with other than feelings of approbation. they thought it a pity he should take them. they wished he mightn't injure himself--hounds were expensive things--led to habits of irregularity--should be sorry to see such a nice young man as mr. waffles led astray--not that it would make any difference to them, _but_--(looking significantly at their daughters). no fox had been hunted by more hounds than waffles had been by the ladies; but though he had chatted and prattled with fifty fair maids--any one of whom he might have found difficult to resist, if 'pinned' single-handed by, in a country house, yet the multiplicity of assailants completely neutralized each other, and verified the truth of the adage that there is 'safety in a crowd.' if pretty, lisping miss wordsworth thought she had shot an arrow home to his heart over night, a fresh smile and dart from little mary ogleby's dark eyes extracted it in the morning, and made him think of her till the commanding figure and noble air of the honourable miss letitia amelia susannah jemimah de jenkins, in all the elegance of first-rate millinery and dressmakership, drove her completely from his mind, to be in turn displaced by some one more bewitching. mr. waffles was reputed to be made of money, and he went at it as though he thought it utterly impossible to get through it. he was greatly aided in his endeavours by the fact of its being all in the funds--a great convenience to the spendthrift. it keeps him constantly in cash, and enables him to 'cut and come again,' as quick as ever he likes. land is not half so accommodating; neither is money on mortgage. what with time spent in investigating a title, or giving notice to 'pay in,' an industrious man wants a second loan by the time, or perhaps before, he gets the first. acres are not easy of conversion, and the mere fact of wanting to sell implies a deficiency somewhere. with money in the funds, a man has nothing to do but lodge a power of attorney with his broker, and write up for four or five thousand pounds, just as he would write to his bootmaker for four or five pairs of boots, the only difference being, that in all probability the money would be down before the boots. then, with money in the funds, a man keeps up his credit to the far end--the last thousand telling no more tales than the first, and making just as good a show. we are almost afraid to say what mr. waffles' means were, but we really believe, at the time he came of age, that he had , _l._ in the funds, which were nearly at 'par'--a term expressive of each hundred being worth a hundred, and not eighty-nine or ninety pounds as is now the case, which makes a considerable difference in the melting. now a real _bona fide_ , _l._ always counts as three in common parlance, which latter sum would yield a larger income than gilds the horizon of the most mercenary mother's mind, say ten thousand a-year, which we believe is generally allowed to be 'v--a--a--ry handsome.' no wonder, then, that mr. waffles was such a hero. another great recommendation about him was, that he had not had time to be much plucked. many of the young men of fortune that appear upon town have lost half their feathers on the race-course or the gaming-table before the ladies get a chance at them; but here was a nice, fresh-coloured youth, with all his downy verdure full upon him. it takes a vast of clothes, even at oxford prices, to come to a thousand pounds, and if we allow four or five thousand for his other extravagances, he could not have done much harm to a hundred thousand. our friend, soon finding that he was 'cock of the walk,' had no notion of exchanging his greatness for the nothingness of london, and, save going up occasionally to see about opening the flood-gates of his fortune, he spent nearly the whole summer at laverick wells. a fine season it was, too--the finest season the wells had ever known. when at length the long london season closed, there was a rush of rank and fashion to the english watering-places, quite unparalleled in the 'recollection of the oldest inhabitants.' there were blooming widows in every stage of grief and woe, from the becoming cap to the fashionable corset and ball flounce--widows who would never forget the dear deceased, or think of any other man--_unless he had at least five thousand a year_. lovely girls, who didn't care a farthing if the man was 'only handsome'; and smiling mammas 'egging them on,' who would look very different when they came to the horrid £ s. d. and this mercantile expression leads us to the observation that we know nothing so dissimilar as a trading town and a watering-place. in the one, all is bustle, hurry, and activity; in the other, people don't seem to know what to do to get through the day. the city and west-end present somewhat of the contrast, but not to the extent of manufacturing or sea-port towns and watering-places. bathing-places are a shade better than watering-places in the way of occupation, for people can sit staring at the sea, counting the ships, or polishing their nails with a shell, whereas at watering-places, they have generally little to do but stare at and talk of each other, and mark the progress of the day, by alternately drinking at the wells, eating at the hotels, and wandering between the library and the railway station. the ladies get on better, for where there are ladies there are always fine shops, and what between turning over the goods, and sweeping the streets with their trains, making calls, and arranging partners for balls, they get through their time very pleasantly; but what is 'life' to them is often death to the men. chapter vi laverick wells [illustration] the flattering accounts mr. sponge read in the papers of the distinguished company assembled at laverick wells, together with details of the princely magnificence of the wealthy commoner, mr. waffles, who appeared to entertain all the world at dinner after each day's hunting made mr. sponge think it would be a very likely place to suit him. accordingly, thither he despatched mr. leather with the redoubtable horses by the road, intending to follow in as many hours by the rail as it took them days to trudge on foot. railways have helped hunting as well as other things, and enables a man to glide down into the grass 'sheers,' as mr. buckram calls them, with as little trouble, and in as short a time almost, as it took him to accomplish a meet at croydon, or at the magpies at staines. but to our groom and horses. mr. sponge was too good a judge to disfigure the horses with the miserable, pulpy, weather-bleached job-saddles and bridles of 'livery,' but had them properly turned out with well-made, slightly-worn london ones of his own, and nice, warm brown woollen rugs, below broadly bound, blue-and-white-striped sheeting, with richly braided lettering, and blue and white cordings. a good saddle and bridle makes a difference of ten pounds in the looks of almost any horse. there is no need because a man rides a hack horse to proclaim it to all the world; a fact that few hack horse letters seem to be aware of. perhaps, indeed, they think to advertise them by means of their inferior appointments. leather, too, did his best to keep up appearances, and turned out in a very stud-groomish-looking, basket-button'd, brown cutaway, with a clean striped vest, ample white cravat, drab breeches and boots, that looked as though they had brushed through a few bullfinches; and so they had, but not with leather's legs in them, for he had bought them second-hand of a pad groom in distress. his hands were encased in cat's-skin sable gloves, showing that he was a gentleman who liked to be comfortable. thus accoutred, he rode down broad street at laverick wells, looking like a fine, faithful old family servant, with a slight scorbutic affection of the nose. he had everything correctly arranged in true sporting marching order. the collar-shanks were neatly coiled under the headstalls, the clothing tightly rolled and balanced above the little saddle-bags on the led horse, 'multum in parvo's' back, with the story-telling whip sticking through the roller. leather arrived at laverick wells just as the first shades of a november night were drawing on, and anxious mammas and careful _chaperons_ were separating their fair charges from their respective admirers and the dreaded night air, leaving the streets to the gaslight men and youths 'who love the moon.' the girls having been withdrawn, licentious youths linked arms, and bore down the broad _pavé_, quizzing this person, laughing at that, and staring the pin-stickers and straw-chippers out of countenance. 'here's an arrival!' exclaimed one. 'dash my buttons, who have we here?' asked another, as leather hove in sight. 'that's not a bad looking horse,' observed a third. 'bid him five pounds for it for me,' rejoined a fourth. 'i say, old bardolph! who do them 'ere quadrupeds belong to?' asked one, taking a scented cigar out of his mouth. leather, though as impudent a dog as any of them, and far more than a match for the best of them at a tournament of slang, being on his preferment, thought it best to be civil, and replied, with a touch of his hat, that they were 'mr. sponge's.' 'ah! old sponge biscuits!--i know him!' exclaimed a youth in a tweed wrapper. 'my father married his aunt. give my love to him, and tell him to breakfast with me at six in the morning--he! he! he!' 'i say, old boy, that copper-coloured quadruped hasn't got all his shoes on before,' squeaked a childish voice, now raised for the first time. 'that's intended, gov'nor,' growled leather, riding on, indignant at the idea of any one attempting to 'sell him' with such an old stable joke. so leather passed on through the now splendidly lit up streets, the large plate-glass windowed shops, radiant with gas, exhibiting rich, many-coloured velvets, silver gauzes, ribbons without end, fancy flowers, elegant shawls labelled 'very chaste,' 'patronized by royalty,' 'quite the go!' and white kid-gloves in such profusion that there seemed to be a pair for every person in the place. mr. leather established himself at the 'eclipse livery and bait stables,' in pegasus street, or peg street, as it is generally called, where he enacted the character of stud-groom to perfection, doing nothing himself, but seeing that others did his work, and strutting consequentially with the corn-sieves at feeding time. after leather's long london experience, it is natural to suppose that he would not be long in falling in with some old acquaintance at a place like the 'wells,' and the first night fortunately brought him in contact with a couple of grooms who had had the honour of his acquaintance when in all the radiance of his glass-blown wigged prosperity as body-coachman to the duke of dazzleton, and who knew nothing of the treadmill, or his subsequent career. this introduction served with his own easy assurance, and the deference country servants always pay to london ones, at once to give him standing, and it is creditable to the etiquette of servitude to say, that on joining the 'mutton chop and mealy potato club,' at the cat and bagpipes, on the second night after his arrival, the whole club rose to receive him on entering, and placed him in the post of honour, on the right of the president. he was very soon quite at home with the whole of them, and ready to tell anything he knew of the great families in which he had lived. of course, he abused the duke's place, and said he had been obliged to give him 'hup' at last, 'bein' quite an unpossible man to live with; indeed, his only wonder was, that he had been able to put hup with him so long.' the duchess was a 'good cretur,' he said, and, indeed, it was mainly on her account that he stayed, but as to the duke, he was--everything that was bad, in short. mr. sponge, on the other hand, had no reason to complain of the colours in which his stud-groom painted him. instead of being the shirtless strapper of a couple of vicious hack hunters, leather made himself out to be the general superintendent of the opulent owner of a large stud. the exact number varied with the number of glasses of grog leather had taken, but he never had less than a dozen, and sometimes as many as twenty hunters under his care. these, he said, were planted all over the kingdom; some at melton, to ''unt with the quorn'; some at northampton, to ''unt with the pytchley'; some at lincoln, to ''unt with lord 'enry'; and some at louth, to ''unt with'--he didn't know who. what a fine flattering, well-spoken world this is, when the speaker can raise his own consequence by our elevation! one would think that 'envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness' had gone to california. a weak-minded man might have his head turned by hearing the description given of him by his friends. but hear the same party on the running-down tack!--when either his own importance is not involved, or dire offence makes it worth his while 'to cut off his nose to spite his face.' no one would recognize the portrait then drawn as one of the same individual. mr. leather, as we said before, was in the laudatory strain, but, like many indiscreet people, he overdid it. not content with magnifying the stud to the liberal extent already described, he must needs puff his master's riding, and indulge in insinuations about 'showing them all the way,' and so on. now nothing 'aggrawates' other grooms so much as this sort of threat, and few things travel quicker than these sort of vapourings to their masters' ears. indeed, we can only excuse the lengths to which leather went, on the ground of his previous coaching career not having afforded him a due insight into the delicacies of the hunting stable; it being remembered that he was only now acting as stud-groom for the first time. however, be that as it may, he brewed up a pretty storm, and the longer it raged the stronger it became. ''ord dash it!' exclaimed young spareneck, the steeple-chase rider, bursting into scorer's billiard-room in the midst of a full gathering, who were looking on at a grand game of poule, 'ord dash it! there's a fellow coming who swears by jove that he'll take the shine out of us all, "cut us all down!"' 'i'll play him for what he likes!' exclaimed the cool, coatless captain macer, striking his ball away for a cannon. 'hang your play!' replied spareneck; 'you're always thinking of play--it's hunting i'm talking of.' bringing his heavy, silver-mounted jockey-whip a crack down his leg. 'you don't say so!' exclaimed sam shortcut, who had been flattered into riding rather harder than he liked, and feared his pluck might be put to the test. 'what a ruffian!'--(puff)--observed mr. waffles, taking his cigar from his mouth as he sat on the bench, dressed as a racket-player, looking on at the game, 'he shalln't ride roughshod over us.' 'that he shalln't!' exclaimed caingey thornton, mr. waffles's premier toady, and constant trencherman. 'i'll ride him!' rejoined mr. spareneck, jockeying his arms, and flourishing his whip as if he was at work, adding: 'his old brandy-nosed, frosty-whiskered trumpeter of a groom says he's coming down by the five o'clock train. i vote we go and meet him--invite him to a steeple-chase by moonlight.' 'i vote we go and see him, at all events,' observed frank hoppey, laying down his cue and putting on his coat, adding, 'i should like to see a man bold enough to beard a whole hunt--especially such a hunt as _ours_.' 'finish the game first,' observed captain macer, who had rather the best of it. 'no, leave the balls as they are till we come back,' rejoined ned stringer; 'we shall be late. see, it's only ten _to_, now,' continued he, pointing to the timepiece above the fire; whereupon there was a putting away of cues, hurrying on of coats, seeking of hats, sorting of sticks, and a general desertion of the room for the railway station. [illustration: mr. sponge arrives at laverick wells] chapter vii our hero arrives at laverick wells punctual to the moment, the railway train, conveying the redoubtable genius, glid into the well-lighted, elegant little station of laverick wells, and out of a first-class carriage emerged mr. sponge, in a 'down the road' coat, carrying a horse-sheet wrapper in his hand. so small and insignificant did the station seem after the gigantic ones of london, that mr. sponge thought he had wasted his money in taking a first-class ticket, seeing there was no one to know. mr. leather, who was in attendance, having received him hat in hand, with all the deference due to the master of twenty hunters, soon undeceived him on that point. having eased him of his wrapper, and inquired about his luggage, and despatched a porter for a fly, they stood together over the portmanteau and hat-box till it arrived. 'how are the horses?' asked sponge. 'oh, the osses be nicely, sir,' replied leather; 'they travelled down uncommon well, and i've had 'em both removed sin they com'd, so either on 'em is fit to go i' the mornin' that you think proper.' 'where are the hounds?' asked our hero. ''ounds be at whirleypool windmill,' replied leather, 'that's about five miles off.' 'what sort of country is it?' inquired sponge. 'it be a stiffish country from all accounts, with a good deal o' water jumpin'; that is to say, the liffey runs twistin' and twinin' about it like a h'eel.' 'then i'd better ride the brown, i think,' observed sponge, after a pause: 'he has size and stride enough to cover anything, if he will but face water.' 'i'll warrant him for that,' replied leather; 'only let the latchfords well into him, and he'll go.' 'are there many hunting-men down?' inquired our friend casually. 'great many,' replied leather, 'great many; some good 'ands among 'em too; at least to say their grums, though i never believe all these jockeys say. there be some on 'em 'ere now,' observed leather, in an undertone, with a wink of his roguish eye, and jerk of his head towards where a knot of them stood eyeing our friend most intently. 'which?' inquired sponge, looking about the thinly peopled station. 'there,' replied leather, 'those by the book-stall. that be mr. waffles,' continued he, giving his master a touch in the ribs as he jerked his portmanteau into a fly, 'that be mr. waffles,' repeated he, with a knowing leer. 'which?' inquired mr. sponge eagerly. 'the gent in the green wide-awake 'at, and big-button'd overcoat,' replied leather, 'jest now a speakin' to the youth in the tweed and all tweed; that be master caingey thornton, as big a little blackguard as any in the place--lives upon waffles, and yet never has a good word to say for him, no, nor for no one else--and yet to 'ear the little devil a-talkin' to him, you'd really fancy he believed there wasn't not never sich another man i' the world as waffles--not another sich rider--not another sich racket-player--not another sich pigeon-shooter--not another sich fine chap altogether.' 'has thornton any horses?' asked sponge. 'not he,' replied leather, 'not he, nor the gen'lman next him nouther--he, in the pilot coat, with the whip sticking out of the pocket, nor the one in the coffee-coloured 'at, nor none on 'em in fact'; adding, 'they all live on squire waffles--breakfast with him--dine with him--drink with him--smoke with him--and if any on 'em 'appen to 'ave an 'orse, why they sell to him, and so ride for nothin' themselves.' 'a convenient sort of gentleman,' observed mr. sponge, thinking he, too, might accommodate him. the fly-man now touched his hat, indicative of a wish to be off, having a fare waiting elsewhere. mr. sponge directed him to proceed to the brunswick hotel, while, accompanied by leather, he proceeded on foot to the stables. mr. leather, of course, had the valuable stud under lock and key, with every crevice and air-hole well stuffed with straw, as if they had been the most valuable horses in the world. having produced the ring-key from his pocket, mr. leather opened the door, and having got his master in, speedily closed it, lest a breath of fresh air might intrude. having lighted a lucifer, he turned on the gas, and exhibited the blooming-coated horses, well littered in straw, showing that he was not the man to pay four-and-twenty shillings a week for nothing. mr. sponge stood eyeing them for some seconds with evident approbation. 'if any one asks you about the horses, you can say they are _mine_, you know,' at length observed he casually, with an emphasis on the mine. 'in course,' replied leather. 'i mean, you needn't say anything about their being _jobs_,' observed sponge, fearing leather mightn't exactly 'take.' 'you trust me,' replied leather, with a knowing wink and a jerk of his elbow against his master's side; 'you trust me,' repeated he, with a look as much as to say, 'we understand each other.' 'i've hadded a few to them, indeed,' continued leather, looking to see how his master took it. 'have you?' observed mr. sponge inquiringly. 'i've made out that you've as good as twenty, one way or another,' observed leather; 'some 'ere, some there, all over in fact, and that you jest run about the country, and 'unt with 'oever comes h'uppermost.' 'well, and what's the upshot of it all?' inquired mr. sponge, thinking his groom seemed wonderfully enthusiastic in his interest. 'why, the hupshot of it is,' replied leather, 'that the men are all mad, and the women all wild to see you. i hear at my club, the mutton chop and mealy potato club, which is frequented by flunkies as well as grums, that there's nothin' talked of at dinner or tea, but the terrible rich stranger that's a comin', and the gals are all pulling caps, who's to have the first chance.' 'indeed,' observed mr. sponge, chuckling at the sensation he was creating. 'the miss shapsets, there be five on 'em, have had a game at fly loo for you,' continued leather, 'at least so their little maid tells me.' 'fly _what_?' inquired mr. sponge. 'fly loo,' repeated leather, 'fly loo.' mr. sponge shook his head. for once he was not 'fly.' 'you see,' continued leather, in explanation, 'their father is one of them tight-laced candlestick priests wot abhors all sorts of wice and himmorality, and won't stand card playin', or gamblin', or nothin' o' that sort, so the young ladies when they want to settle a point, who's to be married first, or who's to have the richest 'usband, play fly loo. 'sposing it's at breakfast time, they all sit quiet and sober like round the table, lookin' as if butter wouldn't melt in their mouths, and each has a lump o' sugar on her plate, or by her cup, or somewhere, and whoever can 'tice a fly to come to her sugar first, wins the wager, or whatever it is they play for.' 'five on 'em,' as leather said, being a hopeless number to extract any good from, mr. sponge changed the subject by giving orders for the morrow. mr. sponge's appearance being decidedly of the sporting order, and his horses maintaining the character, did not alleviate the agitated minds of the sporting beholders, ruffled as they were with the threatening, vapouring insinuations of the coachman-groom, peter leather. there is nothing sets men's backs up so readily, as a hint that any one is coming to take the 'shine' out of them across country. we have known the most deadly feuds engendered between parties who never spoke to each other by adroit go-betweens reporting to each what the other said, or, perhaps, did not say, but what the 'go-betweens' knew would so rouse the british lion as to make each ride to destruction if necessary. 'he's a varmint-looking chap,' observed mr. waffles, as the party returned from the railway station; 'shouldn't wonder if he can go--dare say he'll try--shouldn't wonder if he's floored--awfully stiff country this for horses that are not used to it--most likely his are leicestershire nags, used to fly--won't do here. if he attempts to take some of our big banked bullfinches in his stride, with a yawner on each side, will get into grief.' 'hang him,' interrupted caingey thornton, 'there are good men in all countries.' 'so there are!' exclaimed mr. spareneck, the steeple-chase rider. 'i've no notion of a fellow lording it, because he happens to come out of leicestershire,' rejoined mr. thornton. 'nor i!' exclaimed mr. spareneck. 'why doesn't he stay in leicestershire?' asked mr. hoppey, now raising his voice for the first time--adding, 'who asked him here?' 'who, indeed?' sneered mr. thornton. in this mood our friends arrived at the imperial hotel, where there was always a dinner the day before hunting--a dinner that, somehow, was served up in mr. waffles's rooms, who was allowed the privilege of paying for all those who did not pay for themselves; rather a considerable number, we believe. the best of everything being good enough for the guests, and profuse liberality the order of the day, the cloth generally disappeared before a contented audience, whatever humour they might have set down in. as the least people can do who dine at an inn and don't pay their own shot, is to drink the health of the man who does pay, mr. waffles was always lauded and applauded to the skies--such a master--such a sportsman--such knowledge--such science--such a pattern-card. on this occasion the toast was received with extra enthusiasm, for the proposer, mr. caingey thornton, who was desperately in want of a mount, after going the rounds of the old laudatory course, alluded to the threatened vapourings of the stranger, and expressed his firm belief that he would 'meet with his match,' a 'taking of the bull by the horns,' that met with very considerable favour from the wine-flushed party, the majority of whom, at that moment, made very 'small,' in their own minds, of the biggest fence that ever was seen. there is nothing so easy as going best pace over the mahogany. mr. waffles, who was received with considerable applause, and patting of the table, responded to the toast in his usual felicitous style, assuring the company that he lived but for the enjoyment of their charming society, and that all the money in the world would be useless, if he hadn't laverick wells to spend it in. with regard to the vapourings of a 'certain gentleman,' he thought it would be very odd if some of them could not take the shine out of him, observing that 'brag' was a good dog, but 'holdfast' was a better, with certain other sporting similes and phrases, all indicative of showing fight. the steam is soon got up after dinner, and as they were all of the same mind, and all agreed that a gross insult had been offered to the hunt in general, and themselves in particular, the only question was, how to revenge it. at last they hit upon it. old slocdolager, the late master of the hunt, had been in the habit of having tom towler, the huntsman, to his lodgings the night before hunting, where, over a glass of gin-and-water, they discussed the doings of the day, and the general arrangements of the country. mr. waffles had had him in sometimes, though for a different purpose--at least, in reality for a different purpose, though he always made hunting the excuse for sending for him, and that purpose was, to try how many silver foxes' heads full of port wine tom could carry off without tumbling, and the old fellow being rather liquorishly inclined, had never made any objection to the experiment. mr. waffles now wanted him, to endeavour, under the mellowing influence of drink, to get him to enter cordially into what he knew would be distasteful to the old sportsman's feelings, namely, to substitute a 'drag' for the legitimate find and chase of the fox. fox-hunting, though exciting and exhilarating at all times, except, perhaps, when the 'fallows are flying,' and the sportsman feels that in all probability, the further he goes the further he is left behind--fox-hunting, we say, though exciting and exhilarating, does not, when the real truth is spoken, present such conveniences for neck-breaking, as people, who take their ideas from mr. ackermann's print-shop window, imagine. that there are large places in most fences is perfectly true; but that there are also weak ones is also the fact, and a practised eye catches up the latter uncommonly quick. therefore, though a madman may ride at the big places, a sane man is not expected to follow; and even should any one be tempted so to do, the madman having acted pioneer, will have cleared the way, or at all events proved its practicability for the follower. in addition to this, however, hounds having to smell as they go, cannot travel at the ultra steeple-chase pace, so opposed to 'looking before you leap,' and so conducive to danger and difficulty, and as going even at a fair pace depends upon the state of the atmosphere, and the scent the fox leaves behind, it is evident that where mere daring hard riding is the object, a fox-hunt cannot be depended upon for furnishing the necessary accommodation. a drag-hunt is quite a different thing. the drag can be made to any strength; enabling hounds to run as if they were tied to it, and can be trailed so as to bring in all the dangerous places in the country with a certain air of plausibility, enabling a man to look round and exclaim, as he crams at a bullfinch or brook, 'he's leading us over a most desperate country--never saw such fencing in all my life!' drag-hunting, however, as we said before, is not popular with sportsmen, certainly not with huntsmen, and though our friends with their wounded feelings determined to have one, they had yet to smooth over old tom to get him to come into their views. that was now the difficulty. chapter viii old tom towler [illustration] there are few more difficult persons to identify than a huntsman in undress, and of all queer ones perhaps old tom towler was the queerest. tom in his person furnished an apt illustration of the right appropriation of talent and the fitness of things, for he would neither have made a groom, nor a coachman, nor a postillion, nor a footman, nor a ploughman, nor a mechanic, nor anything we know of, and yet he was first-rate as a huntsman. he was too weak for a groom, too small for a coachman, too ugly for a postillion, too stunted for a footman, too light for a ploughman, too useless-looking for almost anything. any one looking at him in 'mufti' would exclaim, 'what an unfortunate object!' and perhaps offer him a penny, while in his hunting habiliments lords would hail him with, 'well, tom, how are you?' and baronets ask him 'how he was?' commoners felt honoured by his countenance, and yet, but for hunting, tom would have been wasted--a cypher--an inapplicable sort of man. old tom, in his scarlet coat, black cap, and boots, and tom in his undress--say, shirt-sleves, shorts, grey stockings and shoes, bore about the same resemblance to each other that a three months dead jay nailed to a keeper's lodge bears to the bright-plumaged bird when flying about. on horseback, tom was a cockey, wiry-looking, keen-eyed, grim-visaged, hard-bitten little fellow, sitting as though he and his horse were all one, while on foot he was the most shambling, scambling, crooked-going crab that ever was seen. he was a complete mash of a man. he had been scalped by the branch of a tree, his nose knocked into a thing like a button by the kick of a horse, his teeth sent down his throat by a fall, his collar-bone fractured, his left leg broken and his right arm ditto, to say nothing of damage to his ribs, fingers, and feet, and having had his face scarified like pork by repeated brushings through strong thorn fences. but we will describe him as he appeared before mr. waffles, and the gentlemen of the laverick wells hunt, on the night of mr. sponge's arrival. tom's spirit being roused at hearing the boastings of mr. leather, and thinking, perhaps, his master might have something to say, or thinking, perhaps, to partake of the eleemosynary drink generally going on in large houses of public entertainment, had taken up his quarters in the bar of the 'imperial,' where he was attentively perusing the 'meets' in _bell's life_, reading how the atherstone met at gopsall, the bedale at hornby, the cottesmore at tilton wood, and so on, with an industry worthy of a better cause; for tom neither knew country, nor places, nor masters, nor hounds, nor huntsmen, nor anything, though he still felt an interest in reading where they were going to hunt. thus he sat with a quick ear, one of the few undamaged organs of his body, cocked to hear if tom towler was asked for; when a waiter dropping his name from the landing of the staircase to the hall porter, asking if anybody had seen anything of him, tom folded up his paper, put it in his pocket, and passing his hand over the few straggling bristles yet sticking about his bald head, proceeded, hat in hand, upstairs to his master's room. his appearance called forth a round of view halloos! who-hoops! tally-ho's! hark forwards! amidst which, and the waving of napkins, and general noises, tom proceeded at a twisting, limping, halting, sideways sort of scramble up the room. his crooked legs didn't seem to have an exact understanding with his body which way they were to go; one, the right one, being evidently inclined to lurch off to the side, while the left one went stamp, stamp, stamp, as if equally determined to resist any deviation. at length he reached the top of the table, where sat his master, with the glittering fox's head before him. having made a sort of scratch bow, tom proceeded to stand at ease, as it were, on the left leg, while he placed the late recusant right, which was a trifle shorter, as a prop behind. no one, to look at the little wizen'd old man in the loose dark frock, baggy striped waistcoat, and patent cord breeches, extending below where the calves of his bow legs ought to have been, would have supposed that it was the noted huntsman and dashing rider, tom towler, whose name was celebrated throughout the country. he might have been a village tailor, or sexton, or barber; anything but a hero. 'well, tom,' said mr. waffles, taking up the fox's head, as tom came to anchor by his side, 'how are you?' 'nicely, thank you, sir,' replied tom, giving the bald head another sweep. mr. waffles.--'what'll you drink?' tom.--'port, if you please, sir.' 'there it is for you, then,' said mr. waffles, brimming the fox's head, which held about the third of a bottle (an inn bottle at least), and handing it to him. 'gentlemen all,' said tom, passing his sleeve across his mouth, and casting a side-long glance at the company as he raised the cup to drink their healths. he quaffed it off at a draught. 'well, tom, and what shall we do to-morrow?' asked mr. waffles, as tom replaced the fox's head, nose uppermost, on the table. [illustration: old tom towler] 'why, we must draw ribston wood fust, i s'pose,' replied tom, 'and then on to bradwell grove, unless you thought well of tryin' chesterton common on the road, or--' 'aye, aye,' interrupted waffles, 'i know all that; but what i want to know is, whether we can make sure of a run. we want to give this great metropolitan swell a benefit. you know who i mean?' 'the gen'leman as is com'd to the brunswick, i 'spose,' replied tom; 'at least as _is_ comin', for i've not heard that he's com'd yet.' 'oh, but he _has_,' replied mr. waffles, 'and i make no doubt will be out to-morrow.' 's--o--o,' observed tom, in a long drawled note. 'well, now! do you think you can engage to give us a run?' asked mr. waffles, seeing his huntsman did not seem inclined to help him to his point. 'i'll do my best,' replied tom, cautiously running the many contingencies through his mind. 'take another drop of something,' said mr. waffles, again raising the fox's head. 'what'll you have?' 'port, if you please,' replied tom. 'there,' said mr. waffles, handing him another bumper; 'drink fox-hunting.' 'fox-huntin',' said old tom, quaffing off the measure, as before. a flush of life came into his weather-beaten face, just as a glow of heat enlivens a blacksmith's hearth, after a touch of the bellows. 'you must never let this bumptious cock beat us,' observed mr. waffles. 'no--o--o,' replied tom, adding, 'there's no fear of that.' 'but he swears he _will_!' exclaimed mr. caingey thornton. 'he swears there isn't a man shall come within a field of him.' 'indeed,' observed tom, with a twinkle of his little bright eyes. 'i tell you what, tom,' observed mr. waffles, 'we must sarve him out, somehow.' 'oh! he'll sarve hissel' out, in all probability,' replied tom; carelessly adding, 'these boastin' chaps always do.' 'couldn't we contrive something,' asked mr. waffles, 'to draw him out?' tom was silent. he was a hunting huntsman, not a riding one. 'have a glass of something,' said mr. waffles, again appealing to the fox's head. 'thank you, sir, i've had a glass,' replied tom, sinking the second one. 'what will you have?' asked mr. waffles. 'port, if you please,' replied tom. 'here it is,' rejoined mr. waffles, again handing him the measure. up went the cup, over went the contents; but tom set it down with a less satisfied face than before. he had had enough. the left leg prop, too, gave way, and he was nearly toppling on the table. having got a chair for the dilapidated old man, they again essayed to get him into their line, with better success than before. having plied him well with port, they now plied him well with the stranger, and what with the one and the other, and a glass or two of brandy-and-water, tom became very tractable, and it was ultimately arranged that they should have a drag over the very stiffest parts of the country, wherein all who liked should take part, but that mr. caingey thornton and mr. spareneck should be especially deputed to wait upon mr. sponge, and lead him into mischief. of course it was to be a 'profound secret,' and equally, of course, it stood a good chance of being kept, seeing how many were in it, the additional number it would have to be communicated to before it could be carried out, and the happy state old tom was in for arranging matters. nevertheless, our friends at the 'imperial' congratulated themselves on their success; and after a few minutes spent in discussing old tom on his withdrawal, the party broke up, to array themselves in the splendid dress uniform of the 'hunt,' to meet again at miss jumpheavy's ball. chapter ix the meet--the find, and the finish [illustration] early to bed and early to rise being among mr. sponge's maxims, he was enjoying the view of the pantiles at the back of his hotel shortly after daylight the next morning, a time about as difficult to fix in a november day as the age of a lady of a 'certain age.' it takes even an expeditious dresser ten minutes or a quarter of an hour extra the first time he has to deal with boots and breeches; and mr. sponge being quite a pattern card in his peculiar line, of course took a good deal more to get himself 'up'. an accustomed eye could see a more than ordinary stir in the streets that morning. riding-masters and their assistants might be seen going along with strings of saddled and side-saddled screws; flys began to roll at an earlier hour, and natty tigers to kick about in buckskins prior to departing with hunters, good, bad, and indifferent. each man had told his partner at miss jumpheavy's ball of the capital trick they were going to play the stranger; and a desire to see the stranger, far more than a desire to see the trick, caused many fair ones to forsake their downy couches who had much better have kept them. the world is generally very complaisant with regard to strangers, so long as they _are_ strangers, generally making them out to be a good deal better than they really are, and mr. sponge came in for his full share of stranger credit. they not only brought all the twenty horses leather said he had scattered about to laverick wells, but made him out to have a house in eaton square, a yacht at cowes, and a first-rate moor in scotland, and some said a peerage in expectancy. no wonder that he 'drew,' as theatrical people say. let us now suppose him breakfasted, and ready for a start. he was 'got up' with uncommon care in the most complete style of the severe order of sporting costume. it being now the commencement of the legitimate hunting season--the first week in november--he availed himself of the privileged period for turning out in everything new. rejecting the now generally worn cap, he adhered to the heavy, close-napped hat, described in our opening chapter, whose connexion with his head, or back, if it came off, was secured by a small black silk cord, hooked through the band by a fox's tooth, and anchored to a button inside the haven of his low coat-collar. his neck was enveloped in the ample folds of a large white silk cravat, tied in a pointing diamond tie, and secured with a large silver horse-shoe pin, the shoe being almost large enough for the foot of a young donkey. his low, narrow-collared coat was of the infinitesimal order; that is to say, a coat, and yet as little of a coat as possible--very near a jacket, in fact. the seams, of course, were outside, and were it not for the extreme strength and evenness of the sewing and the evident intention of the thing, an ignorant person might have supposed that he had had his coat turned. a double layer of cloth extended the full length of the outside of the sleeves, much in the fashion of the stage-coachmen's greatcoats in former times; and instead of cuffs, the sleeves were carried out to the ends of the fingers, leaving it to the fancy of the wearer to sport a long cuff or a short cuff, or no cuff at all--just as the weather dictated. though the coat was single-breasted, he had a hole made on the button side, to enable him to keep it together by means of a miniature snaffle, instead of a button. the snaffle passed across his chest, from whence the coatee, flowing easily back, displayed the broad ridge and furrow of a white cord waistcoat, with a low step collar, the vest reaching low down his figure, with large flap pockets and a nick out in front, like a coachman's. instead of buttons, the waistcoat was secured with foxes' tusks and catgut loops, while a heavy curb chain, passing from one pocket to the other, raised the impression that there was a watch in one and a bunch of seals in the other. the waistcoat was broadly bound with white binding, and, like the coat, evinced great strength and powers of resistance. his breeches were of a still broader furrow than the waistcoat, looking as if the ploughman had laid two ridges into one. they came low down the leg, and were met by a pair of well-made, well put on, very brown topped boots, a colour then unknown at laverick wells. his spurs were bright and heavy, with formidable necks and rowels, whose slightest touch would make a horse wince, and put him on his good behaviour. nor did the great slapping brown horse, hercules, turn out less imposingly than his master. leather, though not the man to work himself, had a very good idea of work, and right manfully he made the helpers at the eclipse livery and bait stables strap and groom his horses. hercules was a fine animal. it did not require a man to be a great judge of a horse to see that. even the ladies, though perhaps they would rather have had him a white or a cream colour, could not but admire his nut-brown muzzle, his glossy coat, his silky mane, and the elegant way in which he carried his flowing tail. his step was delightful to look at--so free, so accurate, and so easy. and that reminds us that we may as well be getting mr. sponge up--a feat of no easy accomplishment. few hack hunters are without their little peculiarities. some are runaways--some kick--some bite--some go tail first on the road--some go tail first at their fences--some rush as if they were going to eat them, others baulk them altogether--and few, very few, give satisfaction. those that do, generally retire from the public stud to the private one. but to our particular quadruped, 'hercules.' mr. sponge was not without his misgivings that, regardless of being on his preferment, the horse might exhibit more of his peculiarity than would forward his master's interests, and, independently of the disagreeableness of being kicked off at the cover side, not being always compensated for by falling soft, mr. sponge thought, as the meet was not far off, and he did not sport a cover hack, it would look quite as well to ride his horse quietly on as go in a fly, provided always he could accomplish the mount--the mount--like the man walking with his head under his arm--being the first step to everything. accordingly, mr. leather had the horse saddled and accoutred as quietly as possible--his warm clothing put over the saddle immediately, and everything kept as much in the usual course as possible, so that the noble animal's temper might not be ruffled by unaccustomed trouble or unusual objects. leather having seen that the horse could not eject mr. sponge even in trousers, had little fear of his dislodging him in boots and breeches; still it was desirable to avoid all unseemly contention, and maintain the high character of the stud, by which means leather felt that his own character and consequence would best be maintained. accordingly, he refrained from calling in the aid of any of the stable assistants, preferring for once to do a little work himself, especially when the rider was up to the trick, and not 'a gent' to be cajoled into 'trying a horse.' mr. sponge, punctual to his time, appeared at the stable, and after much patting, whistling, so--so--ing, my man, and general ingratiation, the redoubtable nag was led out of the stable into a well-littered straw-yard, where, though he might be gored by a bull if he fell, the 'eyes of england' at all events would not witness the floorer. horses, however, have wonderful memories and discrimination. though so differently attired to what he was on the occasion of his trial, the horse seemed to recognize mr. sponge, and independently of a few snorts as he was led out, and an indignant stamp or two of his foot as it was let down, after mr. sponge was mounted he took things very quietly. 'now,' said leather, in an undertone, patting the horse's arched neck, 'i'll give you a hint; they're a goin' to run a drag to try what he's made on, so be on the look-out.' 'how do you know?' asked mr. sponge, in surprise, drawing his reins as he spoke. '_i know_,' replied mr. leather with a wink. just then the horse began to plunge, and paw, and give symptoms of uneasiness, and not wishing to fret or exhibit his weak points, mr. sponge gave him his head, and passing through the side-gate was presently in the street. he didn't exactly understand it, but having full confidence in his horsemanship, and believing the one he was on required nothing but riding, he was not afraid to take his chance. not being the man to put his candle under a bushel, mr. sponge took the principal streets on his way out of town. we are not sure that he did not go rather out of his way to get them in, but that is neither here nor there, seeing he was a stranger who didn't know the way. what a sensation his appearance created as the gallant brown stepped proudly and freely up coronation street, showing his smart, clean, well-put-on head up and down on the unrestrained freedom of the snaffle. 'oh, d--n it, there he is!' exclaimed mr. spareneck, jumping up from the breakfast-table, and nearly sweeping the contents off by catching the cloth with his spur. 'where?' exclaimed half-a-dozen voices, amid a general rush to the windows. 'what a fright!' exclaimed little miss martindale, whispering into miss beauchamp's ear: 'i'm sure anybody may have him for me,' though she felt in her heart that he was far from bad looking. 'i wonder how long he's taken to put on that choker,' observed mr. spareneck, eyeing him intently, not without an inward qualm that he had set himself a more difficult task than he imagined, to 'cut him down,' especially when he looked at the noble animal he bestrode, and the masterly way he sat him. 'what a pair of profligate boots,' observed captain whitfield, as our friend now passed his lodgings. 'it would be the duty of a right-thinking man to ride over a fellow in such a pair,' observed his friend, mr. cox, who was breakfasting with him. 'ride over a fellow in such a pair!' exclaimed whitfield. 'no well-bred horse would face such things, i should think.' 'he seems to think a good deal of himself!' observed mr. cox, as sponge cast an admiring eye down his shining boot. 'shouldn't wonder,' replied whitfield; 'perhaps he'll have the conceit taken out of him before night.' 'well, i hope you'll be in time, old boy!' exclaimed mr. waffles to himself, as looking down from his bedroom window, he espied mr. sponge passing up the street on his way to cover. mr. waffles was just out of bed, and had yet to dress and breakfast. one man in scarlet sets all the rest on the fidget, and without troubling to lay 'that or that' together, they desert their breakfasts, hurry to the stables, get out their horses and rattle away, lest their watches should be wrong or some arrangement made that they are ignorant of. the hounds too, were on, as was seen as well by their footmarks, as by the bob, bob, bobbing of sundry black caps above the hedges, on the borrowdon road as the huntsman and whips proceeded at that pleasant post-boy trot, that has roused the wrath of so many riders against horses that they could not get to keep in time. now look at old tom, cocked jauntily on the spicey bay and see what a different tom he is to what he was last night. instead of a battered, limping, shabby-looking little old man, he is all alive and rises to the action of his horse, as though they were all one. a fringe of grey hair protrudes beneath his smart velvet cap, which sets off a weather-beaten but keen and expressive face, lit up with little piercing black eyes. see how chirpy and cheery he is; how his right arm keeps rising and falling with his whip, beating responsive to the horse's action with the butt-end against his thigh. his new scarlet coat imparts a healthy hue to his face, and good boots and breeches hide the imperfections of his bad legs. his hounds seem to partake of the old man's gaiety, and gather round his horse or frolic forward on the grassy sidings of the road, till, getting almost out of earshot, a single 'yooi doit!--arrogant!'--or 'here again, brusher!' brings them cheerfully back to whine and look in the old man's face for applause. nor is he chary of his praise. 'g--oood betch!--arrogant!--g--oood betch!' says he, leaning over his horse's shoulder towards her, and jerking his hand to induce her to proceed forward again. so the old man trots gaily on, now making of his horse, now coaxing a hound, now talking to a 'whip,' now touching or taking off his cap as he passes a sportsman, according to the estimation in which he holds him. as the hounds reach whirleypool windmill, there is a grand rush of pedestrians to meet them. first comes a velveteen-jacketed, leather-legginged keeper, with whom tom (albeit suspicious of his honesty) thinks it prudent to shake hands; the miller and he, too, greet; and forthwith a black bottle with a single glass make their appearance, and pass current with the company. then the earth-stopper draws nigh, and, resting a hand on tom's horse's shoulder, whispers confidentially in his ear. the pedestrian sportsman of the country, too, has something to say; also a horse-breaker; while groups of awe-stricken children stand staring at the mighty tom, thinking him the greatest man in the world. railways and fox-hunting make most people punctual, and in less than five minutes from the halting of the hounds by the windmill, the various roads leading up to it emit dark-coated grooms, who, dismounting, proceed to brush off the mud sparks, and rectify any little derangement the horses or their accoutrements may have contracted on the journey. presently mr. sponge, and such other gentlemen as have ridden their own horses on, cast up, while from the eminence the road to laverick wells is distinctly traceable with scarlet coats and flys, with furs and flaunting feathers. presently the foremost riders begin to canter up the hill, when all around is gay, men, horses, dogs, and in each smiling countenance appears fresh blooming health and universal joy. then the ladies mingle with the scene, some on horseback, some in flys, all chatter and prattle as usual, some saying smart things, some trying, all making themselves as agreeable as possible, and of course as captivating. some were in ecstasies at dear miss jumpheavy's ball--she was such a _nice_ creature--such a charming ball, and so well managed, while others were anticipating the delights of mrs. tom hoppey's, and some again were asking which was mr. sponge. then up went the eye-glasses, while mr. sponge sat looking as innocent and as killing as he could. 'dear me!' exclaimed one, 'he's younger than i thought.' 'that's him, is it?' observed another; 'i saw him ride up the street'; while the propriety-playing ones praised his horse, and said it was a beauty. the hounds, which they all had come to see, were never looked at. mr. waffles, like many men with nothing to do, was most unpunctual. he never seemed to know what o'clock it was, and yet he had a watch, hung in chains, and gewgaws, like a lady's chatelaine. hunting partook of the general confusion. he did not profess to throw off till eleven, but it was often nearly twelve before he cast up. then he would come up full tilt, surrounded by 'scarlets,' like a general with his staff; and once at the meet, there was a prodigious hurry to begin, equalled only by the eagerness to leave off. on this auspicious day he hove in sight, coming best pace along the road, about twenty minutes before twelve, with a more numerous retinue than usual. in dress, mr. waffles was the light, butterfly order of sportsman--once-round tie, french polish, paper boots, and so on. on this occasion he sported a shirt-collar with three or four blue lines, and then a white space followed by three or more blue lines, the whole terminating in blue spots about the size of fourpenny pieces at the points; a once-round blue silk tie, with white spots and flying ends. his coat was a light, jackety sort of thing, with little pockets behind, something in the style of mr. sponge's (a docked dressing-gown), but wanting the outside seaming, back strapping, and general strength that characterized mr. sponge's. his waistcoat, of course, was a worked one--heart's-ease mingled with foxes' heads, on a true blue ground, the gift of--we'll not say who--his leathers were of the finest doe-skin, and his long-topped, pointed-toed boots so thin as to put all idea of wet or mud out of the question. such was the youth who now cantered up and took off his cap to the rank, beauty, and fashion, assembled at whirleypool windmill. he then proceeded to pay his respects in detail. at length, having exhausted his 'nothings,' and said the same thing over again in a dozen different ways to a dozen different ladies, he gave a slight jerk of the head to tom towler, who forthwith whistled his hounds together, and attended by the whips, bustled from the scene. [illustration: captain greatgun] epping hunt, in its most palmy days could not equal the exhibition that now took place. some of the more lively of the horses, tired of waiting, perhaps pinched by the cold, for most of them were newly clipped, evinced their approbation of the move, by sundry squeals and capers, which being caught by others in the neighbourhood, the infection quickly spread, and in less than a minute there was such a scene of rocking, and rearing, and kicking, and prancing, and neighing and shooting over heads, and rolling over tails, and hanging on by manes, mingled with such screamings from the ladies in the flys, and such hearty-sounding kicks against splash boards and fly bottoms, from sundry of the vicious ones in harness, as never was witnessed. one gentleman, in a bran-new scarlet, mounted on a flourishing piebald, late the property of mr. batty, stood pawing and fighting the air, as if in the saw-dust circle, his unfortunate rider clinging round his neck, expecting to have the beast back over upon him. another little wiry chestnut, with abundance of rings, racing martingale, and tackle generally, just turned tail on the crowd and ran off home as hard as ever he could lay legs to the ground; while a good steady bay cob, with a barrel like a butt, and a tail like a hearth-brush, having selected the muddiest, dirtiest place he could find, deliberately proceeded to lie down, to the horror of his rider, captain greatgun, of the royal navy, who, feeling himself suddenly touch mother earth, thought he was going to be swallowed up alive, and was only awoke from the delusion by the shouts of the foot people, telling him to get clear of his horse before he began to roll. [illustration] hercules would fain have joined the truant set, and, at the first commotion, up went his great back, and down went his ears, with a single lash out behind that meant mischief, but mr. sponge was on the alert, and just gave him such a dig with his spurs as restored order, without exposing anything that anybody could take notice of. the sudden storm was quickly lulled. the spilt ones scrambled up; the loose riders got tighter hold of their horses; the screaming fair ones sank languidly in their carriages; and the late troubled ocean of equestrians fell into irregular line _en route_ for the cover. bump, bump, bump; trot, trot, trot; jolt, jolt, jolt; shake, shake, shake; and carriages and cavalry got to ribston wood somehow or other. it is a long cover on a hill-side, from which parties, placing themselves in the green valley below, can see hounds 'draw,' that is to say, run through with their noses to the ground, if there are any men foolish enough to believe that ladies care for seeing such things. however, there they were. 'eu leu, in!' cries old tom, with a wave of his arm, finding he can no longer restrain the ardour of the pack as they approach, and thinking to save his credit, by appearing to direct. 'eu leu, in!' repeats he, with a heartier cheer, as the pack charge the rotten fence with a crash that echoes through the wood. the whips scuttle off to their respective points, gentlemen feel their horses' girths, hats are thrust firmly on the head, and the sherry and brandy flasks begin to be drained. 'tally ho!' cries a countryman at the top of the wood, hoisting his hat on a stick. at the magic sound, fear comes over some, joy over others, intense anxiety over all. what commotion! what indecision! what confusion! 'which way?--which way?' is the cry. 'twang, twang, twang,' goes old tom's horn at the top of the wood, whither he seems to have flown, so quick has he got there. a dark-coated gentleman on a good family horse solves the important question--'which way?'--by diving at once into the wood, crashing along till he comes to a cross-road that leads to the top, when the scene opening to 'open fresh fields and pastures new,' discloses divers other sections struggling up in long drawn files, following other leaders, all puffing, and wheezing and holding on by the manes, many feeling as if they had had enough already--'quick!' is the word, for the tail-hounds are flying the fence out of the first field over the body of the pack, which are running almost mute at best pace beyond, looking a good deal smaller than is agreeable to the eyes of a sportsman. 'f--o--o--r--rard!' screams old tom, flying the fence after them, followed by jealous jostling riders in scarlet and colours, some anxious, some easy, some wanting to be at it, some wanting to look as if they did, some wishing to know if there was anything on the far side. now tom tops another fence, rising like a rocket and dropping like a bird; still 'f--o--o--r--rard!' is the cry--away they go at racing pace. the field draws out like a telescope, leaving the largest portion at the end, and many--the fair and fat ones in particular--seeing the hopelessness of the case, pull up their horses, while yet on an eminence that commands a view. fifteen or twenty horsemen enter for the race, and dash forward, though the hounds rather gain on old tom, and the further they go the smaller the point of the telescope becomes. the pace is awful; many would give in but for the ladies. at the end of a mile or so, the determined ones show to the front, and the spirters and 'make-believes' gladly avail themselves of their pioneering powers. mr. sponge, who got well through the wood, has been going at his ease, the great striding brown throwing the large fields behind him with ease, and taking his leaps safely and well. he now shows to the front, and old tom, who is still 'f--o--o--r--rarding' to his hounds, either rather falls back to the field or the field draws upon him. at all events they get together somehow. a belt of scotch fir plantation, with a stiffish fence on each side, tries their mettle and the stoutness of their hats: crash they get through it, the noise they make among the thorns and rotten branches resembling the outburst of a fire. several gentlemen here decline under cover of the trees. 'f--o--o--r--rard!' screams old tom, as he dives through the stiff fence and lands in the field outside the plantation. he might have saved his breath, for the hounds were beating him as it was. mr. sponge bores through the same place, little aided, however, by anything old tom has done to clear the way for him, and the rest follow in his wake. the field is now reduced to six, and two of the number, mr. spareneck and caingey thornton, become marked in their attention to our hero. thornton is riding mr. waffles' crack steeple-chaser 'dare-devil,' and mr. spareneck is on a first-rate hunter belonging to the same gentleman, but they have not been able to get our friend sponge into grief. on the contrary, his horse, though lathered goes as strong as ever, and mr. sponge, seeing their design, is as careful of him as possible, so as not to lose ground. his fine, strong, steady seat, and quiet handling, contrasts well with thornton's rolling bucketing style, who has already begun to ply a heavy cutting whip, in aid of his spurs at his fences, accompanied with a half frantic 'g--u--r--r--r along!' and inquires of the horse if he thinks he stole him? the three soon get in front; fast as they go, the hounds go faster, and fence after fence is thrown behind them, just as a girl throws her skipping-rope. tom and the whips follow, grinning with their tongues in their cheeks, tom still screeching 'f--o--o--o--rard!--f--o--o--o--rard!' at intervals. a big stone wall, built with mortar, and coped with heavy blocks of stone, is taken by the three abreast, for which they are rewarded by a gallop up stretchfurrow pasture, from the summit of which they see the hounds streaming away to a fine grass country below, with pollard willows dotted here and there in the bottom. 'water!' says our friend sponge to himself, wondering whether hercules would face it. a desperate black bullfinch, so thick that they could hardly see through it, is shirked by consent, for a gate which a countryman opens, and another fence or two being passed, the splashing of some hounds in the water, and the shaking of others on the opposite bank, show that, as usual, the willows are pretty true prophets. caingey, grinning his coarse red face nearly double, and getting his horse well by the head, rams in the spurs, and flourishes his cutting whip high in air, with a 'g--u--u--ur along! do you think i'--the 'stole you' being lost under water just as sponge clears the brook a little lower down. spareneck then pulls up. when nimrod had dick christian under water in the whissendine in his leicestershire run, and someone more humane than the rest of the field observed, as they rode on, 'but he'll be drowned.' 'shouldn't wonder,' exclaimed another. 'but the pace,' nimrod added, 'was too good to inquire.' such, however, was not the case with our watering-place cock, mr. sponge. independently of the absurdity of a man risking his neck for the sake of picking up a bunch of red herrings, mr. sponge, having beat everybody, could afford a little humanity, more especially as he rode his horse on sale, and there was now no one left to witness the further prowess of the steed. accordingly, he availed himself of a heavy, newly-ploughed fallow, upon which he landed as he cleared the brook, for pulling up, and returned just as mr. spareneck, assisted by one of the whips, succeeded in landing caingey on the taking-off side. caingey was not a pretty boy at the best of times--none but the most partial parents could think him one--and his clumsy-featured, short, compressed face, and thick, lumpy figure, were anything but improved by a sort of pea-green net-work of water-weeds with which he arose from his bath. he was uncommonly well soaked, and had to be held up by the heels to let the water run out of his boots, pockets, and clothes. in this undignified position he was found by mr. waffles and such of the field as had ridden the line. 'why, caingey, old boy! you look like a boiled porpoise with parsley sauce!' exclaimed mr. waffles, pulling up where the unfortunate youth was spluttering and getting emptied like a jug. 'confound it!' added he, as the water came gurgling out of his mouth, 'but you must have drunk the brook dry.' caingey would have censured his inhumanity, but knowing the imprudence of quarrelling with his bread and butter, and also aware of the laughable, drowned-rat figure he must then be cutting, he thought it best to laugh, and take his change out of mr. waffles another time. accordingly, he chuckled and laughed too, though his jaws nearly refused their office, and kindly transferred the blame of the accident from the horse to himself. [illustration: mr. caingey thornton doesn't 'put on steam enough'] 'he didn't put on steam enough,' he said. meanwhile, old tom, who had gone on with the hounds, having availed himself of a well-known bridge, a little above where thornton went in, for getting over the brook, and having allowed a sufficient time to elapse for the proper completion of the farce, was now seen rounding the opposite hill, with his hounds clustered about his horse, with his mind conning over one of those imaginary runs that experienced huntsmen know so well how to tell, when there is no one to contradict them. having quartered his ground to get at his old friend the bridge again, he just trotted up with well-assumed gaiety as caingey thornton spluttered the last piece of green weed out from between his great thick lips. 'well, tom!' exclaimed mr. waffles, 'what have you done with him?' 'killed him, sir,' replied tom, with a slight touch of his cap, as though 'killing' was a matter of every-day occurrence with them. 'have you, indeed!' exclaimed mr. waffles, adopting the lie with avidity. 'yes, sir,' said tom gravely; 'he was nearly beat afore he got to the brook. indeed, i thought vanquisher would have had him in it; but, however, he got through, and the scent failed on the fallow, which gave him a chance; but i held them on to the hedgerow beyond, where they hit it off like wildfire, and they never stopped again till they tumbled him over at the back of mr. plummey's farm-buildings, at shapwick. i've got his brush,' added tom, producing a much tattered one from his pocket, 'if you'd like to have it?' 'thank you, no--yes--no,' replied waffles, not wanting to be bothered with it; 'yet stay,' continued he, as his eye caught mr. sponge, who was still on foot beside his vanquished friend; 'give it to mr. what-de-ye-call-'em,' added he, nodding towards our hero. 'sponge,' observed tom, in an undertone, giving the brush to his master. 'mr. sponge, will you do me the favour to accept the brush?' asked mr. waffles, advancing with it towards him; adding, 'i am sorry this unlucky bather should have prevented your seeing the end.' mr. sponge was a pretty good judge of brushes, and not a bad one of camphire; but if this one had smelt twice as strong as it did--indeed, if it had dropped to pieces in his hand, or the moths had flown up in his face, he would have pocketed it, seeing it paved the way to what he wanted--an introduction. 'i'm very much obliged, i'm sure,' observed he, advancing to take it--'very much obliged, indeed; been an extremely good run, and fast.' 'very fair--very fair,' observed mr. waffles, as though it were nothing in their way; 'seven miles in twenty minutes, i suppose, or something of that sort.' '_one_-and-twenty,' interposed tom, with a laudable anxiety for accuracy. 'ah! one-and-twenty,' rejoined mr. waffles. 'i thought it would be somewhere thereabouts. well, i suppose we've all had enough,' added he, 'may as well go home and have some luncheon, and then a game at billiards, or rackets, or something. how's the old water-rat?' added he, turning to thornton, who was now busy emptying his cap and mopping the velvet. the water-rat was as well as could be expected, but did not quite like the new aspect of affairs. he saw that mr. sponge was a first-rate horseman, and also knew that nothing ingratiated one man with another so much as skill and boldness in the field. it was by that means, indeed, that he had established himself in mr. waffles' good graces--an ingratiation that had been pretty serviceable to him, both in the way of meat, drink, mounting, and money. had mr. sponge been, like himself, a needy, penniless adventurer, caingey would have tried to have kept him out by some of those plausible, admonitory hints, that poverty makes men so obnoxious to; but in the case of a rich, flourishing individual, with such an astonishing stud as leather made him out to have, it was clearly caingey's policy to knock under and be subservient to mr. sponge also. caingey, we should observe, was a bold, reckless rider, never seeming to care for his neck, but he was no match for mr. sponge, who had both skill and courage. caingey being at length cleansed from his weeds, wiped from his mud, and made as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, was now hoisted on to the renowned steeple-chase horse again, who had scrambled out of the brook on the taking-off side, and, after meandering the banks for a certain distance, had been caught by the bridle in the branch of a willow--caingey, we say, being again mounted, mr. sponge also, without hindrance from the resolute brown horse, the first whip put himself a little in advance, while old tom followed with the hounds, and the second whip mingled with the now increasing field, it being generally understood (by the uninitiated, at least) that hounds have no business to go home so long as any gentleman is inclined for a scurrey, no matter whether he has joined early or late. mr. waffles, on the contrary, was very easily satisfied, and never took the shine off a run with a kill by risking a subsequent defeat. old tom, though keen when others were keen, was not indifferent to his comforts, and soon came into the way of thinking that it was just as well to get home to his mutton-chops at two or three o'clock, as to be groping his way about bottomless bye-roads on dark winter nights. as he retraced his steps homeward, and overtook the scattered field of the morning, his talent for invention, or rather stretching, was again called into requisition. 'what have you done with him, tom?' asked major bouncer, eagerly bringing his sturdy collar-marked cob alongside of our huntsman. 'killed him, sir,' replied tom, with the slightest possible touch of the cap. (bouncer was no tip.) 'indeed!' exclaimed bouncer, gaily, with that sort of sham satisfaction that most people express about things that can't concern them in the least. 'indeed! i'm deuced glad of that! where did you kill him?' 'at the back of mr. plummey's farm-buildings, at shapwick,' replied tom; adding, 'but, my word, he led us a dance afore we got there--up to ditchington, down to somerby, round by temple bell wood, cross goosegreen common, then away for stubbington brooms, skirtin' sanderwick plantations, but scarce goin' into 'em, then by the round hill at camerton leavin' great heatherton to the right, and so straight on to shapwick, where we killed, with every hound up--' 'god bless me!' exclaimed bouncer, apparently lost in admiration, though he scarcely knew the country; 'god bless me!' repeated he, 'what a run! the finest run that ever was seen.' 'nine miles in twenty-five minutes,' replied tom, tacking on a little both for time and distance. '_b-o-y_ jove!' exclaimed the major. having shaken hands with, and congratulated mr. waffles most eagerly and earnestly, the major hurried off to tell as much as he could remember to the first person he met, just as the cheese-bearer at a christening looks out for some one to give the cheese to. the cheese-getter on this occasion was doctor lotion, who was going to visit old jackey thompson, of woolleyburn. jackey being then in a somewhat precarious state of health, and tolerably advanced in life, without any very self-evident heir, was obnoxious to the attentions of three distinct litters of cousins, some one or other of whom was constantly 'baying him.' lotion, though a sapient man, and somewhat grinding in his practice, did not profess to grind old people young again, and feeling he could do very little for the body corporate, directed his attention to amusing jackey's mind, and anything in the shape of gossip was extremely acceptable to the doctor to retail to his patient. moreover, jackey had been a bit of a sportsman, and was always extremely happy to see the hounds--_on anybody's land but his own_. so lotion got primed with the story, and having gone through the usual routine of asking his patient how he was, how he had slept, looking at his tongue, and reporting on the weather, when the old posing question, 'what's the news?' was put, lotion replied, as he too often had to reply, for he was a very slow hand at picking up information. 'nothin' particklar, i think, sir,' adding, in an off-hand sort of way, 'you've heard of the greet run, i s'pose, sir?' 'great run!' exclaimed the octogenarian, as if it was a matter of the most vital importance to him; 'great run, sir; no, sir, not a word!' the doctor then retailed it. old jackey got possessed of this one idea--he thought of nothing else. whoever came, he out with it, chapter and verse, with occasional variations. he told it to all the 'cousins in waiting'; jackey thompson, of carrington ford; jackey thompson, of houndesley; jackey thompson, of the mill; and all the bobs, bills, sams, harrys, and peters, composing the respective litters;--forgetting where he got it from, he nearly told it back to lotion himself. we sometimes see old people affected this way--far more enthusiastic on a subject than young ones. few dread the aspect of affairs so much as those who have little chance of seeing how they go. but to the run. the cousins reproduced the story according to their respective powers of exaggeration. one tacked on two miles, another ten, and so it went on and on, till it reached the ears of the great mr. seedeyman, the mighty we of the country, as he sat in his den penning his 'stunners' for his market-day _mercury_. it had then distanced the great sea-serpent itself in length, having extended over thirty-three miles of country, which mr. seedeyman reported to have been run in one hour and forty minutes. pretty good going, we should say. chapter x the feeler bag fox-hunts, be they ever so good, are but unsatisfactory things; drag runs are, beyond all measure, unsatisfactory. after the best-managed bag fox-hunt, there is always a sort of suppressed joy, a deadly liveliness in the field. those in the secret are afraid of praising it too much, lest the secret should ooze out, and strangers suppose that all their great runs are with bag foxes, while the mere retaking of an animal that one has had in hand before is not calculated to arouse any very pleasurable emotions. nobody ever goes frantic at seeing an old donkey of a deer handed back into his carriage after a canter. our friends on this occasion soon exhausted what they had to say on the subject. 'that's a nice horse of yours,' observed mr. waffles to mr. sponge, as the latter, on the strength of the musty brush, now rode alongside the master of the hounds. 'i think he is,' replied sponge, rubbing some of the now dried sweat from his shoulder and neck; 'i think he is; i like him a good deal better to-day than i did the first time i rode him.' 'what, he's a new one, is he?' asked mr. waffles, taking a scented cigar from his mouth, and giving a steady sidelong stare at the horse. 'bought him in leicestershire,' replied sponge. 'he belonged to lord bullfrog, who didn't think him exactly up to his weight.' 'up to his weight!' exclaimed mr. caingey thornton, who had now ridden up on the other side of his great patron, 'why, he must be another daniel lambert.' 'rather so,' replied mr. sponge; 'rides nineteen stun.' 'what a monster!' exclaimed thornton, who was of the pocket order. 'i thought he didn't go fast enough at his fences the first time i rode him,' observed mr. sponge, drawing the curb slightly so as to show the horse's fine arched neck to advantage; 'but he went quick enough to-day, in all conscience,' added he. 'he did _that_,' observed mr. thornton, now bent on a toadying match. 'i never saw a finer lepper.' 'he flew many feet beyond the brook,' observed mr. spareneck, who, thinking discretion was the better part of valour, had pulled up on seeing his comrade thornton blobbing about in the middle of it, and therefore was qualified to speak to the fact. so they went on talking about the horse, and his points, and his speed, and his action, very likely as much for want of something to say, or to keep off the subject of the run, as from any real admiration of the animal. the true way to make a man take a fancy to a horse is to make believe that you don't want to sell him--at all events, that you are easy about selling. mr. sponge had played this game so very often, that it came quite natural to him. he knew exactly how far to go, and having expressed his previous objection to the horse, he now most handsomely made the _amende honorable_ by patting him on the neck, and declaring that he really thought he should keep him. it is said that every man has his weak or 'do-able' point, if the sharp ones can but discover it. this observation does not refer, we believe, to men with an innocent _penchant_ for play, or the turf, or for buying pictures, or for collecting china, or for driving coaches and four, all of which tastes proclaim themselves sooner or later, but means that the most knowing, the most cautious, and the most careful, are all to be come over, somehow or another. there are few things more surprising in this remarkable world than the magnificent way people talk about money, or the meannesses they will resort to in order to get a little. we hear fellows flashing and talking in hundreds and thousands, who will do almost anything for a five-pound note. we have known men pretending to hunt countries at their own expense, and yet actually 'living out of the hounds.' next to the accomplishment of that--apparently almost impossible feat--comes the dexterity required for living by horse-dealing. a little lower down in the scale comes the income derived from the profession of a 'go-between'--the gentleman who can buy the horse cheaper than you can. this was caingey thornton's trade. he was always lurking about people's stables talking to grooms and worming out secrets--whose horse had a cough, whose was a wind-sucker, whose was lame after hunting, and so on--and had a price current of every horse in the place--knew what had been given, what the owners asked, and had a pretty good guess what they would take. waffles would have been an invaluable customer to thornton if the former's groom, mr. figg, had not been rather too hard with his 'reg'lars.' he insisted on caingey dividing whatever he got out of his master with him. this reduced profits considerably; but still, as it was a profession that did not require any capital to set up with, thornton could afford to be liberal, having only to tack on to one end to cut off at the other. after the opening sponge gave as they rode home with the hounds, thornton had no difficulty in sounding him on the subject. 'you'll not think me impertinent, i hope,' observed caingey, in his most deferential style, to our hero when they met at the news'-room the next day--'you'll not think me impertinent, i hope; but i think you said as we rode home, yesterday, that you didn't altogether like the brown horse you were on?' '_did i?_' replied mr. sponge, with apparent surprise; 'i think you must have misunderstood me.' 'why, no; it wasn't exactly that,' rejoined mr. thornton, 'but you said you liked him better than you did, i think?' 'ah! i believe i did say something of the sort,' replied sponge casually--'i believe i did say something of the sort; but he carried me so well that i thought better of him. the fact was,' continued mr. sponge, confidentially, 'i thought him rather too light mouthed; i like a horse that bears more on the hand.' 'indeed!' observed mr. thornton; 'most people think a light mouth a recommendation.' 'i know they do,' replied mr. sponge, 'i know they do; but i like a horse that requires a little riding. now this is too much of a made horse--too much of what i call an old man's horse, for me. bullfrog, whom i bought him of, is very fat--eats a great deal of venison and turtle--all sorts of good things, in fact--and can't stand much tewing in the saddle; now, i rather like to feel that i am on a horse, and not in an arm-chair.' 'he's a fine horse,' observed mr. thornton. 'so he ought,' replied mr. sponge; 'i gave a hatful of money for him--two hundred and fifty golden sovereigns, and not a guinea back. bullfrog's the biggest screw i ever dealt with.' that latter observation was highly encouraging to thornton. it showed that mr. sponge was not one of your tight-laced dons, who take offence at the mere mention of 'drawbacks,' but, on the contrary, favoured the supposition that he would do the 'genteel,' should he happen to be a seller. 'well, if you should feel disposed to part with him, perhaps you will have the kindness to let me know,' observed mr. thornton; adding, 'he's not for myself, of course, but i think i know a man he would suit, and who would be inclined to give a good price for him.' 'i will,' replied mr. sponge; 'i will,' repeated he, adding, 'if i _were_ to sell him, i wouldn't take a farthing under three 'underd for him--three 'underd _guineas_, mind, _not punds_.' 'that's a vast sum of money,' observed mr. thornton. 'not a bit on't,' replied mr. sponge. 'he's worth it all, and a great deal more. indeed, i haven't said, mind that, i'll take that for him; all i've said is, that i wouldn't take less.' 'just so,' replied mr. thornton. 'he's a horse of high character,' observed mr. sponge. 'indeed he has no business out of leicestershire; and i don't know what set my fool of a groom to bring him here.' 'well, i'll see if i can coax my friend into giving what you say,' observed mr. thornton. 'nay, never mind coaxing,' replied mr. sponge, with the utmost indifference; 'never mind coaxing; if he's not anxious, my name's "easy." only mind ye, if i ride him again, and he carries me as he did yesterday, i shall clap on another fifty. a horse of that figure can't be dear at any price,' added he. 'put him in a steeple-chase, and you'd get your money back in ten minutes, and a bagful to boot.' 'true,' observed mr. thornton, treasuring that fact up as an additional inducement to use to his friend. so the amiable gentlemen parted. chapter xi the deal, and the disaster if people are inclined to deal, bargains can very soon be struck at idle watering-places, where anything in the shape of occupation is a godsend, and bargainers know where to find each other in a minute. everybody knows where everybody is. 'have you seen jack sprat?' 'oh yes; he's just gone into muddle's bazaar with miss flouncey, looking uncommon sweet.' or-- 'can you tell me where i shall find mr. slowman?' answer.--'you'll find him at his lodgings, no. , belvidere terrace, till a quarter before seven. he's gone home to dress, to dine with major and mrs. holdsworthy, at grunton villa, for i heard him order jenkins's fly at that time.' caingey thornton knew exactly when he would find mr. waffles at miss lollypop's, the confectioner, eating ices and making love to that very interesting much-courted young lady. true to his time, there was waffles, eating and eyeing the cherry-coloured ribbons, floating in graceful curls along with her raven-coloured ringlets, down miss lollypop's nice fresh plump cheeks. after expatiating on the great merits of the horse, and the certainty of getting all the money back by steeple-chasing him in the spring, and stating his conviction that mr. sponge would not take any part of the purchase-money in pictures or jewellery, or anything of that sort, mr. waffles gave his consent to deal, on the terms the following conversation shows. 'my friend will give you your price, if you wouldn't mind taking his cheque and keeping it for a few months till he's into funds,' observed mr. thornton, who now sought mr. sponge out at the billiard-room. 'why,' observed mr. sponge, thoughtfully, 'you know horses are always ready money.' 'true,' replied thornton; 'at least that's the theory of the thing; only my friend is rather peculiarly situated at present.' 'i suppose mr. waffles is your man?' observed mr. sponge, rightly judging that there couldn't be two such flats in the place. 'just so,' said mr. thornton. [illustration: mr. waffles at miss lollypop's] 'i'd rather take his "stiff" than his cheque,' observed mr. sponge, after a pause. 'i could get a bit of stiff _done_, but a cheque, you see--especially a post-dated one--is always objected to.' 'well, i dare say that will make no difference,' observed mr. thornton, '"stiff," if you prefer it--say three months; or perhaps you'll give us four?' 'three's long enough, in all conscience,' replied mr. sponge, with a shake of the head, adding, 'bullfrog made me pay down on the nail.' 'well, so be it, then,' assented mr. thornton; 'you draw at three months, and mr. waffles will accept, payable at coutts's.' after so much liberality, mr. caingey expected that mr. sponge would have hinted at something handsome for him; but all sponge said was, 'so be it,' too, as he walked away to buy a bill-stamp. mr. waffles was more considerate, and promised him the first mount on his new purchase, though caingey would rather have had a ten, or even a five-pound note. towards the hour of ten on that eventful day, numerous gaitered, trousered, and jacketed grooms began to ride up and down the high street, most of them with their stirrups crossed negligently on the pommels of the saddles, to indicate that their masters were going to ride the horses, and not them. the street grew lively, not so much with people going to hunt, as with people coming to see those who were. tattered hibernians, with rags on their backs and jokes on their lips; young english _chevaliers d'industrie_, with their hands ready to dive into anybody's pockets but their own; stablemen out of place, servants loitering on their errands, striplings helping them, ladies'-maids with novels or three-corner'd notes, and a good crop of beggars. 'what, spareneck, do you ride the grey to-day? i thought you'd done gooseman out of a mount,' observed ensign downley, as a line of scarlet-coated youths hung over the balcony of the imperial hotel, after breakfast and before mounting for the day. spareneck.--'no, that's for tuesday. he wouldn't stand one to-day. what do you ride?' downley.--'oh, i've a hack, one of screwman's, perpetual motion they call him, because he never gets any rest. that's him, i believe, with the lofty-actioned hind-legs,' added he, pointing to a weedy string-halty bay passing below, high in bone and low in flesh. 'who's o' the gaudy chestnut?' asked caingey thornton, who now appeared, wiping his fat lips after his second glass of _eau de vie_. 'that's mr. sponge's,' replied spareneck in a low tone, knowing how soon a man catches his own name. 'a deuced fine horse he is, too,' observed caingey, in a louder key; adding, 'sponge has the finest lot of horses of any man in england--in the world, i may say.' mr. sponge himself now rose from the breakfast table, and was speedily followed by mr. waffles and the rest of the party, some bearing sofa-pillows and cushions to place on the balustrades, to loll at their ease, in imitation of the coventry club swells in piccadilly. then our friends smoked their cigars, reviewed the cavalry, and criticised the ladies who passed below in the flys on their way to the meet. 'come, old bolter!' exclaimed one, 'here's miss bussington coming to look after you--got her mamma with her, too--so you may as well knock under at once, for she's determined to have you.' 'a devil of a woman the old un is, too,' observed ensign downley; 'she nearly frightened jack simpers of ours into fits, by asking what he meant after dancing three dances with her daughter one night.' 'my word, but miss jumpheavy must expect to do some execution to-day with that fine floating feather and her crimson satin dress and ermine,' observed mr. waffles, as that estimable lady drove past in her victoria phaeton. 'she looks like the queen of sheba herself. but come, i suppose,' he added, taking a most diminutive geneva watch out of his waistcoat-pocket, 'we should be going. see! there's your nag kicking up a shindy,' he said to caingey thornton, as the redoubtable brown was led down the street by a jean-jacketed groom, kicking and lashing out at everything he came near. 'i'll kick him,' observed thornton, retiring from the balcony to the brandy-bottle, and helping himself to a pretty good-sized glass. he then extricated his large cutting whip from the confusion of whips with which it was mixed, and clonk, clonk, clonked downstairs to the door. 'multum in parvo' stopped the doorway, across whose shoulder leather passed the following hints, in a low tone of voice, to mr. sponge, as the latter stood drawing on his dogskin gloves, the observed, as he flattered himself, of all observers. 'mind now,' said leather, 'this oss as a will of his own; though he seems so quiet like, he's not always to be depended on; so be on the look-out for squalls.' sponge, having had a glass of brandy, just mounted with the air of a man thoroughly at home with his horse, and drawing the rein, with a slight feel of the spur, passed on from the door to make way for the redoubtable hercules. hercules was evidently not in a good humour. his ears were laid back, and the rolling white eye showed mischief. sponge saw all this, and turned to see whether thornton's clumsy, wash-ball seat, would be able to control the fractious spirit of the horse. 'whoay!' roared thornton, as his first dive at the stirrup missed, and was answered by a hearty kick out from the horse, the 'whoay' being given in a very different tone to the gentle, coaxing style of mr. buckram and his men. had it not been for the brandy within and the lookers-on without, there is no saying but caingey would have declined the horse's further acquaintance. as it was, he quickly repeated his attempt at the stirrup with the same sort of domineering 'whoay,' adding, as he landed in the saddle and snatched at the reins, 'do you think i stole you?' whatever the horse's opinion might be on that point, he didn't seem to care to express it, for finding kicking alone wouldn't do, he immediately commenced rearing too, and by a desperate plunge, broke away from the groom, before thornton had either got him by the head or his feet in the stirrups. three most desperate bounds he gave, rising at the bit as though he would come back over if the hold was not relaxed, and the fourth effort bringing him to the opposite kerb-stone, he up again with such a bound and impetus that he crashed right through messrs. frippery and flummery's fine plate-glass window, to the terror and astonishment of their elegant young counter-skippers, who were busy arranging their ribbons and finery for the day. right through the window hercules went, switching through book muslins and barèges as he would through a bullfinch, and attempting to make his exit by a large plate-glass mirror against the wall of the cloak-room beyond, which he dashed all to pieces with his head. worse remains to be told. 'multum in parvo,' seeing his old comrade's hind-quarters disappearing through the window, just took the bit between his teeth, and followed, in spite of mr. sponge's every effort to turn him; and when at length he got him hauled round, the horse was found to have decorated himself with a sky-blue _visite_ trimmed with honiton lace, which he wore like a charger on his way to the crusades, or a steed bearing a knight to the eglinton tournament. quick as it happened, and soon as it was over, all laverick wells seemed to have congregated in the street as our heroes rode out of the folding glass-doors. [illustration] chapter xii an old friend about a fortnight after the above catastrophe, and as the recollection of it was nearly effaced by miss jumpheavy's abduction of ensign downley, our friend, mr. waffles, on visiting his stud at the four o'clock stable-hour, found a most respectable, middle-aged, rosy-gilled, better-sort-of-farmer-looking man, straddling his tight drab-trousered legs, with a twisted ash plant propping his chin, behind the redoubtable hercules. he had a bran-new hat on, a velvet-collared blue coat with metal buttons, that anywhere but in the searching glare and contrast of london might have passed for a spic-and-span new one; a small, striped, step-collared toilanette vest; and the aforesaid drab trousers, in the right-hand pocket of which his disengaged hand kept fishing up and slipping down an avalanche of silver, which made a pleasant musical accompaniment to his monetary conversation. on seeing mr. waffles, the stranger touched his hat, and appeared to be about to retire, when mr. figg, the stud-groom, thus addressed his master: 'this be mr. buckram, sir, of london, sir; says he knows our brown 'orse, sir.' 'ah, indeed,' observed mr. waffles, taking a cigar from his mouth; 'knows no good of him, i should think. what part of london do you live in, mr. buckram?' asked he. 'why, i doesn't exactly live in london, my lord--that's to say, sir--a little way out of it, you know--have a little hindependence of my own, you understand.' 'hang it, how should i understand anything of the sort--never set eyes on you before,' replied mr. waffles. the half-crowns now began to descend singly in the pocket, keeping up a protracted jingle, like the notes of a lazy, undecided musical snuff-box. by the time the last had dropped, mr. buckram had collected himself sufficiently to resume. taking the ash-plant away from his mouth, with which he had been barricading his lips, he observed-- 'i know'd that oss when lord bullfrog had him,' nodding his head at our old friend as he spoke. 'the deuce you did!' observed mr. waffles;' where was that?' 'in leicestersheer,' replied mr. buckram. 'i have a haunt as lives at mount sorrel; she has a little hindependence of her own, and i goes down 'casionally to see her--in fact, i believes i'm her _hare_. well, i was down there just at the beginnin' of the season, the 'ounds met at kirby gate--a mile or two to the south, you know, on the leicester road--it was the fust day of the season, in fact--and there was a great crowd, and i was one; and havin' a heye for an oss, i was struck with this one, you understand, bein' as i thought, a 'ticklar nice 'un. lord bullfrog's man was a ridin' of him, and he kept him outside the crowd, showin' off his pints, and passin' him backwards and forwards under people's noses, to 'tract the notish of the nobs--parsecutin, what i call--and i see'd mr. sponge struck--i've known mr. sponge many years, and a 'ticklar nice gent he is--well, mr. sponge pulled hup, and said to the grum, "who's o' that oss?" "my lor' bullfrog's, sir," said the man. "he's a deuced nice 'un," observed mr. sponge, thinkin', as he was a lord's, he might praise 'im, seein', in all probability, he weren't for sale. "he is _that_," said the grum, patting him on the neck, as though he were special fond on him. "is my lord out?" asked mr. sponge. "no, sir; he's not come down yet," replied the man, "nor do i know when he will come. he's been down at bath for some time 'sociatin' with the aldermen o' bristol and has thrown up a vast o' bad flesh--two stun' sin' last season--and he's afeared this oss won't be able to carry 'im, and so he writ to me to take 'im out to-day, to show 'im." "he'd carry _me_, i think," said mr. sponge, making hup his mind on the moment, jist as he makes hup his mind to ride at a fence--not that i think it's a good plan for a gent to show that he's sweet on an oss, for they're sure to make him pay for it. howsomever, that's nouther here nor there. well, jist as mr. sponge said this, sir richard driv' hup, and havin' got his oss, away we trotted to the goss jist below, and the next thing i see'd was mr. sponge leadin' the 'ole field on this werry nag. well, i heard no more till i got to melton, for i didn't go to my haunt's at mount sorrel that night, and i saw little of the run, for my oss was rather puffy, livin' principally on chaff, bran mashes, swedes, and soft food; and when i got to melton, i heard 'ow mr. sponge had bought this oss,' mr. buckram nodding his head at the horse as he spoke, 'and 'ow that he'd given the matter o' two 'under'd--or i'm not sure it weren't two 'under'd-and-fifty guineas for 'im, and--' 'well,' interrupted mr. waffles, tired of his verbosity, 'and what did they say about the horse?' 'why,' continued mr. buckram, thoughtfully, propping his chin up with his stick, and drawing all the half-crowns up to the top of his pocket again, 'the fust 'spicious thing i heard was sir digby snaffle's grum, sam, sayin' to captain screwley's bat-man grum, jist afore the george inn door,-- '"well, jack, tommy's sold the brown oss!" '"n--o--o--r!" exclaimed jack, starin' 'is eyes out, as if it were unpossible. '"he '_as_ though," said sam. '"well, then, i 'ope the gemman's fond o' walkin'," exclaimed jack, bustin' out a laughin' and runnin' on. 'this rayther set me a thinkin',' continued mr. buckram, dropping a second half-crown, which jinked against the nest-egg one left at the bottom, 'and fearin' that mr. sponge had fallen 'mong the philistines--which i was werry concerned about, for he's a real nice gent, but thoughtless, as many young gents are who 'ave plenty of tin--i made it my business to inquire 'bout this oss; and if he _is_ the oss that i saw in leicestersheer, and i 'ave little doubt about it (dropping two consecutive half-crowns as he spoke), though i've not seen him out, i--' 'ah! well, i bought him of mr. sponge, who said he got him from lord bullfrog,' interrupted mr. waffles. 'ah! then he _is_ the oss, in course,' said mr. buckram, with a sort of mournful chuck of the chin; 'he _is_ the oss,' repeated he; 'well, then, he's a dangerous hanimal,' added he, letting slip three half-crowns. 'what does he do?' asked mr. waffles. 'do!' repeated mr. buckram, 'do! he'll do for anybody.' 'indeed,' responded mr. waffles; adding, 'how could mr. sponge sell me such a brute?' 'i doesn't mean to say, mind ye,' observed mr. buckram, drawing back three half-crowns, as though he had gone that much too far,--'i doesn't mean to say, mind, that he's wot you call a misteched, runaway, rear-backwards-over-hanimal--but i mean to say he's a difficultish oss to ride--himpetuous--and one that, if he got the hupper 'and, would be werry likely to try and keep the hupper 'and--you understand me?' said he, eyeing mr. waffles intently, and dropping four half-crowns as he spoke. 'i'm tellin' you nothin' but the truth,' observed mr. buckram, after a pause, adding, 'in course it's nothin' to me, only bein' down here on a visit to a friend, and 'earin' that the oss were 'ere, i made bold to look in to see whether it was 'im or no. no offence, i 'opes,' added he, letting go the rest of the silver, and taking the prop from under his chin, with an obeisance as if he was about to be off. 'oh, no offence at all,' rejoined mr. waffles, 'no offence--rather the contrary. indeed, i'm much obliged to you for telling me what you have done. just stop half a minute,' added he, thinking he might as well try and get something more out of him. while mr. waffles was considering his next question, mr. buckram saved him the trouble of thinking by 'leading the gallop' himself. 'i believe 'im to be a _good_ oss, and i believe 'im to be a _bad_ oss,' observed mr. buckram, sententiously. 'i believe that oss, with a bold rider on his back, and well away with the 'ounds, would beat most osses goin', but it's the start that's the difficulty with him; for if, on the other 'and, he don't incline to go, all the spurrin', and quiltin', and leatherin' in the world won't make 'im. it'll be a mercy o' providence if he don't cut out work for the crowner some day.' 'hang the brute!' exclaimed mr. waffles, in disgust; 'i've a good mind to have his throat cut.' 'nay,' replied mr. buckram, brightening up, and stirring the silver round and round in his pocket like a whirlpool, 'nay,' replied he, 'he's fit for summat better nor that.' 'not much, i think,' replied mr. waffles, pouting with disgust. he now stood silent for a few seconds. 'well, but what did they mean by hoping mr. sponge was fond of walking?' at length asked he. 'oh, vy,' replied mr. buckram, gathering all the money up again, 'i believe it was this 'ere,' beginning to drop them to half-minute time, and talking very slowly; 'the oss, i believe, got the better of lord bullfrog one day, somewhere a little on this side of thrussinton--that, you know, is where sir 'arry built his kennels--between mount sorrel and melton in fact--and havin' got his lordship off, who, i should tell you, is an uncommon fat 'un, he wouldn't let him on again, and he 'ad to lead him the matter of i don't know 'ow many miles'; mr. buckram letting go the whole balance of silver in a rush, as if to denote that it was no joke. 'the brute!' observed mr. waffles, in disgust, adding, 'well, as you seem to have a pretty good opinion of him, suppose you buy him; i'll let you have him cheap.' ''ord bless you--my lord--that's to say, sir!' exclaimed buckram, shrugging up his shoulders, and raising his eyebrows as high as they would go, 'he'd be of no use to me, none votsomever--shouldn't know what to do with him--never do for 'arness--besides, i 'ave a werry good machiner as it is--at least, he sarves my turn, and that's everything, you know. no, sir, no,' continued he, slowly and thoughtfully, dropping the silver to half-minute time; 'no, sir, no; if i might make free with a gen'leman o' your helegance,' continued he, after a pause,' i'd say, sell 'im to a post-master or a buss-master, or some sich cattle as those, but i doesn't think i'd put 'im into the 'ands of no gen'leman, that's to say if i were _you_, at least,' added he. 'well, then, will you speculate on him yourself for the buss-masters?' asked mr. waffles, tired alike of the colloquy and the quadruped. [illustration: portrait of lord bullfrog, formerly owner of 'hercules'] 'oh, vy, as to that,' replied mr. buckram, with an air of the most perfect indifference, 'vy, as to that--not bein' nouther a post-master nor a buss-master--but 'aving, as i said before, a little hindependence o' my own, vy, i couldn't in course give such a bountiful price as if i could turn 'im to account at once; but if it would be any 'commodation to you,' added he, working the silver up into full cry, 'i wouldn't mind givin' you the with (worth) of 'im--say, deductin' expenses hup to town, and standin' at livery afore i finds a customer--expenses hup to town,' continued mr. buckram, muttering to himself in apparent calculation, 'standin' at livery--three-and-sixpence a night, grum, and so on--i wouldn't mind,' continued he briskly, 'givin' of you twenty pund for 'im--if you'd throw me back a sov.,' continued he, seeing mr. waffles' brow didn't contract into the frown he expected at having such a sum offered for his three-hundred-guinea horse. in the course of an hour, that wonderful invention of modern times,--the electric telegraph--conveyed the satisfactory words 'all right' to our friend mr. sponge, just as he was sitting down to dinner in a certain sumptuously sanded coffee-room in conduit street, who forthwith sealed and posted the following ready-written letter: 'bantam hotel, bond street. 'sir, 'i have been greatly surprised and hurt to hear that you have thought fit to impeach my integrity, and insinuate that i had taken you in with the brown horse. such insinuations touch one in a tender point--one's self-respect. the bargain, i may remind you, was of your own seeking, and i told you at the time i knew nothing of the horse, having only ridden him once, and i also told you where i got him. to show how unjust and unworthy your insinuations have been, i have now to inform you that, having ascertained that lord bullfrog knew he was vicious, i insisted on his lordship taking him back, and have only to add that, on my receiving him from you, i will return you your bill.' 'i am, sir, your obedient servant, 'h. sponge. 'to w. waffles, esq., 'imperial hotel, laverick wells.' mr. waffles was a good deal vexed and puzzled when he got this letter. he had parted with the horse, who was gone no one knew where, and mr. waffles felt that he had used a certain freedom of speech in speaking of the transaction. mr. sponge having left laverick wells, had, perhaps, led him a little astray with his tongue--slandering an absent man being generally thought a pretty safe game; it now seemed mr. waffles was all wrong, and might have had his money back if he had not been in such a hurry to part with the horse. like a good many people, he thought he had best eat up his words, which he did in the following manner: 'imperial hotel, laverick wells. 'dear mr. sponge, 'you are quite mistaken in supposing that i ever insinuated anything against _you_ with regard to the horse. i said _he_ was a beast, and it seems lord bullfrog admits it. however, never mind anything more about him, though i am equally obliged to you for the trouble you have taken. the fact is, i have parted with him. 'we are having capital sport; never go out but we kill, sometimes a brace, sometimes a leash of foxes. hoping you are recovered from the effects of your ride through the window, and will soon rejoin us, believe me, dear mr. sponge,' 'yours very sincerely, 'w. waffles.' to which mr. sponge shortly after rejoined as follows: 'bantam hotel, bond street. 'dear waffles, 'yours to hand--i am glad to receive a disclaimer of any unworthy imputations respecting the brown horse. such insinuations are only for horse-dealers, not for men of high gentlemanly feeling. 'i am sorry to say we have not got out of the horse as i hoped. lord bullfrog, who is a most cantankerous fellow, insists upon having him back, according to the terms of my letter; i must therefore trouble you to hunt him up, and let us accommodate his lordship with him again. if you will say where he is, i may very likely know some one who can assist us in getting him. you will excuse this trouble, i hope, considering that it was to serve you that i moved in the matter, and insisted on returning him to his lordship, at a loss of £ to myself, having only given £ for him.' 'i remain, dear waffles, 'yours sincerely, 'h. sponge.' 'to w. waffles, esq., 'imperial hotel, laverick wells.' 'laverick wells. 'dear sponge, 'i'm afraid bullfrog will have to make himself happy without his horse, for i hav'n't the slightest idea where he is. i sold him to a cockneyfied, countryfied sort of a man, who said he had a small "hindependence of his own"--somewhere, i believe, about london. he didn't give much for him, as you may suppose, when i tell you he paid for him chiefly in silver. if i were you, i wouldn't trouble myself about him.' 'yours very truly, 'w. waffles. 'to h. sponge, esq.' our hero addressed mr. waffles again, in the course of a few days, as follows: 'dear waffles, 'i am sorry to say bullfrog won't be put off without the horse. he says i insisted on his taking him back, and now he insists on having him. i have had his lawyer, mr. chousam, of the great firm of chousam, doem, and co., of throgmorton street, at me, who says his lordship will play old gooseberry with us if we don't return him by saturday. pray put on all steam, and look him up.' 'yours in haste, 'h. sponge. 'to w. waffles, esq.' mr. waffles did put on all steam, and so successfully that he ran the horse to ground at our friend mr. buckram's. though the horse was in the box adjoining the house, mr. buckram declared he had sold him to go to 'hireland'; to what county he really couldn't say, nor to what hunt; all he knew was, the gentleman said he was a 'captin,' and lived in a castle. mr. waffles communicated the intelligence to sponge, requesting him to do the best he could for him, who reported what his 'best' was in the following letter: 'dear waffles, 'my lawyer has seen chousam, and deuced stiff he says he was. it seems bullfrog is indignant at being accused of a "do"; and having got me in the wrong box, by not being able to return the horse as claimed, he meant to work me. at first chousam would hear of nothing but "l--a--w." bullfrog's wounded honour could only be salved that way. gradually, however, we diverged from l--a--w to £--s.--d.; and the upshot of it is, that he will advise his lordship to take £ and be done with it. it's a bore; but i did it for the best, and shall be glad now to know your wishes on the subject. meanwhile, i remain, 'yours very truly, 'h. sponge. 'to w. waffles, esq.' formerly a remittance by post used to speak for itself. the tender-fingered clerks could detect an enclosure, however skilfully folded. few people grudged double postage in those days. now one letter is so much like another, that nothing short of opening them makes one any wiser. mr. sponge received mr. waffles' answer from the hands of the waiter with the sort of feeling that it was only the continuation of their correspondence. judge, then, of his delight, when a nice, clean, crisp promissory note, on a five-shilling stamp, fell quivering to the floor. a few lines, expressive of mr. waffles' gratitude for the trouble our hero had taken, and hopes that it would not be inconvenient to take a note at two months, accompanied it. at first mr. sponge was overjoyed. it would set him up for the season. he thought how he'd spend it. he had half a mind to go to melton. there were no heiresses there, or else he would. leamington would do, only it was rather expensive. then he thought he might as well have done waffles a little more. 'confound it!' exclaimed sponge, 'i don't do myself justice! i'm too much of a gentleman! i should have had five 'under'd--such an ass as waffles deserves to be done!' chapter xiii a new scheme [illustration] our friend soapey was now in good feather; he had got a large price for his good-for-nothing horse, with a very handsome bonus for not getting him back, making him better off than he had been for some time. gentlemen of his calibre are generally extremely affluent in everything except cash. they have bills without end--bills that nobody will touch, and book debts in abundance--book debts entered with metallic pencils in curious little clasped pocket-books, with such utter disregard of method that it would puzzle an accountant to comb them into anything like shape. it is true, what mr. sponge got from mr. waffles were bills--but they were good bills, and of such reasonable date as the most exacting of the jew tribe would 'do' for twenty per cent. mr. sponge determined to keep the game alive, and getting hercules and multum in parvo together again, he added a showy piebald hack, that buckram had just got from some circus people who had not been able to train him to their work. the question now was, where to manoeuvre this imposing stud--a problem that mr. sponge quickly solved. among the many strangers who rushed into indiscriminate friendship with our hero at laverick wells, was mr. jawleyford, of jawleyford court, in ----shire. jawleyford was a great humbug. he was a fine, off-hand, open-hearted, cheery sort of fellow, who was always delighted to see you, would start at the view, and stand with open arms in the middle of the street, as though quite overjoyed at the meeting. though he never gave dinners, nor anything where he was, he asked everybody, at least everybody who did give them, to visit him at jawleyford court. if a man was fond of fishing, he must come to jawleyford court, he must, indeed; he would take no refusal, he wouldn't leave him alone till he promised. he would show him such fishing--no waters in the world to compare with his. the shannon and the tweed were not to be spoken of in the same day as his waters in the swiftley. shooting, the same way. 'by jove! are you a shooter? well, i'm delighted to hear it. well, now, we shall be at home all september, and up to the middle of october, and you must just come to us at your own time, and i will give you some of the finest partridge and pheasant shooting you ever saw in your life; norfolk can show nothing to what i can. now, my good fellow, say the word; _do_ say you'll come, and then it will be a settled thing, and i shall look forward to it with such pleasure!' he was equally magnanimous about hunting, though, like a good many people who have 'had their hunts,' he pretended that his day was over, though he was a most zealous promoter of the sport. so he asked everybody who did hunt to come and see him; and what with his hearty, affable manner, and the unlimited nature of his invitations, he generally passed for a deuced hospitable, good sort of fellow, and came in for no end of dinners and other entertainments for his wife and daughters, of which he had two--daughters, we mean, not wives. his time was about up at laverick wells when mr. sponge arrived there; nevertheless, during the few days that remained to them, mr. jawleyford contrived to scrape a pretty intimate acquaintance with a gentleman whose wealth was reported to equal, if it did not exceed, that of mr. waffles himself. the following was the closing scene between them: [illustration: jawleyford of jawleyford court] 'mr. sponge,' said he, getting our hero by both hands in culeyford's billiard room, and shaking them as though he could not bear the idea of separation; 'my dear mr. sponge,' added he, 'i grieve to say we're going to-morrow; i had hoped to have stayed a little longer, and to have enjoyed the pleasure of your most agreeable society.' (this was true; he would have stayed, only his banker wouldn't let him have any more money.) 'but, however, i won't say adieu,' continued he; 'no, i _won't_ say adieu! i live, as you perhaps know, in one of the best hunting countries in england--my lord scamperdale's--scamperdale and i are like brothers; i can do whatever i like with him--he has, i may say, the finest pack of hounds in the world; his huntsman, jack frostyface, i really believe, cannot be surpassed. come, then, my dear fellow,' continued mr. jawleyford, increasing the grasp and shake of the hands, and looking most earnestly in sponge's face, as if deprecating a refusal; 'come, then, my dear fellow, and see us; we will do whatever we can to entertain and make you comfortable. scamperdale shall keep our side of the country till you come; there are capital stables at lucksford, close to the station, and you shall have a stall for your hack at jawleyford, and a man to look after him, if you like; so now, don't say nay--your time shall be ours--we shall be at home all the rest of the winter, and i flatter myself, if you once come down, you will be inclined to repeat your visit; at least, i hope so.' there are two common sayings; one, 'that birds of a feather flock together'; the other, 'that two of a trade never agree'; which often seem to us to contradict each other in the actual intercourse of life. humbugs certainly have the knack of drawing together, and yet they are always excellent friends, and will vouch for the goodness of each other in a way that few straight-forward men think it worth their while to adopt with regard to indifferent people. indeed, humbugs are not always content to defend their absent brother humbugs when they hear them abused, but they will frequently lug each other in neck and crop, apparently for no other purpose than that of proclaiming what excellent fellows they are, and see if anybody will take up the cudgels against them. mr. sponge, albeit with a considerable cross of the humbug himself, and one who perfectly understood the usual worthlessness of general invitations, was yet so taken with mr. jawleyford's hail-fellow-well-met, earnest sort of manner, that, adopting the convenient and familiar solution in such matters, that there is no rule without an exception, concluded that mr. jawleyford was the exception, and really meant what he said. independently of the attractions offered by hunting, which were both strong and cogent, we have said there were two young ladies, to whom fame attached the enormous fortunes common in cases where there is a large property and no sons. still sponge was a wary bird, and his experience of the worthlessness of most general invitations made him think it just possible that it might not suit mr. jawleyford to receive him now, at the particular time he wanted to go; so after duly considering the case, and also the impressive nature of the invitation, so recently given, too, he determined not to give jawleyford the chance of refusing him, but just to say he was coming, and drop down upon him before he could say 'no.' accordingly, he penned the following epistle: 'bantam hotel, bond-street, london. 'dear jawleyford, 'i purpose being with you to-morrow, by the express train, which i see, by bradshaw, arrives at lucksford a quarter to three. i shall only bring two hunters and a hack, so perhaps you could oblige me by taking them in for the short time i shall stay, as it would not be convenient for me to separate them. hoping to find mrs. jawleyford and the young ladies well, i remain, dear sir,' 'yours very truly, 'h. sponge. 'to--jawleyford, esq., jawleyford court, lucksford.' 'curse the fellow!' exclaimed jawleyford, nearly choking himself with a fish bone, as he opened and read the foregoing at breakfast. 'curse the fellow!' he repeated, stamping the letter under foot, as though he would crush it to atoms. 'who ever saw such a piece of impudence as that!' 'what's the matter, my dear?' inquired mrs. jawleyford, alarmed lest it was her dunning jeweller writing again. 'matter!' shrieked jawleyford, in a tone that sounded through the thick wall of the room, and caused the hobbling old gardener on the terrace to peep in at the heavy-mullioned window. 'matter!' repeated he, as though he had got his _coup de grâce_; 'look there,' added he, handing over the letter. 'oh, my dear,' rejoined mrs. jawleyford soothingly, as soon as she saw it was not what she expected. 'oh, my dear, i'm sure there's nothing to make you put yourself so much out of the way.' 'no!' roared jawleyford, determined not to be done out of his grievance. 'no!' repeated he; 'do you call that nothing?' 'why, nothing to make yourself unhappy about,' replied mrs. jawleyford, rather pleased than otherwise; for she was glad it was not from rings, the jeweller, and, moreover, hated the monotony of jawleyford court, and was glad of anything to relieve it. if she had had her own way, she would have gadded about at watering-places all the year round. 'well,' said jawleyford, with a toss of the head and a shrug of resignation, 'you'll have me in gaol; i see that.' 'nay, my dear j.,' rejoined his wife, soothingly; 'i'm sure you've plenty of money.' 'have i!' ejaculated jawleyford. 'do you suppose, if i had, i'd have left laverick wells without paying miss bustlebey, or given a bill at three months for the house-rent?' 'well, but, my dear, you've nothing to do but tell mr. screwemtight to get you some money from the tenants.' 'money from the tenants!' replied mr. jawleyford. 'screwemtight tells me he can't get another farthing from any man on the estate.' 'oh, pooh!' said mrs. jawleyford; 'you're far too good to them. i always say screwemtight looks far more to their interest than he does to yours.' [illustration] jawleyford, we may observe, was one of the rather numerous race of paper-booted, pen-and-ink landowners. he always dressed in the country as he would in st. james's street, and his communications with his tenantry were chiefly confined to dining with them twice a year in the great entrance-hall, after mr. screwemtight had eased them of their cash in the steward's room. then mr. jawleyford would shine forth the very impersonification of what a landlord ought to be. dressed in the height of the fashion, as if by his clothes to give the lie to his words, he would expatiate on the delights of such meetings of equality; declare that, next to those spent with his family, the only really happy moments of his life were those when he was surrounded by his tenantry; he doated on the manly character of the english farmer. then he would advert to the great antiquity of the jawleyford family, many generations of whom looked down upon them from the walls of the old hall; some on their war-steeds, some armed _cap-à-pie_, some in court-dresses, some in spanish ones, one in a white dress with gold brocade breeches and a hat with an enormous plume, old jawleyford (father of the present one) in the windsor uniform, and our friend himself, the very prototype of what then stood before them. indeed, he had been painted in the act of addressing his hereditary chawbacons in the hall in which the picture was suspended. there he stood, with his bright auburn hair (now rather badger-pied, perhaps, but still very passable by candlelight)--his bright auburn hair, we say, swept boldly off his lofty forehead, his hazy grey eyes flashing with the excitement of drink and animation, his left hand reposing on the hip of his well-fitting black pantaloons, while the right one, radiant with rings, and trimmed with upturned wristband, sawed the air, as he rounded off the periods of the well-accustomed saws. jawleyford, like a good many people, was very hospitable when in full fig--two soups, two fishes, and the necessary concomitants; but he would see any one far enough before he would give him a dinner merely because he wanted one. that sort of ostentatious banqueting has about brought country society in general to a deadlock. people tire of the constant revision of plate, linen, and china. mrs. jawleyford, on the other hand, was a very rough-and-ready sort of woman, never put out of her way; and though she constantly preached the old doctrine that girls 'are much better single than married,' she was always on the look-out for opportunities of contradicting her assertions. she was an irish lady, with a pedigree almost as long as jawleyford's, but more compressible pride, and if she couldn't get a duke, she would take a marquis or an earl, or even put up with a rich commoner. the perusal, therefore, of sponge's letter, operated differently upon her to what it did upon her husband, and though she would have liked a little more time, perhaps, she did not care to take him as they were. jawleyford, however, resisted violently. it would be most particularly inconvenient to him to receive company at that time. if mr. sponge had gone through the whole three hundred and sixty-five days in the year, he could not have hit upon a more inconvenient one for him. besides, he had no idea of people writing in that sort of a way, saying they were coming, without giving him the chance of saying no. 'well, but, my dear, i dare say you asked him,' observed mrs. jawleyford. jawleyford was silent, the scene in the billiard-room recurring to his mind. 'i've often told you, my dear,' continued mrs. jawleyford, kindly, 'that you shouldn't be so free with your invitations if you don't want people to come; things are very different now to what they were in the old coaching and posting days, when it took a day and a night and half the next day to get here, and i don't know how much money besides. you might then invite people with safety, but it is very different now, when they have nothing to do but put themselves into the express train and whisk down in a few hours.' 'well, but, confound him, i didn't ask his horses,' exclaimed jawleyford; 'nor will i have them either,' continued he, with a jerk of the head, as he got up and rang the bell, as though determined to put a stop to that at all events. 'samuel,' said he, to the dirty page of a boy who answered the summons, 'tell john watson to go down to the railway tavern directly, and desire them to get a three-stalled stable ready for a gentleman's horses that are coming to-day--a gentleman of the name of sponge,' added he, lest any one else should chance to come and usurp them--'and tell john to meet the express train, and tell the gentleman's groom where it is.' chapter xiv jawleyford court true to a minute, the hissing engine drew the swiftly gliding train beneath the elegant and costly station at lucksford--an edifice presenting a rare contrast to the wretched old red-tiled, five-windowed house, called the red lion, where a brandy-faced blacksmith of a landlord used to emerge from the adjoining smithy, to take charge of any one who might arrive per coach for that part of the country. mr. sponge was quickly on the platform, seeing to the detachment of his horse-box. just as the cavalry was about got into marching order, up rode john watson, a ragamuffin-looking gamekeeper, in a green plush coat, with a very tarnished laced hat, mounted on a very shaggy white pony, whose hide seemed quite impervious to the visitations of a heavily-knotted dogwhip, with which he kept saluting his shoulders and sides. 'please, sir,' said he, riding up to mr. sponge, with a touch of the old hat, 'i've got you a capital three-stall stable at the railway tavern, here,' pointing to a newly built brick house standing on the rising ground. 'oh! but i'm going to jawleyford court,' responded our friend, thinking the man was the 'tout' of the tavern. 'mr. jawleyford don't take in horses, sir,' rejoined the man, with another touch of the hat. 'he'll take in _mine_,' observed mr. sponge, with an air of authority. 'oh, i beg pardon, sir,' replied the keeper, thinking he had made a mistake; 'it was mr. sponge whose horses i had to bespeak stalls for,' touching his hat profusely as he spoke. 'well, _this_ be mister sponge,' observed leather, who had been listening attentively to what passed. ''deed!' said the keeper, again turning to our hero with an 'i beg pardon, sir, but the stable _is_ for you then, sir--for mr. sponge, sir.' 'how do you know that?' demanded our friend. ''cause mr. spigot, the butler, says to me, says he, "mr. watson," says he--my name's watson, you see,' continued the speaker, sawing away at his hat, 'my name's watson, you see, and i'm the head gamekeeper. "mr. watson," says he, "you must go down to the tavern and order a three-stall stable for a gentleman of the name of sponge, whose horses are a comin' to-day"; and in course i've come 'cordingly,' added watson. 'a _three_-stall'd stable!' observed mr. sponge, with an emphasis. 'a three-stall'd stable,' repeated mr. watson. 'confound him, but he said he'd take in a hack at all events,' observed sponge, with a sideway shake of the head; 'and a hack he _shall_ take in, too' he added. 'are your stables full at jawleyford court?' he asked. ''ord bless you, no, sir,' replied watson with a leer; 'there's nothin' in them but a couple of weedy hacks and a pair of old worn-out carriage-horses.' 'then i can get this hack taken in, at all events,' observed sponge, laying his hand on the neck of the piebald as he spoke. 'why, as to that,' replied mr. watson, with a shake of the head, 'i can't say nothin'.' 'i must, though,' rejoined sponge, tartly; 'he _said_ he'd take in my hack, or i wouldn't have come.' 'well, sir,' observed the keeper, 'you know best, sir.' 'confounded screw!' muttered sponge, turning away to give his orders to leather. 'i'll _work_ him for it,' he added. 'he sha'n't get rid of _me_ in a hurry--at least, not unless i can get a better billet elsewhere.' having arranged the parting with leather, and got a cart to carry his things, mr. sponge mounted the piebald, and put himself under the guidance of watson to be conducted to his destination. the first part of the journey was performed in silence, mr. sponge not being particularly well pleased at the reception his request to have his horses taken in had met with. this silence he might perhaps have preserved throughout had it not occurred to him that he might pump something out of the servant about the family he was going to visit. 'that's not a bad-like old cob of yours,' he observed, drawing rein so as to let the shaggy white come alongside of him. 'he belies his looks, then,' replied watson, with a grin of his cadaverous face, 'for he's just as bad a beast as ever looked through a bridle. it's a parfect disgrace to a gentleman to put a man on such a beast.' sponge saw the sort of man he had got to deal with, and proceeded accordingly. 'have you lived long with mr. jawleyford?' he asked. 'no, nor will i, if i can help it,' replied watson, with another grin and another touch of the old hat. touching his hat was about the only piece of propriety he was up to. 'what, he's not a brick, then?' asked sponge. 'mean man,' replied watson with a shake of the head; 'mean man,' he repeated. 'you're nowise connected with the fam'ly, i s'pose?' he asked with a look of suspicion lest he might be committing himself. 'no,' replied sponge; 'no; merely an acquaintance. we met at laverick wells, and he pressed me to come and see him.' 'indeed!' said watson, feeling at ease again. 'who did you live with before you came here?' asked mr. sponge, after a pause. 'i lived many years--the greater part of my life, indeed--with sir harry swift. _he_ was a _real_ gentleman now, if you like--free, open-handed gentleman--none of your close-shavin', cheese-parin' sort of gentlemen, or imitation gentlemen, as i calls them, but a man who knew what was due to good servants and gave them it. we had good wages, and all the proper "reglars." bless you, i could sell a new suit of clothes there every year, instead of having to wear the last keeper's cast-offs, and a hat that would disgrace anything but a flay-crow. if the linin' wasn't stuffed full of gun-waddin' it would be over my nose,' he observed, taking it off and adjusting the layer of wadding as he spoke. 'you should have stuck to sir harry,' observed mr. sponge. 'i did,' rejoined watson. 'i did, i stuck to him to the last. i'd have been with him now, only he couldn't get a manor at boulogne, and a keeper was of no use without one.' 'what, he went to boulogne, did he?' observed mr. sponge. 'aye, the more's the pity,' replied watson. 'he was a gentleman, every inch of him,' he added, with a shake of the head and a sigh, as if recurring to more prosperous times. 'he was what a gentleman ought to be,' he continued, 'not one of your poor, pryin', inquisitive critturs, what's always fancyin' themselves cheated. i ordered everything in my department, and paid for it too; and never had a bill disputed or even commented on. i might have charged for a ton of powder, and never had nothin' said.' 'mr. jawleyford's not likely to find his way to boulogne, i suppose?' observed mr. sponge. 'not he!' exclaimed watson, 'not he!--safe bird--_very_.' 'he's rich, i suppose?' continued sponge, with an air of indifference. 'why, _i_ should say he was; though others say he's not,' replied watson, cropping the old pony with the dog-whip, as it nearly fell on its nose. 'he can't fail to be rich, with all his property; though they're desperate hands for gaddin' about; always off to some waterin'-place or another, lookin' for husbands, i suppose. i wonder,' he continued, 'that gentlemen can't settle at home, and amuse themselves with coursin' and shootin'.' mr. watson, like many servants, thinking that the bulk of a gentleman's income should be spent in promoting the particular sport over which they preside. with this and similar discourse, they beguiled the short distance between the station and the court--a distance, however, that looked considerably greater after the flying rapidity of the rail. but for these occasional returns to _terra firma_, people would begin to fancy themselves birds. after rounding a large but gently swelling hill, over the summit of which the road, after the fashion of old roads, led, our traveller suddenly looked down upon the wide vale of sniperdown, with jawleyford court glittering with a bright open aspect, on a fine, gradual elevation, above the broad, smoothly gliding river. a clear atmosphere, indicative either of rain or frost, disclosed a vast tract of wild, flat, ill-cultivated-looking country to the south, little interrupted by woods or signs of population; the whole losing itself, as it were, in an indistinct grey outline, commingling with the fleecy white clouds in the distance. 'here we be,' observed watson, with a nod towards where a tarnished red-and-gold flag, floated, or rather flapped lazily in the winter's breeze, above an irregular mass of towers, turrets, and odd-shaped chimneys. [illustration] jawleyford court was a fine old mansion, partaking more of the character of a castle than a court, with its keep and towers, battlements, heavily grated mullioned windows, and machicolated gallery. it stood, sombre and grey, in the midst of gigantic but now leafless sycamores--trees that had to thank themselves for being sycamores; for, had they been oaks, or other marketable wood, they would have been made into bonnets or shawls long before now. the building itself was irregular, presenting different sorts of architecture, from pure gothic down to some even perfectly modern buildings; still, viewed as a whole, it was massive and imposing; and as mr. sponge looked down upon it, he thought far more of jawleyford and co. than he did as the mere occupants of a modest, white-stuccoed, green-verandahed house, at laverick wells. nor did his admiration diminish as he advanced, and, crossing by a battlemented bridge over the moat, he viewed the massive character of the buildings rising grandly from their rocky foundation. an imposing, solemn-toned old clock began striking four, as the horsemen rode under the gothic portico, whose notes re-echoed and reverberated, and at last lost themselves among the towers and pinnacles of the building. sponge, for a moment, was awe-stricken at the magnificence of the scene, feeling that it was what he would call 'a good many cuts above him'; but he soon recovered his wonted impudence. 'he _would_ have me,' thought he, recalling the pressing nature of the jawleyford invitation. 'if you'll hold my nag,' said watson, throwing himself off the shaggy white, 'i'll ring the bell,' added he, running up a wide flight of steps to the hall-door. a riotous peal announced the arrival. chapter xv the jawleyford establishment the loud peal of the jawleyford court door-bell, announcing mr. sponge's arrival, with which we closed the last chapter, found the inhabitants variously engaged preparing for his reception. mrs. jawleyford, with the aid of a very indifferent cook, was endeavouring to arrange a becoming dinner; the young ladies, with the aid of a somewhat better sort of maid, were attractifying themselves, each looking with considerable jealousy on the efforts of the other; and mr. jawleyford was trotting from room to room, eyeing the various pictures of himself, wondering which was now the most like, and watching the emergence of curtains, carpets, and sofas from their brown holland covers. a gleam of sunshine seemed to reign throughout the mansion; the long-covered furniture appearing to have gained freshness by its retirement, just as a newly done-up hat surprises the wearer by its goodness; a few days, however, soon restores the defects of either. all these arrangements were suddenly brought to a close by the peal of the door-bell, just as the little stage-tinkle of a theatre stops preparation, and compels the actors to stand forward as they are. mrs. jawleyford threw aside her silk apron, and took a hasty glance of her face in the old eagle-topped mirror in the still-room; the young ladies discarded their coarse dirty pocket-handkerchiefs, and gently drew elaborately fringed ones through their taper fingers to give them an air of use, as they took a hasty review of themselves in the swing mirrors; the housemaid hurried off with a whole armful of brown holland; and jawleyford threw himself into attitude in an elaborately carved, richly cushioned, easy-chair, with a disraeli's _life of lord george bentinck_ in his hand. but jawleyford's thoughts were far from his book. he was sitting on thorns lest there might not be a proper guard of honour to receive mr. sponge at the entrance. jawleyford, as we said before, was not the man to entertain unless he could do it 'properly'; and, as we all have our pitch-notes of propriety up to which we play, we may state that jawleyford's note was a butler and two footmen. a butler and two footmen he looked upon as perfectly indispensable to receiving company. he chose to have two footmen to follow the butler, who followed the gentleman to the spacious flight of steps leading from the great hall to the portico, as he mounted his horse. the world is governed a good deal by appearances. mr. jawleyford started life with two most unimpeachable johns. they were nearly six feet high, heads well up, and legs that might have done for models for a sculptor. they powdered with the greatest propriety, and by two o'clock each day were silk-stockinged and pumped in full-dress jawleyford livery; sky-blue coats with massive silver _aiguillettes_, and broad silver seams down the front and round their waistcoat-pocket flaps; silver garters at their crimson plush breeches' knees: and thus attired, they were ready to turn out with the butler to receive visitors, and conduct them back to their carriages. gradually they came down in style, but not in number, and, when mr. sponge visited mr. jawleyford, he had a sort of out-of-door man-of-all-work who metamorphosed himself into a second footman at short notice. 'my dear mr. sponge!--i am delighted to see you!' exclaimed mr. jawleyford, rising from his easy-chair, and throwing his disraeli's _bentinck_ aside, as mr. spigot, the butler, in a deep, sonorous voice, announced our worthy friend. 'this is, indeed, most truly kind of you,' continued jawleyford, advancing to meet him; and getting our friend by both hands, he began working his arms up and down like the under man in a saw-pit. 'this is, indeed, most truly kind,' he repeated; 'i assure you i shall never forget it. it's just what i like--it's just what mrs. jawleyford likes--it's just what we _all_ like--coming without fuss or ceremony. spigot!' he added, hailing old pomposo as the latter was slowly withdrawing, thinking what a humbug his master was--'spigot!' he repeated in a louder voice; 'let the ladies know mr. sponge is here. come to the fire, my dear fellow,' continued jawleyford, clutching his guest by the arm, and drawing him towards where an ample grate of indifferent coals was crackling and spluttering beneath a magnificent old oak mantelpiece of the richest and costliest carved work. 'come to the fire, my dear fellow,' he repeated, 'for you feel cold; and i don't wonder at it, for the day is cheerless and uncomfortable, and you've had a long ride. will you take anything before dinner?' 'what time do you dine?' asked mr. sponge, rubbing his hands as he spoke. 'six o'clock,' replied mr. jawleyford, 'six o'clock--say six o'clock--not particular to a moment--days are short, you see--days are short.' 'i think i should like a glass of sherry and a biscuit, then,' observed mr. sponge. and forthwith the bell was rung, and in due course of time mr. spigot arrived with a tray, followed by the miss jawleyfords, who had rather expected mr. sponge to be shown into the drawing-room to them, where they had composed themselves very prettily; one working a parrot in chenille, the other with a lapful of crochet. the miss jawleyfords--amelia and emily--were lively girls; hardly beauties--at least, not sufficiently so to attract attention in a crowd; but still, girls well calculated to 'bring a man to book,' in the country. mr. thackeray, who bound up all the home truths in circulation, and many that exist only in the inner chambers of the heart, calling the whole 'vanity fair,' says, we think (though we don't exactly know where to lay hand on the passage), that it is not your real striking beauties who are the most dangerous--at all events, that do the most execution--but sly, quiet sort of girls, who do not strike the beholder at first sight, but steal insensibly upon him as he gets acquainted. the miss jawleyfords were of this order. seen in plain morning gowns, a man would meet them in the street, without either turning round or making an observation, good, bad, or indifferent; but in the close quarters of a country house, with all the able assistance of first-rate london dresses, well flounced and set out, each bent on doing the agreeable, they became dangerous. the miss jawleyfords were uncommonly well got up, and juliana, their mutual maid, deserved great credit for the impartiality she displayed in arraying them. there wasn't a halfpenny's worth of choice as to which was the best. this was the more creditable to the maid, inasmuch as the dresses--sea-green glacés--were rather dashed; and the worse they looked, the likelier they would be to become her property. half-dashed dresses, however, that would look rather seedy by contrast, come out very fresh in the country, especially in winter, when day begins to close in at four. and here we may observe, what a dreary time is that which intervenes between the arrival of a guest and the dinner hour, in the dead winter months in the country. the english are a desperate people for overweighting their conversational powers. they have no idea of penning up their small talk, and bringing it to bear in generous flow upon one particular hour; but they keep dribbling it out throughout the live-long day, wearying their listeners without benefiting themselves--just as a careless waggoner scatters his load on the road. few people are insensible to the advantage of having their champagne brisk, which can only be done by keeping the cork in; but few ever think of keeping the cork of their own conversation in. see a frenchman--how light and buoyant he trips into a drawing-room, fresh from the satisfactory scrutiny of the looking-glass, with all the news, and jokes, and tittle-tattle of the day, in full bloom! how sparkling and radiant he is, with something smart and pleasant to say to every one! how thoroughly happy and easy he is; and what a contrast to phlegmatic john bull, who stands with his great red fists doubled, looking as if he thought whoever spoke to him would be wanting him to endorse a bill of exchange! but, as we said before, the dread hour before dinner is an awful time in the country--frightful when there are two hours, and never a subject in common for the company to work upon. laverick wells and their mutual acquaintance was all sponge and jawleyford's stock-in-trade; and that was a very small capital to begin upon, for they had been there together too short a time to make much of a purse of conversation. even the young ladies, with their inquiries after the respective flirtations--how miss sawney and captain snubnose were 'getting on'? and whether the rich widow spankley was likely to bring sir thomas greedey to book?--failed to make up a conversation; for sponge knew little of the ins and outs of these matters, his attention having been more directed to mr. waffles than any one else. still, the mere questions, put in a playful, womanly way, helped the time on, and prevented things coming to that frightful deadlock of silence, that causes an involuntary inward exclamation of 'how _am i_ to get through the time with this man?' there are people who seem to think that sitting and looking at each other constitutes society. women have a great advantage over men in the talking way; they have always something to say. let a lot of women be huddled together throughout the whole of a livelong day, and they will yet have such a balance of conversation at night, as to render it necessary to convert a bedroom into a clearing-house, to get rid of it. men, however, soon get high and dry, especially before dinner; and a host ought to be at liberty to read the riot act, and disperse them to their bedrooms, till such times as they wanted to eat and drink. a most scientifically sounded gong, beginning low, like distant thunder, and gradually increasing its murmur till it filled the whole mansion with its roar, at length relieved all parties from the labour of further efforts; and, looking at his watch, jawleyford asked mrs. jawleyford, in an innocent, indifferent sort of way, which was mr. sponge's room; though he had been fussing about it not long before, and dusting the portrait of himself in his green-and-gold yeomanry uniform, with an old pocket-handkerchief. 'the crimson room, my dear,' replied the well-drilled mrs. jawleyford; and spigot coming with candles, jawleyford preceded 'mr. sponge' up a splendid richly carved oak staircase, of such gradual and easy rise that an invalid might almost have been drawn up it in a garden-chair. passing a short distance along a spacious corridor, mr. jawleyford presently opened a door to the right, and led the way into a large gloomy room, with a little newly lighted wood fire crackling in an enormous grate, making darkness visible, and drawing the cold out of the walls. we need scarcely say it was that terrible room--the best; with three creaking, ill-fitting windows, and heavy crimson satin-damask furniture, so old as scarcely to be able to sustain its own weight. 'ah! here you are,' observed mr. jawleyford, as he nearly tripped over sponge's luggage as it stood by the fire. 'here you are,' repeated he, giving the candle a flourish, to show the size of the room, and draw it back on the portrait of himself above the mantelpiece. 'ah! i declare here's an old picture of myself,' said he, holding the candle up to the face, as if he hadn't seen it for some time--'a picture that was done when i was in the bumperkin yeomanry,' continued he, passing the light before the facings. 'that was considered a good likeness at the time,' said he, looking affectionately at it, and feeling his nose to see if it was still the same size. 'ours was a capital corps--one of the best, if not the very best in the service. the inspecting officer always spoke of it in the highest possible terms--especially of _my_ company, which really was just as perfect as anything my lord cardigan, or any of your crack disciplinarians, can produce. however, never mind,' continued he, lowering the candle, seeing mr. sponge didn't enter into the spirit of the thing; 'you'll be wanting to dress. you'll find hot water on the table yonder,' pointing to the far corner of the room, where the outline of a jug might just be descried; 'there's a bell in the bed if you want anything; and dinner will be ready as soon as you are dressed. you needn't make yourself very fine,' added he, as he retired; 'for we are only ourselves: hope we shall have some of our neighbours to-morrow or next day, but we are rather badly off for neighbours just here--at least, for short-notice neighbours.' so saying, he disappeared through the dark doorway. the latter statement was true enough, for jawleyford, though apparently such a fine open-hearted, sociable sort of man, was in reality a very quarrelsome, troublesome fellow. he quarrelled with all his neighbours in succession, generally getting through them every two or three years; and his acquaintance were divided into two classes--the best and the worst fellows under the sun. a stranger revising jawleyford after an absence of a year or two, would very likely find the best fellows of former days transformed into the worst ones of that. thus, parson hobanob, that pet victim of country caprice, would come in and go out of season like lamb or asparagus; major moustache and jawleyford would be as 'thick as thieves' one day, and at daggers drawn the next; squire squaretoes, of squaretoes house, and he, were continually kissing or cutting; and even distance--nine miles of bad road, and, of course, heavy tolls--could not keep the peace between lawyer seedywig and him. what between rows and reconciliations, jawleyford was always at work. chapter xvi the dinner [illustration] notwithstanding jawleyford's recommendation to the contrary, mr. sponge made himself an uncommon swell. he put on a desperately stiff starcher, secured in front with a large gold fox-head pin with carbuncle eyes; a fine, fancy-fronted shirt, with a slight tendency to pink, adorned with mosaic-gold-tethered studs of sparkling diamonds (or french paste, as the case might be); a white waistcoat with fancy buttons; a blue coat with bright plain ones, and a velvet collar, black tights, with broad black-and-white cranbourne-alley-looking stockings (socks rather), and patent leather pumps with gilt buckles--sponge was proud of his leg. the young ladies, too, turned out rather smart; for amelia, finding that emily was going to put on her new yellow watered silk, instead of a dyed satin she had talked of, made juliana produce her broad-laced blue satin dress out of the wardrobe in the green dressing-room, where it had been laid away in an old tablecloth; and bound her dark hair with a green-beaded wreath, which emily met by crowning herself with a chaplet of white roses. thus attired, with smiles assumed at the door, the young ladies entered the drawing-room in the full fervour of sisterly animosity. they were very much alike in size, shape, and face. they were tallish and full-figured. miss jawleyford's features being rather more strongly marked, and her eyes a shade darker than her sister's; while there was a sort of subdued air about her--the result, perhaps, of enlarged intercourse with the world--or maybe of disappointments. emily's eyes sparkled and glittered, without knowing perhaps why. dinner was presently announced. it was of the imposing order that people give their friends on a first visit, as though their appetites were larger on that day than on any other. they dined off plate; the sideboards glittered with the jawleyford arms on cups, tankards, and salvers; 'brecknel and turner's' flamed and swealed in profusion on the table; while every now and then an expiring lamp on the sideboards or brackets proclaimed the unwonted splendour of the scene, and added a flavour to the repast not contemplated by the cook. the room, which was large and lofty, being but rarely used, had a cold, uncomfortable feel; and, if it hadn't been for the looks of the thing, jawleyford would, perhaps, as soon that they had dined in the little breakfast parlour. still there was everything very smart; spigot in full fig, with a shirt frill nearly tickling his nose, an acre of white waistcoat, and glorious calves swelling within his gauze-silk stockings. the improvised footman went creaking about, as such gentlemen generally do. the style was perhaps better than the repast: still they had turtle-soup (shell and tortoise, to be sure, but still turtle-soup); while the wines were supplied by the well-known firm of 'wintle & co.' jawleyford sank where he got it, and pretended that it had been 'ages' in his cellar: 'he really had such a stock that he thought he should never get through it'--to wit, two dozen old port at _s._ a dozen, and one dozen at _s._; two dozen pale sherry at _s._, and one dozen brown ditto at _s._; three bottles of bucellas, of the 'finest quality imported,' at _s._ a dozen; lisbon 'rich and dry,' at _s._; and some marvellous creaming champagne at _s._, in which they were indulging when he made the declaration: 'don't wait of me, my dear mr. sponge!' exclaimed jawleyford, holding up a long needle-case of a glass with the jawleyford crests emblazoned about; 'don't wait of me, pray,' repeated he, as spigot finished dribbling the froth into sponge's glass; and jawleyford, with a flourishing bow and waive of his empty needle-case, drank mr. sponge's very good health, adding, 'i'm _extremely_ happy to see you at jawleyford court.' it was then jawleyford's turn to have a little froth; and having sucked it up with the air of a man drinking nectar, he set down his glass with a shake of the head, saying: 'there's no such wine as that to be got now-a-days.' 'capital wine!--excellent!' exclaimed sponge, who was a better judge of ale than of champagne. 'pray, where might you get it?' 'impossible to say!--impossible to say!' replied jawleyford, throwing up his hands with a shake, and shrugging his shoulders. 'i have such a stock of wine as is really quite ridiculous.' '_quite_ ridiculous,' thought spigot, who, by the aid of a false key, had been through the cellar. except the 'shell and tortoise' and 'wintle,' the estate supplied the repast. the carp was out of the home-pond; the tench, or whatever it was, was out of the mill-pond; the mutton was from the farm; the carrot-and-turnip-and-beet-bedaubed stewed beef was from ditto; while the garden supplied the vegetables that luxuriated in the massive silver side-dishes. watson's gun furnished the old hare and partridges that opened the ball of the second course; and tarts, jellies, preserves, and custards made their usual appearances. some first-growth chateaux margaux 'wintle,' again at _s._, in very richly cut decanters accompanied the old _s._ port; and apples, pears, nuts, figs, preserved fruits, occupied the splendid green-and-gold dessert set. everything, of course, was handed about--an ingenious way of tormenting a person that has 'dined.' the ladies sat long, mrs. jawleyford taking three glasses of port (when she could get it); and it was a quarter to eight when they rose from the table. jawleyford then moved an adjournment to the fire; which sponge gladly seconded, for he had never been warm since he came into the house, the heat from the fires seeming to go up the chimneys. spigot set them a little round table, placing the port and claret upon it, and bringing them a plate of biscuits in lieu of the dessert. he then reduced the illumination on the table, and extinguished such of the lamps as had not gone out of themselves. having cast an approving glance around, and seen that they had what he considered right, he left them to their own devices. 'do you drink port or claret, mr. sponge?' asked jawleyford, preparing to push whichever he preferred over to him. 'i'll take a little port, _first_, if you please,' replied our friend--as much as to say, 'i'll finish off with claret.' 'you'll find that very good, i expect,' said mr. jawleyford, passing the bottle to him; 'it's ' wine--very rare wine to get now--was a very rich fruity wine, and was a long time before it came into drinking. connoisseurs would give any money for it.' 'it has still a good deal of body,' observed sponge, turning off a glass and smacking his lips, at the same time holding the glass up to the candle to see the oily mark it made on the side. 'good sound wine--good sound wine,' said mr. jawleyford. 'have plenty lighter, if you like.' the light wine was made by watering the strong. 'oh no, thank you,' replied mr. sponge, 'oh no, thank you. i like good strong military port.' 'so do i,' said mr. jawleyford, 'so do i; only unfortunately it doesn't like me--am obliged to drink claret. when i was in the bumperkin yeomanry we drank nothing but port.' and then jawleyford diverged into a long rambling dissertation on messes and cavalry tactics, which nearly sent mr. sponge asleep. 'where did you say the hounds are to-morrow?' at length asked he, after mr. jawleyford had talked himself out. 'to-morrow,' repeated mr. jawleyford, thoughtfully, 'to-morrow--they don't hunt to-morrow--not one of their days--next day. scrambleford green--scrambleford green--no, no, i'm wrong--dundleton tower--dundleton tower.' 'how far is that from here?' asked mr. sponge. 'oh, ten miles--say ten miles,' replied mr. jawleyford. it was sometimes ten, and sometimes fifteen, depending upon whether mr. jawleyford wanted the party to go or not. these elastic places, however, are common in all countries--to sight-seers as well as to hunters. 'close by--close by,' one day. 'oh! a lo-o-ng way from here,' another. it is difficult, for parties who have nothing in common, to drive a conversation, especially when each keeps jibbing to get upon a private subject of his own. jawleyford was all for sounding sponge as to where he came from, and the situation of his property; for as yet, it must be remembered, he knew nothing of our friend, save what he had gleaned at laverick wells, where certainly all parties concurred in placing him high on the list of 'desirables,' while sponge wanted to talk about hunting, the meets of the hounds, and hear what sort of a man lord scamperdale was. so they kept playing at cross-purposes, without either getting much out of the other. jawleyford's intimacy with lord scamperdale seemed to have diminished with propinquity, for he now no longer talked of him--'scamperdale this, and scamperdale that--scamperdale, with whom he could do anything he liked'; but he called him 'my lord scamperdale,' and spoke of him in a reverent and becoming way. distance often lends boldness to the tongue, as the poet campbell says it: lends enchantment to the view, and robes the mountain in its azure hue. there are few great men who haven't a dozen people, at least, who 'keep them right,' as they call it. to hear some of the creatures talk, one would fancy a lord was a lunatic as a matter of course. spigot at last put an end to their efforts by announcing that 'tea and coffee were ready!' just as mr. sponge buzzed his bottle of port. they then adjourned from the gloom of the large oak-wainscoted dining-room, to the effulgent radiance of the well-lit, highly gilt, drawing-room, where our fair friends had commenced talking mr. sponge over as soon as they retired from the dining-room. chapter xvii the tea 'and what do you think of _him_?' asked mamma. 'oh, i think he's very well,' replied emily gaily. 'i should say he was very _toor_-lerable,' drawled miss jawleyford, who reckoned herself rather a judge, and indeed had had some experience of gentlemen. '_tolerable_, my dear!' rejoined mrs. jawleyford, 'i should say he's very well--rather _distingué_, indeed.' 'i shouldn't say _that_,' replied miss jawleyford; 'his height and figure are certainly in his favour, but he isn't quite my idea of a gentleman. he is evidently on good terms with himself; but i should say, if it wasn't for his forwardness, he'd be awkward and uneasy.' 'he's a fox-hunter, you know,' observed emily. 'well, but i don't know that that should make him different to other people,' rejoined her sister. 'captain curzon, and mr. lancaster, and mr. preston, were all fox-hunters; but they didn't stare, and blurt, and kick their legs about, as this man does.' 'oh, you are so fastidious!' rejoined her mamma; 'you must take men as you find them.' 'i wonder where he lives?' observed emily, who was quite ready to take our friend as he was. 'i wonder where he _does_ live?' chimed in mrs. jawleyford, for the suddenness of the descent had given them no time for inquiry. 'somebody said manchester,' observed miss jawleyford drily. 'so much the better,' observed mrs. jawleyford, 'for then he is sure to have plenty of money.' 'law, ma! but you don't s'pose pa would ever allow such a thing,' retorted miss, recollecting her papa's frequent exhortations to them to look high. 'if he's a landowner,' observed mrs. jawleyford 'we'll soon find him out in _burke_. emily, my dear,' added she, 'just go into your pa's room, and bring me the _commoners_--you'll find it on the large table between the _peerage_ and the _wellington despatches_.' emily tripped away to do as she was bid. the fair messenger presently returned, bearing both volumes, richly bound and lettered, with the jawleyford crests studded down the backs, and an immense coat of arms on the side. a careful search among the s's produced nothing in the shape of sponge. 'not likely, i should think,' observed miss jawleyford, with a toss of her head, as her mamma announced the fact. 'well, never mind,' replied mrs. jawleyford, seeing that only one of the girls could have him, and that one was quite ready; 'never mind, i dare say i shall be able to find out something from himself,' and so they dropped the subject. in due time in swaggered our hero, himself, kicking his legs about as men in tights or tops generally do. 'may i give you tea or coffee?' asked emily, in the sweetest tone possible, as she raised her finely turned gloveless arm towards where the glittering appendages stood on the large silver tray. 'neither, thank you,' said sponge, throwing himself into an easy-chair beside mrs. jawleyford. he then crossed his legs, and cocking up a toe for admiration, began to yawn. 'you feel tired after your journey?' observed mrs. jawleyford. 'no, i'm not,' said sponge, yawning again--a good yawn this time. miss jawleyford looked significantly at her sister--a long pause ensued. 'i knew a family of your name,' at length observed mrs. jawleyford, in the simple sort of way women begin pumping men. 'i knew a family of your name,' repeated she, seeing sponge was half asleep--'the sponges of toadey hall. pray are they any relation of yours?' 'oh--ah--yes,' blurted sponge: 'i suppose they are. the fact is--the--haw--sponges--haw--are a rather large family--haw. meet them almost everywhere.' 'you don't live in the same county, perhaps?' observed mrs. jawleyford. 'no, we don't,' replied he, with a yawn. 'is yours a good hunting country?' asked jawleyford, thinking to sound him in another way. 'no; a devilish bad 'un,' replied sponge, adding with a grunt, 'or i wouldn't be here.' 'who hunts it?' asked mr. jawleyford. 'why, as to that--haw,'--replied sponge, stretching out his arms and legs to their fullest extent, and yawning most vigorously--'why, as to that, i can hardly say which you would call my country, for i have to do with so many; but i should say, of all the countries i am--haw--connected with--haw--tom scratch's is the worst.' mr. jawleyford looked at mrs. jawleyford as a counsel who thinks he has made a grand hit looks at a jury before he sits down, and said no more. mrs. jawleyford looked as innocent as most jurymen do after one of these forensic exploits.--mr. sponge beginning his nasal recreations, mrs. jawleyford motioned the ladies off to bed--mr. sponge and his host presently followed. chapter xviii the evening's reflections 'well, i think he'll do,' said our friend to himself, as having reached his bedroom, in accordance with modern fashion, he applied a cedar match to the now somewhat better burnt-up fire, for the purpose of lighting a cigar--a cigar! in the state-bedroom of jawleyford court. having divested himself of his smart blue coat and white waistcoat, and arrayed himself in a grey dressing-gown, he adjusted the loose cushions of a recumbent chair, and soused himself into its luxurious depths for a 'think over.' 'he has money,' mused sponge, between the copious whiffs of the cigar, 'splendid style he lives in, to be sure' (puff), continued he, after another long draw, as he adjusted the ash at the end of the cigar. 'two men in livery' (puff), 'one out, can't be done for nothing' (puff). 'what a profusion of plate, too!' (whiff)--'declare i never' (puff) 'saw such' (whiff, puff) 'magnificence in the whole course of my' (whiff, puff) 'life.' the cigar being then well under way, he sucked and puffed and whiffed in an apparently vacant stupor, his legs crossed, and his eyes fixed on a projecting coal between the lower bars, as if intent on watching the alternations of flame and gas; though in reality he was running all the circumstances through his mind, comparing them with his past experience, and speculating on the probable result of the present adventure. he had seen a good deal of service in the matrimonial wars, and was entitled to as many bars as the most distinguished peninsular veteran. no woman with money, or the reputation of it, ever wanted an offer while he was in the way, for he would accommodate her at the second or third interview: and always pressed for an immediate fulfilment, lest the 'cursed lawyers' should interfere and interrupt their felicity. somehow or other, the 'cursed lawyers' always had interfered; and as sure as they walked in, mr. sponge walked out. he couldn't bear the idea of their coarse, inquisitive inquiries. he was too much of a gentleman! love, light as air, at sight of human ties spreads his light wings and in a moment flies. so mr. sponge fled, consoling himself with the reflection that there was no harm done, and hoping for 'better luck next time.' he roved from flower to flower like a butterfly, touching here, alighting there, but always passing away with apparent indifference. he knew if he couldn't square matters at short notice, he would have no better chance with an extension of time; so, if he saw things taking the direction of inquiry he would just laugh the offer off, pretend he was only feeling his way--saw he was not acceptable--sorry for it--and away he would go to somebody else. he looked upon a woman much in the light of a horse; if she didn't suit one man, she would another, and there was no harm in trying. so he puffed and smoked, and smoked and puffed--gliding gradually into wealth and prosperity. [illustration: mr. sponge as he appeared in the best bedroom] a second cigar assisted his comprehension considerably--just as a second bottle of wine not only helps men through their difficulties, but shows them the way to unbounded wealth. many of the bright railway schemes of former days, we make no doubt, were concocted under the inspiring influence of the bottle. sponge now saw everything as he wished. all the errors of his former days were apparent to him. he saw how indiscreet it was confiding in miss trickery's cousin, the major; why the rich widow at chesterfield had _chasséed_ him; and how he was done out of the beautiful miss rainbow, with her beautiful estate, with its lake, its heronry, and its perpetual advowson. other mishaps he also considered. having disposed of the past, he then turned his attention to the future. here were two beautiful girls apparently full of money, between whom there wasn't the toss-up of a halfpenny for choice. most exemplary parents, too, who didn't seem to care a farthing about money. he then began speculating on what the girls would have. 'great house--great establishment--great estate, doubtless. why, confound it,' continued he, casting his heavy eye lazily around, 'here's a room as big as a field in a cramped country! can't have less than fifty thousand a-piece, i should say, at the least. jawleyford, to be sure, is young,' thought he; 'may live a long time' (puff). 'if mrs. j. were to die (curse--the cigar's burnt my lips'), added he, throwing the remnant into the fire, and rolling out of the chair to prepare for turning into bed. if any one had told sponge that there was a rich papa and mamma on the look-out merely for amiable young men to bestow their fair daughters upon, he would have laughed them to scorn, and said, 'why, you fool, they are only laughing at you'; or 'don't you see they are playing you off against somebody else?' but our hero, like other men, was blind where he himself was concerned, and concluded that he was the exception to the general rule. mr. and mrs. jawleyford had their consultation too. 'well,' said mr. jawleyford, seating himself on the high wire fender immediately below a marble bust of himself on the mantelpiece; 'i think he'll do.' 'oh, no doubt,' replied mrs. jawleyford, who never saw any difficulty in the way of a match; 'i should say he is a very nice young man,' continued she. 'rather brusque in his manner, perhaps,' observed jawleyford, who was quite the 'lady' himself. 'i wonder what he was?' added he, fingering away at his whiskers. 'he's rich, i've no doubt,' replied mrs. jawleyford. 'what makes you think so?' asked her loving spouse. 'i don't know,' replied mrs. jawleyford; 'somehow i feel certain he is--but i can't tell why--all fox-hunters are.' 'i don't know that,' replied jawleyford, who knew some very poor ones. 'i should like to know what he has,' continued jawleyford musingly, looking up at the deeply corniced ceiling as if he were calculating the chances among the filagree ornaments of the centre. 'a hundred thousand, perhaps,' suggested mrs. jawleyford, who only knew two sums--fifty and a hundred thousand. 'that's a vast of money,' replied jawleyford, with a slight shake of the head. 'fifty at least, then,' suggested mrs. jawleyford, coming down half-way at once. 'well, if he has that, he'll do,' rejoined jawleyford, who also had come down considerably in his expectations since the vision of his railway days, at whose bright light he had burnt his fingers. 'he was said to have an immense fortune--i forget how much--at laverick wells,' observed mrs. jawleyford. 'well, we'll see,' said jawleyford, adding, 'i suppose either of the girls will be glad enough to take him?' 'trust them for that,' replied mrs. jawleyford, with a knowing smile and nod of the head: 'trust them for that,' repeated she. 'though amelia does turn up her nose and pretend to be fine, rely upon it she only wants to be sure that he's worth having.' 'emily seems ready enough, at all events,' observed jawleyford. 'she'll never get the chance,' observed mrs. jawleyford. 'amelia is a very prudent girl, and won't commit herself, but she knows how to manage the men.' 'well, then,' said jawleyford, with a hearty yawn, 'i suppose we may as well go to bed.' so saying, he took his candle and retired. chapter xix the wet day when the dirty slip-shod housemaid came in the morning with her blacksmith's-looking tool-box to light mr. sponge's fire, a riotous winter's day was in the full swing of its gloomy, deluging power. the wind howled, and roared, and whistled, and shrieked, playing a sort of æolian harp amongst the towers, pinnacles, and irregular castleisations of the house; while the old casements rattled and shook, as though some one were trying to knock them in. 'hang the day!' muttered sponge from beneath the bedclothes. 'what the deuce is a man to do with himself on such a day as this, in the country?' thinking how much better he would be flattening his nose against the coffee-room window of the bantam, or strolling through the horse-dealers' stables in piccadilly or oxford street. presently the over-night chair before the fire, with the picture of jawleyford in the bumperkin yeomanry, as seen through the parted curtains of the spacious bed, recalled his over-night speculations, and he began to think that perhaps he was just as well where he was. he then 'backed' his ideas to where he had left off, and again began speculating on the chances of his position. 'deuced fine girls,' said he, 'both of 'em: wonder what he'll give 'em down?'--recurring to his over-night speculations, and hitting upon the point at which he had burnt his lips with the end of the cigar--namely, jawleyford's youth, and the possibility of his marrying again if mrs. jawleyford were to die. 'it won't do to raise up difficulties for one's self, however,' mused he; so, kicking off the bedclothes, he raised himself instead, and making for a window, began to gaze upon his expectant territory. it was a terrible day; the ragged, spongy clouds drifted heavily along, and the lowering gloom was only enlivened by the occasional driving rush of the tempest. earth and sky were pretty much the same grey, damp, disagreeable hue. 'well,' said sponge to himself, having gazed sufficiently on the uninviting landscape, 'it's just as well it's not a hunting day--should have got terribly soused. must get through the time as well as i can--girls to talk to--house to see. hope i've brought my _mogg_,' added he, turning to his portmanteau, and diving for his _ten thousand cab fares_. having found the invaluable volume, his almost constant study, he then proceeded to array himself in what he considered the most captivating apparel; a new wide-sleeved dock-tail coatee, with outside pockets placed very low, faultless drab trousers, a buff waistcoat, with a cream-coloured once-round silk tie, secured by red cornelian cross-bars set in gold, for a pin. thus attired, with _mogg_ in his pocket, he swaggered down to the breakfast-room, which he hit off by means of listening at the doors till he heard the sound of voices within. mrs. jawleyford and the young ladies were all smiles and smirks, and there were no symptoms of miss jawleyford's _hauteur_ perceptible. they all came forward and shook hands with our friend most cordially. mr. jawleyford, too, was all flourish and compliment; now tilting at the weather, now congratulating himself upon having secured mr. sponge's society in the house. that leisurely meal of protracted ease, a country-house breakfast, being at length accomplished, and the ladies having taken their departure, mr. jawleyford looked out on the terrace, upon which the angry rain was beating the standing water into bubbles, and observing that there was no chance of getting out, asked mr. sponge if he could amuse himself in the house. 'oh yes,' replied he, 'got a book in my pocket.' 'ah, i suppose--the _new monthly_, perhaps?' observed mr. jawleyford. 'no,' replied sponge. 'dizzey's _life of bentinck_, then, i dare say,' suggested jawleyford; adding, 'i'm reading it myself.' 'no, nor that either,' replied sponge, with a knowing look; 'a much more useful work, i assure you,' added he, pulling the little purple-backed volume out of his pocket, and reading the gilt letters on the back: '_mogg's ten thousand cab fares_. price one shilling!' 'indeed,' exclaimed mr. jawleyford, 'well, i should never have guessed that.' 'i dare say not,' replied sponge, 'i dare say not, it's a book i never travel without. it's invaluable in town, and you may study it to great advantage in the country. with _mogg_ in my hand, i can almost fancy myself in both places at once. omnibus guide,' added he, turning over the leaves, and reading, 'acton five, from the end of oxford street and the edger road--see ealing; edmonton seven, from shoreditch church--"green man and still" oxford street--shepherd's bush and starch green, bank, and whitechapel--tooting--totteridge--wandsworth; in short, every place near town. then the cab fares are truly invaluable; you have ten thousand of them here,' said he, tapping the book, 'and you may calculate as many more for yourself as ever you like. nothing to do but sit in an arm-chair on a wet day like this, and say, if from the mile end turnpike to the "castle" on the kingsland road is so much, how much should it be to the "yorkshire stingo," or pine-apple-place, maida vale? and you measure by other fares till you get as near the place you want as you can, if it isn't set down in black and white to your hand in the book.' 'just so,' said jawleyford, 'just so. it must be a very useful work indeed, very useful work. i'll get one--i'll get one. how much did you say it was--a guinea? a guinea?' 'a shilling,' replied sponge, adding, 'you may have mine for a guinea if you like.' 'by jove, what a day it is!' observed jawleyford, turning the conversation, as the wind dashed the hard sleet against the window like a shower of pebbles. 'lucky to have a good house over one's head, such weather; and, by the way, that reminds me, i'll show you my new gallery and collection of curiosities--pictures, busts, marbles, antiques, and so on; there'll be fires on, and we shall be just as well there as here.' so saying, jawleyford led the way through a dark, intricate, shabby passage, to where a much gilded white door, with a handsome crimson curtain over it announced the entrance to something better. 'now,' said mr. jawleyford, bowing as he threw open the door, and motioned, or rather flourished, his guest to enter--'now,' said he, 'you shall see what you shall see.' mr. sponge entered accordingly, and found himself at the end of a gallery fifty feet by twenty, and fourteen high, lighted by skylights and small windows round the top. there were fires in handsome caen-stone chimney-pieced fireplaces on either side, a large timepiece and an organ at the far end, and sundry white basins scattered about, catching the drops from the skylights. 'hang the rain!' exclaimed jawleyford, as he saw it trickling over a river scene of van goyen's (gentlemen in a yacht, and figures in boats), and drip, drip, dripping on to the head of an infant bacchus below. 'he wants an umbrella, that young gentleman,' observed sponge, as jawleyford proceeded to dry him with his handkerchief. 'fine thing,' observed jawleyford, starting off to a side, and pointing to it; 'fine thing--italian marble--by frère--cost a vast of money--was offered three hundred for it. are you a judge of these things?' asked jawleyford; 'are you a judge of these things?' 'a little,' replied sponge, 'a little'; thinking he might as well see what his intended father-in-law's personal property was like. 'there's a beautiful thing!' observed jawleyford, pointing to another group. 'i picked that up for a mere nothing--twenty guineas--worth two hundred at least. lipsalve, the great picture-dealer in gammon passage, offered me murillo's "adoration of the virgin and shepherds," for which he showed me a receipt for a hundred and eighty-five, for it.' 'indeed!' replied sponge, 'what is it?' 'it's a bacchanal group, after poussin, sculptured by marin. i bought it at lord breakdown's sale; it happened to be a wet day--much such a day as this--and things went for nothing. this you'll know, i presume?' observed jawleyford, laying his hand on a life-size bust of diana, in italian marble. 'no, i don't,' replied sponge. 'no!' exclaimed jawleyford; 'i thought everybody had known this: this is my celebrated "diana," by noindon--one of the finest things in the world. louis philippe sent an agent over to this country expressly to buy it.' 'why didn't you sell it him?' asked sponge. 'didn't want the money,' replied jawleyford, 'didn't want the money. in addition to which, though a king, he was a bit of a screw, and we couldn't agree upon terms. this,' observed jawleyford, 'is a vase of the cinque cento period--a very fine thing; and this,' laying his hand on the crown of a much frizzed, barber's-window-looking bust, 'of course you know?' 'no, i don't,' replied sponge. 'no!' exclaimed jawleyford, in astonishment. 'no,' repeated sponge. 'look again, my dear fellow; you _must_ know it,' observed jawleyford. 'i suppose it's meant for you,' at last replied sponge, seeing his host's anxiety. '_meant!_ my dear fellow; why, don't you think it like?' 'why, there's a resemblance, certainly,' said sponge, 'now that one knows. but i shouldn't have guessed it was you.' 'oh, my dear mr. sponge!' exclaimed jawleyford, in a tone of mortification, 'do you _really_ mean to say you don't think it like?' 'why, yes, it's like,' replied sponge, seeing which way his host wanted it; 'it's like, certainly; the want of expression in the eye makes such a difference between a bust and a picture.' 'true,' replied jawleyford, comforted--'true,' repeated he, looking affectionately at it; 'i should say it was very like--like as anything can be. you are rather too much above it there, you see; sit down here,' continued he, leading sponge to an ottoman surrounding a huge model of the column in the place vendôme, that stood in the middle of the room--'sit down here now, and look, and say if you don't think it like?' [illustration: 'this, of course, you know?'] 'oh, _very_ like,' replied sponge, as soon as he had seated himself. 'i see it now, directly; the mouth is yours to a t.' 'and the chin. it's my chin, isn't it?' asked jawleyford. 'yes; and the nose, and the forehead, and the whiskers, and the hair, and the shape of the head, and everything. oh! i see it now as plain as a pikestaff,' observed sponge. 'i thought you would,' rejoined jawleyford comforted--'i thought you would; it's generally considered an excellent likeness--so it should, indeed, for it cost a vast of money--fifty guineas! to say nothing of the lotus-leafed pedestal it's on. that's another of me,' continued jawleyford, pointing to a bust above the fireplace, on the opposite side of the gallery; 'done some years since--ten or twelve, at least--not so like as this, but still like. that portrait up there, just above the "finding of moses," by poussin,' pointing to a portrait of himself attitudinizing, with his hand on his hip, and frock-coat well thrown back, so as to show his figure and the silk lining to advantage, 'was done the other day, by a very rising young artist; though he has hardly done me justice, perhaps--particularly in the nose, which he's made far too thick and heavy; and the right hand, if anything, is rather clumsy; otherwise the colouring is good, and there is a considerable deal of taste in the arrangement of the background, and so on.' 'what book is it you are pointing to?' asked sponge. 'it's not a book,' replied mr. jawleyford, 'it's a plan--a plan of this gallery, in fact. i am supposed to be giving the final order for the erection of the very edifice we are now in.' 'and a very handsome building it is,' observed sponge, thinking he would make it a shooting-gallery when he got it. 'yes, it's a handsome thing in its way,' assented jawleyford; 'better if it had been water-tight, perhaps,' added he, as a big drop splashed upon the crown of his head. 'the contents must be very valuable,' observed sponge. 'very valuable,' replied jawleyford. 'there's a thing i gave two hundred and fifty guineas for--that vase. it's of parian marble, of the cinque cento period, beautifully sculptured in a dance of bacchanals, arabesques, and chimera figures; it was considered cheap. those fine monkeys in dresden china, playing on musical instruments, were forty; those bronzes of scaramouches on ormolu plinths were seventy; that ormolu clock, of the style of louis quinze, by le roy, was eighty; those sèvres vases were a hundred--mounted, you see, in ormolu, with lily candelabra for ten lights. the handles,' continued he, drawing sponge's attention to them, 'are very handsome--composed of satyrs holding festoons of grapes and flowers, which surround the neck of the vase; on the sides are pastoral subjects, painted in the highest style--nothing can be more beautiful or more chaste.' 'nothing,' assented sponge. 'the pictures i should think are most valuable,' observed jawleyford. 'my friend lord sparklebury said to me the last time he was here--he's now in italy, increasing his collection--"jawleyford, old boy," said he, for we are very intimate--just like brothers, in fact; "jawleyford, old boy, i wonder whether your collection or mine would fetch most money, if they were christie-&-manson'd." "oh, your lordship," said i, "your guidos, and ostades, and poussins, and velasquez, are not to be surpassed." "true," replied his lordship, "they are fine--very fine; but you have the murillos. i'd like to give you a good round sum," added he, "to pick out half-a-dozen pictures out of your gallery." do you understand pictures?' continued jawleyford, turning short on his friend sponge. 'a little,' replied sponge, in a tone that might mean either yes or no--a great deal or nothing at all. jawleyford then took him and worked him through his collection--talked of light and shade, and tone, and depth of colouring, tints, and pencillings; and put sponge here and there and everywhere to catch the light (or rain, as the case might be); made him convert his hand into an opera-glass, and occasionally put his head between his legs to get an upside-down view--a feat that sponge's equestrian experience made him pretty well up to. so they looked, and admired, and criticized, till spigot's all-important figure came looming up the gallery and announced that luncheon was ready. 'bless me!' exclaimed jawleyford, pulling a most diminutive geneva watch, hung with pencils, pistol-keys, and other curiosities, out of his pocket; 'bless me, who'd have thought it? one o'clock, i declare! well, if this doesn't prove the value of a gallery on a wet day. i don't know what does. however,' said he, 'we must tear ourselves away for the present, and go and see what the ladies are about.' if ever a man may be excused for indulging in luncheon, it certainly is on a pouring wet day (when he eats for occupation), or when he is making love; both which excuses mr. sponge had to offer, so he just sat down and ate as heartily as the best of the party, not excepting his host himself, who was an excellent hand at luncheon. jawleyford tried to get him back to the gallery after luncheon, but a look from his wife intimated that sponge was wanted elsewhere, so he quietly saw him carried off to the music-room; and presently the notes of the 'grand piano,' and full clear voices of his daughters, echoing along the passage, intimated that they were trying what effect music would have upon him. when mrs. jawleyford looked in about an hour after, she found mr. sponge sitting over the fire with his _mogg_ in his hand, and the young ladies with their laps full of company-work, keeping up a sort of crossfire of conversation in the shape of question and answer. mrs. jawleyford's company making matters worse, they soon became tediously agreeable. in course of time, jawleyford entered the room, with: 'my dear mr. sponge, your groom has come up to know about your horse to-morrow. i told him it was utterly impossible to think of hunting, but he says he must have his orders from you. i should say,' added jawleyford, 'it is _quite_ out of the question--madness to think of it; much better in the house, such weather.' 'i don't know that,' replied sponge, 'the rain's come down, and though the country will ride heavy, i don't see why we shouldn't have sport after it.' 'but the glass is falling, and the wind's gone round the wrong way; the moon changed this morning--everything, in short, indicates continued wet,' replied jawleyford. 'the rivers are all swollen, and the low grounds under water; besides, my dear fellow, consider the distance--consider the distance; sixteen miles, if it's a yard.' 'what, dundleton tower!' exclaimed sponge, recollecting that jawleyford had said it was only ten the night before. 'sixteen miles, and bad road,' replied jawleyford. 'the deuce it is!' muttered sponge; adding, 'well, i'll go and see my groom, at all events.' so saying, he rang the bell as if the house was his own, and desired spigot to show him the way to his servant. leather, of course, was in the servants' hall, refreshing himself with cold meat and ale, after his ride up from lucksford. finding that he had ridden the hack up, he desired leather to leave him there. 'tell the groom i _must_ have him put up,' said sponge; 'and you ride the chestnut on in the morning. how far is it to dundleton tower?' asked he. 'twelve or thirteen miles, they say, from here,' replied leather; 'nine or ten from lucksford.' 'well, that'll do,' said sponge; 'you tell the groom here to have the hack saddled for me at nine o'clock, and you ride multum in parvo quietly on, either to the meet or till i overtake you.' 'but how am i to get back to lucksford?' asked leather, cocking up a foot to show how thinly he was shod. 'oh, just as you can,' replied sponge; 'get the groom here to set you down with his master's hacks. i dare say they haven't been out to-day, and it'll do them good.' so saying, mr. sponge left his valuable servant to do the best he could for himself. having returned to the music-room, with the aid of an old county map mr. sponge proceeded to trace his way to dundleton tower; aided, or rather retarded, by mr. jawleyford, who kept pointing out all sorts of difficulties, till, if mr. sponge had followed his advice, he would have made eighteen or twenty miles of the distance. sponge, however, being used to scramble about strange countries, saw the place was to be accomplished in ten or eleven. jawleyford was sure he would lose himself, and sponge was equally confident that he wouldn't. at length the glad sound of the gong put an end to all further argument; and the inmates of jawleyford court retired, candle in hand, to their respective apartments, to adorn for a repetition of the yesterday's spread, with the addition of the rev. mr. hobanob's company, to say grace, and praise the 'wintle.' an appetiteless dinner was succeeded by tea and music, as before. the three elegant french clocks in the drawing-room being at variance, one being three-quarters of an hour before the slowest, and twenty minutes before the next, mr. hobanob (much to the horror of jawleyford) having nearly fallen asleep with his sèvres coffee-cup in his hand, at last drew up his great silver watch by its jack-chain, and finding it was a quarter past ten, prepared to decamp--taking as affectionate a leave of the ladies as if he had been going to china. he was followed by mr. jawleyford, to see him pocket his pumps, and also by mr. sponge, to see what sort of a night it was. the sky was clear, stars sparkled in the firmament, and a young crescent moon shone with silvery brightness o'er the scene. 'that'll do,' said sponge, as he eyed it; 'no haze there. come,' added he to his papa-in-law, as hobanob's steps died out on the terrace, 'you'd better go to-morrow.' 'can't,' replied jawleyford; 'go next day, perhaps--scrambleford green--better place--much. you may lock up,' said he, turning to spigot, who, with both footmen, was in attendance to see mr. hobanob off; 'you may lock up, and tell the cook to have breakfast ready at nine precisely.' 'oh, never mind about breakfast for me,' interposed sponge, 'i'll have some tea or coffee and chops, or boiled ham and eggs, or whatever's going, in my bedroom,' said he; 'so never mind altering your hour for me.' 'oh, but my dear fellow, we'll all breakfast together' (jawleyford had no notion of standing two breakfasts), 'we'll all breakfast together,' said he; 'no trouble, i assure you--rather the contrary. say half-past eight--half-past eight. spigot! to a minute, mind.' and sponge, seeing there was no help for it, bid the ladies good night, and tumbled off to bed with little expectation of punctuality. [illustration: mr. sponge's rapid breakfast] chapter xx the f.h.h. nor was sponge wrong in his conjecture, for it was a quarter to nine ere spigot appeared with the massive silver urn, followed by the train-band bold, bearing the heavy implements of breakfast. then, though the young ladies were punctual, smiling, and affable as usual, mrs. jawleyford was absent, and she had the keys; so it was nearly nine before mr. sponge got his fork into his first mutton chop. jawleyford was not exactly pleased; he thought it didn't look well for a young man to prefer hunting to the society of his lovely and accomplished daughters. hunting was all very well occasionally, but it did not do to make a business of it. this, however, he kept to himself. 'you'll have a fine day, my dear mr. sponge,' said he, extending a hand, as he found our friend brown-booted and red-coated, working away at the breakfast. 'yes,' said sponge, munching away for hard life. in less than ten minutes, he managed to get as much down as, with the aid of a knotch of bread that he pocketed, he thought would last him through the day; and, with a hasty adieu, he hurried off to find the stables, to get his hack. the piebald was saddled, bridled, and turned round in the stall; for all servants that are worth anything like to further hunting operations. with the aid of the groom's instructions, who accompanied him out of the courtyard, sponge was enabled to set off at a hard canter, cheered by the groom's observation, that 'he thought he would be there in time.' on, on he went; now speculating on a turn; now pulling a scratch map he had made on a bit of paper out of his waistcoat-pocket; now inquiring the name of any place he saw of any person he met. so he proceeded for five or six miles without much difficulty; the road, though not all turnpike, being mainly over good sound township ones. it was at the village of swineley, with its chubby-towered church and miserable hut-like cottages, that his troubles were to begin. he had two sharp turns to make--to ride through a straw-yard, and leap over a broken-down wall at the corner of a cottage--to get into swaithing green lane, and so cut off an angle of two miles. the road then became a bridle one, and was, like all bridle ones, very plain to those who know them, and very puzzling to those who don't. it was evidently a little-frequented road; and what with looking out for footmarks (now nearly obliterated by the recent rains) and speculating on what queer corners of the fields the gates would be in, mr. sponge found it necessary to reduce his pace to a very moderate trot. still he had made good way; and supposing they gave a quarter-of-an-hour's law, and he had not been deceived as to distance, he thought he should get to the meet about the time. his horse, too, would be there, and perhaps lord scamperdale might give a little extra law on that account. he then began speculating on what sort of a man his lordship was, and the probable nature of his reception. he began to wish that jawleyford had accompanied him, to introduce him. not that sponge was shy, but still he thought that jawleyford's presence would do him good. lord scamperdale's hunt was not the most polished in the world. the hounds and the horses were a good deal better bred than the men. of course his lordship gave the _tone_ to the whole; and being a coarse, broad, barge-built sort of man, he had his clothes to correspond, and looked like a drayman in scarlet. he wore a great round flat-brimmed hat, which being adopted by the hunt generally, procured it the name of the 'f.h.h.,' or 'flat hat hunt.' our readers, we dare say, have noticed it figuring away, in the list of hounds during the winter, along with the 'h.h.s,' 'v.w.h.s,' and other initialized packs. his lordship's clothes were of the large, roomy, baggy, abundant order, with great pockets, great buttons, and lots of strings flying out. instead of tops, he sported leather leggings, which at a distance gave him the appearance of riding with his trousers up to his knees. these the hunt too adopted; and his 'particular,' jack (jack spraggon), the man whom he mounted, and who was made much in his own mould, sported, like his patron, a pair of great broad-rimmed, tortoise-shell spectacles of considerable power. jack was always at his lordship's elbow; and it was 'jack' this, 'jack' that, 'jack' something, all day long. but we must return to mr. sponge, whom we left working his way through the intricate fields. at last he got through them, and into red pool common, which, by leaving the windmill to the right, he cleared pretty cleverly, and entered upon a district still wilder and drearier than any he had traversed. peewits screamed and hovered over land that seemed to grow little but rushes and water-grasses, with occasional heather. the ground poached and splashed as he went; worst of all, time was nearly up. in vain sponge strained his eyes in search of dundleton tower. in vain he fancied every high, sky-line-breaking place in the distance was the much-wished-for spot. dundleton tower was no more a tower than it was a town, and would seem to have been christened by the rule of contrary, for it was nothing but a great flat open space, without object or incident to note it. sponge, however, was not destined to see it. as he went floundering along through an apparently interminable and almost bottomless lane, whose sunken places and deep ruts were filled with clayey water, which played the very deuce with the cords and brown boots, the light note of a hound fell on his ear, and almost at the same instant, a something that he would have taken for a dog had it not been for the note of the hound, turned, as it were, from him, and went in a contrary direction. sponge reined in the piebald, and stood transfixed. it was, indeed, the fox!--a magnificent full-brushed fellow, with a slight tendency to grey along the back, and going with the light spiry ease of an animal full of strength and running. 'i wish i mayn't ketch it,' said sponge to himself, shuddering at the idea of having headed him. it was, however, no time for thinking. the cry of hounds became more distinct--nearer and nearer they came, fuller and more melodious; but, alas! it was no music to sponge. presently the cheering of hunters was heard--'for--_rard_! for--_rard_!' and anon the rate of a whip farther back. another second, and hounds, horses, and men were in view, streaming away over the large pasture on the left. there was a high, straggling fence between sponge and the field, thick enough to prevent their identifying him, but not sufficiently high to screen him altogether. sponge pulled round the piebald, and gathered himself together like a man going to be shot. the hounds came tearing full cry to where he was; there was a breast-high scent, and every one seemed to have it. they charged the fence at a wattled pace a few yards below where he sat, and flying across the deep dirty lane, dashed full cry into the pasture beyond. 'hie back!' cried sponge. 'hie back!' trying to turn them; but instead of the piebald carrying him in front of the pack, as sponge wanted, he took to rearing, and plunging, and pawing the air. the hounds meanwhile dashed jealously on without a scent, till first one and then another feeling ashamed, gave in; and at last a general lull succeeded the recent joyous cry. awful period! terrible to any one, but dreadful to a stranger! though sponge was in the road, he well knew that no one has any business anywhere but with hounds, when a fox is astir. 'hold hard!' was now the cry, and the perspiring riders and lathered steeds came to a standstill. 'twang--twang--twang,' went a shrill horn; and a couple of whips, singling themselves out from the field, flew over the fence to where the hounds were casting. 'twang--twang--twang,' went the horn again. meanwhile sponge sat enjoying the following observations, which a westerly wind wafted into his ear. 'oh, d--n me! that man in the lane's headed the fox,' puffed one. 'who is it?' gasped another. 'tom washball!' exclaimed a third. 'heads more foxes than any man in the country,' puffed a fourth. 'always nicking and skirting,' exclaimed a fifth. 'never comes to the meet,' added a sixth. 'come on a cow to-day,' observed another. 'always chopping and changing,' added another; 'he'll come on a giraffe next.' having commenced his career with the 'f.h.h.' so inauspiciously and yet escaped detection, mr. sponge thought of letting tom washball enjoy the honours of his _faux-pas_, and of sneaking quietly home as soon as the hounds hit off the scent; but unluckily, just as they were crossing the lane, what should heave in sight, cantering along at his leisure, but the redoubtable multum in parvo, who, having got rid of old leather by bumping and thumping his leg against a gate-post, was enjoying a line of his own. 'whoay!' cried sponge, as he saw the horse quickening his pace to have a shy at the hounds as they crossed. 'who--o--a--y!' roared he, brandishing his whip, and trying to turn the piebald round; but no, the brute wouldn't answer the bit, and dreading lest, in addition to heading the fox, he should kill 'the best hound in the pack,' mr. sponge threw himself off, regardless of the mud-bath in which he lit, and caught the runaway as he tried to dart past. 'for-rard!--for-rard!--for-rard!' was again the cry, as the hounds hit off the scent; while the late pausing, panting sportsmen tackled vigorously with their steeds, and swept onward like the careering wind. mr. sponge, albeit somewhat perplexed, had still sufficient presence of mind to see the necessity of immediate action; and though he had so lately contemplated beating a retreat, the unexpected appearance of parvo altered the state of affairs. 'now or never,' said he, looking first at the disappearing field, and then for the non-appearing leather. 'hang it! i may as well see the run,' added he; so hooking the piebald on to an old stone gate-post that stood in the ragged fence, and lengthening a stirrup-leather, he vaulted into the saddle, and began lengthening the other as he went. it was one of parvo's going days; indeed, it was that that old leather and he had quarrelled about--parvo wanting to follow the hounds, while leather wanted to wait for his master. and parvo had the knack of going, as well as the occasional inclination. although such a drayhorse-looking animal, he could throw the ground behind him amazingly; and the deep-holding clay in which he now found himself was admirably suited to his short, powerful legs and enormous stride. the consequence was, that he was very soon up with the hindmost horsemen. these he soon passed, and was presently among those who ride hard when there is nothing to stop them. such time as these sportsmen could now spare from looking out ahead was devoted to sponge, whom they eyed with the utmost astonishment, as if he had dropped from the clouds. a stranger--a real out-and-out stranger--had not visited their remote regions since the days of poor nimrod. 'who could it be?' but 'the pace,' as nimrod used to say, 'was too good to inquire.' a little farther on, and sponge drew upon the great guns of the hunt--the men who ride _to_ hounds, and not _after_ them; the same who had criticized him through the fence--mr. wake, mr. fossick, parson blossomnose, mr. fyle, lord scamperdale, jack himself, and others. great was their astonishment at the apparition, and incoherent the observations they dropped as they galloped on. 'it isn't wash, after all,' whispered fyle into blossomnose's ear, as they rode through a gate together. 'no-o-o,' replied the nose, eyeing sponge intently. 'what a coat!' whispered one. 'jacket,' replied the other. 'lost his brush,' observed a third, winking at sponge's docked tail. 'he's going to ride over us all,' snapped mr. fossick, whom sponge passed at a hand-canter, as the former was blobbing and floundering about the deep ruts leading out of a turnip-field. 'he'll catch it just now,' said mr. wake, eyeing sponge drawing upon his lordship and jack, as they led the field as usual. jack being at a respectful distance behind his great patron, espied sponge first; and having taken a good stare at him through his formidable spectacles, to satisfy himself that it was nobody he knew--a stare that sponge returned as well as a man without spectacles can return the stare of one with--jack spurred his horse up to his lordship, and rising in his stirrups, shot into his ear-- 'why, here's the man on the cow!' adding, 'it isn't washey.' 'who the deuce is it then?' asked his lordship, looking over his left shoulder, as he kept galloping on in the wake of his huntsman. 'don't know,' replied jack; 'never saw him before.' 'nor i,' said his lordship, with an air as much as to say, 'it makes no matter.' his lordship, though well mounted, was not exactly on the sort of horse for the country they were in; while mr. sponge, in addition to being on the very animal for it, had the advantage of the horse having gone the first part of the run without a rider: so multum in parvo, whether mr. sponge wished it or not, insisted on being as far forward as he could get. the more sponge pulled and hauled, the more determined the horse was; till, having thrown both jack and his lordship in the rear, he made for old frostyface, the huntsman, who was riding well up to the still-flying pack. 'hold hard, sir! for god's sake, hold hard!' screamed frosty, who knew by intuition there was a horse behind, as well as he knew there was a man shooting in front, who, in all probability, had headed the fox. 'hold hard, sir!' roared he, as, yawning and boring and shaking his head, parvo dashed through the now yelping scattered pack, making straight for a stiff new gate, which he smashed through, just as a circus pony smashes through a paper hoop. 'hoo-ray!' shouted jack spraggon, on seeing the hounds were safe. 'hoo-ray for the tailor!' 'billy button, himself!' exclaimed his lordship, adding, 'never saw such a thing in my life!' 'who the deuce is he?' asked blossomnose, in the full glow of pulling-five-year-old exertion. 'don't know,' replied jack, adding, 'he's a shaver, whoever he is.' meanwhile the frightened hounds were scattered right and left. 'i'll lay a guinea he's one of those confounded waiting chaps,' observed fyle, who had been handled rather roughly by one of the tribe, who had dropped 'quite promiscuously' upon a field where he was, just as sponge had done with lord scamperdale's. 'shouldn't wonder,' replied his lordship, eyeing sponge's vain endeavours to turn the chestnut, and thinking how he would 'pitch into him' when he came up. 'by jove,' added his lordship, 'if the fellow had taken the whole country round, he couldn't have chosen a worse spot for such an exploit; for there never _is_ any scent over here. see! not a hound can own it. old harmony herself throws up. the whips again are in their places, turning the astonished pack to frostyface, who sets off on a casting expedition. the field, as usual, sit looking on; some blessing sponge; some wondering who he was; others looking what o'clock it is; some dismounting and looking at their horses' feet. 'thank you, mr. brown boots!' exclaimed his lordship, as, by dint of bitting and spurring, sponge at length worked the beast round, and came sneaking back in the face of the whole field. 'thank you, mr. brown boots,' repeated he, taking off his hat and bowing very low. 'very much obl_e_ged to you, mr. brown boots. most particklarly obl_e_ged to you, mr. brown boots,' with another low bow. 'hang'd obl_e_ged to you, mr. brown boots! d--n you, mr. brown boots!' continued his lordship, looking at sponge as if he would eat him. 'beg pardon, sir,' blurted sponge; 'my horse--' 'hang your horse!' screamed his lordship; 'it wasn't your horse that headed the fox, was it?' 'beg pardon--couldn't help it; i--' 'couldn't help it. hang your helps--you're _always_ doing it, sir. you could stay at home, sir--i s'pose, sir--couldn't you, sir? eh, sir?' sponge was silent. 'see, sir!' continued his lordship, pointing to the mute pack now following the huntsman, 'you've lost us our fox, sir--yes, sir, lost us our fox, sir. d'ye call that nothin', sir? if you don't, _i_ do, you perpendicular-looking puseyite pig-jobber! by jove! you think because i'm a lord, and can't swear, or use coarse language, that you may do what you like--but i'll take my hounds home, sir--yes, sir, i'll take my hounds home, sir.' so saying, his lordship roared home to frostyface; adding, in an undertone to the first whip, 'bid him go to furzing-field gorse.' chapter xxi a country dinner-party [illustration] 'well, what sport?' asked jawleyford, as he encountered his exceedingly dirty friend crossing the entrance hall to his bedroom on his return from his day, or rather his non-day, with the 'flat hat hunt.' 'why, not much--that's to say, nothing particular--i mean, i've not had any,' blurted sponge. 'but you've had a run?' observed jawleyford, pointing to his boots and breeches, stained with the variation of each soil. 'ah, i got most of that going to cover,' replied sponge; 'country's awfully deep, roads abominably dirty!' adding, 'i wish i'd taken your advice, and stayed at home.' 'i wish you had,' replied jawleyford, 'you'd have had a most excellent rabbit-pie for luncheon. however, get changed, and we will hear all about it after.' so saying, jawleyford waved an adieu, and sponge stamped away in his dirty water-logged boots. 'i'm afraid you are very wet, mr. sponge,' observed amelia in the sweetest tone, with the most loving smile possible, as our friend, with three steps at a time, bounded upstairs, and nearly butted her on the landing, as she was on the point of coming down. 'i am that,' exclaimed sponge, delighted at the greeting; 'i am that,' repeated he, slapping his much-stained cords; 'dirty, too,' added he, looking down at his nether man. 'hadn't you better get changed as quick as possible?' asked amelia, still keeping her position before him. 'oh! all in good time,' replied sponge, 'all in good time. the sight of you warms me more than a fire would do'; adding, 'i declare you look quite bewitching, after all the roughings and tumblings about out of doors.' 'oh! you've not had a fall, have you?' exclaimed amelia, looking the picture of despair; 'you've not had a fall, have you? do send for the doctor, and be bled.' just then a door along the passage to the left opened; and amelia, knowing pretty well who it was, smiled and tripped away, leaving sponge to be bled or not as he thought proper. our hero then made for his bedroom, where, having sucked off his adhesive boots, and divested himself of the rest of his hunting attire, he wrapped himself up in his grey flannel dressing-gown, and prepared for parboiling his legs and feet, amid agreeable anticipations arising out of the recent interview, and occasional references to his old friend _mogg_, whenever he did not see his way on the matrimonial road as clearly as he could wish. 'she'll have me, that's certain,' observed he. 'curse the water! how hot it is!' exclaimed he, catching his foot up out of the bath, into which he had incautiously plunged it without ascertaining the temperature of the water. he then sluiced it with cold, and next had to add a little more hot; at last he got it to his mind, and lighting a cigar, prepared for uninterrupted enjoyment. 'gad!' said he, 'she's by no means a bad-looking girl' (whiff). 'devilish good-looking girl' (puff); 'good head and neck, and carries it well too' (puff)--'capital eye' (whiff), 'bright and clear' (puff); 'no cataracts there. she's all good together' (whiff, puff, whiff). 'nice size too,' continued he, 'and well set up (whiff, puff, whiff); 'straight as a dairy maid' (puff); 'plenty of substance--grand thing substance' (puff). 'hate a weedy woman--fifteen two and a half--that's to say, five feet four's plenty of height for a woman' (puff). 'height of a woman has nothing to do with her size' (whiff). 'wish she hadn't run off (puff); 'would like to have had a little more talk with her' (whiff, puff). 'women never look so well as when one comes in wet and dirty from hunting' (puff). he then sank silently back in the easy-chair and whiffed and puffed all sorts of fantastic clouds and columns and corkscrews at his leisure. the cigar being finished, and the water in the foot-bath beginning to get cool, he emptied the remainder of the hot into it, and lighting a fresh cigar, began speculating on how the match was to be accomplished. the lady was safe, that was clear; he had nothing to do but 'pop.' that he would do in the evening, or in the morning, or any time--a man living in the house with a girl need never be in want of an opportunity. that preliminary over, and the usual answer 'ask papa' obtained, then came the question, how was the old boy to be managed?--for men with marriageable daughters are to all intents and purposes 'old boys,' be their ages what they may. he became lost in reflection. he sat with his eyes fixed on the jawleyford portrait above the mantelpiece, wondering whether he was the amiable, liberal, hearty, disinterested sort of man he appeared to be, indifferent about money, and only wanting unexceptionable young men for his daughters; or if he was a worldly minded man, like some he had met, who, after giving him every possible encouragement, sent him to the right-about like a servant. so sponge smoked and thought, and thought and smoked, till the water in the foot-bath again getting cold, and the shades of night drawing on, he at last started up like a man determined to awake himself, and poking a match into the fire, lighted the candles on the toilet-table, and proceeded to adorn himself. having again got himself into the killing tights and buckled pumps, with a fine flower-fronted shirt, ere he embarked on the delicacies and difficulties of the starcher, he stirred the little pittance of a fire, and, folding himself in his dressing-gown, endeavoured to prepare his mind for the calm consideration of all the minute bearings of the question by a little more _mogg_. in idea he transferred himself to london, now fancying himself standing at the end of burlington arcade, hailing a fulham or turnham green 'bus; now wrangling with a conductor for charging him sixpence when there was a pennant flapping at his nose with the words "all the way d." upon it; now folding the wooden doors of a hansom cab in oxford street, calculating the extreme distance he could go for an eightpenny fare: until at last he fell into a downright vacant sort of reading, without rhyme or reason, just as one sometimes takes a read of a directory or a dictionary--"conduit street, george street, to or from the adelphi terrace, astley's amphitheatre, baker street, king street, bryanston square any part, covent garden theatre, foundling hospital, hatton garden," and so on, till the thunder of the gong aroused him to a recollection of his duties. he then up and at his neckcloth. "ah, well," said he, reverting to his lady love, as he eyed himself intently in the glass while performing the critical operation, "i'll just sound the old gentleman after dinner--one can do that sort of thing better over one's wine, perhaps, than at any other time: looks less formal too," added he, giving the cravat a knowing crease at the side; "and if it doesn't seem to take, one can just pass it off as if it was done for somebody else--some young gentleman at laverick wells, for instance." so saying, he on with his white waistcoat, and crowned the conquering suit with a blue coat and metal buttons. returning his _mogg_ to his dressing-gown pocket, he blew out the candles and groped his way downstairs in the dark. in passing the dining-room he looked in (to see if there were any champaign-glasses set, we believe), when he saw that he should not have an opportunity of sounding his intended papa-in-law after dinner, for he found the table laid for twelve, and a great display of plate, linen, and china. he then swaggered on to the drawing-room, which was in a blaze of light. the lively emily had stolen a march on her sister, and had just entered, attired in a fine new pale yellow silk dress with a point-lace berthe and other adornments. high words had ensued between the sisters as to the meanness of amelia in trying to take her beau from her, especially after the airs amelia had given herself respecting sponge; and a minute observer might have seen the slight tinge of red on emily's eyelids denoting the usual issue of such scenes. the result was, that each determined to do the best she could for herself; and free trade being proclaimed, emily proceeded to dress with all expedition, calculating that, as mr. sponge had come in wet, he would, very likely dress at once and appear in the drawing-room in good time. nor was she out in her reckoning, for she had hardly enjoyed an approving glance in the mirror ere our hero came swaggering in, twitching his arms as if he hadn't got his wristbands adjusted, and working his legs as if they didn't belong to him. "ah, my dear miss emley!" exclaimed he, advancing gaily towards her with extended hand, which she took with all the pleasure in the world; adding, "and how have you been?" "oh, pretty well, thank you," replied she, looking as though she would have said, "as well as i can be without you." sponge, though a consummate judge of a horse, and all the minutiae connected with them, was still rather green in the matter of woman; and having settled in his own mind that amelia should be his choice, he concluded that emily knew all about it, and was working on her sister's account, instead of doing the agreeable for herself. and there it is where elder sisters have such an advantage over younger ones. they are always shown, or contrive to show themselves, first; and if a man once makes up his mind that the elder one will do, there is an end of the matter; and it is neither a deeper shade or two of blue, nor a brighter tinge of brown, nor a little smaller foot, nor a more elegant waist, that will make him change for a younger sister. the younger ones immediately become sisters in the men's minds, and retire, or are retired, from the field--"scratched," as sponge would say. amelia, however, was not going to give emily a chance; for, having dressed with all the expedition compatible with an attractive toilet--a lavender-coloured satin with broad black lace flounces, and some heavy jewellery on her well-turned arms, she came sidling in so gently as almost to catch emily in the act of playing the agreeable. turning the sidle into a stately sail, with a haughty sort of sneer and toss of the head to her sister, as much as to say, 'what are you doing with my man?'--a sneer that suddenly changed into a sweet smile as her eye encountered sponge's--she just motioned him off to a sofa, where she commenced a _sotto voce_ conversation in the engaged-couple style. [illustration: mr. sponge and the misses jawleyford] the plot then began to thicken. first came jawleyford, in a terrible stew. 'well, this is too bad!' exclaimed he, stamping and flourishing a scented note, with a crest and initials at the top. 'this is too bad,' repeated he; 'people accepting invitations, and then crying off at the last moment.' 'who is it can't come, papa--the foozles?' asked emily. 'no--foozles be hanged,' sneered jawleyford; 'they always come--_the blossomnoses!_' replied he, with an emphasis. 'the blossomnoses!' exclaimed both girls, clasping their hands and looking up at the ceiling. 'what, all of them?' asked emily. 'all of them,' rejoined jawleyford. 'why, that's four,' observed emily. 'to be sure it is,' replied jawleyford; 'five, if you count them by appetites; for old blossom always eats and drinks as much as two people.' 'what excuse do they give?' asked amelia. 'carriage-horse taken suddenly ill,' replied jawleyford; 'as if that's any excuse when there are post-horses within half a dozen miles.' 'he wouldn't have been stopped hunting for want of a horse, i dare say,' observed amelia. 'i dare say it's all a lie,' observed jawleyford; adding, 'however, the invitation shall go for a dinner, all the same.' the denunciation was interrupted by the appearance of spigot, who came looming up the spacious drawing-room in the full magnificence of black shorts, silk stockings, and buckled pumps, followed by a sheepish-looking, straight-haired, red apple-faced young gentleman, whom he announced as mr. robert foozle. robert was the hope of the house of foozle; and it was fortunate his parents were satisfied with him, for few other people were. he was a young gentleman who shook hands with everybody, assented to anything that anybody said, and in answering a question, wherein indeed his conversation chiefly consisted, he always followed the words of the interrogation as much as he could. for instance: 'well, robert, have you been at dulverton to-day?' answer, 'no, i've not been at dulverton to-day.' question, 'are you going to dulverton to-morrow?' answer, 'no, i'm not going to dulverton to-morrow.' having shaken hands with the party all round, and turned to the fire to warm his red fists, jawleyford having stood at 'attention' for such time as he thought mrs. foozle would be occupied before the glass in his study arranging her head-gear, and seeing no symptoms of any further announcement, at last asked foozle if his papa and mamma were not coming. 'no, my papa and mamma are not coming,' replied he. 'are you sure?' asked jawleyford, in a tone of excitement. 'quite sure,' replied foozle, in the most matter-of-course voice. [illustration: mr. robert foozle] 'the deuce!' exclaimed jawleyford, stamping his foot upon the soft rug, adding, 'it never rains but it pours!' 'have you any note, or anything?' asked mrs. jawleyford, who had followed robert foozle into the room. 'yes, i have a note,' replied he, diving into the inner pocket of his coat, and producing one. the note was a letter--a letter from mrs. foozle to mrs. jawleyford, three sides and crossed; and seeing the magnitude thereof, mrs. jawleyford quietly put it into her reticule, observing, 'that she hoped mr. and mrs. foozle were well?' 'yes, they are well,' replied robert, notwithstanding he had express orders to say that his papa had the toothache, and his mamma the earache. jawleyford then gave a furious ring at the bell for dinner, and in due course of time the party of six proceeded to a table for twelve. sponge pawned mrs. jawleyford off upon robert foozle, which gave sponge the right to the fair amelia, who walked off on his arm with a toss of her head at emily, as though she thought him the finest, sprightliest man under the sun. emily followed, and jawleyford came sulking in alone, sore put out at the failure of what he meant for _the_ grand entertainment. lights blazed in profusion; lamps more accustomed had now become better behaved; and the whole strength of the plate was called in requisition, sadly puzzling the unfortunate cook to find something to put upon the dishes. she, however, was a real magnanimous-minded woman, who would undertake to cook a lord mayor's feast--soups, sweets, joints, entrées, and all. jawleyford was nearly silent during the dinner; indeed, he was too far off for conversation, had there been any for him to join in; which was not the case, for amelia and sponge kept up a hum of words, while emily worked robert foozle with question and answer, such as: "were your sisters out to-day?" "yes, my sisters were out to-day." "are your sisters going to the christmas ball?" "yes, my sisters are going to the christmas ball," &c. &c. still, nearly daft as robert was, he was generally asked where there was anything going on; and more than one young la--but we will not tell about that, as he has nothing to do with our story. by the time the ladies took their departure, mr. jawleyford had somewhat recovered from the annoyance of his disappointment; and as they retired he rang the bell, and desired spigot to set in the horse-shoe table, and bring a bottle of the "green seal," being the colour affixed on the bottles of a four-dozen hamper of port ("curious old port at _s_.") that had arrived from "wintle & co." by rail (goods train of course) that morning. "there!" exclaimed jawleyford, as spigot placed the richly cut decanter on the horse-shoe table. "there!" repeated he, drawing the green curtain as if to shade it from the fire, but in reality to hide the dulness the recent shaking had given it; "that wine," said he, "is a quarter of a century in bottle, at the very least." 'indeed,' observed sponge: 'time it was drunk.' 'a quarter of a century?' gaped robert foozle. 'quarter of a century if it's a day,' replied jawleyford, smacking his lips as he set down his glass after imbibing the precious beverage. 'very fine,' observed sponge; adding, as he sipped off his glass, 'it's odd to find such old wine so full-bodied.' 'well, now tell us all about your day's proceedings,' said jawleyford, thinking it advisable to change the conversation at once. 'what sport had you with my lord?' 'oh, why, i really can't tell you much,' drawled sponge, with an air of bewilderment. 'strange country--strange faces--nobody i knew, and--' 'ah, true,' replied jawleyford, 'true. it occurred to me after you were gone, that perhaps you might not know any one. ours, you see, is rather an out-of-the-way country; few of our people go to town, or indeed anywhere else; they are all tarry-at-home birds. but they'd receive you with great politeness, i'm sure--if they knew you came from here, at least,' added he. sponge was silent, and took a great gulp of the dull 'wintle,' to save himself from answering. 'was my lord scamperdale out?' asked jawleyford, seeing he was not going to get a reply. 'why, i can really hardly tell you that,' replied sponge. 'there were two men out, either of whom might be him; at least, they both seemed to take the lead, and--and--' he was going to say 'blow up the people,' but he thought he might as well keep that to himself. 'stout, hale-looking men, dressed much alike, with great broad tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles on?' asked jawleyford. 'just so,' replied sponge. 'ah, you are right, then,' rejoined jawleyford; 'it would be my lord.' 'and who was the other?' inquired our friend. 'oh, that jack spraggon,' replied jawleyford, curling up his nose, as if he was going to be sick; 'one of the most odious wretches under the sun. i really don't know any man that i have so great a dislike to, so utter a contempt for, as that jack, as they call him.' 'what is he?' asked sponge. 'oh, just a hanger-on of his lordship's; the creature has nothing--nothing whatever; he lives on my lord--eats his venison, drinks his claret, rides his horses, bullies those his lordship doesn't like to tackle with, and makes himself generally useful.' 'he seems a man of that sort,' observed sponge, as he thought over the compliment he had received. 'well, who else had you out, then?' asked jawleyford. 'was tom washball there?' 'no,' replied sponge: '_he_ wasn't out, i know.' 'ah, that's unfortunate,' observed jawleyford, helping himself and passing the bottle. 'tom's a capital fellow--a perfect gentleman--great friend of mine. if he'd been out you'd have had nothing to do but mention my name, and he'd have put you all right in a minute. who else was there, then?' continued he. 'there was a tall man in black, on a good-looking young brown horse, rather rash at his fences, but a fine style of goer.' 'what!' exclaimed jawleyford, 'man in drab cords and jack-boots, with the brim of his hat rather turning upwards?' 'just so,' replied sponge; 'and a double ribbon for a hat-string.' 'that's master blossomnose,' observed jawleyford, scarcely able to contain his indignation. 'that's master blossomnose,' repeated he, taking a back hand at the port in the excitement of the moment. 'more to his credit if he were to stay at home and attend to his parish,' added jawleyford; meaning, it would have been more to his credit if he had fulfilled his engagement to him that evening, instead of going out hunting in the morning. the two then sat silent for a time, sponge seeing where the sore place was, and robert foozle, as usual, seeing nothing. 'ah, well,' observed jawleyford, at length breaking silence, 'it was unfortunate you went this morning. i did my best to prevent you--told you what a long way it was, and so on. however, never mind, we will put all right to-morrow. his lordship, i'm sure, will be most happy to see you. so help yourself,' continued he, passing the 'wintle,' 'and we will drink his health and success to fox-hunting.' sponge filled a bumper and drank his lordship's health, with the accompaniment as desired; and turning to robert foozle, who was doing likewise, said, 'are you fond of hunting?' 'yes, i'm fond of hunting,' replied foozle. 'but you _don't_ hunt, you know, robert,' observed jawleyford. 'no, i don't hunt,' replied robert. the 'green seal' being demolished, jawleyford ordered a bottle of the 'other,' attributing the slight discoloration (which he did not discover until they had nearly finished the bottle) to change of atmosphere in the outer cellar. sponge tackled vigorously with the new-comer, which was better than the first; and robert foozle, drinking as he spoke, by pattern, kept filling away, much to jawleyford's dissatisfaction, who was compelled to order a third. during the progress of its demolition, the host's tongue became considerably loosened. he talked of hunting and the charms of the chase--of the good fellowship it produced: and expatiated on the advantages it was of to the country in a national point of view, promoting as it did a spirit of manly enterprise, and encouraging our unrivalled breed of horses; both of which he looked upon as national objects, well worthy the attention of enlightened men like himself. jawleyford was a great patron of the chase; and his keeper, watson, always had a bag-fox ready to turn down when my lord's hounds met there. jawleyford's covers were never known to be drawn blank. though they had been shot in the day before, they always held a fox the next--if a fox was wanted. sponge being quite at home on the subjects of horses and hunting, lauded all his papa-in-law's observations up to the skies; occasionally considering whether it would be advisable to sell him a horse, and thinking, if he did, whether he should let him have one of the three he had down, or should get old buckram to buy some quiet screw that would stand a little work and yield him (sponge) a little profit, and yet not demolish the great patron of english sports. the more jawleyford drank, the more energetic he became, and the greater pleasure he anticipated from the meet of the morrow. he docked the lord, and spoke of 'scamperdale' as an excellent fellow--a real, good, hearty, honest englishman--a man that 'the more you knew the more you liked'; all of which was very encouraging to sponge. spigot at length appeared to read the tea and coffee riot-act, when jawleyford determined not to be done out of another bottle, pointing to the nearly emptied decanter, said to robert foozle, 'i suppose you'll not take any more wine?' to which robert replied, 'no, i'll not take any more wine.' whereupon, pushing out his chair and throwing away his napkin, jawleyford arose and led the way to the drawing-room, followed by sponge and this entertaining young gentleman. a round game followed tea; which, in its turn, was succeeded by a massive silver tray, chiefly decorated with cold water and tumblers; and as the various independent clocks in the drawing-room began chiming and striking eleven, mr. jawleyford thought he would try to get rid of foozle by asking him if he hadn't better stay all night. 'yes, i think i'd better stay all night,' replied foozle. 'but won't they be expecting you at home, robert?' asked jawleyford, not feeling disposed to be caught in his own trap. 'yes, they'll be expecting me at home,' replied foozle. 'then, perhaps you had better not alarm them by staying,' suggested jawleyford. 'no, perhaps i'd better not alarm them by staying,' repeated foozle. whereupon they all rose, and wishing him a very good night, jawleyford handed him over to spigot, who transferred him to one footman, who passed him to another, to button into his leather-headed shandridan. after talking robert over, and expatiating on the misfortune it would be to have such a boy, jawleyford rang the bell for the banquet of water to be taken away; and ordering breakfast half-an-hour earlier than usual, our friends went to bed. chapter xxii the f.h.h. again gentlemen unaccustomed to public hunting often make queer figures of themselves when they go out. we have seen them in all sorts of odd dresses, half fox-hunters half fishermen, half fox-hunters half sailors, with now and then a good sturdy cross of the farmer. mr. jawleyford was a cross between a military dandy and a squire. the green-and-gold bumperkin foraging-cap, with the letters 'b.y.c.' in front, was cocked jauntily on one side of his badger-pyed head, while he played sportively with the patent leather strap--now, toying with it on his lip, now dropping it below his chin, now hitching it up on to the peak. he had a tremendously stiff stock on--so hard that no pressure made it wrinkle, and so high that his pointed gills could hardly peer above it. his coat was a bright green cut-away--made when collars were worn very high and very hollow, and when waists were supposed to be about the middle of a man's back, jawleyford's back buttons occupying that remarkable position. these, which were of dead gold with a bright rim, represented a hare full stretch for her life, and were the buttons of the old muggeridge hunt--a hunt that had died many years ago from want of the necessary funds ( _l_.) to carry it on. the coat, which was single-breasted and velvet-collared, was extremely swallow-tailed, presenting a remarkable contrast to the barge-built, roomy roundabouts of the members of the flat hat hunt; the collar rising behind, in the shape of a gothic arch, exhibited all the stitchings and threadings incident to that department of the garment. but if mr. jawleyford's coat went to 'hare,' his waistcoat was fox and all 'fox.' on a bright blue ground he sported such an infinity of 'heads,' that there is no saying that he would have been safe in a kennel of unsteady hounds. one thing, to be sure, was in his favour--namely, that they were just as much like cats' heads as foxes'. the coat and waistcoat were old stagers, but his nether man was encased in rhubarb-coloured tweed pantaloons of the newest make--a species of material extremely soft and comfortable to wear, but not so well adapted for roughing it across country. these had a broad brown stripe down the sides, and were shaped out over the foot of his fine french-polished paper boots, the heels of which were decorated with long-necked, ringing spurs. thus attired, with a little silver-mounted whip which he kept flourishing about, he encountered mr. sponge in the entrance-hall, after breakfast. mr. sponge, like all men who are 'extremely natty' themselves, men who wouldn't have a button out of place if it was ever so, hardly knew what to think of jawleyford's costume. it was clear he was no sportsman; and then came the question, whether he was of the privileged few who may do what they like, and who can carry off any kind of absurdity. whatever uneasiness sponge felt on that score, jawleyford, however, was quite at his ease, and swaggered about like an aide-de-camp at a review. 'well, we should be going, i suppose,' said he, drawing on a pair of half-dirty, lemon-coloured kid gloves, and sabreing the air with his whip. 'is lord scamperdale punctual?' asked sponge. 'tol-lol,' replied jawleyford, 'tol-lol.' 'he'll wait for _you_, i suppose?' observed sponge, thinking to try jawleyford on that infallible criterion of favour. 'why, if he knew i was coming, i dare say he would,' replied jawleyford slowly and deliberately, feeling it was now no time for flashing. 'if he knew i was coming i dare say he would,' repeated he; 'indeed, i make no doubt he would: but one doesn't like putting great men out of their way; besides which, it's just as easy to be punctual as otherwise. when i was in the bumperkin--' 'but your horse is on, isn't it?' interrupted sponge; 'he'll see your horse there, you know.' 'horse on, my dear fellow!' exclaimed jawleyford, 'horse on? no, certainly not. how should i get there myself, if my horse was on?' 'hack, to be sure,' replied sponge, striking a light for his cigar. 'ah, but then i should have no groom to go with me,' observed jawleyford, adding, 'one must make a certain appearance, you know. but come, my dear mr. sponge,' continued he, laying hold of our hero's arm, 'let us get to the door, for that cigar of yours will fumigate the whole house; and mrs. jawleyford hates the smell of tobacco.' spigot, with his attendants in livery, here put a stop to the confab by hurrying past, drawing the bolts, and throwing back the spacious folding doors, as if royalty or daniel lambert himself were 'coming out.' the noise they made was heard outside; and on reaching the top of the spacious flight of steps, sponge's piebald in charge of a dirty village lad, and jawleyford's steeds with a sky-blue groom, were seen scuttling under the portoco, for the owners to mount. the jawleyford cavalry was none of the best; but jawleyford was pleased with it, and that is a great thing. indeed, a thing had only to be jawleyford's, to make jawleyford excessively fond of it. 'there!' exclaimed he, as they reached the third step from the bottom. 'there!' repeated he, seizing sponge by the arm, 'that's what i call shape. you don't see such an animal as that every day,' pointing to a not badly formed, but evidently worn-out, over-knee'd bay, that stood knuckling and trembling for jawleyford to mount. 'one of the "has beens," i should say,' replied sponge, puffing a cloud of smoke right past jawleyford's nose; adding, 'it's a pity but you could get him four new legs.' 'faith, i don't see that he wants anything of the sort,' retorted jawleyford, nettled as well at the smoke as the observation. 'well, where "ignorance is bliss," &c.,' replied sponge, with another great puff, which nearly blinded jawleyford. 'get on, and let's see how he goes,' added he, passing on to the piebald as he spoke. mr. jawleyford then mounted; and having settled himself into a military seat, touched the old screw with the spur, and set off at a canter. the piebald, perhaps mistaking the portico for a booth, and thinking it was a good place to exhibit it, proceeded to die in the most approved form; and not all sponge's 'come-up's' or kicks could induce him to rise before he had gone through the whole ceremony. at length, with a mane full of gravel, a side well smeared, and a 'wilkinson & kidd' sadly scratched, the _ci-devant_ actor arose, much to the relief of the village lad, who having indulged in a gallop as he brought him from lucksford, expected his death would be laid at his door. no sooner was he up, than, without waiting for him to shake himself, mr. soapey vaulted into the saddle, and seizing him by the head, let in the latchfords in a style that satisfied the hack he was not going to canter in a circle. away he went, best pace; for like all mr. sponge's horses, he had the knack of going, the general difficulty being to get them to go the way they were wanted. sponge presently overtook mr. jawleyford, who had been brought up by a gate, which he was making sundry ineffectual briggs-like passes and efforts to open; the gate and his horse seeming to have combined to prevent his getting through. though an expert swordsman, he had never been able to accomplish, the art of opening a gate, especially one of those gingerly balanced spring-snecked things that require to be taken at the nick of time, or else they drop just as the horse gets his nose to them. 'why aren't you here to open the gate?' asked jawleyford, snappishly, as the blue boy bustled up as his master's efforts became more hopeless at each attempt. the lad, like a wise fellow, dropped from his horse, and opening it with his hands, ran it back on foot. jawleyford and sponge then rode through. canter, canter, canter, went jawleyford, with an arm akimbo, head well up, legs well down, toes well pointed, as if he were going to a race, where his work would end on arriving, instead of to a fox-hunt, where it would only begin. [illustration: jawleyford going to the hunt] 'you are rather hard on the old nag, aren't you?' at length asked sponge, as, having cleared the rushy, swampy park, they came upon the macadamized turnpike, and jawleyford selected the middle of it as the scene of his further progression. 'oh no!' replied jawleyford, tit-tup-ing along with a loose rein, as if he was on the soundest, freshest-legged horse in the world; 'oh no! my horses are used to it.' 'well, but if you mean to hunt him,' observed sponge, 'he'll be blown before he gets to cover.' 'get him in wind, my dear fellow,' replied jawleyford, 'get him in wind,' touching the horse with the spur as he spoke. 'faith, but if he was as well on his legs as he is in his wind, he'd not be amiss,' rejoined sponge. so they cantered and trotted, and trotted and cantered away, sponge thinking he could afford pace as well as jawleyford. indeed, a horse has only to become a hack, to be able to do double the work he was ever supposed to be capable of. but to the meet. scrambleford green was a small straggling village on the top of a somewhat high hill, that divided the vale in which jawleyford court was situated from the more fertile one of farthinghoe, in which lord scamperdale lived. it was one of those out-of-the-way places at which the meet of the hounds, and a love feast or fair, consisting of two fiddlers (one for each public-house), a few unlicensed packmen, three or four gingerbread stalls, a drove of cows and some sheep, form the great events of the year among a people who are thoroughly happy and contented with that amount of gaiety. think of that, you 'used up' young gentlemen of twenty, who have exhausted the pleasures of the world! the hounds did not come to scrambleford green often, for it was not a favourite meet; and when they did come, frosty and the men generally had them pretty much to themselves. this day, however, was the exception; and old tom yarnley, whom age had bent nearly double, and who hobbled along on two sticks, declared that never in the course of his recollection, a period extending over the best part of a century, had he seen such a 'sight of red coats' as mustered that morning at scrambleford green. it seemed as if there had been a sudden rising of sportsmen. what brought them all out? what brought mr. puffington, the master of the hanby hounds, out? what brought blossomnose again? what mr. wake, mr. fossick, mr. fyle, who had all been out the day before? reader, the news had spread throughout the country that there was a great writer down; and they wanted to see what he would say of them--they had come to sit for their portraits, in fact. there was a great gathering, at least for the flat hat hunt, who seldom mustered above a dozen. tom washball came, in a fine new coat and new flat-fliped hat with a broad binding; also mr. sparks, of spark hall; major mark; mr. archer, of cheam lodge; mr. reeves, of coxwell green; mr. bliss, of boltonshaw; mr. joyce, of ebstone; dr. capon, of calcot; mr. dribble, of hook; mr. slade, of three-burrow hill; and several others. great was the astonishment of each as the other cast up. 'why, here's joe reeves!' exclaimed blossomnose. 'who'd have thought of seeing you?' 'and who'd have thought of seeing _you_?' rejoined reeves, shaking hands with the jolly old nose. 'here's tom washball in time for once, i declare!' exclaimed mr. fyle, as mr. washball cantered up in apple-pie order. 'wonders will never cease!' observed fossick, looking washy over. so the field sat in a ring about the hounds in the centre of which, as usual, were jack and lord scamperdale, looking with their great tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles, and short grey whiskers trimmed in a curve up to their noses, like a couple of horned owls in hats. 'here's the man on the cow!' exclaimed jack, as he espied sponge and jawleyford rising the hill together, easing their horses by standing in their stirrups and holding on by their manes. 'you don't say so!' exclaimed lord scamperdale, turning his horse in the direction jack was looking, and staring for hard life too. 'so there is, i declare!' observed he.' and who the deuce is this with him?' 'that ass jawleyford, as i live!' exclaimed jack, as the blue-coated servant now hove in sight. 'so it is!' said lord scamperdale; 'the confounded humbug!' 'this boy'll be after one of the young ladies,' observed jack; 'not one of the writing chaps we thought he was.' 'shouldn't wonder,' replied lord scamperdale; adding, in an undertone, 'i vote we have a rise out of old jaw. i'll let you in for a good thing--you shall dine with him.' 'not i,' replied jack. 'you _shall_, though,' replied his lordship firmly. 'pray don't!' entreated jack. 'by the powers, if you don't,' rejoined his lordship, 'you shall not have a mount out of me for a month.' while this conversation was going on, jawleyford and sponge, having risen the hill, had resumed their seats in the saddle, and jawleyford, setting himself in attitude, tickled his horse with his spur, and proceeded to canter becomingly up to the pack; sponge and the groom following a little behind. 'ah, jawleyford, my dear fellow!' exclaimed lord scamperdale, putting his horse on a few steps to meet him as he came flourishing up. 'ah, jawleyford, my dear fellow, i'm delighted to see you,' extending a hand as he spoke. 'jack, here, told me that he saw your flag flying as he passed, and i said what a pity it was but i'd known before; for jawleyford, said i, is a real good fellow, one of the best fellows i know, and has asked me to dine so often that i'm almost ashamed to meet him; and it would have been such a nice opportunity to have volunteered a visit, the hounds being here, you see.' 'oh, that's so kind of your lordship!' exclaimed jawleyford, quite delighted--'that's so kind of your lordship--that's just what i like!--that's just what mrs. jawleyford likes!--that's just what we all like!--coming without fuss or ceremony, just as my friend mr. sponge, here, does. by the way, will your lordship give me leave to introduce my friend mr. sponge--my lord scamperdale.' jawleyford suiting the action to the word, and manoeuvring the ceremony. 'ah, i made mr. sponge's acquaintance yesterday,' observed his lordship drily, giving a sort of servants' touch of his hat as he scrutinized our friend through his formidable glasses, adding, 'to tell you the truth,' addressing himself in an underone to sponge, 'i took you for one of those nasty writing chaps, who i 'bominate. but,' continued his lordship, returning to jawleyford. 'i'll tell you what i said about the dinner. jack, here, told me the flag was flying; and i said i only wished i'd known before, and i would certainly have proposed that jack and i should dine with you, either to-day or to-morrow; but unfortunately i'd engaged myself to my lord barker's not five minutes before.' 'ah, my lord!' exclaimed jawleyford, throwing out his hand and shrugging his shoulders as if in despair, 'you tantalize me--you do indeed. you should have come, or said nothing about it. you distress me--you do indeed.' 'well, i'm wrong, perhaps,' replied his lordship, patting jawleyford encouragingly on the shoulder; 'but, however, i'll tell you what,' said he, 'jack here's not engaged, and he shall come to you.' 'most happy to see mr.--ha--hum--haw--jack--that's to say, mr. spraggon,' replied jawleyford, bowing very low, and laying his hand on his heart, as if quite overpowered at the idea of the honour. 'then, that's a bargain, jack,' said his lordship, looking knowingly round at his much disconcerted friend; 'you dine and stay all night at jawleyford court to-morrow! and mind,' added he, 'make yourself 'greeable to the girls--ladies, that's to say.' 'couldn't your lordship arrange it so that we might have the pleasure of seeing you both on some future day?' asked jawleyford, anxious to avert the jack calamity. 'say next week,' continued he; 'or suppose you meet at the court?' 'ha--he--hum. meet at the court,' mumbled his lordship--'meet at the court--ha--he--ha--hum--no;--got no foxes.' 'plenty of foxes, i assure you, my lord!' exclaimed jawleyford. 'plenty of foxes!' repeated he. 'we never find them, then, somehow,' observed his lordship, drily; 'at least, none but those three-legged beggars in the laurels at the back of the stables.' 'ah! that will be the fault of the hounds,' replied jawleyford; 'they don't take sufficient time to draw--run through the covers too quickly.' 'fault of the hounds be hanged!' exclaimed jack, who was the champion of the pack generally. 'there's not a more patient, painstaking pack in the world than his lordship's.' 'ah--well--ah--never mind that,' replied his lordship, 'jaw and you can settle that point over your wine to-morrow; meanwhile, if your friend mr. what's-his-name here, 'll get his horse,' continued his lordship, addressing himself to jawleyford, but looking at sponge, who was still on the piebald, 'we'll throw off.' 'thank you, my lord,' replied sponge; 'but i'll mount at the cover side. sponge not being inclined to let the flat hat hunt field see the difference of opinion that occasionally existed between the gallant brown and himself. 'as you please,' rejoined his lordship, 'as you please,' jerking his head at frostyface, who forthwith gave the office to the hounds; whereupon all was commotion. away the cavalcade went, and in less than five minutes the late bustling village resumed its wonted quiet; the old man on sticks, two crones gossiping at a door, a rag-or-anything-else-gatherer going about with a donkey, and a parcel of dirty children tumbling about on the green, being all that remained on the scene. all the able-bodied men had followed the hounds. why the hounds had ever climbed the long hill seemed a mystery, seeing that they returned the way they came. jawleyford, though sore disconcerted at having 'jack' pawned upon him, stuck to my lord, and rode on his right with the air of a general. he felt he was doing his duty as an englishman in thus patronizing the hounds--encouraging a manly spirit of independence, and promoting our unrivalled breed of horses. the post-boy trot at which hounds travel, to be sure, is not well adapted for dignity; but jawleyford nourished and vapoured as well as he could under the circumstances, and considering they were going down hill. lord scamperdale rode along, laughing in his sleeve at the idea of the pleasant evening jack and jawleyford would have together, occasionally complimenting jawleyford on the cut and condition of his horse, and advising him to be careful of the switching raspers with which the country abounded, and which might be fatal to his nice nutmeg--coloured trousers. the rest of the 'field' followed, the fall of the ground enabling them to see 'how thick jawleyford was with my lord.' old blossomnose, who, we should observe, had slipped away unperceived on jawleyford's arrival, took a bird's-eye view from the rear. naughty blossom was riding the horse that ought to have gone in the 'chay' to jawleyford court. chapter xxiii the great run our hero having inveigled the brown under lee of an out-house as the field moved along, was fortunate enough to achieve the saddle without disclosing the secrets of the stable; and as he rejoined the throng in all the pride of shape, action, and condition, even the top-sawyers, fossick, fyle, bliss, and others, admitted that hercules was not a bad-like horse; while the humbler-minded ones eyed sponge with a mixture of awe and envy, thinking what a fine trade literature must be to stand such a horse. 'is your friend what's-his-name, a workman?' asked lord scamperdale, nodding towards sponge as he trotted hercules gently past on the turf by the side of the road along which they were riding. 'oh no,' replied jawleyford tartly. 'oh no--gentleman, man of property--' 'i did not mean was he a mechanic,' explained his lordship drily, 'but a workman; a good 'un across country, in fact.' his lordship working his arms as if he was going to set-to himself. 'oh, a first-rate man!--first-rate man!' replied jawleyford; 'beat them all at laverick wells.' 'i thought so,' observed his lordship; adding to himself, 'then jack shall take the conceit out of him.' 'jack!' halloaed he over his shoulder to his friend, who was jogging a little behind; 'jack!' repeated he, 'that mr. something--' '_sponge_!' observed jawleyford, with an emphasis. 'that mr. sponge,' continued his lordship, 'is a stranger in the country: have the kindness to take _care_ of him. you know what i mean?' 'just so,' replied jack; 'i'll take care of him.' 'most polite of your lordship, i'm sure,' said jawleyford, with a low bow, and laying his hand on his breast. 'i can assure you i shall never forget the marked attention i have received from your lordship this day.' 'thank you for nothing,' grunted his lordship to himself. bump, bump; trot, trot; jabber, jabber, on they went as before. they had now got to the cover, tickler gorse, and ere the last horsemen had reached the last angle of the long hill, frostyface was rolling about on foot in the luxuriant evergreen; now wholly visible, now all but overhead, like a man buffeting among the waves of the sea. save frosty's cheery voice encouraging the invisible pack to 'wind him!' and 'rout him out!' an injunction that the shaking of the gorse showed they willingly obeyed, and an occasional exclamation from jawleyford, of 'beautiful! beautiful!--never saw better hounds!--can't be a finer pack!' not a sound disturbed the stillness of the scene. the waggoners on the road stopped their wains, the late noisy ploughmen leaned vacantly on their stilts, the turnip-pullers stood erect in air, and the shepherds' boys deserted the bleating flocks;--all was life and joy and liberty--'liberty, equality, and foxhunt-ity!' 'yo--i--cks, wind him! y--o--o--icks! rout him out!' went frosty; occasionally varying the entertainment with a loud crack of his heavy whip, when he could get upon a piece of rising ground to clear the thong. 'tally-ho!' screamed jawleyford, hoisting the bumperkin yeomanry cap in the air. 'tally-ho!' repeated he, looking triumphantly round, as much as to say, 'what a clever boy am i!' 'hold your noise!' roared jack, who was posted a little below. 'don't you see it's a hare?' added he, amidst the uproarious mirth of the company. 'i haven't your great staring specs on, or i should have seen he hadn't a tail,' retorted jawleyford, nettled at the tone in which jack had addressed him. 'tail be--!' replied jack, with a sneer; 'who but a tailor would call it a tail?' just then a light low squeak of a whimper was heard in the thickest part of the gorse, and frostyface cheered the hound to the echo. 'hoick to, pillager! h--o--o--ick!' screamed he, in a long-drawn note, that thrilled through every frame, and set the horses a-capering. ere frosty's prolonged screech was fairly finished, there was such an outburst of melody, and such a shaking of the gorse-bushes, as plainly showed there was no safety for reynard in cover; and great was the bustle and commotion among the horsemen. mr. fossick lowered his hat-string and ran the fox's tooth through the buttonhole; fyle drew his girths; washball took a long swig at his hunting-horn-shaped monkey; major mark and mr. archer threw away their cigar ends; mr. bliss drew on his dogskin gloves; mr. wake rolled the thong of his whip round the stick, to be better able to encounter his puller; mr. sparks got a yokel to take up a link of his curb; george smith and joe smith looked at their watches; sandy mcgregor, the factor, filled his great scotch nose with irish snuff, exclaiming, as he dismissed the balance from his fingers by a knock against his thigh, 'oh, my mon, aw think this tod will gie us a ran!' while blossomnose might be seen stealing gently forward, on the far side of a thick fence, for the double purpose of shirking jawleyford and getting a good start. in the midst of these and similar preparations for the fray, up went a whip's cap at the low end of the cover; and a volley of 'tallyhos' burst from our friends, as the fox, whisking his white-tipped brush in the air, was seen stealing away over the grassy hill beyond. what a commotion was there! how pale some looked! how happy others! 'sing out, jack! for heaven's sake, sing out!' exclaimed lord scamperdale; an enthusiastic sportsman, always as eager for a run as if he had never seen one. 'sing out, jack; or, by jove, they'll override 'em at starting!' 'hold hard, gentlemen,' roared jack, clapping spurs into his grey, or rather, into his lordship's grey, dashing in front, and drawing the horse across the road to stop the progression of the field. 'hold hard, _one minute_!' repeated jack, standing erect in his stirrups, and menacing them with his whip (a most formidable one). 'whatever you do, _pray_ let them get away! _pray_ don't spoil your own sport! pray remember they're his lordship's hounds!--that they cost him five-and-twenty under'd--two thousand five under'd a year! and where, let me ax, with wheat down to nothing, would you get another, if he was to throw up?' as jack made this inquiry, he took a hurried glance at the now pouring-out pack; and seeing they were safe away, he wiped the foam from his mouth on his sleeve, dropped into his saddle, and, catching his horse short round by the head, clapped spurs into his sides, and galloped away, exclaiming: 'now, ye tinkers, we'll all start fair!' then there was such a scrimmage! such jostling and elbowing among the jealous ones; such ramming and cramming among the eager ones; such pardon-begging among the polite ones; such spurting of ponies, such clambering of cart-horses. all were bent on going as far as they could--all except jawleyford, who sat curvetting and prancing in the patronizing sort of way gentlemen do who encourage hounds for the sake of the manly spirit the sport engenders, and the advantage hunting is of in promoting our unrivalled breed of horses. his lordship having slipped away, horn in hand, under pretence of blowing the hounds out of cover, as soon as he set jack at the field, had now got a good start, and, horse well in hand, was sailing away in their wake. 'f-o-o-r-r-ard!' screamed frostyface, coming up alongside of him, holding his horse--a magnificent thoroughbred bay--well by the head, and settling himself into his saddle as he went. 'f-o-r-rard!' screeched his lordship, thrusting his spectacles on to his nose. 'twang--twang--twang,' went the huntsman's deep-sounding horn. 't'weet--t'weet--t'weet,' went his lordship's shriller one. 'in for a stinger, my lurd,' observed jack, returning his horn to the case. 'hope so,' replied his lordship, pocketing his. they then flew the first fence together. 'f-o-r-r-ard!' screamed jack in the air, as he saw the hounds packing well together, and racing with a breast-high scent. 'f-o-r-rard!' screamed his lordship, who was a sort of echo to his huntsman, just as jack spraggon was echo to his lordship. 'he's away for gunnersby craigs,' observed jack, pointing that way, for they were a good ten miles off. 'hope so,' replied his lordship, for whom the distance could never be too great, provided the pace corresponded. 'f-o-o-r-rard!' screamed jack. 'f-o-r-rard!' screeched his lordship. so they went flying and 'forrarding' together; none of the field--thanks to jack spraggon--being able to overtake them. 'y-o-o-nder he goes!' at last cried frosty, taking off his cap as he viewed the fox, some half-mile ahead, stealing away round the side of newington hill. 'tallyho!' screeched his lordship, riding with his flat hat in the air, by way of exciting the striving field to still further exertion. 'he's a good 'un!' exclaimed frosty, eyeing the fox's going. 'he is that!' replied his lordship, staring at him with all his might. then they rode on, and were presently rounding newington hill themselves, the hounds packing well together, and carrying a famous head. his lordship now looked to see what was going on behind. scrambleford hill was far in the rear. jawleyford and the boy in blue were altogether lost in the distance. a quarter of a mile or so this way were a couple of dots of horsemen, one on a white, the other on a dark colour--most likely jones, the keeper, and farmer stubble, on the foaly mare. then, a little nearer, was a man in a hedge, trying to coax his horse after him, stopping the way of two boys in white trousers, whose ponies looked like rats. again, a little nearer, were some of the persevering ones--men who still hold on in the forlorn hopes of a check--all dark-coated, and mostly trousered. then came the last of the red-coats--tom washball, charley joyce, and sam sloman, riding well in the first flight of second horsemen--his lordship's pad-groom, mr. fossick's man in drab with a green collar, mr. wake's in blue, also a lad in scarlet and a flat hat, with a second horse for the huntsman. drawing still nearer came the ruck--men in red, men in brown, men in livery, a farmer or two in fustian, all mingled together; and a few hundred yards before these, and close upon his lordship, were the _élite_ of the field--five men in scarlet and one in black. let us see who they are. by the powers, mr. sponge is first!--sponge sailing away at his ease, followed by jack, who is staring at him through his great lamps, longing to launch out at him, but as yet wanting an excuse; sponge having ridden with judgement--judgement, at least, in everything except in having taken the lead of jack. after jack comes old black-booted blossomnose; and messrs. wake, fossick, and fyle, complete our complement of five. they are all riding steadily and well; all very irate, however, at the stranger for going before them, and ready to back jack in anything he may say or do. on, on they go; the hounds still pressing forward, though not carrying quite so good a head as before. in truth, they have run four miles in twenty minutes; pretty good going anywhere except upon paper, where they always go unnaturally fast. however, there they are, still pressing on, though with considerably less music than before. after rounding newington hill, they got into a wilder and worse sort of country, among moorish, ill-cultivated land, with cold unwholesome-looking fallows. the day, too, seemed changing for the worse; a heavy black cloud hanging overhead. the hounds were at length brought to their noses. his lordship, who had been riding all eyes, ears, and fears, foresaw the probability of this; and pulling-to his horse, held up his hand, the usual signal for jack to 'sing out' and stop the field. sponge saw the signal, but, unfortunately, hercules didn't; and tearing along with his head to the ground, resolutely bore our friend not only past his lordship, but right on to where the now stooping pack were barely feathering on the line. then jack and his lordship sang out together. '_hold hard!_' screeched his lordship, in a dreadful state of excitement. 'hold hard!' thundered jack. sponge _was_ holding hard--hard enough to split the horse's jaws, but the beast would go on, notwithstanding. 'by the powers, he's among 'em again!' shouted his lordship, as the resolute beast, with his upturned head almost pulled round to sponge's knee, went star-gazing on like the blind man in regent street. 'sing out jack! sing out! for heaven's sake sing out,' shrieked his lordship, shutting his eyes, as he added, 'or he'll kill every man jack of them.' 'now, sur!' roared jack, 'can't you steer that 'ere aggravatin' quadruped of yours?' 'oh, you pestilential son of a pontry-maid!' screeched his lordship, as brilliant ran yelping away from under sponge's horse's feet. 'sing out, jack! sing out!' gasped his lordship again. 'oh, you scandalous, hypocritical, rusty-booted, numb-handed son of a puffing corn-cutter, why don't you turn your attention to feeding hens, cultivating cabbages, or making pantaloons for small folk, instead of killing hounds in this wholesale way?' roared jack; an inquiry that set him foaming again. 'oh, you unsightly, sanctified, idolatrous, bagnigge-wells coppersmith, you think because i'm a lord, and can't swear or use coarse language, that you may do what you like; rot you, sir, i'll present you with a testimonial! i'll settle a hundred a year upon you if you'll quit the country. by the powers, they're away again!' added his lordship, who, with one eye on sponge and the other on the pack, had been watching frosty lifting them over the bad scenting-ground, till, holding them on to a hedgerow beyond, they struck the scent on good sound pasture, and went away at score, every hound throwing his tongue, and filling the air with joyful melody. away they swept like a hurricane. 'f-o-o-rard!' was again the cry. 'hang it, jack,' exclaimed lord scamperdale, laying his hand on his _double's_ shoulder, as they galloped alongside of each other, 'hang it, jack, see if you can't sarve out this unrighteous, mahogany-booted, rattle-snake. _do_ if you die for it!--i'll bury your remainders genteelly--patent coffin with brass nails, all to yourself--put frosty and all the fellows in black, and raise a white marble monument to your memory, declaring you were the most spotless virtuous man under the sun.' 'let me off dining with jaw, and i'll do my best,' replied jack. 'done!' screamed his lordship, flourishing his right arm in the air, as he flew over a great stone wall. a good many of the horses and sportsmen too had had enough before the hounds checked; and the quick way frosty lifted them and hit off the scent, did not give them much time to recruit. many of them now sat hat in hand, mopping, and puffing, and turning their red perspiring faces to the wind. 'poough,' gasped one, as if he was going to be sick; 'puff,' went another; 'oh! but it's 'ot!' exclaimed a third, pulling off his limp neckcloth; 'wonder if there's any ale hereabouts,' cried a fourth; 'terrible run!' observed a fifth; 'ten miles at least,' gasped another. meanwhile the hounds went streaming on; and it is wonderful how soon those who don't follow are left hopelessly in the rear. of the few that did follow, mr. sponge, however, was one. nothing daunted by the compliments that had been paid him, he got hercules well in hand; and the horse dropping again on the bit, resumed his place in front, going as strong and steadily as ever. thus he went, throwing the mud in the faces of those behind, regardless of the oaths and imprecations that followed; sponge knowing full well they would do the same by him if they could. 'all jealousy,' said sponge, spurring his horse. 'never saw such a jealous set of dogs in my life.' an accommodating lane soon presented itself, along which they all pounded, with the hounds running parallel through the enclosures on the left; sponge sending such volleys of pebbles and mud in his rear as made it advisable to keep a good way behind him. the line was now apparently for firlingham woods; but on nearing the thatched cottage on gasper heath, the fox, most likely being headed, had turned short to the right; and the chase now lay over sheeplow water meadows, and so on to bolsover brick-fields, when the pack again changed from hunting to racing, and the pace for a time was severe. his lordship having got his second horse at the turn, was ready for the tussle, and plied away vigorously, riding, as usual, with all his heart, with all his mind, with all his soul, and with all his strength; while jack, still on the grey, came plodding diligently along in the rear, saving his horse as much as he could. his lordship charged a stiff flight of rails in the brick-fields; while jack, thinking to save his, rode at a weak place in the fence, a little higher up, and in an instant was soused overhead in a clay-hole. 'duck under, jack! duck under!' screamed his lordship, as jack's head rose to the surface. 'duck under! you'll have it full directly!' added he, eyeing sponge and the rest coming up. sponge, however, saw the splash, and turning a little lower down, landed safe on sound ground; while poor blossomnose, who was next, went floundering overhead also. but the pace was too good to stop to fish them out. 'dash it,' said sponge, looking at them splashing about, 'but that was a near go for me!' jack being thus disposed of, sponge, with increased confidence, rose in his stirrups, easing the redoubtable hercules; and patting him on the shoulder, at the same time that he gave him the gentlest possible touch of the spur, exclaimed, 'by the powers, we'll show these old flat hats the trick!' he then commenced humming: mister sponge, the raspers taking, sets the junkers' nerves a shaking; and riding cheerfully on, he at length found himself on the confines of a wild rough-looking moor, with an undulating range of hills in the distance. frostyface and lord scamperdale here for the first time diverged from the line the hounds were running, and made for the neck of a smooth, flat, rather inviting-looking piece of ground, instead of crossing it, sponge, thinking to get a niche, rode to it; and the 'deeper and deeper still' sort of flounder his horse made soon let him know that he was in a bog. the impetuous hercules rushed and reared onwards as if to clear the wide expanse; and alighting still lower, shot sponge right overhead in the middle. [illustration] '_that's_ cooked _your_ goose!' exclaimed his lordship, eyeing sponge and his horse floundering about in the black porridge-like mess. 'catch my horse!' hallooed sponge to the first whip, who came galloping up as hercules was breasting his way out again. 'catch him yourself,' grunted the man, galloping on. a peat-cutter, more humane, received the horse as he emerged from the black sea, exclaiming, as the now-piebald sponge came lobbing after on foot, 'a, sir! but ye should niver set tee to ride through sic a place as that!' sponge, having generously rewarded the man with a fourpenny piece, for catching his horse and scraping the thick of the mud off him, again mounted, and cantered round the point he should at first have gone; but his chance was out--the farther he went, the farther he was left behind; till at last, pulling up, he stood watching the diminishing pack, rolling like marbles over the top of rotherjade hill, followed by his lordship hugging his horse round the neck as he went, and the huntsman and whips leading and driving theirs up before them. 'nasty jealous old beggar!' said sponge, eyeing his lessening lordship disappearing over the hill too. sponge then performed the sickening ceremony of turning away from hounds running; not but that he might have plodded on on the line, and perhaps seen or heard what became of the fox, but sponge didn't hunt on those terms. like a good many other gentlemen, he would be first, or nowhere. if it was any consolation to him, he had plenty of companions in misfortune. the line was dotted with horsemen back to the brick-fields. the first person he overtook wending his way home in the discontented, moody humour of a thrown-out man, was mr. puffington master of the hanby hounds; at whose appearance at the meet we expressed our surprise. neighbouring masters of hounds are often more or less jealous of each other. no man in the master-of-hound world is too insignificant for censure. lord scamperdale _was_ an undoubted sportsman; while poor mr. puffington thought of nothing but how to be thought one. hearing the mistaken rumour that a great writer was down, he thought that his chance of immortality was arrived; and, ordering his best horse, and putting on his best apparel, had braved the jibes and sneers of jack and his lordship for the purpose of scraping acquaintance with the stranger. in that he had been foiled: there was no time at the meet to get introduced, neither could he get jostled beside sponge in going down to the cover; while the quick find, the quick get away, followed by the quick thing we have described, were equally unfavourable to the undertaking. nevertheless, mr. puffington had held on beyond the brick-fields; and had he but persevered a little farther, he would have had the satisfaction of helping mr. sponge out of the bog. sponge now, seeing a red coat a little before, trotted on, and quickly overtook a fine nippy, satin-stocked, dandified looking gentleman, with marvellously smart leathers and boots--a great contrast to the large, roomy, bargemanlike costume of the members of the flat hat hunt. 'you're not hurt, i hope?' exclaimed mr. puffington, with well-feigned anxiety, as he looked at mr. sponge's black-daubed clothes. 'oh no!' replied sponge. 'oh no!--fell soft--fell soft. more dirt, less hurt--more dirt, less hurt.' 'why, you've been in a bog!' exclaimed mr. puffington, eyeing the much-stained hercules. 'almost over head,' replied sponge. 'scamperdale saw me going, and hadn't the grace to halloa.' 'ah, that's like him,' replied mr. puffington, 'that's like him: there's nothing pleases him so much as getting fellows into grief.' 'not very polite to a stranger,' observed mr. sponge. 'no, it isn't,' replied mr. puffington, 'no, it isn't; far from it indeed--far from it; but, low be it spoken,' added he, 'his lordship is only a roughish sort of customer.' 'so he is,' replied mr. sponge, who thought it fine to abuse a nobleman. 'the fact is,' said mr. puffington, 'these flat hat chaps are all snobs. they think there are no such fine fellows as themselves under the sun; and if ever a stranger looks near them, they make a point of being as rude and disagreeable to him as they possibly can. this is what they call keeping the hunt select.' 'indeed,' observed mr. sponge, recollecting how they had complimented him, adding, 'they seem a queer set.' 'there's a fellow they call "jack,"' observed mr. puffington, 'who acts as a sort of bulldog to his lordship, and worries whoever his lordship sets him upon. he got into a clay-hole a little farther back, and a precious splashing he was making, along with the chaplain, old blossomnose.' 'ah, i saw him,' observed mr. sponge. 'you should come and see _my_ hounds,' observed mr. puffington. 'what are they?' asked sponge. 'the hanby,' replied mr. puffington. 'oh! then you are mr. puffington,' observed sponge, who had a sort of general acquaintance with all the hounds and masters--indeed, with all the meets of all the hounds in the kingdom--which he read in the weekly lists in _bell's life_, just as he read _mogg's cab fares_. 'then you are mr. puffington?' observed sponge. 'the same,' replied the stranger. 'i'll have a look at you,' observed sponge, adding, 'do you take in horses?' 'yours, of course,' replied mr. puffington, bowing; adding something about great public characters, which sponge didn't understand. 'i'll be down upon you, as the extinguisher said to the rushlight,' observed mr. sponge. 'do,' said mr. puffington; 'come before the frost. where are you staying now?' 'i'm at jawleyford's,' replied our friend. 'indeed!--jawleyford's, are you?' repeated mr. puffington. 'good fellow, jawleyford--gentleman, jawleyford. how long do you stay?' 'why, i haven't made up my mind,' replied sponge. 'have no thoughts of budging at present.' 'ah, well--good quarters,' said mr. puffington, who now smelt a rat; 'good quarters--nice girls--fine fortune--fine place, jawleyford court. well, book me for the next visit,' added he. 'i will,' said sponge, 'and no mistake. what do they call your shop?' 'hanby house,' replied mr. puffington; 'hanby house--anybody can tell you where hanby house is.' 'i'll not forget,' said mr. sponge, booking it in his mind, and eyeing his victim. 'i'll show you a fine pack of hounds,' said mr. puffington; 'far finer animals than those of old scamperdale's--steady, true hunting hounds, that won't go a yard without a scent--none of your jealous, flashy, frantic devils, that will tear over half a township without one, and are always looking out for "halloas" and assistance--' mr. puffington was interrupted in the comparison he was about to draw between his lordship's hounds and his, by arriving at the bolsover brick-fields, and seeing jack and blossomnose, horse in hand, running to and fro, while sundry countrymen blobbed about in the clay-hole they had so recently occupied. tom washball, mr. wake, mr. fyle, mr. fossick, and several dark-coated horsemen and boys were congregated around. jack had lost his spectacles, and blossomnose his whip, and the countrymen were diving for them. 'not hurt, i hope?' said mr. puffington, in the most dandified tone of indifference, as he rode up to where jack and blossomnose were churning the water in their boots, stamping up and down, trying to get themselves warm. 'hurt be hanged!' replied jack, who had a frightful squint, that turned his eyes inside out when he was in a passion: 'hurt be hanged!' said he; 'might have been drownded, for anything you'd have cared.' 'i should have been sorry for that,' replied mr. puffington, adding, 'the flat hat hunt could ill afford to lose so useful and ornamental a member.' 'i don't know what the flat hat hunt can afford to lose,' spluttered jack, who hadn't got all the clay out of his mouth; 'but i know they can afford to do without the company of certain gentlemen who shall be nameless,' said he, looking at sponge and puffington as he thought, but in reality showing nothing but the whites of his eyes. 'i told you so,' said puffington, jerking his head towards jack, as sponge and he turned their horses' heads to ride away; 'i told you so,' repeated he; 'that's a specimen of their style'; adding, 'they are the greatest set of ruffians under the sun.' the new acquaintances then jogged on together as far as the cross-roads at stewley, when puffington, having bound sponge in his own recognizance to come to him when he left jawleyford court, pointed him out his way, and with a most hearty shake of the hands the new-made friends parted. chapter xxiv lord scamperdale at home [illustration] we fear our fair friends will expect something gay from the above heading--lamps and flambeaux outside, fiddlers, feathers, and flirters in. nothing of the sort, fair ladies--nothing of the sort. lord scamperdale 'at home' simply means that his lordship was not out hunting, that he had got his dirty boots and breeches off, and dry tweeds and tartans on. lord scamperdale was the eighth earl; and, according to the usual alternating course of great english families--one generation living and the next starving--it was his lordship's turn to live; but the seventh earl having been rather unreasonable in the length of his lease, the present earl, who during the lifetime of his father was lord hardup, had contracted such parsimonious habits, that when he came into possession he could not shake them off; and but for the fortunate friendship of abraham brown, the village blacksmith, who had given his young idea a sporting turn, entering him with ferrets and rabbits, and so training him on with terriers and rat-catching, badger-baiting and otter-hunting, up to the noble sport of fox-hunting itself, in all probability his lordship would have been a regular miser. as it was, he did not spend a halfpenny upon anything but hunting; and his hunting, though well, was still economically done, costing him some couple of thousand a year, to which, for the sake of euphony, jack used to add an extra five hundred; 'two thousand five under'd a year, five-and-twenty under'd a year,' sounding better, as jack thought, and more imposing, than a couple of thousand, or two thousand, a year. there were few days on which jack didn't inform the field what the hounds cost his lordship, or rather what they didn't cost him. woodmansterne, his lordship's principal residence, was a fine place. it stood in an undulating park of acres, with its church, and its lakes, and its heronry, and its decoy, and its racecourse, and its varied grasses of the choicest kinds, for feeding the numerous herds of deer, so well known at temple bar and charing cross as the woodmansterne venison. the house was a modern edifice, built by the sixth earl, who, having been a 'liver,' had run himself aground by his enormous outlay on this italian structure, which was just finished when he died. the fourth earl, who, we should have stated, was a 'liver' too, was a man of _vertù_--a great traveller and collector of coins, pictures, statues, marbles, and curiosities generally--things that are very dear to buy, but oftentimes extremely cheap when sold; and, having collected a vast quantity from all parts of the world (no easy feat in those days), he made them heirlooms, and departed this life, leaving the next earl the pleasure of contemplating them. the fifth earl having duly starved through life, then made way for the sixth; who, finding such a quantity of valuables stowed away, as he thought, in rather a confined way, sent to london for a first-rate architect. sir thomas squareall (who always posted with four horses), who forthwith pulled down the old brick-and-stone elizabethan mansion, and built the present splendid italian structure, of the finest polished stone, at an expense of--furniture and all--say , _l._; sir thomas's estimates being , _l._ the seventh earl of course they starved; and the present lord, at the age of forty-three, found himself in possession of house, and coins, and curiosities; and, best of all, of some , _l._ in the funds, which had quietly rolled up during the latter part of his venerable parent's existence. his lordship then took counsel with himself--first, whether he should marry or remain single; secondly, whether he should live or starve. having considered the subject with all the attention a limited allowance of brains permitted, he came to the resolution that the second proposition depended a good deal upon the first; 'for,' said he to himself, 'if i marry, my lady, perhaps, may _make_ me live; and therefore,' said he, 'perhaps i'd better remain single.' at all events, he came to the determination not to marry in a hurry; and until he did, he felt there was no occasion for him to inconvenience himself by living. so he had the house put away in brown holland, the carpets rolled up, the pictures covered, the statues shrouded in muslin, the cabinets of curiosities locked, the plate secured, the china closeted, and everything arranged with the greatest care against the time, which he put before him in the distance like a target, when he should marry and begin to live. at first he gave two or three great dinners a year, about the height of the fruit season, and when it was getting too ripe for carriage to london by the old coaches--when a grand airing of the state-rooms used to take place, and ladies from all parts of the county used to sit shivering with their bare shoulders, all anxious for the honours of the head of the table. his lordship always held out that he was a marrying man; but even if he hadn't they would have come all the same, an unmarried man being always clearly on the cards; and though he was stumpy, and clumsy, and ugly, with as little to say for himself as could well be conceived, they all agreed that he was a most engaging, attractive man--quite a pattern of a man. even on horseback, and in his hunting clothes, in which he looked far the best, he was only a coarse, square, bull-headed looking man, with hard, dry, round, matter-of-fact features, that never looked young, and yet somehow never get old. indeed, barring the change from brown to grey of his short stubbly whiskers, which he trained with great care into a curve almost on to his cheek-bone, he looked very little older at the period of which we are writing than he did a dozen years before, when he was lord hardup. these dozen years, however, had brought him down in his doings. the dinners had gradually dwindled away altogether, and he had had all the large tablecloths and napkins rough dried and locked away against he got married; an event that he seemed more anxious to provide for the more unlikely it became. he had also abdicated the main body of the mansion, and taken up his quarters in what used to be the steward's room; into which he could creep quietly by a side door opening from the outer entrance, and so save frequent exposure to the cold and damp of the large cathedral-like hall beyond. through the steward's room was what used to be the muniment room, which he converted into a bedroom for himself; and a little farther along the passage was another small chamber, made out of what used to be the plate-room, whereof jack, or whoever was in office, had the possession. all three rooms were furnished in the roughest, coarsest, homeliest way--his lordship wishing to keep all the good furniture against he got married. the sitting-room, or parlour as his lordship called it, had an old grey drugget for a carpet, an old round black mahogany table on castors, that the last steward had ejected as too bad for him, four semi-circular wooden-bottomed walnut smoking-chairs; an old spindle-shanked sideboard, with very little middle, over which swung a few bookshelves, with the termination of their green strings surmounted by a couple of foxes' brushes. small as the shelves were, they were larger than his lordship wanted--two books, one for jack and one for himself, being all they contained; while the other shelves were filled with hunting-horns, odd spurs, knots of whipcord, piles of halfpence, lucifer-match boxes, gun-charges, and such-like miscellaneous articles. his lordship's fare was as rough as his furniture. he was a great admirer of tripe, cow-heel, and delicacies of that kind; he had tripe twice a week--boiled one day, fried another. he was also a great patron of beefsteaks, which he ate half-raw, with slices of cold onion served in a saucer with water. it was a beefsteak-and-batter-pudding day on which the foregoing run took place; and his lordship and jack having satisfied nature off their respective dishes--for they only had vegetables in common--and having finished off with some very strong cheshire cheese, wheeled their chairs to the fire, while bags the butler cleared the table and placed it between them. they were dressed in full suits of flaming large-check red-and-yellow tartans, the tartan of that noble clan the 'stunners,' with black-and-white shetland hose and red slippers. his lordship and jack had related their mutual adventures by cross visits to each other's bedrooms while dressing: and, dinner being announced by the time they were ready, they had fallen to, and applied themselves diligently to the victuals, and now very considerately unbuttoned their many-pocketed waistcoats and stuck out their legs, to give it a fair chance of digesting. they seldom spoke much until his lordship had had his nap, which he generally took immediately after dinner; but on this particular night he sat bending forward in his chair, picking his teeth and looking at his toes, evidently ill at ease in his mind. jack guessed the cause, but didn't say anything. sponge, he thought, had beat him. at length his lordship threw himself back in his chair, and stretching his little queer legs out before him, began to breathe thicker and thicker, till at last he got the melody up to a grunt. it was not the fine generous snore of a sleep that he usually enjoyed, but short, fitful, broken naps, that generally terminated in spasmodic jerks of the arms or legs. these grew worse, till at last all four went at once, like the limbs of a peter waggey, when, throwing himself forward with a violent effort, he awoke; and finding his horse was not a-top of him, as he thought, he gave vent to his feelings in the following ejaculations: 'oh, jack, i'm onhappy!' exclaimed he. 'i'm distressed!' continued he. 'i'm wretched!' added he, slapping his knees. 'i'm perfectly _miserable_!' he concluded, with a strong emphasis on the 'miserable.' 'what's the matter?' asked jack, who was half-asleep himself. [illustration: his lordship and jack] 'oh, that mister something!--he'll be the death of me!' observed his lordship. 'i thought so,' replied jack; 'what's the chap been after now?' 'i dreamt he'd killed old lablache--best hound i have,' replied his lordship. 'he be ----,' grunted jack. 'ah, it's all very well for you to say "he be this" and "he be that," but i can tell you what, that fellow is going to be a very awkward customer--a terrible thorn in my side.' 'humph!' grunted jack, who didn't see how. 'there's mischief about that fellow,' continued his lordship, pouring himself out half a tumbler of gin, and filling it up with water. 'there's mischief about the fellow. i don't like his looks--i don't like his coat--i don't like his boots--i don't like anything about him. i'd rather see the back of him than the front. he must be got rid of,' added his lordship. 'well, i did my best to-day, i'm sure,' replied jack. 'i was deuced near wanting the patent coffin you were so good as to promise me.' 'you did your work well,' replied his lordship; 'you did your work well; and you shall have my other specs till i can get you a new pair from town; and if you'll serve me again, i'll remember you in my will--i'll leave you something handsome.' 'i'm your man,' replied jack. 'i never was so bothered with a fellow in my life,' observed his lordship. 'captain topsawyer was bad enough, and always pressed far too close on the hounds, but he would pull up at a check; but this rusty-booted 'bomination seems to think the hounds are kept for him to ride over. he must be got rid of somehow,' repeated his lordship; 'for we shall have no peace while he's here.' 'if he's after either of the jawley girls, he'll be bad to shake off,' observed jack. 'that's just the point,' replied his lordship, quaffing off his gin with the air of a man most thoroughly thirsty; 'that's just the point,' repeated he, setting down his tumbler. 'i think if he is, i could cook his goose for him.' 'how so?' asked jack, drinking off his glass. 'why, i'll tell you,' replied his lordship, replenishing his tumbler, and passing the old gilt-labelled blue bottle over to jack; 'you see, frosty's a cunning old file, picks up all the news and gossip of the country when he's out at exercise with the hounds, or in going to cover--knows everything!--who licks his wife, and whose wife licks him--who's after such a girl, and so on--and he's found out somehow that this mr. what's-his-name isn't the man of metal he's passing for.' 'indeed,' exclaimed jack, raising his eyebrows, and squinting his eyes inside out; jack's opinion of a man being entirely regulated by his purse. 'it's a fact,' said his lordship, with a knowing shake of his head. 'as we were toddling home with the hounds, i said to frosty, "i hope that mr. something's comfortable in his bath"--meaning gobblecow bog, which he rode into. "why," said frosty, "it's no great odds what comes of such rubbage as that." now, frosty, you know, in a general way, is a most polite, fair-spoken man, specially before christmas, when he begins to look for the tips; and as we are not much troubled with strangers, thanks to your sensible way of handling them, i thought frosty would have made the most of this natural son of dives, and been as polite to him as possible. however, he was evidently no favourite of frosty's. so i just asked--not that one likes to be familiar with servants, you know, but still this brown-booted beggar is enough to excite one's curiosity and make any one go out of one's way a little--so i just asked frosty what he knew about him. "all over the left," said frosty, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder, and looking as knowing as a goose with one eye; "all over the left," repeated he. "what's over the left?" said i. "why, this mr. sponge," said he. "how so?" asked i. "why," said frosty, "he's come gammonin' down here that he's a great man--full of money, and horses, and so on; but it's all my eye, he's no more a great man than i am."' 'the deuce!' exclaimed jack, who had sat squinting and listening intently as his lordship proceeded. 'well, now, hang me, i thought he was a snob the moment i saw him,' continued he; jack being one of those clever gentlemen who know everything after they are told. '"well, how do you know, jack?" said i to frosty. "oh, i knows," replied he, as if he was certain about it. however, i wasn't satisfied without knowing too; and, as we kept jogging on, we came to the old coach and horses, and i said to jack, "we may as well have a drop of something to warm us." so we halted, and had glasses of brandy apiece, whips and all; and then, as we jogged on again, i just said to jack casually, "did you say it was mr. blossomnose told you about old brown boots?" "no--blossomnose--no," replied he, as if blossom never had anything half so good to tell; "it was a young woman," said he, in an undertone, "who told me, and she had it from old brown boots's groom."' 'well, that's good,' observed jack, diving his hands into the very bottom of his great tartan trouser pockets, and shooting his legs out before him; 'well, that's good,' repeated he, falling into a sort of reverie. 'well, but what can we make of it?' at length inquired he, after a long pause, during which he ran the facts through his mind, and thought they could not be much ruder to sponge than they had been. 'what can we make of it?' said he. 'the fellow can ride, and we can't prevent him hunting; and his having nothing only makes him less careful of his neck.' 'why, that was just what i thought,' replied lord scamperdale, taking another tumbler of gin; 'that was just what i thought--the fellow can ride, and we can't prevent him; and just as i settled that in my sleep, i thought i saw him come staring along, with his great brown horse's head in the air, and crash right a-top of old lablache. but i see my way clearer with him now. but help yourself,' continued his lordship, passing the gin-bottle over to jack, feeling that what he had to say required a little recommendation. 'i think i can turn frosty's information to some account.' 'i don't see how,' observed jack, replenishing his glass. '_i_ do, though,' replied his lordship, adding, 'but i must have your assistance.' 'well, anything in moderation,' replied jack, who had had to turn his hand to some very queer jobs occasionally. 'i'll tell you what _i_ think,' observed his lordship. 'i think there are two ways of getting rid of this haughty philistine--this unclean spirit--this 'bomination of a man. i think, in the first place, if old chatterbox knew that he had nothing, he would very soon bow him out of jawleyford court; and in the second, that we might get rid of him by buying his horses.' 'well,' replied jack, 'i don't know but you're right. chatterbox would soon wash his hands of him, as he has done of many promising young gentlemen before, if he has nothing; but people differ so in their ideas of what nothing consists of.' jack spoke feelingly, for he was a gentleman who was generally spoken of as having nothing a year, paid quarterly; and yet he was in the enjoyment of an annuity of sixty pounds. 'oh, why, when i say he has nothing,' replied lord scamperdale, 'i mean that he has not what jawleyford, who is a bumptious sort of an ass, would consider sufficient to make him a fit match for one of his daughters. he may have a few hundreds a year, but jaw, i'm sure, will look at nothing under thousands.' 'oh, certainly not,' said jack, 'there's no doubt about that.' 'well, then, you see, i was thinking,' observed lord scamperdale, eyeing jack's countenance, 'that if you would dine there to-morrow, as we fixed--' 'oh, dash it! i couldn't do that,' interrupted jack, drawing himself together in his chair like a horse refusing a leap; 'i couldn't do that--i couldn't dine with jaw, not at no price.' 'why not?' asked lord scamperdale; 'he'll give you a good dinner--fricassees, and all sorts of good things; far finer fare than you have here.' 'that may all be,' replied jack, 'but i don't want none of his food. i hate the sight of the fellow, and detest him fresh every time i see him. consider, too, you said you'd let me off if i sarved out sponge; and i'm sure i did my best. i led him over some awful places, and then what a ducking i got! my ears are full of water still,' added he, laying his head on one side to try to run it out. 'you did well,' observed lord scamperdale--'you did well, and i fully intended to let you off, but then i didn't know what a beggar i had to deal with. come, say you'll go, that's a good fellow.' 'couldn't,' replied jack, squinting frightfully. 'you'll _oblige_ me,' observed lord scamperdale. 'ah, well, i'd do anything to oblige your lordship,' replied jack, thinking of the corner in the will. 'i'd do anything to oblige your lordship: but the fact is, sir, i'm not prepared to go. i've lost my specs--i've got no swell clothes--i can't go in the stunner tartan,' added he, eyeing his backgammon-board-looking chest, and diving his hands into the capacious pockets of his shooting-jacket. [illustration] 'i'll manage all that,' replied his lordship; 'i've got a pair of splendid silver-mounted spectacles in the indian cabinet in the drawing-room, that i've kept to be married in. i'll lend them to you, and there's no saying but you may captivate miss jawleyford in them. then as to clothes, there's my new damson-coloured velvet waistcoat with the steel buttons, and my fine blue coat with the velvet collar, silk facings, and our button on it; altogether i'll rig you out and make you such a swell as there's no saying but miss jawleyford'll offer to you, by way of consoling herself for the loss of sponge.' 'i'm afraid you'll have to make a settlement for me, then,' observed our friend. 'well, you are a good fellow. jack,' said his lordship, 'and i'd as soon make one on you as on any one.' 'i s'pose you'll send me on wheels?' observed jack. 'in course,' replied his lordship. 'dog-cart--name behind--right honourable the earl of scamperdale--lad with cockade--everything genteel'; adding, 'by jove, they'll take you for me!' having settled all these matters, and arranged how the information was to be communicated to jawleyford, the friends at length took their block-tin candlesticks, with their cauliflower-headed candles, and retired to bed. chapter xxv mr. spraggon's embassy to jawleyford court [illustration] when mr. sponge returned, all dirtied and stained, from the chase, he found his host sitting in an arm-chair over the study fire, dressing-gowned and slippered, with a pocket-handkerchief tied about his head, shamming illness, preparatory to putting off mr. spraggon. to be sure, he played rather a better knife and fork at dinner than is usual with persons with that peculiar ailment; but mr. sponge, being very hungry, and well attended to by the fair--moreover, not suspecting any ulterior design--just ate and jabbered away as usual, with the exception of omitting his sick papa-in-law in the round of his observations. so the dinner passed over. 'bring me a tumbler and some hot water and sugar,' said mr. jawleyford, pressing his head against his hand, as spigot, having placed some bottle ends on the table, and reduced the glare of light, was preparing to retire. 'bring me some hot water and sugar,' said he; 'and tell harry he will have to go over to lord scamperdale's, with a note, the first thing in the morning.' the young ladies looked at each other, and then at mamma, who, seeing what was wanted, looked at papa, and asked, 'if he was going to ask lord scamperdale over?' amelia, among her many 'presentiments,' had long enjoyed one that she was destined to be lady scamperdale. 'no--_over_--no,' snapped jawleyford; 'what should put that in your head?' 'oh, i thought as mr. sponge was here, you might think it a good time to ask him.' 'his lordship knows he can come when he likes,' replied jawleyford, adding, 'it's to put that mr. john spraggon off, who thinks he may do the same.' 'mr. spraggon!' exclaimed both the young ladies. 'mr. spraggon!--what should set him here?' 'what, indeed?' asked jawleyford. 'poor man! i dare say there's no harm in him,' observed mrs. jawleyford, who was always ready for anybody. 'no good either,' replied jawleyford--'at all events, we'll be just as well without him. you know him, don't you?' added he, turning to sponge--'great coarse man in spectacles.' 'oh yes, i know him,' replied sponge; 'a great ruffian he is, too,' added he. 'one ought to be in robust health to encounter such a man,' observed jawleyford, 'and have time to get a man or two of the same sort to meet him. _we_ can do nothing with such a man. i can't understand how his lordship puts up with such a fellow.' 'finds him useful, i suppose,' observed mr. sponge. spigot presently appeared with a massive silver salver, bearing tumblers, sugar, lemon, nutmeg, and other implements of negus. 'will you join me in a little wine-and-water?' asked jawleyford, pointing to the apparatus and bottle ends, 'or will you have a fresh bottle?--plenty in the cellar,' added he, with a flourish of his hand, though he kept looking steadfastly at the negus-tray. 'oh--why--i'm afraid--i doubt--i think i should hardly be able to do justice to a bottle single-handed,' replied sponge. 'then have negus,' said jawleyford; 'you'll find it very refreshing; medical men recommend it after violent exercise in preference to wine. but pray have wine if you prefer it.' 'ah--well, i'll finish off with a little negus, perhaps,' replied sponge, adding, 'meanwhile the ladies, i dare say, would like a little wine.' 'the ladies drink white wine--sherry,' rejoined jawleyford, determined to make a last effort to save his port. 'however, you can have a bottle of port to yourself, you know.' 'very well,' said sponge. 'one condition i must attach,' said mr. jawleyford, 'which is, that you _finish_ the bottle. don't let us have any waste, you know.' 'i'll do my best,' said sponge, determined to have it; whereupon mr. jawleyford growled the word 'port' to the butler, who had been witnessing his master's efforts to direct attention to the negus. thwarted in his endeavour, jawleyford's headache became worse, and the ladies, seeing how things were going, beat a precipitate retreat, leaving our hero to his fate. 'i'll leave a note on my writing-table when i go to bed,' observed jawleyford to spigot, as the latter was retiring after depositing the bottle; 'and tell harry to start with it early in the morning, so as to get to woodmansterne about breakfast--nine o'clock, or so, at latest,' added he. 'yes, sir,' replied spigot, withdrawing with an air. sponge then wanted to narrate the adventures of the day; but, independently of jawleyford's natural indifference for hunting, he was too much out of humour at being done out of his wine to lend a willing ear; and after sundry 'hums,' 'indeeds,' 'sos,' &c., sponge thought he might as well think the run over to himself as trouble to put it into words, whereupon a long silence ensued, interrupted only by the tinkling of jawleyford's spoon against his glass, and the bumps of the decanter as sponge helped himself to his wine. at length jawleyford, having had as much negus as he wanted, excused himself from further attendence, under the plea of increasing illness, and retired to his study to concoct his letter to jack. at first he was puzzled how to address him. if he had been jack spraggon, living in old mother nipcheese's lodgings at starfield, as he was when lord scamperdale took him by the hand, he would have addressed him as 'dear sir,' or perhaps in the third person, 'mr. jawleyford presents his compliments to mr. spraggon,' &c.; but, as my lord's right-hand man, jack carried a certain weight, and commanded a certain influence, that he would never have acquired of himself. jawleyford spoilt three sheets of cream-laid satin-wove note-paper (crested and ciphered) before he pleased himself with a beginning. first he had it 'dear sir,' which he thought looked too stiff; then he had it 'my dear sir,' which he thought looked too loving; next he had it 'dear spraggon,' which he considered as too familiar; and then he tried 'dear mr. spraggon,' which he thought would do. thus he wrote: 'dear mr. spraggon,-- 'i am sorry to be obliged to put you off; but since i came in from hunting i have been attacked with influenza, which will incapacitate me from the enjoyment of society at least for two or three days. i therefore think the kindest thing i can do is to write to put you off; and, in the hopes of seeing both you and my lord at no distant day. 'i remain, dear sir, yours sincerely, 'charles james jawleyford, '_jawleyford court._ 'to john spraggon, esq., &c. &c. &c.' this he sealed with the great seal of jawleyford court--a coat of arms containing innumerable quarterings and heraldic devices. having then refreshed his memory by looking through a bundle of bills, and selected the most threatening of the lawyers' letters to answer the next day, he proceeded to keep up the delusion of sickness, by retiring to sleep in his dressing-room. our readers will now have the kindness to accompany us to lord scamperdale's: time, the morning after the foregoing. 'love me, love my dog,' being a favourite saying of his lordship's, he fed himself, his friends, and his hounds, on the same meal. jack and he were busy with two great basins full of porridge, which his lordship diluted with milk, while jack stirred his up with hot dripping, when the put-off note arrived. his lordship was still in a complete suit of the great backgammon-board-looking red-and-yellow stunner tartan: but as jack was going from home, he had got himself into a pair of his lordship's yellow-ochre leathers and new top-boots, while he wore the stunner jacket and waistcoat to save his lordship's sunday green cutaway with metal buttons, and canary-coloured waistcoat. his lordship did not eat his porridge with his usual appetite, for he had had a disturbed night, sponge having appeared to him in his dreams in all sorts of forms and predicaments; now jumping a-top of him--now upsetting jack--now riding over frostyface--now crashing among his hounds; and he awoke, fully determined to get rid of him by fair means or foul. buying his horses did not seem so good a speculation as blowing his credit at jawleyford court, for, independently of disliking to part with his cash, his lordship remembered that there were other horses to get, and he should only be giving sponge the means of purchasing them. the more, however, he thought of the jawleyford project, the more satisfied he was that it would do; and jack and he were in a sort of rehearsal, wherein his lordship personated jawleyford, and was showing jack (who was only a clumsy diplomatist) how to draw up to the subject of sponge's pecuniary deficiencies, when the dirty old butler came with jawleyford's note. 'what's here?' exclaimed his lordship, fearing from its smartness, that it was from a lady. 'what's here?' repeated he, as he inspected the direction. 'oh, it's for _you_!' exclaimed he, chucking it over to jack, considerably relieved by the discovery. '_me!_' replied jack. 'who can be writing to me?' said he, squinting his eyes inside out at the seal. he opened it: 'jawleyford court,' read he. 'who the deuce can be writing to me from jawleyford court when i'm going there?' 'a put-off, for a guinea!' exclaimed his lordship. 'hope so,' muttered jack. 'hope _not_,' replied his lordship. 'it is!' exclaimed jack, reading, 'dear mr. spraggon,' and so on. 'the humbug!' muttered lord scamperdale, adding, 'i'll be bound he's got no more influenza than i have.' 'well,' observed jack, sweeping a red cotton handkerchief, with which he had been protecting his leathers, off into his pocket, 'there's an end of that.' 'don't go so quick,' replied his lordship, ladling in the porridge. 'quick!' retorted jack; 'why, what can you do?' '_do!_ why, _go_ to be sure,' replied his lordship. 'how can i go,' asked jack, 'when the sinner's written to put me off?' 'nicely,' replied his lordship, 'nicely. i'll just send word back by the servant that you had started before the note arrived, but that you shall have it as soon as you return; and you just cast up there as if nothing had happened.' so saying, his lordship took hold of the whipcord-pull and gave the bell a peal. 'there's no beating you,' observed jack. bags now made his appearance again. 'is the servant here that brought this note?' asked his lordship, holding it up. 'yes, _me_ lord,' replied bags. 'then tell him to tell his master, with my compliments, that mr. spraggon had set off for jawleyford court before it came, but that he shall have it as soon as he returns--you understand?' 'yes, _me_ lord,' replied bags, looking at jack supping up the fat porridge, and wondering how the lie would go down with harry, who was then discussing his master's merits and a horn of small beer with the lad who was going to drive jack. jawleyford court was twenty miles from woodmansterne as the crow flies, and any distance anybody liked to call it by the road. the road, indeed, would seem to have been set out with a view of getting as many hills and as little level ground over which a traveller could make play as possible; and where it did not lead over the tops of the highest hills, it wound round their bases, in such little, vexatious, up-and-down, wavy dips as completely to do away with all chance of expedition. the route was not along one continuous trust, but here over a bit of turnpike and there over a bit of turnpike, with ever and anon long interregnums of township roads, repaired in the usual primitive style with mud and soft field-stones, that turned up like flitches of bacon. a man would travel from london to exeter by rail in as short a time, and with far greater ease, than he would drive from lord scamperdale's to jawleyford court. his lordship being aware of this fact, and thinking, moreover, it was no use trashing a good horse over such roads, had desired frostyface to put an old spavined grey mare, that he had bought for the kennel, into the dog-cart, and out of which, his lordship thought, if he could get a day's work or two, she would come all the cheaper to the boiler. 'that's a good-shaped beast,' observed his lordship, as she now came hitching round to the door; 'i really think she would make a cover hack.' 'sooner you ride her than me,' replied jack, seeing his lordship was coming the dealer over him--praising the shape when he could say nothing for the action. 'well, but she'll take you to jawleyford court as quick as the best of them,' rejoined his lordship, adding, 'the roads are wretched, and jaw's stables are a disgrace to humanity--might as well put a horse in a cellar.' 'well,' observed jack, retiring from the parlour window to his little den along the passage, to put the finishing touch to his toilet--the green cutaway and buff waistcoat, which he further set off with a black satin stock--'well,' said he, 'needs must when a certain gentleman drives.' he presently reappeared full fig, rubbing a fine new eight-and-sixpenny flat-brimmed hat round and round with a substantial puce-coloured bandana. 'now for the specs!' exclaimed he, with the gaiety of a man in his sunday's best, bound on a holiday trip. 'now for the silver specs!' repeated he. 'ah, true,' replied his lordship; 'i'd forgot the specs.' (he hadn't, only he thought his silver-mounted ones would be safer in his keeping than in jack's.) 'i'd forgot the specs. however, never mind, you shall have these,' said he, taking his tortoise-shell-rimmed ones off his nose and handing them to jack. [illustration: mr. spraggon's embassy to jawleyford court] 'you promised me the silver ones,' observed our friend jack, who wanted to be smart. 'did i?' replied his lordship; 'i declare i'd forgot. ah yes, i believe i did,' added he, with an air of sudden enlightenment--'the pair upstairs; but how the deuce to get at them i don't know, for the key of the indian cabinet is locked in the old oak press in the still-room, and the key of the still-room is locked away in the linen-press in the green lumber-room at the top of the house, and the key of the green lumber-room is in a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe in the star-chamber, and the--' 'ah, well; never mind,' grunted jack, interrupting the labyrinth of lies. 'i dare say these will do--i dare say these will do,' putting them on; adding, 'now, if you'll lend me a shawl for my neck, and a mackintosh, my name shall be _walker_.' 'better make it _trotter_,' replied his lordship, 'considering the distance you have to go.' 'good,' said jack, mounting and driving away. 'it will be a blessing if we get there,' observed jack to the liveried stable-lad, as the old bag of bones of a mare went hitching and limping away. 'oh, she can go when she's warm,' replied the lad, taking her across the ears with the point of the whip. the wheels followed merrily over the sound, hard road through the park, and the gentle though almost imperceptible fall of the ground giving an impetus to the vehicle, they bowled away as if they had four of the soundest, freshest legs in the world before them, instead of nothing but a belly-band between them and eternity. when, however, they cleared the noble lodge and got upon the unscraped mud of the deepdebt turnpike, the pace soon slackened, and, instead of the gig running away with the old mare, she was fairly brought to her collar. being a game one, however, she struggled on with a trot, till at length, turning up the deeply spurlinged, clayey bottomed cross-road between rookgate and clamley, it was all she could do to drag the gig through the holding mire. bump, bump, jolt, jolt, creak, creak, went the vehicle. jack now diving his elbow into the lad's ribs, the lad now diving his into jack's; both now threatening to go over on the same side, and again both nearly chucked on to the old mare's quarters. a sharp, cutting sleet, driving pins and needles directly in their faces, further disconcerted our travellers. jack felt acutely for his new eight-and-sixpenny hat, it being the only article of dress he had on of his own. long and tedious as was the road, weak and jaded as was the mare, and long as jack stopped at starfield, he yet reached jawleyford court before the messenger harry. as our friend jawleyford was stamping about his study anathematizing a letter he had received from the solicitor to the directors of the doembrown and sinkall railway, informing him that they were going to indulge in the winding-up act, he chanced to look out of his window just as the contracted limits of a winter's day were drawing the first folds of night's muslin curtain over the landscape, when he espied a gig drawn by a white horse, with a dot-and-go-one sort of action, hopping its way up the slumpey avenue. 'that's buggins the bailiff,' exclaimed he to himself, as the recollection of an unanswered lawyer's letter flashed across his mind; and he was just darting off to the bell to warn spigot not to admit any one, when the lad's cockade, standing in relief against the sky-line, caused him to pause and gaze again at the unwonted apparition. 'who the deuce can it be?' asked he of himself, looking at his watch, and seeing it was a quarter-past four. 'it surely can't be my lord, or that jack spraggon coming after all?' added he, drawing out a telescope and opening a lancet-window. 'spraggon, as i live!' exclaimed he, as he caught jack's harsh, spectacled features, and saw him titivating his hair and arranging his collar and stock as he approached. 'well, that beats everything!' exclaimed jawleyford, burning with rage as he fastened the window again. he stood for a few seconds transfixed to the spot, not knowing what on earth to do. at last resolution came to his aid, and, rushing upstairs to his dressing-room, he quickly divested himself of his coat and waistcoat, and slipped on a dressing-gown and night-cap. he then stood, door in hand, listening for the arrival. he could just hear the gig grinding under the portico, and distinguish jack's gruff voice saying to the servant from the top of the steps, 'we'll start _directly_ after breakfast, mind.' a tremendous peal of the bell immediately followed, convulsing the whole house, for nobody had seen the vehicle approaching, and the establishment had fallen into the usual state of undress torpor that intervenes between calling hours and dinner-time. the bell not being answered as quickly as jack expected, he just opened the door himself; and when spigot arrived, with such a force as he could raise at the moment, jack was in the act of 'peeling' himself, as he called it. 'what time do we dine?' asked he, with the air of a man with the entrée. 'seven o'clock, my lord--that's to say, sir--that's to say, my lord,' for spigot really didn't know whether it was jack or his master. 'seven o'clock!' muttered jack. 'what the deuce is the use of dinin' at such an hour as that in winter?' jack and my lord always dined as soon as they got home from hunting. jack, having got himself out of his wraps, and run his bristles backwards with a pocket-comb, was ready for presentation. 'what name shall i _e_nounce?' asked mr. spigot, fearful of committing himself before the ladies. 'mister spraggon, to be sure,' exclaimed jack, thinking, because he knew who he was, that everybody else ought to know too. spigot then led the way to the music-room. the peal at the bell had caused a suppressed commotion in the apartment. buried in the luxurious depths of a well-cushioned low chair, mr. sponge sat, _mogg_ in hand, with a toe cocked up, now dipping leisurely into his work--now whispering something sweet into amelia's ear, who sat with her crochet-work at his side; while emily played the piano, and mrs. jawleyford kept in the background, in the discreet way mothers do when there is a little business going on. the room was in that happy state of misty light that usually precedes the entrance of candles--a light that no one likes to call darkness, lest their eyes might be supposed to be failing. it is a convenient light, however, for a timid stranger, especially where there are not many footstools set to trip him up--an exemption, we grieve to say, not accorded to every one. though mr. spraggon was such a cool, impudent fellow with men, he was the most awkward, frightened wretch among ladies that ever was seen. his conversation consisted principally of coughing. 'hem!'--cough--'yes, mum,'--hem--cough, cough--'the day,'--hem--cough--'mum, is'--hem--cough--'very,'--hem--cough--'mum, cold.' but we will introduce him to our family circle. 'mr. spraggon!' exclaimed spigot in a tone equal to the one in which jack had announced himself in the entrance; and forthwith there was such a stir in the twilit apartment--such suppressed exclamations of: 'mr. spraggon!--mr. spraggon! what can bring him here?' our traveller's creaking boots and radiant leathers eclipsing the sombre habiliments of mr. spigot, mrs. jawleyford quickly rose from her pembroke writing-desk, and proceeded to greet him. 'my daughters i think you know, mr. spraggon; also mr. sponge? mr. spraggon,' continued she, with a wave of her hand to where our hero was ensconced in his form, in case they should not have made each other's speaking acquaintance. the young ladies rose, and curtsied prettily; while mr. sponge gave a sort of backward hitch of his head as he sat in his chair, as much as to say, 'i know as much of mr. spraggon as i want.' 'tell your master mr. spraggon is here,' added mrs. jawleyford to spigot, as that worthy was leaving the room. 'it's a cold day, mr. spraggon; won't you come near the fire?' continued mrs. jawleyford, addressing our friend, who had come to a full stop just under the chandelier in the centre of the room. 'hem--cough--hem--thank ye, mum,' muttered jack. 'i'm not--hem--cough--cold, thank ye, mum.' his face and hands were purple notwithstanding. 'how is my lord scamperdale?' asked amelia, who had a strong inclination to keep in with all parties. 'hem--cough--hem--my lord--that's to say, my lady--hem--cough--i mean to say, my lord's pretty well, thank ye,' stuttered jack. 'is he coming?' asked amelia. 'hem--cough--hem--my lord's--hem--not well--cough--no--hem--i mean to say--hem--cough--my lord's gone--hem--to dine--cough--hem--with his--cough--friend lord bubbley jock--hem--cough--i mean barker--cough.' jack and lord scamperdale were so in the habit of calling his lordship by this nickname, that jack let it slip, or rather cough out, inadvertently. in due time spigot returned, with 'master's compliments, and he was very sorry, but he was so unwell that he was quite unable to see any one.' 'oh, dear!' exclaimed mrs. jawleyford. 'poor pa!' lisped amelia. 'what a pity!' observed mr. sponge. 'i must go and see him,' observed mrs. jawleyford, hurrying off. 'hem--cough--hem--hope he's not much--hem--damaged?' observed jack. the old lady being thus got rid of, and jawleyford disposed of--apparently for the night--mr. spraggon felt more comfortable, and presently yielded to amelia's entreaties to come near the fire and thaw himself. spigot brought candles, and mr. sponge sat moodily in his chair, alternately studying _mogg's cab fares_--'old bailey, newgate street, to or from the adelphi, the terrace, _s._ _d._; admiralty, _s._'; and so on; and hazarding promiscuous sidelong sort of observations, that might be taken up by jack or not, as he liked. he seemed determined to pay mr. jack off for his out-of-door impudence. amelia, on the other hand, seemed desirous of making up for her suitor's rudeness, and kept talking to jack with an assiduity that perfectly astonished her sister, who had always heard her speak of him with the utmost abhorrence. mrs. jawleyford found her husband in a desperate state of excitement, his influenza being greatly aggravated by harry having returned very drunk, with the mare's knees desperately broken 'by a fall,' as harry hiccuped out, or by his 'throwing her down,' as jawleyford declared. horses _fall_ with their masters, servants _throw_ them down. what a happiness it is when people can send their servants on errands by coaches or railways, instead of being kept on the fidget all day, lest a fifty-pound horse should be the price of a bodkin or a basket of fish! amelia's condescension quite turned jack's head; and when he went upstairs to dress, he squinted at his lordship's best clothes, all neatly laid out for him on the bed, with inward satisfaction at having brought them. 'dash me!' said he, 'i really think that girl has a fancy for me.' then he examined himself minutely in the glass, brushed his whiskers up into a curve on his cheeks, the curves almost corresponding with the curve of his spectacles above; then he gave his bristly, porcupine-shaped head a backward rub with a sort of thing like a scrubbing-brush. 'if i'd only had the silver specs,' thought he, 'i should have done.' he then began to dress; an operation that, ever and anon was interrupted by the outburst of volleys of smoke from the little spluttering, smouldering fire in the little shabby room jawleyford insisted on having him put into. jack tried all things--opening the window and shutting the door, shutting the window and opening the door; but finding that, instead of curing it, he only produced the different degrees of comparison--bad, worse, worst--he at length shut both, and applied himself vigorously to dressing. he soon got into his stockings and pumps, also his black saxony trousers; then came a fine black laced fringe cravat, and the damson-coloured velvet waistcoat with the cut-steel buttons. 'dash me, but i look pretty well in this!' said he, eyeing first one side and then the other as he buttoned it. he then stuck a chased and figured fine gold brooch, with two pendant tassel-drops, set with turquoise and agates, that he had abstracted from his lordship's dressing-case, into his, or rather his lordship's finely worked shirt-front, and crowned the toilet with his lordship's best new blue coat with velvet collar, silk facings, and the flat hat hunt button--'a striding fox,' with the letters 'f.h.h.' below. 'who shall say mr. spraggon's not a gentleman?' said he, as he perfumed one of his lordship's fine coronetted cambric handkerchiefs with lavender-water. scent, in jack's opinion, was one of the criterions of a gentleman. somehow jack felt quite differently towards the house of jawleyford; and though he did not expect much pleasure in mr. sponge's company, he thought, nevertheless, that the ladies and he--amelia and he at least--would get on very well. forgetting that he had come to eject sponge on the score of insufficiency, he really began to think he might be a very desirable match for one of them himself. 'the spraggons are a most respectable family,' said he, eyeing himself in the glass. 'if not very handsome, at all events, very genteel,' added he, speaking of himself in particular. so saying, he adorned himself with his spectacles and set off to explore his way downstairs. after divers mistakes he at length found himself in the drawing-room, where the rest of the party being assembled, they presently proceeded to dinner. jack's amended costume did not produce any difference in mr. sponge's behaviour, who treated him with the utmost indifference. in truth, sponge had rather a large balance against jack for his impudence to him in the field. nevertheless, the fair amelia continued her attentions, and talked of hunting, occasionally diverging into observations on lord scamperdale's fine riding and manly character and appearance, in the roundabout way ladies send their messages and compliments to their friends. the dinner was flat. jawleyford had stopped the champagne tap, though the needle-case glasses stood to tantalize the party till about the time that the beverage ought to have been flowing, when spigot took them off. the flatness then became flatter. nevertheless, jack worked away in his usual carnivorous style, and finished by paying his respects to all the sweets, jellies, and things in succession. he never got any of these, he said, at 'home,' meaning at lord scamperdale's--amelia thought, if she was 'my lady,' he would not get any meat there either. [illustration: enter mr. jack spraggon, full dress] at length jack finished; and having discussed cheese, porter, and red herrings, the cloth was drawn, and a hard-featured dessert, consisting principally of apples, followed. the wine having made a couple of melancholy circuits, the strained conversation about came to a full stop, and spigot having considerately placed the little round table, as if to keep the peace between them, the ladies left the male worthies to discuss their port and sherry together. jack, according to woodmansterne fashion, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and stuck his legs out before him--an example that mr. sponge quickly followed, and each assumed an attitude that as good as said 'i don't care twopence for you.' a dead silence then prevailed, interrupted only by the snap, snap, snapping of jack's toothpick against his chair-edge, when he was not busy exploring his mouth with it. it seemed to be a match which should keep silence longest. jack sat squinting his eyes inside out at sponge, while sponge pretended to be occupied with the fire. the wine being with sponge, and at length wanting some, he was constrained to make the first move, by passing it over to jack, who helped himself to port and sherry simultaneously--a glass of sherry after dinner (in jack's opinion) denoting a gentleman. having smacked his lips over that, he presently turned to the glass of port. he checked his hand in passing it to his mouth, and bore the glass up to his nose. 'corked, by jove!' exclaimed he, setting the glass down on the table with a thump of disgust. it is curious what unexpected turns things sometimes take in the world, and how completely whole trains of well-preconcerted plans are often turned aside by mere accidents such as this. if it hadn't been for the corked bottle of port, there is no saying but these two worthies would have held a quakers' meeting without the 'spirit' moving either of them. 'corked, by jove!' exclaimed jack. 'it is!' rejoined sponge, smelling at his half-emptied glass. 'better have another bottle,' observed jack. 'certainly,' replied sponge, ringing the bell. 'spigot, this wine's corked,' observed sponge, as old pomposo entered the room. 'is it?' said spigot, with the most perfect innocence, though he knew it came out of the corked batch. 'i'll bring another bottle,' added he, carrying it off as if he had a whole pipe at command, though in reality he had but another out. this fortunately was less corked than the first; and jack having given an approving smack of his great thick lips, mr. sponge took it on his judgement, and gave a nod to spigot, who forthwith took his departure. 'old trick that,' observed jack, with a shake of the head, as spigot shut the door. 'is it?' observed mr. sponge, taking up the observation, though in reality it was addressed to the fire. 'noted for it,' replied jack, squinting at the sideboard, though he was staring intently at sponge to see how he took it. 'well, i thought we had a bottle with a queer smatch the other night,' observed sponge. 'old blossomnose corked half a dozen in succession one night,' replied jack. (he had corked three, but jawleyford re-corked them, and spigot was now reproducing them to our friends.) although they had now got the ice broken, and entered into something like a conversation, it nevertheless went on very slowly, and they seemed to weigh each word before it was uttered. jack, too, had time to run his peculiar situation through his mind, and ponder on his mission from lord scamperdale--on his lordship's detestation of mr. sponge, his anxiety to get rid of him, his promised corner in his will, and his lordship's hint about buying sponge's horses if he could not get rid of him in any other way. sponge, on his part, was thinking if there was any possibility of turning jack to account. it may seem strange to the uninitiated that there should be prospect of gain to a middle-man in the matter of a horse-deal, save in the legitimate trade of auctioneers and commission stable-keepers; but we are sorry to say we have known men calling themselves gentlemen, who have not thought it derogatory to accept a 'trifle' for their good offices in the cause. 'i can buy cheaper than you,' they say, 'and we may as well divide the trifle between us.' that was mr. spraggon's principle, only that the word 'trifle' inadequately conveys his opinion on the point; jack's notion being that a man was entitled to _l._ per cent. as of right, and as much more as he could get. it was not often that jack got a 'bite' at my lord, which, perhaps, made him think it the more incumbent on him not to miss an opportunity. having been told, of course he knew exactly the style of man he had to deal with in mr. sponge--a style of men of whom there is never any difficulty in asking if they will sell their horses, price being the only consideration. they are, indeed, a sort of unlicensed horse-dealers, from whose presence few hunts are wholly free. mr. spraggon thought if he could get sponge to make it worth his while to get my lord to buy his horses, the--whatever he might get--would come in very comfortably to pay his christmas bills. by the time the bottle drew to a close, our friends were rather better friends, and seemed more inclined to fraternize. jack had the advantage of sponge, for he could stare, or rather squint, at him without sponge knowing it. the pint of wine apiece--at least, as near a pint apiece as spigot could afford to let them have--somewhat strung jack's nerves as well as his eyes, and he began to show more of the pupils and less of the whites than he did. he buzzed the bottle with such a hearty good will as settled the fate of another, which sponge rang for as a matter of course. there was but the rejected one, which, however, spigot put into a different decanter, and brought in with such an air as precluded either of them saying a word in disparagement of it. 'where are the hounds next week?' asked sponge, sipping away at it. 'monday, larkhall hill; tuesday, the cross-roads by dallington burn; thursday, the toll-bar at whitburrow green; saturday, the kennels,' replied jack. 'good places?' asked sponge. 'monday's good,' replied jack; 'draw thorney gorse--sure find; second draw, barnlow woods, and home by loxley, padmore, and so on.' 'what sort of a place is tuesday?' 'tuesday?' repeated jack. 'tuesday! oh, that's the cross-roads. capital place, unless the fox takes to rumborrow craigs, or gets into seedywood forest, when there's an end of it--at least, an end of everything except pulling one's horse's legs off in the stiff clayey rides. it's a long way from here, though,' observed jack. 'how far?' asked sponge. 'good twenty miles,' replied jack. 'it's sixteen from us; it'll be a good deal more from here.' 'his lordship will lay out overnight, then?' observed sponge. 'not he,' replied jack. 'takes better care of his sixpences than that. up in the dark, breakfast by candlelight, grope our ways to the stable, and blunder along the deep lanes, and through all the by-roads in the country--get there somehow or another.' 'keen hand!' observed sponge. 'mad!' replied jack. they then paid their mutual respects to the port. 'he hunts there on tuesdays,' observed jack, setting down his glass, 'so that he may have all wednesday to get home in, and be sure of appearing on thursday. there's no saying where he may finish with a cross-roads' meet.' by the time the worthies had finished the bottle, they had got a certain way into each other's confidence. the hint lord scamperdale had given about buying sponge's horses still occupied jack's mind; and the more he considered the subject, and the worth of a corner in his lordship's will, the more sensible he became of the truth of the old adage, that 'a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.' 'my lord,' thought jack, 'promises fair, but it is _but_ a chance, and a remote one. he may live many years--as long, perhaps longer, than me. indeed, he puts me on horses that are anything but calculated to promote longevity. then he may marry a wife who may eject me, as some wives do eject their husbands' agreeable friends; or he may change his mind, and leave me nothing after all.' all things considered, jack came to the conclusion that he should not be doing himself justice if he did not take advantage of such fair opportunities as chance placed in his way, and therefore he thought he might as well be picking up a penny during his lordship's life, as be waiting for a contingency that might never occur. mr. jawleyford's indisposition preventing jack making the announcement he was sent to do, made it incumbent on him, as he argued, to see what could be done with the alternative his lordship had proposed--namely, buying sponge's horses. at least, jack salved his conscience over with the old plea of duty; and had come to that conclusion as he again helped himself to the last glass in the bottle. 'would you like a little claret?' asked sponge, with all the hospitality of a host. 'no, hang your claret!' replied jack. 'a little brandy, perhaps?' suggested sponge. 'i shouldn't mind a glass of brandy,' replied jack, 'by way of a nightcap.' spigot, at this moment entering to announce tea and coffee, was interrupted in his oration by sponge demanding some brandy. 'sorry,' replied spigot, pretending to be quite taken by surprise, 'very sorry, sir--but, sir--master, sir--bed, sir--disturb him, sir.' 'oh, dash it, never mind that!' exclaimed jack; 'tell him mr. sprag--sprag--spraggon' (the bottle of port beginning to make jack rather inarticulate)--'tell him mr. spraggon wants a little.' 'dursn't disturb him, sir,' responded spigot, with a shake of his head; 'much as my place, sir, is worth, sir.' 'haven't you a little drop in your pantry, think you?' asked sponge. 'the _cook_ perhaps has,' replied mr. spigot, as if it was quite out of his line. 'well, go and ask her,' said sponge; 'and bring some hot water and things, the same as we had last night, you know.' mr. spigot retired, and presently returned, bearing a tray with three-quarters of a bottle of brandy, which he impressed upon their minds was the 'cook's _own_.' 'i dare say,' hiccuped jack, holding the bottle up to the light. 'hope she wasn't using it herself,' observed sponge. 'tell her we'll (hiccup) her health,' hiccuped jack, pouring a liberal potation into his tumbler. 'that'll be all you'll _do_, i dare say,' muttered spigot to himself, as he sauntered back to his pantry. 'does jaw stand smoking?' asked jack, as spigot disappeared. 'oh, i should think so,' replied sponge; 'a friend like you, i'm sure, would be welcome'--sponge thinking to indulge in a cigar, and lay the blame on jack. 'well, if you think so,' said jack, pulling out his cigar-case, or rather his lordship's, and staggering to the chimney-piece for a match, though there was a candle at his elbow, 'i'll have a pipe.' 'so'll i,' said sponge, 'if you'll give me a cigar.' 'much yours as mine,' replied jack, handing him his lordship's richly embroidered case with coronets and ciphers on either side, the gift of one of the many would-be lady scamperdales. 'want a light!' hiccuped jack, who had now got a glow-worm end to his. 'thanks,' said sponge, availing himself of the friendly overture. our friends now whiffed and puffed away together--whiffing and puffing where whiffing and puffing had never been known before. the brandy began to disappear pretty quickly; it was better than the wine. 'that's a n--n--nice--ish horse of yours,' stammered jack, as he mixed himself a second tumbler. 'which?' asked sponge. 'the bur--bur--brown,' spluttered jack. 'he is _that_,' replied sponge; 'best horse in this country by far.' 'the che--che--chest--nut's not a ba--ba--bad un. i dare say,' observed jack. 'no, he's not,' replied sponge; 'a deuced good un.' 'i know a man who's rayther s--s--s--sweet on the b--b--br--brown,' observed jack, squinting frightfully. sponge sat silent for a few seconds, pretending to be wrapt up in his 'sublime tobacco.' 'is he a buyer, or just a jawer?' he asked at last. 'oh, a _buyer_,' replied jack. 'i'll _sell_,' said sponge, with a strong emphasis on the sell. 'how much?' asked jack, sobering with the excitement. 'which?' asked sponge. 'the brown,' rejoined jack. 'three hundred,' said sponge; adding, 'i gave two for him.' 'indeed!' said jack. a long pause then ensued. jack thinking whether he should put the question boldly as to what sponge would give him for effecting a sale, or should beat about the bush a little. at last he thought it would be most prudent to beat about the bush, and see if sponge would make an offer. 'well,' said jack, 'i'll s--s--s--see what i can do.' 'that's a good fellow,' said sponge; adding, 'i'll remember you if you do.' 'i dare say i can s--s--s--sell them both, for that matter,' observed jack, encouraged by the promise. 'well,' replied sponge, 'i'll take the same for the chestnut; there isn't the toss-up of a halfpenny for choice between them.' 'well,' said jack,' we'll s--s--s--see them next week.' 'just so,' said sponge. 'you r--r--ride well up to the h--h--hounds,' continued jack; 'and let his lordship s--s--see w--w--what they can do.' 'i will,' said sponge, wishing he was at work. 'never mind his rowing,' observed jack; 'he c--c--can't help it.' 'not i,' replied sponge, puffing away at his cigar. when men once begin to drink brandy-and-water (after wine) there's an end of all note of time. our friends--for we 'may now call them so,' sat sip, sip, sipping--mix, mix, mixing; now strengthening, now weakening, now warming, now flavouring, till they had not only finished the hot water but a large jug of cold, that graced the centre of the table between two frosted tumblers, and had nearly got through the brandy too. 'may as well fi--fi--fin--nish the bottle,' observed jack, holding it up to the candle. 'just a thi--thi--thim--bleful apiece,' added he, helping himself to about three-quarters of what there was. 'you've taken your share,' observed sponge, as the bottle suspended payment before he got half the quantity that jack had. 'sque--ee--eze it,' replied jack, suiting the action to the word, and working away at an exhausted lemon. at length they finished. 'well, i s'pose we may as well go and have some tea,' observed jack. 'it's not announced yet,' said sponge, 'but i make no doubt it will be ready.' so saying, the worthies rose, and, after sundry bumps and certain irregularities of course, they each succeeded in reaching the door. the passage lamp had died out and filled the corridor with its fragrance. sponge, however, knew the way, and the darkness favored the adjustment of cravats and the fingering of hair. having got up a sort of drunken simper, sponge opened the drawing-room door, expecting to find smiling ladies in a blaze of light. all, however, was darkness, save the expiring embers in the grate. the tick, tick, tick, ticking of the clocks sounded wonderfully clear. 'gone to bed!' exclaimed sponge. 'who-hoop!' shrieked jack, at the top of his voice. 'what's smatter, gentlemen?--what's smatter?' exclaimed spigot rushing in, rubbing his eyes with one hand, and holding a block tin candlestick in the other. 'nothin',' replied jack, squinting his eyes inside out; adding, 'get me a devilled--' (hiccup). 'don't know how to do them here, sir,' snapped spigot. 'devilled turkey's leg though you do, you rascal!' rejoined jack, doubling his fists and putting himself in posture. 'beg pardon, sir,' replied spigot, 'but the cook, sir, is gone to bed, sir. do you know, sir, what o'clock it is, sir?' 'no,' replied jack. 'what time is it?' asked sponge. 'twenty minutes to two,' replied spigot, holding up a sort of pocket warming-pan, which he called a watch. 'the deuce!' exclaimed sponge. 'who'd ha' thought it?' muttered jack. 'well, then, i suppose we may as well go to bed,' observed sponge. 's'pose so,' replied jack; 'nothin' more to get.' 'do you know your room?' asked sponge. 'to be sure i do,' replied jack; 'don't think i'm d--d--dr--drunk, do you?' 'not likely,' rejoined sponge. jack then commenced a very crab-like ascent of the stairs, which fortunately were easy, or he would never have got up. mr. sponge, who still occupied the state apartments, took leave of jack at his own door, and jack went bumping and blundering on in search of the branch passage leading to his piggery. he found the green baize door that usually distinguishes the entrance to these secondary suites, and was presently lurching along its contracted passage. as luck would have it, however, he got into his host's dressing-room, where that worthy slept; and when jawleyford jumped up in the morning, as was his wont, to see what sort of a day it was, he trod on jack's face, who had fallen down in his clothes alongside of the bed, and jawleyford broke jack's spectacles across the bridge of his nose. 'rot it!' roared jack, jumping up, 'don't ride over a fellow that way!' when, shaking himself to try whether any limbs were broken, he found he was in his dress clothes instead of in the roomy garments of the flat hat hunt. 'who are you? where am i? what the deuce do you mean by breaking my specs?' he exclaimed, squinting frightfully at his host. 'my dear sir,' exclaimed mr. jawleyford, from the top of his night-shirt, 'i'm very sorry, but--' 'hang your _buts_! you shouldn't ride so near a man!' exclaimed jack, gathering up the fragments of his spectacles; when, recollecting himself, he finished by saying, 'perhaps i'd better go to my own room.' 'perhaps you had,' replied mr. jawleyford, advancing towards the door to show him the way. 'let me have a candle,' said jack, preparing to follow. 'candle, my dear fellow! why, it's broad daylight,' replied his host. 'is it?' said jack, apparently unconscious of the fact. 'what's the hour?' 'five minutes to eight,' replied jawleyford, looking at a timepiece. when jack got into his own den he threw himself into an old invalid chair, and sat rubbing the fractured spectacles together as if he thought they would unite by friction, though in reality he was endeavouring to run the overnight's proceedings through his mind. the more he thought of amelia's winning ways, the more satisfied he was that he had made an impression, and then the more vexed he was at having his spectacles broken: for though he considered himself very presentable without them, still he could not but feel that they were a desirable addition. then, too, he had a splitting headache; and finding that breakfast was not till ten and might be a good deal later, all things considered, he determined to be off and follow up his success under more favourable auspices. considering that all the clothes he had with him were his lordship's, he thought it immaterial which he went home in, so to save trouble he just wrapped himself up in his mackintosh and travelled in the dress ones he had on. [illustration] it was fortunate for mr. sponge that he went, for, when jawleyford smelt the indignity that had been offered to his dining-room, he broke out in such a torrent of indignation as would have been extremely unpleasant if there had not been some one to lay the blame on. indeed, he was not particularly gracious to mr. sponge as it was; but that arose as much from certain dark hints that had worked their way from the servants' hall into 'my lady's chamber' as to our friend's pecuniary resources and prospects. jawleyford began to suspect that sponge might not be quite the great 'catch' he was represented. beyond, however, putting a few searching questions--which mr. sponge skilfully parried--advising his daughters to be cautious, lessening the number of lights, and lowering the scale of his entertainments generally, mr. jawleyford did not take any decided step in the matter. mr. spraggon comforted lord scamperdale with the assurance that amelia had no idea of sponge, who he made no doubt would very soon be out of the country--and his lordship went to church and prayed most devoutly for him to go. chapter xxvi mr. and mrs. springwheat 'lord scamperdale's foxhounds meet on monday at larkhall hill,' &c. &c.--_county paper_. the flat hat hunt had relapsed into its wonted quiet, and 'larkhall hill' saw none but the regular attendants, men without the slightest particle of curve in their hats--hats, indeed, that looked as if the owners sat upon them when they hadn't them on their heads. there was fyle, and fossick, and blossomnose, and sparks, and joyce, and capon, and dribble, and a few others, but neither washball nor puffington, nor any of the holiday birds. [illustration: his lordship has it all to himself] precisely at ten, my lord, and his hounds, and his huntsman, and his whips, and his jack, trotted round farmer springwheat's spacious back premises, and appeared in due form before the green rails in front. 'pride attends us all,' as the poet says; and if his lordship had ridden into the yard, and halloaed out for a glass of home-brewed, springwheat would have trapped every fox on his farm, and the blooming mrs. springwheat would have had an interminable poultry-bill against the hunt; whereas, simply by 'making things pleasant'--that is to say, coming to breakfast--springwheat saw his corn trampled on, nay, led the way over it himself, and mrs. springwheat saw her dorkings disappear without a murmur--unless, indeed, an inquiry when his lordship would be coming could be considered in that light. larkhall hill stood in the centre of a circle, on a gentle eminence, commanding a view over a farm whose fertile fields and well-trimmed fences sufficiently indicated its boundaries, and looked indeed as if all the good of the country had come up to it. it was green and luxuriant even in winter, while the strong cane-coloured stubbles showed what a crop there had been. turnips as big as cheeses swelled above the ground. in a little narrow dell, whose existence was more plainly indicated from the house by several healthy spindling larches shooting up from among the green gorse, was the cover--an almost certain find, with the almost equal certainty of a run from it. it occupied both sides of the sandy, rabbit-frequented dell, through which ran a sparkling stream, and it possessed the great advantage to foot-people of letting them see the fox found. larkhall hill was, therefore, a favourite both with horse and foot. so much good--at all events, so much well-farmed land would seem to justify a better or more imposing-looking house, the present one consisting, exclusive of the projecting garret ones in the dutch tile roof, of the usual four windows and a door, that so well tell their own tale; passage in the middle, staircase in front, parlour on the right, best ditto on the left, with rooms to correspond above. to be sure, there was a great depth of house to the back; but this in no way contributed to the importance of the front, from which point alone the springwheats chose to have it contemplated. if the back arrangements could have been divided, and added to the sides, they would have made two very good wings to the old red brick rose-entwined mansion. having mentioned that its colour was red, it is almost superfluous to add that the door and rails were green. this was a busy morning at larkhall hill. it was the first day of the season of my lord's hounds meeting there, and the handsome mrs. springwheat had had as much trouble in overhauling the china and linen, and in dressing the children, preparatory to breakfast, as springwheat had had in collecting knives and forks, and wine-glasses and tumblers for his department of the entertainment, to say nothing of looking after his new tops and cords. 'the hill,' as the country people call it, was 'full fig'; and a bright, balmy winter's day softened the atmosphere, and felt as though a summer's day had been shaken out of its place into winter. it is not often that the english climate is accommodating enough to lend its aid to set off a place to advantage. be that, however, as it may, things looked smiling both without and within. mrs. springwheat, by dint of early rising and superintendence, had got things into such a state of forwardness as to be able to adorn herself with a little jaunty cap--curious in microscopic punctures and cherry-coloured ribbon interlardments--placed so far back on her finely-shaped head as to proclaim beyond all possibility of cavil that it was there for ornament, and not for the purpose of concealing the liberties of time with her well-kept, clearly parted, raven-black hair. liberties of time, forsooth! mrs. springwheat was in the heighday of womanhood; and though she had presented springwheat with twins three times in succession, besides an eldest son, she was as young, fresh-looking, and finely figured as she was the day she was married. she was now dressed in a very fine french grey merino, with a very small crochet-work collar, and, of course, capacious muslin sleeves. the high flounces to her dress set off her smart waist to great advantage. mrs. springwheat had got everything ready, and herself too, by the time lord scamperdale's second horseman rode into the yard and demanded a stall for his horse. knowing how soon the balloon follows the pilot, she immediately ranged the stunner-tartan-clad children in the breakfast-room; and as the first whip's rate sounded as he rode round the corner, she sank into an easy-chair by the fire, with a lace-fringed kerchief in the one hand and the _mark lane express_ in the other. 'halloa! springey!' followed by the heavy crack of a whip, announced the arrival of his lordship before the green palings; and a loud view halloa burst from jack, as the object of inquiry was seen dancing about the open-windowed room above, with his face all flushed with the exertion of pulling on a very tight boot. 'come in, my lord! pray, come in! the missis is below!' exclaimed springwheat, from the window; and just at the moment the pad-groom emerged from the house, and ran to his lordship's horse's head. his lordship and jack then dismounted, and gave their hacks in charge of the servant; while wake, and fyle, and archer, who were also of the party, scanned the countenances of the surrounding idlers, to see in whose hands they had best confide their nags. in lord scamperdale stamped, followed by his train-band bold, and maria, the maid, being duly stationed in the passage, threw open the parlour door on the left, and discovered mrs. springwheat sitting in attitude. 'well, my lady, and how are you?' exclaimed his lordship, advancing gaily, and seizing both her pretty hands as she rose to receive him. 'i declare, you look younger and prettier every time i see you.' 'oh! my lord,' simpered mrs. springwheat, 'you gentlemen are always so complimentary.' 'not a bit of it!' exclaimed his lordship, eyeing her intently through his silver spectacles, for he had been obliged to let jack have the other pair of tortoiseshell-rimmed ones. 'not a bit of it,' repeated his lordship. 'i always tell jack you are the handsomest woman in christendom; don't i, jack?' inquired his lordship, appealing to his factotum. 'yes, my lord,' replied jack, who always swore to whatever his lordship said. 'by jove!' continued his lordship, with a stamp of his foot, 'if i could find such a woman i'd marry her to-morrow. not such women as you to pick up every day. and what a lot of pretty pups!' exclaimed his lordship, starting back, pretending to be struck with the row of staring, black-haired, black-eyed, half-frightened children. 'now, that's what i call a good entry,' continued his lordship, scrutinizing them attentively, and pointing them out to jack; 'all dogs--all boys i mean!' added he. 'no, my lord,' replied mrs. springwheat, laughing, 'these are girls,' laying her hand on the heads of two of them, who were now full giggle at the idea of being taken for boys. 'well, they're devilish handsome, anyhow,' replied his lordship, thinking he might as well be done with the inspection. springwheat himself now made his appearance, as fine a sample of a man as his wife was of a woman. his face was flushed with the exertion of pulling on his tight boots, and his lordship felt the creases the hooks had left as he shook him by the hand. 'well, springey,' said he, 'i was just asking your wife after the new babby.' 'oh, thank you, my lord,' replied springey, with a shake of his curly head; 'thank you, my lord; no new babbies, my lord, with wheat below forty, my lord.' 'well, but you've got a pair of new boots, at all events,' observed his lordship, eyeing springwheat's refractory calves bagging over the tops of them. ''deed have i!' replied springwheat; 'and a pair of uncommon awkward tight customers they are,' added he, trying to move his feet about in them. 'ah! you should always have a chap to wear your boots a few times before you put them on yourself,' observed his lordship. 'i never have a pair of tight uns,' added he; 'jack here always does the needful by mine.' 'that's all very well for lords,' replied mr. springwheat; 'but us farmers wear out our boots fast enough ourselves, without anybody to help us.' 'well, but i s'pose we may as well fall to,' observed his lordship, casting his eye upon the well-garnished table. 'all these good things are meant to eat, i s'pose,' added he: 'cakes, and sweets, and jellies without end: and as to your sideboard,' said he, turning round and looking at it, 'it's a match for any lord mayor's. a round of beef, a ham, a tongue, and is that a goose or a turkey?' 'a turkey, my lord,' replied springwheat; 'home-fed, my lord.' 'ah, home-fed, indeed!' ejaculated his lordship, with a shake of the head: 'home-fed: wish i could feed at home. the man who said that e'en from the peasant to the lord, the turkey smokes on every board, told a big un, for i'm sure none ever smokes on mine.' 'take a little here to-day, then,' observed mr. springwheat, cutting deep into the white breast. 'i will,' replied his lordship, 'i will: and a slice of tongue, too,' added he. 'there are some hot sausingers comin',' observed mr. springwheat. 'you _don't_ say so,' replied his lordship, apparently thunderstruck at the announcement. 'well, i must have all three. by jove, jack!' said he, appealing to his friend, 'but you've lit on your legs coming here. here's a breakfast fit to set before the queen--muffins, and crumpets, and cakes. let me advise you to make the best use of your time, for you have but twenty minutes,' continued his lordship, looking at his watch, 'and muffins and crumpets don't come in your way every day.' ''deed they don't,' replied jack, with a grin. 'will your lordship take tea or coffee?' asked mrs. springwheat, who had now taken her seat at the top of the table, behind a richly chased equipage for the distribution of those beverages. ''pon my word,' replied his lordship, apparently bewildered--''pon my word, i don't know what to say. tea or coffee? to tell you the truth, i was going to take something out of my black friend yonder,' nodding to where a french bottle like a tall bully was lifting its head above an encircling stand of liqueur-glasses. 'suppose you have a little of what we call laced tea, my lord--tea with a dash of brandy in it?' suggested mr. springwheat. 'laced tea,' repeated his lordship; 'laced tea: so i will,' said he. 'deuced good idea--deuced good idea,' continued he, bringing the bottle and seating himself on mrs. springwheat's right, while his host helped him to a most plentiful plate of turkey and tongue. the table was now about full, as was the room; the guests just rolling in as they would to a public-house, and helping themselves to whatever they liked. great was the noise of eating. as his lordship was in the full enjoyment of his plateful of meat, he happened to look up, and, the space between him and the window being clear, he saw something that caused him to drop his knife and fork and fall back in his chair as if he was shot. 'my lord's ill!' exclaimed mr. springwheat, who, being the only man with his nose up, was the first to perceive it. 'clap him on the back!' shrieked mrs. springwheat, who considered that an infallible recipe for the ailments of children. 'oh, mr. spraggon!' exclaimed both, as they rushed to his assistance, 'what is the matter with my lord?' 'oh, that mister something!' gasped his lordship, bending forward in his chair, and venturing another glance through the window. sure enough, there was sponge, in the act of dismounting from the piebald, and resigning it with becoming dignity to his trusty groom, mr. leather, who stood most respectfully--parvo in hand--waiting to receive it. mr. sponge, being of opinion that a red coat is a passport everywhere, having stamped the mud sparks off his boots at the door, swaggered in with the greatest coolness, exclaiming as he bobbed his head to the lady, and looked round at the company: 'what, grubbing away! grubbing away, eh?' 'won't you take a little refreshment?' asked mr. springwheat, in the hearty way these hospitable fellows welcome everybody. 'yes, i will,' replied sponge, turning to the sideboard as though it were an inn. 'that's a monstrous fine ham,' observed he; 'why doesn't somebody cut it?' 'let me help you to some, sir,' replied mr. springwheat, seizing the buck-handled knife and fork, and diving deep into the rich red meat with the knife. mr. sponge having got two bountiful slices, with a knotch of home-made brown bread, and some mustard on his plate, now made for the table, and elbowed himself into a place between mr. fossick and sparks, immediately opposite mr. spraggon. 'good morning,' said he to that worthy, as he saw the whites of his eyes showing through his spectacles. 'mornin',' muttered jack, as if his mouth was either too full to articulate, or he didn't want to have anything to say to mr. sponge. 'here's a fine hunting morning, my lord,' observed sponge, addressing himself to his lordship, who sat on jack's left. 'here's a very fine hunting morning, my lord,' repeated sponge, not getting an answer to his first assertion. 'is it?' blurted his lordship, pretending to be desperately busy with the contents of his plate, though in reality his appetite was gone. a dead pause now ensued, interrupted only by the clattering of knives and forks, and the occasional exclamations of parties in want of some particular article of food. a chill had come over the scene--a chill whose cause was apparent to every one, except the worthy host and hostess, who had not heard of mr. sponge's descent upon the country. they attributed it to his lordship's indisposition, and mr. springwheat endeavoured to cheer him up with the prospect of sport. 'there's a brace, if not a leash, of foxes in cover, my lord,' observed he, seeing his lordship was only playing with the contents of his plate. 'is there?' exclaimed his lordship, brightening up: 'let's be at 'em!' added he, jumping up and diving under the side-table for his flat hat and heavy iron hammer-headed whip. 'good morning, my dear mrs. springwheat,' exclaimed he, putting on his hat and seizing both her soft fat-fingered hands and squeezing them ardently. 'good morning, my dear mrs. springwheat,' repeated he, adding, 'by jove! if ever there was an angel in petticoats, you're her; i'd give a hundred pounds for such a wife as you! i'd give a thousand pounds for such a wife as you! by the powers! i'd give five thousand pounds for such a wife as you!' with which asseverations his lordship stamped away in his great clumsy boots, amidst the ill-suppressed laughter of the party. 'no hurry, gentlemen--no hurry,' observed mr. springwheat, as some of the keen ones were preparing to follow, and began sorting their hats, and making the mistakes incident to their being all the same shape. 'no hurry, sir--no hurry, sir,' repeated springwheat, addressing mr. sponge specifically; 'his lordship will have a talk to his hounds yet, and his horse is still in the stable.' with this assurance mr. sponge resumed his seat at the table, where several of the hungry ones were plying their knives and forks as if they were indeed breaking their fasts. 'well, old boy, and how are you?' asked sponge, as the whites of jack's eyes again settled upon him, on the latter's looking up from his plateful of sausages. 'nicely. how are you?' asked jack. 'nicely too,' replied sponge, in the laconic way men speak who have been engaged in some common enterprise--getting drunk, pelting people with rotten eggs, or anything of that sort. 'jaw and the ladies well?' asked jack, in the same strain. 'oh, nicely,' said sponge. 'take a glass of cherry-brandy,' exclaimed the hospitable mr. springwheat: 'nothing like a drop of something for steadying the nerves.' 'presently,' replied sponge, 'presently; meanwhile i'll trouble the missis for a cup of coffee. coffee without sugar,' said sponge, addressing the lady. 'with pleasure,' replied mrs. springwheat, glad to get a little custom for her goods. most of the gentlemen had been at the bottles and sideboard. springwheat, seeing mr. sponge, the only person who, as a stranger, there was any occasion for him to attend to, in the care of his wife, now slipped out of the room, and mounting his five-year-old horse, whose tail stuck out like the long horn of a coach, as his ploughman groom said, rode off to join the hunt. 'by the powers, but those are capital sarsingers!' observed jack, smacking his lips and eating away for hard life. 'just look if my lord's on his horse yet,' added he to one of the children, who had begun to hover round the table and dive their fingers into the sweets. 'no,' replied the child; 'he's still on foot, playing with the dogs.' 'here goes, then,' said jack, 'for another plate,' suiting the action to the word, and running with his plate to the sausage-dish. 'have a hot one,' exclaimed mrs. springwheat, adding, 'it will be done in a minute.' 'no, thank ye,' replied jack, with a shake of the head, adding, 'i might be done in a minute too.' 'he'll wait for you, i suppose?' observed sponge, addressing jack. 'not so clear about that,' replied jack, gobbling away; 'time and my lord wait for no man. but it's hardly the half-hour yet,' added he, looking at his watch. he then fell to with the voracity of a hound after hunting. sponge, too, made the most of his time, as did two or three others who still remained. 'now for the jumping-powder!' at length exclaimed sponge, looking round for the bottle. 'what shall it be, cherry or neat?' continued he, pointing to the two. 'cherry for me,' replied jack, squinting and eating away without looking up. 'i say _neat_,' rejoined sponge, helping himself out of the french bottle. 'you'll be hard to hold after that,' observed jack, as he eyed sponge tossing it off. 'i hope my horse won't,' replied sponge, remembering he was going to ride the resolute chestnut. [illustration] 'you'll show us the way, i dare say,' observed jack. 'shouldn't wonder,' replied sponge, helping himself to a second glass. 'what! at it again!' exclaimed jack, adding, 'take care you don't ride over my lord.' 'i'll take care of the old file,' said sponge; 'it wouldn't do to kill the goose that lays the golden what-do-ye-call-'ems, you know--he, he, he!' 'no,' chuckled jack;' 'deed it wouldn't--must make the most of him.' 'what sort of a humour is he in to-day?' asked sponge. 'middlin',' replied jack, 'middlin'; he'll abuse you most likely, but that you mustn't mind.' 'not i,' replied sponge, who was used to that sort of thing. 'you mustn't mind me either,' observed jack, sweeping the last piece of sausage into his mouth with his knife, and jumping up from the table. 'when his lordship rows i row,' added he, diving under the side-table for his flat hat. 'hark! there's the horn!' exclaimed sponge, rushing to the window. 'so there is,' responded jack, standing transfixed on one leg to the spot. 'by the powers, they're away!' exclaimed sponge, as his lordship was seen hat in hand careering over the meadow, beyond the cover, with the tail hounds straining to overtake their flying comrades. twang--twang--twang went frostyface's horn; crack--crack--crack went the ponderous thongs of the whips; shouts, and yells, and yelps, and whoops, and halloas, proclaimed the usual wild excitement of this privileged period of the chase. all was joy save among the gourmands assembled at the door--they looked blank indeed. 'what a sell!' exclaimed sponge, in disgust, who, with jack, saw the hopelessness of the case. 'yonder he goes!' exclaimed a lad, who had run up from the cover to see the hunt from the rising ground. 'where?' exclaimed sponge, straining his eyeballs. 'there!' said the lad, pointing due south. 'd'ye see tommy claychop's pasture? now he's through the hedge and into mrs. starveland's turnip field, making right for bramblebrake wood on the hill.' 'so he is,' said sponge, who now caught sight of the fox emerging from the turnips on to a grass field beyond. jack stood staring through his great spectacles, without deigning a word. 'what shall we do?' asked sponge. 'do?' replied jack, with his chin still up; 'go home, i should think.' 'there's a man down!' exclaimed a groom, who formed one of the group, as a dark-coated rider and horse measured their length on a pasture. 'it's mr. sparks,' said another, adding, 'he's always rolling about.' 'lor', look at the parson!' exclaimed a third, as blossomnose was seen gathering his horse and setting up his shoulders preparatory to riding at a gate. 'well done, old 'un!' roared a fourth, as the horse flew over it, apparently without an effort. 'now for tom!' cried several, as the second whip went galloping up on the line of the gate. 'ah! he won't have it!' was the cry, as the horse suddenly stopped short, nearly shooting tom over his head. 'try him again--try him again--take a good run--that's him--there, he's over!' was the cry, as tom flourished his arm in the air on landing. 'look! there's old tommy baker, the rat-ketcher!' cried another, as a man went working his arms and legs on an old white pony across a fallow. 'ah, tommy! tommy! you'd better shut up,' observed another: 'a pig could go as fast as that.' and so they criticized the laggers. 'how did my lord get his horse?' asked spraggon of the groom who had brought them on, who now joined the eye-straining group at the door. 'it was taken down to him at the cover,' replied the man. 'my lord went in on foot, and the horse went round the back way. the horse wasn't there half a minute before he was wanted; for no sooner were the hounds in at one end than out popped the fox at t'other. sich a whopper!--biggest fox that ever was seen.' 'they are all the biggest foxes that ever were seen,' snapped mr. sponge. 'i'll be bound he was not a bit bigger than common.' 'i'll be bound not, either,' growled mr. spraggon, squinting frightfully at the man, adding, 'go, get me my hack, and don't be talking nonsense there.' our friends then remounted their hacks and parted company in very moderate humours, feeling fully satisfied that his lordship had done it on purpose. chapter xxvii the finest run that ever was seen [illustration] 'hoo-ray, jack! hoo-ray!' exclaimed lord scamperdale, bursting into his sanctum where mr. spraggon sat in his hunting coat and slippers, spelling away at a second-hand copy of _bell's life_ by the light of a melancholy mould candle. 'hooray, jack! hooray!' repeated he, waving that proud trophy, a splendid fox's brush, over his grizzly head. his lordship was the picture of delight. he had had a tremendous run--the finest run that ever was seen! his hounds had behaved to perfection; his horse--though he had downed him three times--had carried him well, and his lordship stood with his crownless flat hat in his hand, and one coat lap in the pocket of the other--a grinning, exulting, self-satisfied specimen of a happy englishman. 'lor! what a sight you are!' observed jack, turning the light of the candle upon his lordship's dirty person. 'why, i declare you're an inch thick with mud,' he added, 'mud from head to foot,' he continued, working the light up and down. 'never mind the mud, you old badger!' roared his lordship, still waving the brush over his head: 'never mind the mud, you old badger; the mud'll come off, or may stay on; but such a run as we've had does not come off every day.' 'well, i'm glad you have had a run,' replied jack. 'i'm glad you have had a run,' adding, 'i was afraid at one time that your day's sport was spoiled.' 'well, do you know,' replied his lordship, 'when i saw that unrighteous snob, i was near sick. if it were possible for a man to faint, i should have thought i was going to do so. at first i thought of going home, taking the hounds away too; then i thought of going myself and leaving the hounds; then i thought if i left the hounds it would only make the sinful scaramouch more outrageous, and i should be sitting on pins and needles till they came home, thinking how he was crashing among them. next i thought of drawing all the unlikely places in the country, and making a blank day of it. then i thought that would only be like cutting off my nose to spite my face. then i didn't know what on earth to do. at last, when i saw the critter's great pecker steadily down in his plate, i thought i would try and steal a march upon him, and get away with my fox while he was feeding; and, oh! how thankful i was when i looked back from bramblebrake hill, and saw no signs of him in the distance.' 'it wasn't likely you'd see him,' interrupted jack, 'for he never got away from the front door. i twigged what you were after, and kept him up in talk about his horses and his ridin' till i saw you were fairly away.' 'you did well,' exclaimed lord scamperdale, patting jack on the back; 'you did well, my old buck-o'-wax; and, by jove! we'll have a bottle of port--a bottle of port, as i live,' repeated his lordship, as if he had made up his mind to do a most magnificent act. 'but what's happened you behind?--what's happened you behind?' asked jack, as his lordship turned to the fire, and exhibited his docked tail. 'oh, hang the coat!--it's neither here nor there,' replied his lordship; 'hat neither,' he added, exhibiting its crushed proportions. 'old blossomnose did the coat; and as to the hat, i did it myself--at least, old daddy longlegs and i did it between us. we got into a grass-field, of which they had cut a few roods of fence, just enough to tempt a man out of a very deep lane, and away we sailed, in the enjoyment of fine sound sward, with the rest of the field plunging and floundering, and holding and grinning, and thinking what fools they were for not following my example--when, lo and behold! i got to the bottom of the field, and found there was no way out--no chance of a bore through the great thick, high hedge, except at a branchy willow, where there was just enough room to squeeze a horse through, provided he didn't rise at the ditch on the far side. at first i was for getting off; indeed, had my right foot out of the stirrup, when the hounds dashed forrard with such energy--looking like running--and remembering the tremendous climb i should have to get on to old daddy's back again, and seeing some of the nasty jealous chaps in the lane eyeing me through the fence, thinking how i was floored, i determined to stay where i was; and gathering the horse together, tried to squeeze through the hole. well, he went shuffling and sliding down to it, as though he were conscious of the difficulty, and poked his head quietly past the tree, when, getting a sight of the ditch on the far side, he rose, and banged my head against the branch above, crushing my hat right over my eyes, and in that position he carried me through blindfold.' 'indeed!' exclaimed jack, turning his spectacles full upon his lordship, and adding, 'it's lucky he didn't crack your crown.' 'it is,' assented his lordship, feeling his head to satisfy himself that he had not done so. 'and how did you lose your tail?' asked jack, having got the information about the hat. 'the tail! ah, the tail!' replied his lordship, feeling behind, where it wasn't;' i'll tell you how that was: you see we went away like blazes from springwheat's gorse--nice gorse it is, and nice woman he has for a wife--but, however, that's neither here nor there; what i was going to tell you about was the run, and how i lost my tail. well, we got away like winking; no sooner were the hounds in on one side than away went the fox on the other. not a soul shouted till he was clean gone; hats in the air was all that told his departure. the fox thus had time to run matters through his mind--think whether he should go to ravenscar craigs, or make for the main earths at painscastle grove. he chose the latter, doubtless feeling himself strong and full of running; and if we had chosen his ground for him he could not have taken us a finer line. he went as straight as an arrow through bramblebrake wood, and then away down the hill over those great enormous pastures to haselbury park, which he skirted, leaving evercreech green on the left, pointing as if for dormston dean. here he was chased by a cur, and the hounds were brought to a momentary check. frosty, however, was well up, and a hat being held up on hothersell hill, he clapped forrard and laid the hounds on beyond. we then viewed the fox sailing away over eddlethorp downs, still pointing for painscastle grove, with the hamerton brook lighting up here and there in the distance. 'the field, i should tell you, were fairly taken by surprise. there wasn't a man ready for a start; my horse had only just come down. fossick was on foot, drawing his girths; fyle was striking a light to smoke a cigar on his hack; blossomnose and capon's grooms were fistling and wisping their horses; dribble, as usual, was all behind; and altogether there was such a scene of hurry and confusion as never was seen. 'as they came to the brook they got somewhat into line, and one saw who was there. five or six of us charged it together, and two went under. one was springwheat on his bay, who was somewhat pumped out; the other was said to be hook. old daddy longlegs skimmed it like a swallow, and, getting his hind-legs well under him, shot over the pastures beyond, as if he was going upon turf. the hounds all this time had been running, or rather racing, nearly mute. they now, however, began to feel for the scent; and, as they got upon the cold, bleak grounds above somerton quarries, they were fairly brought to their noses. uncommon glad i was to see them; for ten minutes more, at the pace they had been going, would have shaken off every man jack of us. as it was, it was bellows to mend; and calcott's roarer roared as surely roarer never roared before. you could hear him half a mile off. we had barely time, however, to turn our horses to the wind, and ease them for a few moments, before the pace began to mend, and from a catching to a holding scent they again poured across wallingburn pastures, and away to roughacres court. it was between these places that i got my head duntled into my hat,' continued his lordship, knocking the crownless hat against his mud-stained knee. 'however, i didn't care a button, though i'd not worn it above two years, and it might have lasted me a long time about home; but misfortunes seldom come singly, and i was soon to have another. the few of us that were left were all for the lanes, and very accommodating the one between newton bushell and the forty-foot bank was, the hounds running parallel within a hundred yards on the left for nearly a mile. when, however, we got to the old water-mill in the fields below, the fox made a bend to the left, as if changing his mind, and making for newtonbroome woods, and we were obliged to try the fortunes of war in the fields. the first fence we came to looked like nothing, and there was a weak place right in my line that i rode at, expecting the horse would easily bore through a few twigs that crossed the upper part of it. these, however, happened to be twisted, to stop the gap, and not having put on enough steam, they checked him as he rose, and brought him right down on his head in the broad ditch, on the far side. old blossomnose, who was following close behind, not making any allowance for falls, was in the air before i was well down, and his horse came with a forefoot, into my pocket, and tore the lap clean off by the skirt'; his lordship exhibiting the lap as he spoke. 'it's your new coat, too,' observed jack, examining it with concern as he spoke. ''deed, is it!' replied his lordship, with a shake of the head. ''deed, is it! that's the consequence of having gone out to breakfast. if it had been to-morrow, for instance, i should have had number two on, or maybe number three,' his lordship having coats of every shade and grade, from stainless scarlet down to tattered mulberry colour. 'it'll mend, however,' observed his lordship, taking it back from jack; 'it'll mend, however,' he said, fitting it round to the skirt as he spoke. 'oh, nicely!' replied jack; 'it's come off clean by the skirt. but what said old blossom?' inquired jack. 'oh, he was full of apologies and couldn't helps it as usual,' replied his lordship; 'he was down, too, i should tell you, with his horse on his left leg; but there wasn't much time for apologies or explanation, for the hounds were running pretty sharp, considering how long they had been at work, and there was the chance of others jumping upon us if we didn't get out of the way, so we both scrambled up as quick as we could and got into our places again.' 'which way did you go, then?' asked jack, who had listened with the attention of a man who knows every yard of the country. 'well,' continued his lordship, casting back to where he got his fall, 'the fox crossed the coatenburn township, picking all the plough and bad-scenting ground as he went, but it was of no use, his fate was sealed; and though he began to run short, and dodge and thread the hedge-rows, they hunted him yard by yard till he again made an effort for his life, and took over mossingburn moor, pointing for penrose tower on the hill. here frosty's horse, little jumper, declined, and we left him standing in the middle of the moor with a stiff neck, kicking and staring and looking mournfully at his flanks. daddy longlegs, too, had begun to sob, and in vain i looked back in hopes of seeing jack-a-dandy coming up. "well," said i to myself, "i've got a pair of good strong boots on, and i'll finish the run on foot but i'll see it"; when, just at the moment, the pack broke from scent to view and rolled the fox up like a hedgehog amongst them.' 'well done!' exclaimed jack, adding, 'that was a run with a vengeance!' 'wasn't it?' replied his lordship, rubbing his hands and stamping; 'the finest run that ever was seen--the finest run that ever was seen!' 'why, it couldn't be less than twelve miles from point to point,' observed jack, thinking it over. 'not a yard,' replied his lordship, 'not a yard, and from fourteen to fifteen as the hounds ran.' 'it would be all that,' assented jack. 'how long were you in doing it?' he asked. 'an hour and forty minutes,' replied his lordship; 'an hour and forty minutes from the find to the finish'; adding, 'i'll stick the brush and present it to mrs. springwheat.' 'it's to be hoped springy's out of the brook,' observed jack. 'to be hoped so,' replied his lordship, thinking, if he wasn't whether he should marry mrs. springwheat or not. well now, after all that, we fancy we hear our fair friends exclaim, 'thank goodness, there's an end of lord scamperdale and his hunting; he has had a good run, and will rest quiet for a time; we shall now hear something of amelia and emily, and the doings at jawleyford court.' mistaken lady! if you are lucky enough to marry an out-and-out fox-hunter, you will find that a good run is only adding fuel to the fire, only making him anxious for more. lord scamperdale's sporting fire was in full blaze. his bumps and his thumps, his rolls, and his scrambles, only brought out the beauties and perfections of the thing. he cared nothing for his hat-crown, no; nor for his coat-lap either. nay, he wouldn't have cared if it had been made into a spencer. 'what's to-day? monday,' said his lordship, answering himself. 'monday,' he repeated; 'monday--bubble-and-squeak, i guess--sooner it's ready the better, for i'm half-famished--didn't do half-justice to that nice breakfast at springy's. that nasty brown-booted buffer completely threw me off my feed. by the way, what became of the chestnut-booted animal?' 'went home,' replied jack; 'fittest place for him.' 'hope he'll stay there,' rejoined his lordship. 'no fear of his being at the roads to-morrow, is there?' 'none,' replied jack. 'i told him it was quite an impossible distance from him, twenty miles at least.' 'that's grand!' exclaimed his lordship; 'that's grand! then we'll have a rare, ding-dong hey--away pop. there'll be no end of those nasty, jealous, puffington dogs out; and if we have half such a scent as we had to-day, we'll sew some of them up, we'll show 'em what hunting is. now,' he added, 'if you'll go and get the bottle of port, i'll clean myself, and then we'll have dinner as quick as we can.' chapter xxviii the faithful groom we left our friend mr. sponge wending his way home moodily, after having lost his day at larkhall hill. some of our readers will, perhaps, say, why didn't he clap on, and try to catch up the hounds at a check, or at all events rejoin them for an afternoon fox? gentle reader! mr. sponge did not hunt on those terms; he was a front-rank or a 'nowhere' man, and independently of catching hounds up being always a fatiguing and hazardous speculation, especially on a fine-scenting day, the exertion would have taken more out of his horse than would have been desirable for successful display in a second run. mr. sponge, therefore, determined to go home. as he sauntered along, musing on the mishaps of the chase, wondering how miss jawleyford would look, and playing himself an occasional tune with his spur against his stirrup, who should come trotting behind him but mr. leather on the redoubtable chestnut? mr. sponge beckoned him alongside. the horse looked blooming and bright; his eye was clear and cheerful, and there was a sort of springy graceful action that looked like easy going. one always fancies a horse most with another man on him. we see all his good points without feeling his imperfections--his trippings, or startings, or snatchings, or borings, or roughness of action, and mr. sponge proceeded to make a silent estimate of multum in parvo's qualities as he trotted gently along on the grassy side of the somewhat wide road. 'by jove! it's a pity but his lordship had seen him,' thought sponge, as the emulation of companionship made the horse gradually increase his pace, and steal forward with the lightest, freest action imaginable. 'if he was but all right,' continued sponge, with a shake of the head, 'he would be worth any money, for he has the strength of a dray-horse, with the symmetry and action of a racer.' then sponge thought he shouldn't have an opportunity of showing the horse till thursday, for jack had satisfied him that the next day's meet was quite beyond distance from jawleyford court. 'it's a bore,' said he, rising in his stirrups, and tickling the piebald with his spurs, as if he were going to set-to for a race. he thought of having a trial of speed with the chestnut, up a slip of turf they were now approaching; but a sudden thought struck him, and he desisted. 'these horses have done nothing to-day,' he said; 'why shouldn't i send the chestnut on for to-morrow?' 'do you know where the cross-roads are?' he asked his groom. 'cross-roads, cross-roads--what cross-roads?' replied leather. 'where the hounds meet to-morrow.' 'oh, the cross-roads at somethin' burn,' rejoined leather thoughtfully--'no, 'deed, i don't,' he added. 'from all 'counts, they seem to be somewhere on the far side of the world.' that was not a very encouraging answer; and feeling it would require a good deal of persuasion to induce mr. leather to go in search of them without clothing and the necessary requirements for his horses, mr. sponge went trotting on, in hopes of seeing some place where he might get a sight of the map of the county. so they proceeded in silence, till a sudden turn of the road brought them to the spire and housetops of the little agricultural town of barleyboll. it differed nothing from the ordinary run of small towns. it had a pond at one end, an inn in the middle, a church at one side, a fashionable milliner from london, a merchant tailor from the same place, and a hardware shop or two where they also sold treacle, dartford gunpowder, pocket-handkerchiefs, sheep-nets, patent medicines, cheese, blacking, marbles, mole-traps, men's hats, and other miscellaneous articles. it was quite enough of a town, however, to raise a presumption that there would be a map of the county at the inn. 'we'll just put the horses up for a few minutes, i think,' said sponge, turning into the stable-yard at the end of the red lion hotel and posting house, adding, 'i want to write a letter, and perhaps,' said he, looking at his watch, 'you may be wanting your dinner.' having resigned his horse to his servant, mr. sponge walked in, receiving the marked attention usually paid to a red coat. mine host left his bar, where he was engaged in the usual occupation of drinking with customers for the 'good of the house.' a map of the county, of such liberal dimensions, was speedily produced, as would have terrified any one unaccustomed to distances and scales on which maps are laid down. for instance, jawleyford court, as the crow flies, was the same distance from the cross-roads at dallington burn as york was from london, in a map of england hanging beside it. 'it's a goodish way,' said sponge, getting a lighter off the chimney-piece, and measuring the distances. 'from jawleyford court to billingsborough rise, say seven miles; from billingsborough rise to downington wharf, other seven; from downington wharf to shapcot, which seems the nearest point, will be--say five or six, perhaps--nineteen or twenty in all. well, that's my work,' he observed, scratching his head, 'at least, my hack's; and from here, home,' he continued, measuring away as he spoke, 'will be twelve or thirteen. well, that's nothing,' he said. 'now for the horse,' he continued, again applying the lighter in a different direction. 'from here to hardington will be, say, eight miles; from hardington to bewley, other five; eight and five are thirteen; and there, i should say, he might sleep. that would leave ten or twelve miles for the morning; nothing for a hack hunter; 'specially such a horse as that, and one that's done nothing for i don't know how long.' altogether, mr. sponge determined to try it, especially considering that if he didn't get tuesday, there would be nothing till thursday; and he was not the man to keep a hack hunter standing idle. accordingly he sought mr. leather, whom he found busily engaged in the servants' apartment, with a cold round of beef and a foaming flagon of ale before him. 'leather,' he said, in a tone of authority, 'i'll hunt to-morrow--ride the horse i should have ridden to-day.' 'where at?' asked leather, diving his fork into a bottle of pickles, and fishing out an onion. 'the cross-roads,' replied sponge. 'the cross-roads be fifty miles from here!' cried leather. 'nonsense!' rejoined sponge; 'i've just measured the distance. it's nothing of the sort.' 'how far do you make it, then?' asked leather, tucking in the beef. 'why, from here to hardington is about six, and from hardington to bewley, four--ten in all,' replied sponge. 'you can stay at bewley all night, and then it is but a few miles on in the morning.' 'and whativer am i to do for clothin'?' asked leather, adding, 'i've nothin' with me--nothin' nouther for oss nor man.' 'oh, the ostler'll lend you what you want,' replied sponge, in a tone of determination, adding, 'you can make shift for one night surely?' 'one night surely!' retorted leather. 'd'ye think an oss can't be ruined in one night?--humph!' 'i'll risk it,' said sponge. 'but i won't,' replied leather, blowing the foam from the tankard, and taking a long swig at the ale. 'i thinks i knows my duty to my gov'nor better nor that,' continued he, setting it down. 'i'll not see his waluable 'unters stowed away in pigsties--not i, indeed.' the fact was, leather had an invitation to sup with the servants at jawleyford court that night, and he was not going to be done out of his engagement, especially as mr. sponge only allowed him two shillings a day for expenses wherever he was. [illustration: mr. leather and sponge have a difference of opinion] 'well, you're a cool hand, anyhow,' observed mr. sponge, quite taken by surprise. 'cool 'and, or not cool 'and,' replied leather, munching away, 'i'll do my duty to my master. i'm not one o' your coatless, characterless scamps wot 'ang about livery-stables ready to do anything they're bid. no sir, no,' he continued, pronging another onion; '_i_ have some regard for the hinterest o' my master. i'll do my duty in the station o' life in which i'm placed, and won't be 'fraid to face no man.' so saying, mr. leather cut himself a grand circumference of beef. mr. sponge was taken aback, for he had never seen a conscientious livery-stable helper before, and did not believe in the existence of such articles. however, here was mr. leather assuming a virtue, whether he had it or not; and mr. sponge being in the man's power, of course durst not quarrel with him. it was clear that leather would not go; and the question was, what should mr. sponge do? 'why shouldn't i go myself?' he thought, shutting his eyes, as if to keep his faculties free from outward distraction. he ran the thing quickly over in his mind. 'what leather can do, i can do,' he said, remembering that a groom never demeaned himself by working where there was an ostler. 'these things i have on will do quite well for to-morrow, at least among such rough-and-ready dogs as the flat hat men, who seem as if they had their clothes pitched on with a fork.' his mind was quickly made up, and calling for pen, ink, and paper, he wrote a hasty note to jawleyford, explaining why he would not cast up till the morrow; he then got the chestnut out of the stable, and desiring the ostler to give the note to leather, and tell him to go home with his hack, he just rode out of the yard without giving leather the chance of saying 'nay.' he then jogged on at a pace suitable to the accurate measurement of the distance. the horse seemed to like having sponge's red coat on better than leather's brown, and champed his bit, and stepped away quite gaily. 'confound it!' exclaimed sponge, laying the rein on its neck, and leaning forward to pat him; 'it's a pity but you were always in this humour--you'd be worth a mint of money if you were.' he then resumed his seat in the saddle, and bethought him how he would show them the way on the morrow. 'if he doesn't beat every horse in the field, it shan't be my fault,' thought he; and thereupon he gave him the slightest possible touch with the spur, and the horse shot away up a strip of grass like an arrow. 'by jove, but you _can_ go!' said he, pulling up as the grass ran out upon the hard road. thus he reached the village of hardington, which he quickly cleared, and took the well-defined road to bewley--a road adorned with milestones and set out with a liberal horse-track at either side. day had closed ere our friend reached bewley, but the children returning from school, and the country folks leaving their work, kept assuring him that he was on the right line, till the lights of the town, bursting upon him as he rounded the hill above, showed him the end of his journey. the best stalls at the head inn--the bull's head--were all full, several trusty grooms having arrived with the usual head-stalls and rolls of clothing on their horses, denoting the object of their mission. most of the horses had been in some hours, and were now standing well littered up with straw, while the grooms were in the tap talking over their masters, discussing the merits of their horses, or arguing whether lord scamperdale was mad or not. they had just come to the conclusion that his lordship was mad, but not incapable of taking care of his affairs, when the trampling of sponge's horse's feet drew them out to see who was coming next. sponge's red coat at once told his tale, and procured him the usual attention. mr. leather's fear of the want of clothing for the valuable hunter proved wholly groundless, for each groom having come with a plentiful supply for his own horse, all the inn stock was at the service of the stranger. the stable, to be sure, was not quite so good as might be desired, but it was warm and water-tight, and the corn was far from bad. altogether, mr. sponge thought he would do very well, and, having seen to his horse, proceeded to choose between beef-steaks and mutton chops for his own entertainment, and with the aid of the old country paper and some very questionable port, he passed the evening in anticipation of the sports of the morrow. chapter xxix the cross-roads at dallington burn [illustration] when his lordship and jack mounted their hacks in the morning to go to the cross-roads at dallington burn, it was so dark that they could not see whether they were on bays or browns. it was a dull, murky day, with heavy spongy clouds overhead. there had been a great deal of rain in the night, and the horses poached and squashed as they went. our sportsmen, however, were prepared as well for what had fallen as for what might come; for they were encased in enormously thick boots, with baggy overalls, and coats and waistcoats of the stoutest and most abundant order. they had each a sack of a mackintosh strapped on to their saddle fronts. thus they went blobbing and groping their way along, varying the monotony of the journey by an occasional spurt of muddy water up into their faces, or the more nerve-trying noise of a floundering stumble over a heap of stones by the roadside. the country people stared with astonishment as they passed, and the muggers and tinkers, who were withdrawing their horses from the farmers' fields, stood trembling, lest they might be the 'pollis' coming after them. 'i think it'll be a fine day,' observed his lordship, after they had bumped for some time in silence without its getting much lighter. 'i think it will be a fine day,' he said, taking his chin out of his great puddingy-spotted neckcloth, and turning his spectacled face up to the clouds. 'the want of light is its chief fault,' observed jack, adding, 'it's deuced dark!' 'ah, it'll get better of that,' observed his lordship. 'it's not much after eight yet,' he added, staring at his watch, and with difficulty making out that it was half-past. 'days take off terribly about this time of year,' he observed; 'i've seen about christmas when it has never been rightly light all day long.' they then floundered on again for some time further as before. 'shouldn't wonder if we have a large field,' at length observed jack, bringing his hack alongside his lordship's. 'shouldn't wonder if puff himself was to come--all over brooches and rings as usual,' replied his lordship. 'and charley slapp, i'll be bund to say,' observed jack. 'he a regular hanger-on of puff's.' 'ass, that slapp,' said his lordship; 'hate the sight of him!' 'so do i,' replied jack, adding, 'hate a hanger-on!' 'there are the hounds,' said his lordship, as they now approached culverton dean, and a line of something white was discernible travelling the zig-zagging road on the opposite side. 'are they, think you?' replied jack, staring through his great spectacles; 'are they, think you? it looks to me more like a flock of sheep.' 'i believe you're right,' said his lordship, staring too; 'indeed, i hear the dog. the hounds, however, can't be far ahead.' they then drew into single file to take the broken horse-track through the steep woody dean. 'this is the longest sixteen miles i know,' observed jack, as they emerged from it, and overtook the sheep. 'it is,' replied his lordship, spurring his hack, who was now beginning to lag: 'the fact is, it's eighteen,' he continued; 'only if i was to tell frosty it was eighteen, he would want to lay overnight, and that wouldn't do. besides the trouble and inconvenience, it would spoil the best part of a five-pund note; and five-pund notes don't grow upon gooseberry-bushes--at least, not in my garden.' 'rather scarce in all gardens just now, i think,' observed jack; 'at least, i never hear of anybody with one to spare.' 'money's like snow,' said his lordship, 'a very meltable article; and talking of snow,' he said, looking up at the heavy clouds, 'i wish we mayn't be going to have some--i don't like the look of things overhead.' 'heavy,' replied jack; 'heavy: however, it's due about now.' 'due or not due,' said his lordship, 'it's a thing one never wishes to come; anybody may have my share of snow that likes--frost too.' the road, or rather track, now passed over blobbington moor, and our friends had enough to do to keep their horses out of peat-holes and bogs, without indulging in conversation. at length they cleared the moor, and, pulling out a gap at the corner of the inclosures, cut across a few fields, and got on to the stumpington turnpike. 'the hounds are here,' said jack, after studying the muddy road for some time. 'they'll not be there long,' replied his lordship, 'for grabtintoll gate isn't far ahead, and we don't waste our substance on pikes.' his lordship was right. the imprints soon diverged up a muddy lane on the right, and our sportsmen now got into a road so deep and bottomless as to put the idea of stones quite out of the question. 'hang the road!' exclaimed his lordship, as his hack nearly came on his nose, 'hang the road!' repeated he, adding, 'if puff wasn't such an ass, i really think i'd give him up the cross-road country.' 'it's bad to get at from us,' observed jack, who didn't like such trashing distances. 'ah! but it's a rare good country when you get to it,' replied his lordship, shortening his rein and spurring his steed. the lane being at length cleared, the road became more practicable, passing over large pastures where a horseman could choose his own ground, instead of being bound by the narrow limits of the law. but though the road improved, the day did not; a thick fog coming drifting up from the south-east in aid of the general obscurity of the scene. 'the day's gettin' _wuss_,' observed jack, snuffling and staring about. 'it'll blow over,' replied his lordship, who was not easily disheartened. 'it'll blow over,' repeated he, adding, 'often rare scents such days as these. but we must put on,' continued he, looking at his watch, 'for it's half-past, and we are a mile or more off yet.' so saying, he clapped spurs to his hack and shot away at a canter, followed by jack at a long-drawn 'hammer and pincers' trot. a hunt is something like an assize circuit, where certain great guns show everywhere, and smaller men drop in here and there, snatching a day or a brief, as the case may be. sergeant bluff and sergeant huff rustle and wrangle in every court, while mr. meeke and mr. sneeke enjoy their frights on the forensic arenas of their respective towns, on behalf of simple neighbours, who look upon them as thorough solomons. so with hunts. certain men who seem to have been sent into the world for the express purpose of hunting, arrive at every meet, far and near, with a punctuality that is truly surprising, and rarely associated with pleasure. if you listen to their conversation, it is generally a dissertation on the previous day's sport, with inquiries as to the nearest way to cover the next. sometimes it is seasoned with censure of some other pack they have been seeing. these men are mounted and appointed in a manner that shows what a perfect profession hunting is with them. of course, they come cantering to cover, lest any one should suppose they ride their horses on. the 'cross-roads' was like two hunts or two circuits joining, for it generally drew the picked men from each, to say nothing of outriggers and chance customers. the regular attendants of either hunt were sufficiently distinguishable as well by the flat hats and baggy garments of the one, as by the dandified, jemmy jessamy air of the other. if a lord had not been at the head of the flat hats, the puffington men would have considered them insufferable snobs. but to our day. as usual, where hounds have to travel a long distance, the field were assembled before they arrived. almost all the cantering gentlemen had cast up. one cross-road meet being so much like another, it will not be worth while describing the one at dallington burn. the reader will have the kindness to imagine a couple of roads crossing an open common, with an armless sign-post on one side, and a rubble-stone bridge, with several of the coping-stones lying in the shallow stream below, on the other. the country round about, if any country could have been seen, would have shown wild, open, and cheerless. here a patch of wood, there a patch of heath, but its general aspect bare and unfruitful. the commanding outline of beechwood forest was not visible for the weather. time now, let us suppose, half-past ten, with a full muster of horsemen and a fog making unwonted dulness of the scene--the old sign-pole being the most conspicuous object of the whole. hark! what a clamour there is about it. it's like a betting-post at newmarket. how loud the people talk! what's the news? queen anne dead, or is there another french revolution, or a fixed duty on corn? reader, mr. puffington's hounds have had a run, and the flat hat men are disputing it. 'nothing of the sort! nothing of the sort!' exclaims fossick, 'i know every yard of the country, and you can't make more nor eight of it anyhow, if eight.' 'well, but i've measured it on the map,' replied the speaker (charley slapp himself), 'and it's thirteen, if it's a yard.' 'then the country's grown bigger since my day,' rejoins fossick, 'for i was dropped at stubgrove, which is within a mile of where you found, and i've walked, and i've ridden, and i've driven every yard of the distance, and you can't make it more than eight, if it's as much. can you, capon?' exclaimed fossick, appealing to another of the 'flat brims,' whose luminous face now shone through the fog. 'no,' replied capon, adding, 'not so much, i should say.' just then up trotted frostyface with the hounds. 'good morning, frosty! good morning!' exclaim half-a-dozen voices, that it would be difficult to appropriate from the denseness of the fog. frosty and the whips make a general salute with their caps. 'well, frosty, i suppose you've heard what a run we had yesterday?' exclaims charley slapp, as soon as frosty and the hounds are settled. 'had they, sir--had they?' replies frosty, with a slight touch of his cap and a sneer. 'glad to hear it, sir--glad to hear it. hope they killed, sir--hope they killed!' with a still slighter touch of the cap. 'killed, aye!--killed in the open just below crabstone green, in _your_ country,' adding, 'it was one of your foxes, i believe.' 'glad of it, sir--glad of it, sir,' replies frosty. 'they wanted blood sadly--they wanted blood sadly. quite welcome to one of our foxes, sir--_quite_ welcome. that's a brace and a 'alf they've killed.' 'brace and a ha-r-r-f!' drawls slapp, in well-feigned disgust; 'brace and a ha-r-r-f!--why, it makes them ten brace, and six run to ground.' 'oh, don't tell _me_,' retorts frosty, with a shake of disgust; 'don't tell me. i knows better--i knows better. they'd only killed a brace since they began hunting up to yesterday. the rest were all cubs, poor things!--all cubs, poor things! mr. puffington's hounds are not the sort of animals to kill foxes: nasty, skirtin', flashy, jealous divils; always starin' about for holloas and assistance. i'll be d----d if i'd give eighteenpence for the 'ole lot on 'em.' a loud guffaw from the flat hat men greeted this wholesale condemnation. the puffington men looked unutterable things, and there is no saying what disagreeable comparisons might have been instituted (for the puffingtonians mustered strong) had not his lordship and jack cast up at the moment. hats off and politeness was then the order of the day. 'mornin',' said his lordship, with a snatch of his hat in return, as he pulled up and stared into the cloud-enveloped crowd; 'mornin', fyle; mornin', fossick,' he continued, as he distinguished those worthies, as much by their hats as anything else. 'where are the horses?' he said to frostyface. [illustration: jack frosty and charley slapp] 'just beyond there, my lord,' replied the huntsman, pointing with his whip to where a cockaded servant was 'to-and-froing' a couple of hunters--a brown and a chestnut. 'let's be doing,' said his lordship, trotting up to them and throwing himself off his hack like a sack. having divested himself of his muddy overalls, he mounted the brown, a splendid sixteen-hands horse in tip-top condition, and again made for the field in all the pride of masterly equestrianism. a momentary gleam of sunshine shot o'er the scene; a jerk of the head acted as a signal to throw off, and away they all moved from the meet. thorneybush gorse was a large eight-acre cover, formed partly of gorse and partly of stunted blackthorn, with here and there a sprinkling of scotch firs. his lordship paid two pounds a year for it, having vainly tried to get it for thirty shillings, which was about the actual value of the land, but the proprietor claimed a little compensation for the trampling of horses about it; moreover, the puffington men would have taken it at two pounds. it was a sure find, and the hounds dashed into it with a scent. the field ranged themselves at the accustomed corner, both hunts full of their previous day's run. frostyface's 'yoicks, wind him!' 'yoicks, push him up!' was drowned in a medley of voices. a loud, clear, shrill 'tally-ho, away!' from the far side of the cover caused all tongues to stop, and all hands to drop on the reins. great was the excitement! each hunt was determined to take the shine out of the other. 'twang, twang, twang!' 'tweet, tweet, tweet!' went his lordship's and frostyface's horns, as they came bounding over the gorse to the spot, with the eager pack rushing at their horses' heels. then as the hounds crossed the line of scent, there was such an outburst of melody in cover, and such gathering of reins and thrusting on of hats outside! the hounds dashed out of cover as if somebody was kicking them. a man in scarlet was seen flying through the fog, producing the usual hold-hardings. 'hold hard, sir!' 'god bless you, hold hard, sir!' with inquiries as to 'who the chap was that was going to catch the fox.' 'it's lumpleg!' exclaimed one of the flat hat men. 'no, it's not!' roared a puffingtonite; 'lumpleg's here.' 'then it's charley slapp; he's always doing it,' rejoined the first speaker. 'most jealous man in the world.' 'is he!' exclaimed slapp, cantering past at his ease on a thoroughbred grey, as if he could well afford to dispense with a start. reader! it was neither lumpleg nor slapp, nor any of the puffington snobs, or flat hat swells, or puffington swells, or flat hat snobs. it was our old friend sponge; monsieur tonson again! having arrived late, he had posted himself, unseen, by the cover side, and the fox had broke close to him. unfortunately, he had headed him back, and a pretty kettle of fish was the result. not only had he headed him back, but the resolute chestnut, having taken it into his head to run away, had snatched the bit between his teeth; and carried him to the far side of a field ere sponge managed to manoere him round on a very liberal semi-circle, and face the now flying sportsmen, who came hurrying on through the mist like a charge of yeomanry after a salute. all was excitement, hurry-scurry, and horse-hugging, with the usual spurring, elbowing, and exertion to get into places, mr. fossick considering he had as much right to be before mr. fyle as mr. fyle had to be before old capon. it apparently being all the same to the chestnut which way he went so long as he had his run, he now bore sponge back as quickly as he had carried him away, and with yawning mouth, and head in the air, he dashed right at the coming horsemen, charging lord scamperdale full tilt as he was in the act of returning his horn to its case. great was the collision! his lordship flew one way, his horse another, his hat a third, his whip a fourth, his spectacles a fifth; in fact, he was scattered all over. in an instant he lay the centre of a circle, kicking on his back like a lively turtle. 'oh! i'm kilt!' he roared, striking out as if he was swimming, or rather floating. 'i'm kilt!' he repeated. 'he's broken my back--he's broken my legs--he's broken my ribs--he's broken my collar-bone--he's knocked my right eye into the heel of my left boot. oh! will nobody catch him and kill him? will nobody do for him? will you see an english nobleman knocked about like a ninepin?' added his lordship, scrambling up to go in pursuit of mr. sponge himself, exclaiming, as he stood shaking his fist at him, 'rot ye, sir! hangin's too good for ye! you should be condemned to hunt in berwickshire the rest of your life!' chapter xxx bolting the badger when a man and his horse differ seriously in public, and the man feels the horse has the best of it, it is wise for the man to appear to accommodate his views to those of the horse, rather than risk a defeat. it is best to let the horse go his way, and pretend it is yours. there is no secret so close as that between a rider and his horse. mr. sponge, having scattered lord scamperdale in the summary way described in our last chapter, let the chestnut gallop away, consoling himself with the idea that even if the hounds did hunt, it would be impossible for him to show his horse to advantage on so dark and unfavourable a day. he, therefore, just let the beast gallop till he began to flag, and then he spurred him and made him gallop on his account. he thus took his change out of him, and arrived at jawleyford court a little after luncheon time. brief as had been his absence, things had undergone a great change. certain dark hints respecting his ways and means had worked their way from the servants' hall to my lady's chamber, and into the upper regions generally. these had been augmented by leather's, the trusty groom's, overnight visit, in fulfilment of his engagement to sup with the servants. nor was mr. leather's anger abated by the unceremonious way mr. sponge rode off with the horse, leaving him to hear of his departure from the ostler. having broken faith with him, he considered it his duty to be 'upsides' with him, and tell the servants all he knew about him. accordingly he let out, in strict confidence of course, to spigot, that so far from mr. sponge being a gentleman of 'fortin,' as he called it, with a dozen or two hunters planted here and there, he was nothing but the hirer of a couple of hacks, with himself as a job-groom, by the week. spigot, who was on the best of terms with the 'cook-housekeeper,' and had his clothes washed on the sly in the laundry, could not do less than communicate the intelligence to her, from whom it went to the lady's-maid, and thence circulated in the upper regions. [illustration] juliana, the maid, finding miss amelia less indisposed to hear mr. sponge run down than she expected, proceeded to add her own observations to the information derived from leather, the groom. 'indeed, she couldn't say that she thought much of mr. sponge herself; his shirts were coarse, so were his pocket-handkerchiefs; and she never yet saw a real gent without a valet.' amelia, without any positive intention of giving up mr. sponge, at least not until she saw further, had nevertheless got an idea that she was destined for a much higher sphere. having duly considered all the circumstances of mr. spraggon's visit to jawleyford court, conned over several mysterious coughs and half-finished sentences he had indulged in, she had about come to the conclusion that the real object of his mission was to negotiate a matrimonial alliance on behalf of lord scamperdale. his lordship's constantly expressed intention of getting married was well calculated to mislead one whose experience of the world was not sufficiently great to know that those men who are always talking about it are the least likely to get married, just as men who are always talking about buying horses are the men who never do buy them. be that, however, as it may, amelia was tolerably easy about mr. sponge. if he had money she could take him; if he hadn't, she could let him alone. jawleyford, too, who was more hospitable at a distance, and in imagination than in reality, had had about enough of our friend. indeed, a man whose talk was of hunting, and his reading _mogg_ was not likely to have much in common with a gentleman of taste and elegance, as our friend set up to be. the delicate inquiry that mrs. jawleyford now made, as to 'whether he knew mr. sponge to be a man of fortune,' set him off at a tangent. 'me know he's a man of fortune! _i_ know nothing of his fortune. you asked him here, not me,' exclaimed jawleyford, stamping furiously. 'no, my dear,' replied mrs. jawleyford mildly; 'he asked himself, you know; but i thought, perhaps, you might have said something that--' 'me say anything!' interrupted jawleyford. '_i_ never said anything--at least, nothing that any man with a particle of sense would think anything of,' continued he, remembering the scene in the billiard-room. 'it's one thing to tell a man, if he comes your way, you'll be glad to see him, and another to ask him to come bag and baggage, as this impudent mr. sponge has done,' added he. 'certainly,' replied mrs. jawleyford, who saw where the shoe was pinching her bear. 'i wish he was off,' observed jawleyford, after a pause. 'he bothers me excessively--i'll try and get rid of him by saying we are going from home.' 'where can you say we are going to?' asked mrs. jawleyford. 'oh, anywhere,' replied jawleyford; 'he doesn't know the people about here: the tewkesbury's, the woolerton's, the brown's--anybody.' before they had got any definite plan of proceeding arranged, mr. sponge returned from the chase. 'ah, my dear sir!' exclaimed jawleyford, half-gaily, half-moodily, extending a couple of fingers as sponge entered his study: 'we thought you had taken french leave of us, and were off.' mr. sponge asked if his groom had not delivered his note. 'no,' replied jawleyford boldly, though he had it in his pocket; 'at least, not that i've seen. mrs. jawleyford, perhaps, may have got it,' added he. 'indeed!' exclaimed sponge; 'it was very idle of him.' he then proceeded to detail to jawleyford what the reader already knows, how he had lost his day at larkhall hill, and had tried to make up for it by going to the cross-roads. 'ah!' exclaimed jawleyford, when he was done; 'that's a pity--great pity--monstrous pity--never knew anything so unlucky in my life.' 'misfortunes will happen,' replied sponge, in a tone of unconcern. 'ah, it wasn't so much the loss of the hunt i was thinking of,' replied jawleyford, 'as the arrangements we have made in consequence of thinking you were gone.' 'what are they?' asked sponge. 'why, my lord barker, a great friend of ours--known him from a boy--just like brothers, in short--sent over this morning to ask us all there--shooting party, charades, that sort of thing--and we accepted.' 'but that need make no difference,' replied sponge; 'i'll go too.' jawleyford was taken aback. he had not calculated upon so much coolness. 'well,' stammered he, 'that might do, to be sure; but--if--i'm not quite sure that i could take any one--' 'but if you're as thick as you say, you can have no difficulty,' replied our friend. 'true,' replied jawleyford; 'but then we go a large party ourselves--two and two's four,' said he, 'to say nothing of servants; besides, his lordship mayn't have room--house will most likely be full.' 'oh, a single man can always be put up; shake-down--anything does for him,' replied sponge. 'but you would lose your hunting,' replied jawleyford. 'barkington tower is quite out of lord scamperdale's country.' 'that doesn't matter,' replied sponge, adding, 'i don't think i'll trouble his lordship much more. these flat hat gentlemen are not over and above civil, in my opinion.' 'well,' replied jawleyford, nettled at this thwarting of his attempt, 'that's for your consideration. however, as you've come, i'll talk to mrs. jawleyford, and see if we can get off the barkington expedition.' 'but don't get off on my account,' replied sponge. 'i can stay here quite well. i dare say you'll not be away long.' this was worse still; it held out no hope of getting rid of him. jawleyford therefore resolved to try and smoke and starve him out. when our friend went to dress, he found his old apartment, the state-room, put away, the heavy brocade curtains brown-hollanded, the jugs turned upside down, the bed stripped of its clothes and the looking-glass laid a-top of it. the smirking housemaid, who was just rolling the fire-irons up in the hearth-rug, greeted him with a 'please, sir, we've shifted you into the brown room, east,' leading the way to the condemned cell that 'jack' had occupied, where a newly lit fire was puffing out dense clouds of brown smoke, obscuring even the gilt letters on the back of _mogg's cab fares_, as the little volume lay on the toilet-table. 'what's happened now?' asked our friend of the maid, putting his arm round her waist, and giving her a hearty squeeze. 'what's happened now, that you've put me into this dog-hole?' asked he. 'oh! i don't know,' replied she, laughing; 'i s'pose they're afraid you'll bring the old rotten curtains down in the other room with smokin'. master's a sad old wife,' added she. a great change had come over everything. the fare, the lights, the footmen, the everything, underwent grievous diminution. the lamps were extinguished, and the transparent wax gave way to palmer's composites, under the mild influence of whose unsearching light the young ladies sported their dashed dresses with impunity. competition between them, indeed, was about an end. amelia claimed mr. sponge, should he be worth having, and should the scamperdale scheme fail; while emily, having her mamma's assurance that he would not do for either of them, resigned herself complacently to what she could not help. [illustration: mr. sponge demanding an explanation] mr. sponge, on his part, saw that all things portended a close. he cared nothing about the old willow-pattern set usurping the place of the jawleyford-armed china; but the contents of the dishes were bad, and the wine, if possible, worse. most palpable marsala did duty for sherry, and the corked port was again in requisition. jawleyford was no longer the brisk, cheery-hearted jawleyford of laverick wells, but a crusty, fidgety, fire-stirring sort of fellow, desperately given to his _morning post_. worst of all, when mr. sponge retired to his den to smoke a cigar and study his dear cab fares, he was so suffocated with smoke that he was obliged to put out the fire, notwithstanding the weather was cold, indeed inclining to frost. he lit his cigar notwithstanding; and, as he indulged in it, he ran all the circumstances of his situation through his mind. his pressing invitation--his magnificent reception--the attention of the ladies--and now the sudden change everything had taken. he couldn't make it out, somehow; but the consequences were plain enough. 'the fellow's a humbug,' at length said he, throwing the cigar-end away, and turning into bed, when the information watson the keeper gave him on arriving recurred to his mind, and he was satisfied that jawleyford was a humbug. it was clear mr. sponge had made a mistake in coming; the best thing he could do now was to back out, and see if the fair amelia would take it to heart. in the midst of his cogitations mr. puffington's pressing invitation occurred to his mind, and it appeared to be the very thing for him, affording him an immediate asylum within reach of the fair lady, should she be likely to die. next day he wrote to volunteer a visit. mr. puffington, who was still in ignorance of our friend's real character, and still believed him to be a second 'nimrod' out on a 'tour,' was overjoyed at his letter; and, strange to relate, the same post that brought his answer jumping at the proposal, brought a letter from lord scamperdale to jawleyford, saying that, 'as soon as jawleyford was _quite alone_ (scored under) he would like to pay him a visit.' his lordship, we should inform the reader, notwithstanding his recent mishap, still held out against jack spraggon's recommendation to get rid of mr. sponge by buying his horses, and he determined to try this experiment first. his lordship thought at one time of entering into an explanation, telling mr. jawleyford the damage sponge had done him, and the nuisance he was entailing upon him by harbouring him; but not being a great scholar, and several hard words turning up that his lordship could not well clear in the spelling, he just confined himself to a laconic, which, as it turned out, was a most fortunate course. indeed, he had another difficulty besides the spelling, for the hounds having as usual had a great run after mr. sponge had floored him--knocked his right eye into the heel of his left boot, as he said--in the course of which run his lordship's horse had rolled over him on a road, he was like the railway people--unable to distinguish between capital and income--unable to say which were sponge's bangs and which his own; so, like a hard cricket-ball sort of a man as he was, he just pocketed all, and wrote as we have described. his lordship's and mr. puffington's letters diffused joy into a house that seemed likely to be distracted with trouble. so then endeth our thirtieth chapter, and a very pleasant ending it is, for we leave everyone in perfect good humour and spirits, sponge pleased at having got a fresh billet, jawleyford delighted at the coming of the lord, and each fair lady practising in private how to sign her christian name in conjunction with 'scamperdale.' chapter xxxi mr. puffington; or the young man about town mr. puffington took the mangeysterne, now the hanby hounds, because he thought they would give him consequence. not that he was particularly deficient in that article; but being a new man in the county, he thought that taking them would make him popular, and give him standing. he had no natural inclination for hunting, but seeing friends who had no taste for the turf take upon themselves the responsibility of stewardships, he saw no reason why he should not make a similar sacrifice at the shrine of diana. indeed, puff was not bred for a sportsman. his father, a most estimable man, and one with whom we have spent many a convivial evening, was a great starch-maker at stepney; and his mother was the daughter of an eminent worcestershire stone-china maker. save such ludicrous hunts as they might have seen on their brown jugs, we do not believe either of them had any acquaintance whatever with the chase. old puffington was, however, what a wise heir esteems a great deal more--an excellent man of business, and amassed mountains of money. to see his establishment at stepney, one would think the whole world was going to be starched. enormous dock-tailed dray-horses emerged with ponderous waggons heaped up to the very skies, while others would come rumbling in, laden with wheat, potatoes, and other starch-making ingredients. puffington's blue roans were well known about town, and were considered the handsomest horses of the day; quite equal to barclay and perkin's piebalds. old puffington was not like a sportsman. he was a little, soft, rosy, roundabout man, with stiff resolute legs that did not look as if they could be bent to a saddle. he was great, however, in a gig, and slouched like a sack. mrs. puffington, _née_ smith, was a tall handsome woman, who thought a good deal of herself. when she and her spouse married, they lived close to the manufactory, in a sweet little villa replete with every elegance and convenience--a pond, which they called a lake--laburnums without end; a yew, clipped into a dock-tailed waggon-horse; standing for three horses and gigs, with an acre and half of land for a cow. old puffington, however, being unable to keep those dearest documents of the british merchant, his balance-sheets, to himself, and mrs. puffington finding a considerable sum going to the 'good' every year, insisted, on the birth of their only child, our friend, upon migrating to the 'west,' as she called it, and at one bold stroke they established themselves in heathcote street, mecklenburgh square. novelists had not then written this part down as 'mesopotamia,' and it was quite as genteel as harley or wimpole street are now. their chief object then was to increase their wealth and make their only son 'a gentleman.' they sent him to eton, and in due time to christ church, where, of course, he established a red coat to persecute sir thomas mostyn's and the duke of beaufort's hounds, much to the annoyance of their respective huntsmen, stephen goodall and philip payne, and the aggravation of poor old griff. lloyd. what between the field and college, young puffington made the acquaintance of several very dashing young sparks--lord firebrand, lord mudlark, lord deuceace, sir harry blueun, and others, whom he always spoke of as 'deuceace,' 'blueun,' etc., in the easy style that marks the perfect gentleman.[ ] how proud the old people were of him! how they would sit listening to him, flashing, and telling how deuceace and he floored a charley, or blueun and he pitched a snob out of the boxes into the pit. this was in the old tom-and-jerry days, when fisticuffs were the fashion. one evening, after he had indulged us with a more than usual dose, and was leaving the room to dress for an eight o'clock dinner at long's, 'buzzer!' exclaimed the old man, clutching our arm, as the tears started to his eyes, 'buzzer! that's an am_aa_zin' instance of a pop'lar man!' and certainly, if a large acquaintance is a criterion of popularity, young puffington, as he was then called, had his fair share. he once did us the honour--an honour we shall never forget--of walking down bond street with us, in the spring-tide of fashion, of a glorious summer's day, when you could not cross conduit street under a lapse of a quarter of an hour, and carriages seemed to have come to an interminable lock at the piccadilly end of the street. in those days great people went about like great people, in handsome hammer-clothed, arms-emblazoned coaches, with plethoric three-corner-hatted coachmen, and gigantic, lace-bedizened, quivering-calved johnnies, instead of rumbling along like apothecaries in pill-boxes, with a handle inside to let themselves out. young men, too, dressed as if they were dressed--as if they were got up with some care and attention--instead of wearing the loose, careless, flowing, sack-like garments they do now. we remember the day as if it were but yesterday; puffington overtook us in oxford street, where we were taking our usual sauntering stare into the shop windows, and instead of shirking or slipping behind our back, he actually ran his arm up to the hilt in ours, and turned us into the middle of the flags, with an 'ah, buzzer, old boy, what are you doing in this debauched part of the town? come along with me, and i'll show you life!' so saying he linked arms, and pursuing our course at a proper kill-time sort of pace, we were at length brought up at the end of vere street, along which there was a regular rush of carriages, cutting away as if they were going to a fire instead of to a finery shop. many were the smiles, and bows, and nods, and finger kisses, and bright eyes, and sweet glances, that the fair flyers shot at our friend as they darted past. we were lost in astonishment at the sight. 'verily,' said we, 'but the old man was right. this _is_ an am_aa_zin' instance of a pop'lar man.' young puffington was then in the heyday of youth, about one-and-twenty or so, fair-haired, fresh-complexioned, slim, and standing, with the aid of high-heeled boots, little under six feet high. he had taken after his mother, not after old tom trodgers, as they called his papa. at length we crossed over oxford street, and taking the shady side of bond street, were quickly among the real swells of the world--men who crawled along as if life was a perfect burden to them--men with eye-glasses fixed and tasselled canes in their hands, scarcely less ponderous than those borne by the footmen. great heavens! but they were tight, and smart, and shiny; and puffington was just as tight, and smart, and shiny as any of them. he was as much in his element here as he appeared to be out of it in oxford street. it might be prejudice, or want of penetration on our part, but we thought he looked as high-bred as any of them. they all seemed to know each other, and the nodding, and winking, and jerking, began as soon as we got across. puff kindly acted as cicerone, or we should not have been aware of the consequence we were encountering. 'well, jemmy!' exclaimed a debauched-looking youth to our friend, 'how are you?--breakfasted yet?' 'going to,' replied puffington, whom they called jemmy because his name was tommy. 'that,' said he, in an undertone, 'is a _capital_ fellow--lord legbail, eldest son of the marquis of loosefish--will be lord loosefish. we were at the finish together till six this morning--such fun!--bonneted a charley, stole his rattle, and broke an early breakfast-man's stall all to shivers.' just then up came a broad-brimmed hat, above a confused mass of greatcoats and coloured shawls. 'holloa, jack!' exclaimed mr. puffington, laying hold of a mother-of-pearl button nearly as large as a tart-plate, 'not off yet?' 'just going,' replied jack, with a touch of his hat, as he rolled on, adding, 'want aught down the road?' 'what coachman is that?' asked we. '_coachman!_' replied puff, with a snort. 'that's jack linchpin--honourable jack linchpin--son of lord splinterbars--best gentleman coachman in england.' so puffington sauntered along, good morninging 'sir harrys' and 'sir jameses,' and 'lord johns' and 'lord toms,' till, seeing a batch of irreproachable dandies flattening their noses against the windows of the sailors' old club, in whose eyes, he perhaps thought, our city coat and country gaiters would not find much favour, he gave us a hasty parting squeeze of the arm and bolted into long's just as a mountainous hackney-coach was rumbling between us and them. but to the old man. time rolled on, and at length old puffington paid the debt of nature--the only debt, by the way, that he was slow in discharging--and our friend found himself in possession, not only of the starch manufactory, but of a very great accumulation of consols--so great that, though starch is as inoffensive a thing as a man can well deal in, a thing that never obtrudes itself, or, indeed appears in a shop unless it is asked for--notwithstanding all this, and though it was bringing him in lots of money, our friend determined to 'cut the shop' and be done with trade altogether. accordingly, he sold the premises and good-will, with all the stock of potatoes and wheat, to the foreman, old soapsuds, at something below what they were really worth, rather than make any row in the way of advertising; and the name of 'soapsuds, brothers & co.' reigns on the blue-and-whitey-brown parcel-ends, where formerly that of puffington stood supreme. it is a melancholy fact, which those best acquainted with london society can vouch for, that her 'swells' are a very ephemeral race. take the last five-and-twenty years--say from the days of the golden ball and pea-green hayne down to those of molly c----l and mr. d-l-f-ld--and see what a succession of joyous--no, not joyous, but rattling, careless, dashing, sixty-percenting youths we have had. and where are they all now? some dead, some at boulogne-sur-mer, some in denman lodge, some perhaps undergoing the polite attentions of mr. commissioner phillips, or figuring in mr. hemp's periodical publication of gentlemen 'who are wanted.' in speaking of 'swells,' of course we are not alluding to men with reference to their clothes alone, but to men whose dashing, and perhaps eccentric, exteriors are but indicative of their general system of extravagance. the man who rests his claims to distinction solely on his clothes will very soon find himself in want of society. many things contribute to thin the ranks of our swells. many, as we said before, outrun the constable. some get fat, some get married, some get tired, and a few get wiser. there is, however, always a fine pushing crop coming on. a man like puffington, who starts a dandy (in contradistinction to a swell), and adheres steadily to clothes--talking eternally of the cuts of coats or the ties of cravats--up to the sober age of forty, must be always falling back on the rising generation for society. puffington was not what the old ladies call a profligate young man. on the contrary, he was naturally a nice, steady young man; and only indulged in the vagaries we have described because they were indulged in by the high-born and gay. tom and jerry had a great deal to answer for in the way of leading soft-headed young men astray; and old puffington having had the misfortune to christen our friend 'thomas,' of course his companions dubbed him 'corinthian tom'; by which name he has been known ever since. a man of such undoubted wealth could not be otherwise than a great favourite with the fair, and innumerable were the invitations that poured into his chambers in the albany--dinner parties, evening parties, balls, concerts, boxes for the opera; and as each succeeding season drew to a close, invitations to those last efforts of the desperate, boating and whitebait parties. corinthian tom went to them all--at least, to as many as he could manage--always dressing in the most exemplary way, as though he had been asked to show his fine clothes instead of to make love to the ladies. manifold were the hopes and expectations that he raised. puff could not understand that, though it is all very well to be 'an am_aa_zin' instance of a pop'lar man' with the men, that the same sort of thing does not do with the ladies. we have heard that there were six mammas, bowling about in their barouches, at the close of his second season, innuendoing, nodding, and hinting to their friends, 'that, &c.,' when there wasn't one of their daughters who had penetrated the rhinoceros-like hide of his own conceit. the consequence was that all these ladies, all their daughters, all the relations and connexions of this life, thought it incumbent upon them to 'blow' our friend puff--proclaim how infamously he had behaved--all because he had danced three supper dances with one girl, brought another a fine bouquet from covent garden, walked a third away from her party at a picnic at erith, begged the mamma of a fourth to take her to a woolwich ball, sent a fifth a ticket for a toxophilite meeting, and dangled about the carriage of the sixth at a review at the scrubbs. poor puff never thought of being more than an am_aa_zin' instance of a pop'lar man! not that the ladies' denunciations did the corinthian any harm at first--old ladies know each other better than that; and each new mamma had no doubt but mrs. depecarde or mrs. mainchance, as the case might be, had been deceiving herself--'was always doing so, indeed; her ugly girls were not likely to attract any one--certainly not such an elegant man as corinthian tom.' but as season after season passed away, and the corinthian still played the old game--still went the old rounds--the dinner and ball invitations gradually dwindled away, till he became a mere stop-gap at the one, and a landing-place appendage at the other. [illustration: mr. puffington, from the original picture] chapter xxxii the man of p-r-o-r-perty and now behold mr. puffington, fat, fair, and rather more than forty--puffington, no longer the light limber lad who patronized us in bond street, but puffington a plump, portly sort of personage, filling his smart clothes uncommonly full. men no longer hailing him heartily from bay windows, or greeting him cheerily in short but familiar terms, but bowing ceremoniously as they passed with their wives, or perhaps turning down streets or into shops to avoid him. what is the last rose of summer to do under such circumstances? what, indeed, but retire into the country? a man may shine there long after he is voted a bore in town, provided none of his old friends are there to proclaim him. country people are tolerant of twaddle, and slow of finding things out for themselves. puff now turned his attention to the country, or rather to the advertisements of estates for sale, and immortal george robins soon fitted him with one of his earthly paradises; a mansion replete with every modern elegance, luxury, and convenience, situated in the heart of the most lovely scenery in the world, with eight hundred acres of land of the finest quality, capable of growing forty bushels of wheat after turnips. in addition to the estate there was a lordship or reputed lordship to shoot over, a river to fish in, a pack of fox-hounds to hunt with, and the advertisements gave a sly hint as to the possibility of the property influencing the representation of the neighbouring borough of swillingford, if not of returning the member itself. this was hanby house, and though the description undoubtedly partook of george's usual high-flown _couleur-de-rose_ style, the manor being only a manor provided the owner sacrificed his interest in swillingford by driving off its poachers, and the river being only a river when the tiny swill was swollen into one, still hanby house was a very nice attractive sort of place, and seen in the rich foliage of its summer dress, with all its roses and flowering shrubs in full blow, the description was not so wide of the mark as robins's descriptions usually were. puff bought it, and became what he called 'a man of p-r-o-r-perty.' to be sure, after he got possession he found that it was only an acre here and there that would grow forty bushels of wheat after turnips, and that there was a good deal more to do at the house than he expected, the furniture of the late occupants having hidden many defects, added to which they had walked off with almost everything they could wrench down, under the name of fixtures; indeed, there was not a peg to hang up his hat when he entered. this, however, was nothing, and puff very soon made it into one of the most perfect bachelor residences that ever was seen. not but that it was a family house, with good nurseries and offices of every description; but puff used to take a sort of wicked pleasure in telling the ladies who came trooping over with their daughters, pretending they thought he was from home, and wishing to see the elegant furniture, that there was nothing in the nurseries, which he was going to convert into billiard and smoking-rooms. this, and a few similar sallies, earned our friend the reputation of a wit in the country. there was great rush of gentlemen to call upon him; many of the mammas seemed to think that first come would be first served, and sent their husbands over before he was fairly squatted. various and contradictory were the accounts they brought home. men are so stupid at seeing and remembering things. old mr. muddle came back bemused with sherry, declaring that he thought mr. puffington was as old as he was (sixty-two), while mrs. mousetrap thought he wasn't more than thirty at the outside. she described him as 'painfully handsome.' mr. slowan couldn't tell whether the drawing-room furniture was chintz, or damask, or what it was; indeed, he wasn't sure that he was in the drawing-room at all; while mr. gapes insisted that the carpet was a turkey carpet, whereas it was a royal cut pile. it might be that the smartness and freshness of everything confused the bucolic minds, little accustomed to wholesale grandeur. mr. puffington quite eclipsed all the old country families with their 'company rooms' and put-away furniture. then, when he began to grind about the country in his lofty mail-phaeton, with a pair of spanking, high-stepping bays, and a couple of arm-folded, lolling grooms, shedding his cards in return for their calls, there was such a talk, such a commotion, as had never been known before. then, indeed, he was appreciated at his true worth. [illustration: an 'ama-a-zin' pop'lar' man] 'mr. puffington was here the other day,' said mrs. smirk to mrs. smooth, in the well-known 'great-deal-more-meant-than-said' style. 'oh such a charming man! such ease! such manners! such knowledge of high life!' puff had been at his old tricks. he had resuscitated lord legbail, now earl of loosefish; imported sir harry blueun from somewhere near geneva, whither he had retired on marrying his mistress; and resuscitated lord mudlark, who had broken his neck many years before from his tandem in piccadilly. whatever was said, puff always had a duplicate or illustration involving a nobleman. the great names might be rather far-fetched at times, to be sure, but when people are inclined to be pleased they don't keep putting that and that together to see how they fit, and whether they come naturally or are lugged in neck and heels. puff's talk was very telling. one great man to a house is the usual country allowance, and many are not very long in letting out who theirs are; but puffington seemed to have the whole peerage, baronetage, and knightage at command. old mrs. slyboots, indeed, thought that he must be connected with the peerage some way; his mother, perhaps, had been the daughter of a peer, and she gave herself an infinity of trouble in hunting through the 'matches'--with what success it is not necessary to say. the old ladies unanimously agreed that he was a most agreeable, interesting young man; and though the young ones did pretend to run him down among themselves, calling him ugly, and so on, it was only in the vain hope of dissuading each other from thinking of him. mr. puffington still stuck to the 'am_aa_zin' pop'lar man' character; a character that is not so convenient to support in the country as it is in town. the borough of swillingford, as we have already intimated, was not the best conducted borough in the world; indeed, when we say that the principal trade of the place was poaching, our country readers will be able to form a very accurate opinion on that head. when puff took possession of hanby there was a fair show of pheasants about the house, and a good sprinkling of hares and partridges over the estate and manor generally; but refusing to prosecute the first poachers that were caught, the rest took the hint, and cleared everything off in a week, dividing the plunder among them. they also burnt his river and bagged his fine dorking fowls, and all these feats being accomplished with impunity, they turned their attention to his fat sheep. 'poacher' is only a mild term for 'thief.' puff was a perfect milch-cow in the way of generosity. he gave to everything and everybody, and did not seem to be acquainted with any smaller sum than a five-pound note; a five-pound note to replace giles jolter's cart-horse (that used to carry his own game for the poachers to the poulterers at plunderstone)--five pounds to buy dame doubletongue another pig, though she had only just given three pounds for the one that died--five pounds towards the fire at farmer scratchley's, though it had taken place two years before puff came into the country, and scratchley had been living upon it ever since--and sundry other five pounds to other equally deserving and amiable people. he put his name down for fifty to the mangeysterne hounds without ever being asked; which reminds us that we ought to be directing our attention to that noble establishment. it is hard to have to go behind the scenes of an ill-supported hunt, and we will be as brief and tender with the cripples as we can. the mangeysterne hounds wanted that great ingredient of prosperity, a large nest-egg subscriber, to whom all others could be tributary--paying or not as might be convenient. the consequence was they were always up the spout. they were neither a scratch pack nor a regular pack, but something betwixt and between. they were hunted by a saddler, who found his own horses, and sometimes he had a whip and sometimes he hadn't. the establishment died as often as old mantalini himself. every season that came to a close was proclaimed to be their last, but somehow or other they always managed to scramble into existence on the approach of another. it is a way, indeed, that delicate packs have of recruiting their finances. nevertheless, the mangeysternes did look very like coming to an end about the time that mr. puffington bought hanby house. the saddler huntsman had failed; john doe had taken one of his screws, and richard roe the other, and anybody might have the hounds that liked: puffington then turned up. great was the joy diffused throughout the mangeysterne country when it transpired, through the medium of his valet, louis bergamotte, that 'his lor' had _beaucoup habit rouge_' in his wardrobe. not only habit rouge, but habit blue and buff, that he used to sport with 'old beaufort' and the badminton hunt--coats that he certainly had no chance of ever getting into again, but still which he kept as memorials of the past--souvenirs of the days when he was young and slim. the bottle-conjurer could just as soon have got into his quart bottle as puff could into the beaufort coat at the time of which we are writing. the intelligence of their existence was quickly followed by the aforesaid fifty-pound cheque. a meeting of the mangeysterne hunt was called at the sign of the thirsty freeman in swillingford--sir charles figgs, knight--a large-promising but badly paying subscriber--in the chair, when it was proposed and carried unanimously that mr. puffington was eminently qualified for the mastership of the hunt, and that it be offered to him accordingly. puff 'bit.' he recalled his early exploits with 'mostyn and old beaufort,' and resolved that the hunt had taken a right view of his abilities. in coming to this decision he, perhaps, was not altogether uninfluenced by a plausible subscription list, which seemed about equal to the ordinary expenses, supposing that any reliance could be placed on the figures and calculations of sir charles. all those, however, who have had anything to do with subscription lists--and in these days of universal testimonializing who has not?--well know that pounds upon paper and pounds in the pocket are very different things. above all puff felt that he was a new man in the country, and that taking the hounds would give him weight. the 'mangeysterne dogs' then began to 'look up'; mr. puffington took to them in earnest; bought a 'beckford,' and shortened his military stirrups to a hunting seat. chapter xxxiii a swell huntsman one evening the rattle of puff's pole-chains brought, in addition to the usual rush of shirt-sleeved helpers, an extremely smart, dapper little man, who might be either a jockey or a gentleman, or both, or neither. he was a clean-shaved, close-trimmed, spruce little fellow; remarkably natty about the legs--indeed, all over. his close-napped hat was carefully brushed, and what little hair appeared below its slightly curved brim was of the pepper-and-salt mixture of--say, fifty years. his face, though somewhat wrinkled and weather-beaten, was bright and healthy; and there was a twinkle about his little grey eyes that spoke of quickness and watchful observation. altogether, he was a very quick-looking little man--a sort of man that would know what you were going to say before you had well broke ground. he wore no gills; and his neatly tied starcher had a white ground with small black spots, about the size of currants. the slight interregnum between it and his step-collared striped vest (blue stripe on a canary-coloured ground) showed three golden foxes' heads, acting as studs to his well-washed, neatly plaited shirt; while a sort of careless turn back of the right cuff showed similar ornaments at his wrists. his single-breasted, cutaway coat was oxford mixture, with a thin cord binding, and very natty light kerseymere mother-o'-pearl buttoned breeches, met a pair of bright, beautifully fitting, rose-tinted tops, that wrinkled most elegantly down to the jersey-patterned spur. he was a remarkably well got up little man, and looked the horseman all over. as he emerged from the stable, where he had been mastering the ins and outs of the establishment, learning what was allowed and what was not, what had not been found fault with and, therefore, might be presumed upon, and so on, he carried the smart dogskin leather glove of one hand in the other, while the fox's head of a massive silver-mounted jockey-whip peered from under his arm. on a ring round the fox's neck was the following inscription: 'from jack bragg to his cousin dick.' mr. puffington having drawn up his mail-phaeton, and thrown the ribbons to the active grooms at the horses' heads in the true coaching style, proceeded to descend from his throne, and had reached the ground ere he was aware of the presence of a stranger. seeing him then, he made the sort of half-obeisance of a man that does not know whether he is addressing a gentleman or a servant, or, maybe, a scamp, going about with a prospectus. puff had been bit in the matter of some maps in london, and was wary, as all people ought to be, of these birds. the stranger came sidling up with a half-bow, half-touch of the hat, drawling out: ''sceuuse me, sir--'sceuuse me, sir,' with another half-bow and another half-touch of the hat. 'i'm mister bragg, sir--mister richard bragg, sir; of whom you have most likely heard.' 'bragg--richard bragg,' repeated our friend, thoughtfully, while he scanned the man's features, and ran his sporting acquaintance through his mind's eye. 'bragg, bragg,' repeated he, without hitting him off. 'i was huntsman, sir, to my lord reynard, sir,' observed the stranger, with a touch of the hat to each 'sir.' 'thought p'r'aps you might have known his ludship, sir. before him, sir, i held office, sir, under the duke of downeybird, sir, of downeybird castle, sir, in downeybirdshire, sir.' 'indeed!' replied mr. puffington, with a half-bow and a smile of politeness. 'hearing, sir, you had taken these mangeysterne _dogs_, sir,' continued the stranger, with rather a significant emphasis on the word '_dogs_'--'hearing, sir, you had taken these mangeysterne _dogs_, sir, it occurred to me that possibly i might be useful to you, sir, in your new calling, sir; and if you were of the same opinion, sir, why, sir, i should be glad to negotiate a connexion, sir.' 'hem!--hem!--hem!' coughed mr. puffington. 'in the way of a huntsman do you mean?' afraid to talk of servitude to so fine a gentleman. 'just so,' said mr. bragg, with a chuck of his head, 'just so. the fact is, though i'm used to the grass countries, sir, and could go to the marquis of maneylies, sir, to-morrow, sir, i should prefer a quiet place in a somewhat inferior country, sir, to a five-days-a-week one in the best. five and six days a week, sir, is a terrible tax, sir, on the constitution, sir; and though, sir, i'm thankful to say, sir, i've pretty good 'ealth, sir, yet, sir, you know, sir, it don't do, sir, to take too great liberties with oneself, sir'; mr. bragg sawing away at his hat as he spoke, measuring off a touch, as it were, to each 'sir,' the action becoming quick towards the end. 'why, to tell you the truth,' said puff, looking rather sheepish, 'to tell you the truth--i intended--i thought at least of--of--of--hunting them myself.' 'ah! that's another pair of shoes altogether, as we say in france,' replied bragg, with a low bow and a copious round of the hand to the hat. 'that's _another_ pair of shoes altogether,' repeated he, tapping his boot with his whip. 'why, i _thought_ of it,' rejoined puff, not feeling quite sure whether he could or not. 'well,' said mr. bragg, drawing on his dogskin glove as if to be off. 'my friend swellcove does it,' observed puff. 'true,' replied bragg, 'true; but my lord swellcove is one of a thousand. see how many have failed for one that has succeeded. why, even my lord scamperdale was 'bliged to give it up, and no man rides harder than my lord scamperdale--always goes as if he had a spare neck in his pocket. but he couldn't 'unt a pack of 'ounds. your gen'l'men 'untsmen are all very well on fine scentin' days when everything goes smoothly and well, and the 'ounds are tied to their fox, as it were; but see them in difficulties--a failing scent, 'ounds pressed upon by the field, fox chased by a dog, storm in the air, big brook to get over to make a cast. oh, sir, sir, it makes even me, with all my acknowledged science and experience, shudder to think of the ordeal one undergoes!' 'indeed,' exclaimed mr. puffington, staring, and beginning to think it mightn't be quite so easy as it looked. 'i don't wish, sir, to dissuade you, sir, from the attempt, sir,' continued mr. bragg; 'far from it, sir--for he, sir, who never makes an effort, sir, never risks a failure, sir, and in great attempts, sir, 'tis glorious to fail, sir'; mr. bragg sawing away at his hat as he spoke, and then sticking the fox-head handle of his whip under his chin. puff stood mute for some seconds. 'my lord scamperdale,' continued mr. bragg, scrutinizing our friend attentively, 'was as likely a man, sir, as ever i see'd, sir, to make an 'untsman, for he had a deal of ret (rat) ketchin' cunnin' about him, and, as i said before, didn't care one dim for his neck, but a more signal disastrous failure was never recognized. it was quite lamentable to witness his proceeding.' 'how?' asked mr. puffington. 'how, sir?' repeated mr. bragg; 'why, sir, in all wayses. he had no dog language, to begin with--he had little idea of making a cast--no science, no judgement, no manner--no nothin'--i'm dim'd if ever i see'd sich a mess as he made.' puff looked unutterable things. 'he never did no good, in fact, till i fit him with frostyface. _i_ taught frosty,' continued mr. bragg. 'he whipped in to me when i 'unted the duke of downeybird's 'ounds--nice, 'cute, civil chap he was--of all my pupils--and i've made some first-rate 'untsmen, i'm dim'd if i don't think frostyface does me about as much credit as any on 'em. ah, sir,' continued mr. bragg, with a shake of his head, 'take my word for it, sir, there's nothin' like a professional. s-c-e-u-s-e me, sir,' added he, with a low bow and a sort of military salute of his hat; 'but dim all gen'l'men 'untsmen, say i.' mr. bragg had talked himself into several good places. lord reynard's and the duke of downeybird's among others. he had never been able to keep any beyond his third season, his sauce or his science being always greater than the sport he showed. still he kept up appearances, and was nothing daunted, it being a maxim of his that 'as one door closed another opened.' mr. puffington's was the door that now opened for him. what greater humiliation can a free-born briton be subjected to than paying a man eighty or a hundred pounds a year, and finding him house, coals, and candles, and perhaps a cow, to be his master? such was the case with poor mr. puffington, and such, we grieve to say, is the case with nine-tenths of the men who keep hounds; with all, indeed, save those who can hunt themselves, or who are blest with an aspiring whip, ready to step into the huntsman's boots if he seems inclined to put them off in the field. how many portly butlers are kept in subjection by having a footman ready to supplant them. of all cards in the servitude pack, however, the huntsman's is the most difficult one to play. a man may say, 'i'm dim'd if i won't clean my own boots or my own horse, before i'll put up with such a fellow's impudence'; but when it comes to hunting his own hounds, it is quite another pair of shoes, as mr. bragg would say. mr. bragg regularly took possession of poor puff; as regularly as a policeman takes possession of a prisoner. the reader knows the sort of feeling one has when a lawyer, a doctor, an architect, or any one whom we have called in to assist, takes the initiative, and treats one as a nonentity, pooh-poohing all one's pet ideas, and upsetting all one's well-considered arrangements. bragg soon saw he had a greenhorn to deal with, and treated puff accordingly. if a 'perfect servant' is only to be got out of the establishments of the great, mr. bragg might be looked upon as a paragon of perfection, and now combined in his own person all the bad practices of all the places he had been in. having 'accepted mr. puffington's situation,' as the elegant phraseology of servitude goes, he considered that mr. puffington had nothing more to do with the hounds, and that any interference in 'his department' was a piece of impertinence. puffington felt like a man who has bought a good horse, but which he finds on riding is rather more of a horse than he likes. he had no doubt that bragg was a good man, but he thought he was rather more of a gentleman than he required. on the other hand, mr. bragg's opinion of his master may be gleaned from the following letter which he wrote to his successor, mr. brick, at lord reynard's: 'hanby house, swillingford. 'dear brick, 'if your old man is done daffling with your draft, i should like to have the pick of it. i'm with one mr. puffington, a city gent. his father was a great confectioner in the poultry, just by the mansion house, and made his money out of lord mares. i shall only stay with him till i can get myself suited in the rank of life in which i have been accustomed to move; but in the meantime i consider it necessary for my own credit to do things as they should be. you know my sort of hound; good shoulders, deep chests, strong loins, straight legs, round feet, with plenty of bone all over. i hate a weedy animal; a small hound, light of bone, is only fit to hunt a kat in a kitchen. 'i shall also want a couple of whips--not fellows like waiters from _crawley's_ hotel, but light, active _men_, not boys. i'll have nothin' to do with boys; every boy requires a man to look arter him. no; a couple of short, light, active men--say from five-and-twenty to thirty, with bow-legs and good cheery voices, as nearly of the same make as you can find them. i shall not give them large wage, you know; but they will have opportunities of improving themselves under me, and qualifying themselves for high places. but mind, they _must be steady_--i'll keep no unsteady servants; the first act of drunkenness, with me, is the last. 'i shall also want a second horseman; and here i wouldn't mind a mute boy who could keep his elbows down and never touch the curb; but he must be bred in the line; a huntsman's second horseman is a critical article, and the sporting world must not be put in mourning for dick bragg. the lad will have to clean my boots, and wait at table when i have company--yourself, for instance. 'this is only a poor, rough, ungentlemanly sort of shire, as far as i have seen it; and however they got on with the things i found that they called hounds i can't for the life of me imagine. i understand they went stringing over the country like a flock of wild geese. however, i have rectified that in a manner by knocking all the fast 'uns and slow 'uns on the head; and i shall require at least twenty couple before i can take the field. in your official report of what your old file puts back, you'll have the kindness to cobble us up good long pedigrees, and carry half of them at least back to the beaufort justice. my man has got a crochet into his head about that hound, and i'm dimmed if he doesn't think half the hounds in england are descended from the beaufort justice. these hounds are at present called the mangeysternes, a very proper title, i should say, from all i've seen and heard. that, however, must be changed; and we must have a button struck, instead of the plain pewter plates the men have been in the habit of hunting in. 'as to horses, i'm sure i don't know what we are to do in that line. our pastrycook seems to think that a hunter, like one of his pa's pies, can be made and baked in a day. he talks of going over to rowdedow fair, and picking some up himself; but i should say a gentleman demeans himself sadly who interferes with the just prerogative of the groom. it has never been allowed i know in any place i have lived; nor do i think servants do justice to themselves or their order who submit to it. howsomever the crittur has what mr. cobden would call the "raw material" for sport--that is to say, plenty of money--and i must see and apply it in such a way as will produce it. i'll do the thing as it should be, or not at all. 'i hope your good lady is well--also all the little bricks. i purpose making a little tower of some of the best kennels as soon as the drafts are arranged, and will spend a day or two with you, and see how you get on without me. dear brick,' 'yours to the far end, 'richard bragg. 'to benjamin brick, esq., 'huntsman to the right hon. the earl of reynard, 'turkeypout park. 'p.s.--i hope your old man keeps a cleaner tongue in his head than he did when i was premier. i always say there was a good bargeman spoiled when they made him a lord. 'r.b.' chapter xxxiv the beaufort justice there is nothing more indicative of real fine people than the easy indifferent sort of way they take leave of their friends. they never seem to care a farthing for parting. our friend jawleyford was quite a man of fashion in this respect. he saw sponge's preparations for departure with an unconcerned air, and a--'sorry you're going,' was all that accompanied an imitation shake, or rather touch of the hand, on leaving. there was no 'i hope we shall see you again soon,' or 'pray look in if you are passing our way,' or 'now that you've found your way here we hope you'll not be long in being back,' or any of those blarneyments that fools take for earnest and wise men for nothing. jawleyford had been bit once, and he was not going to give mr. sponge a second chance. amelia too, we are sorry to say, did not seem particularly distressed, though she gave him just as much of a sweet look as he squeezed her hand, as said, 'now, if you _should_ be a man of money, and my lord scamperdale does not make me my lady, you may,' &c. there is an old saying, that it is well to be 'off with the old love before one is on with the new,' and amelia thought it was well to be on with the new love before she was off with the old. sponge, therefore, was to be in abeyance. we mentioned the delight infused into jawleyford court by the receipt of lord scamperdale's letter, volunteering a visit, nor was his lordship less gratified at hearing in reply that mr. sponge was on the eve of departure, leaving the coast clear for his reception. his lordship was not only delighted at getting rid of his horror, but at proving the superiority of his judgement over that of jack, who had always stoutly maintained that the only way to get rid of mr. sponge was by buying his horses. 'well, that's _good_,' said his lordship, as he read the letter; 'that's _good_,' repeated he, with a hearty slap of his thigh. 'jaw's not such a bad chap after all; worse chaps in the world than jaw.' and his lordship worked away at the point till he very nearly got him up to be a good chap. they say it never rains but it pours, and letters seldom come singly; at least, if they do they are quickly followed by others. as jack and his lordship were discussing their gin, after a repast of cow-heel and batter-pudding, baggs entered with the old brown weather-bleached letter-bag, containing a county paper, the second-hand copy of _bell's life_, that his lordship and frostyface took in between them, and a very natty 'thick cream-laid' paper note. 'that must be from a woman,' observed jack, squinting ardently at the writing, as his lordship inspected the fine seal. 'not far wrong,' replied his lordship. 'from a bitch of a fellow, at all events,' said he, reading the words 'hanby house' in the wax. 'what can old puffey be wanting now?' inquired jack. 'some bother about hounds, most likely,' replied his lordship, breaking the seal, adding, 'the thing's always amusing itself with playing at sportsman. hang his impudence!' exclaimed his lordship, as he opened the note. 'what's happened now?' asked jack. 'how d'ye think he begins?' asked his lordship, looking at his friend. 'can't tell, i'm sure,' said jack, squinting his eyes inside out. 'dear scamp!' exclaimed his lordship, throwing out his arms. 'dear scamp!' repeated jack in astonishment. 'it must be a mistake. it must be dear frost, not dear scamp.' 'dear scamp is the word,' replied his lordship, again applying himself to the letter. 'dear scamp,' repeated he, with a snort, adding, 'the impudent button-maker! i'll dear scamp him! "dear scamp, our friend sponge!" bo-o-y the powers, just fancy that! 'exclaimed his lordship, throwing himself back in his chair, as if thoroughly overcome with disgust. '_our friend sponge!_ the man who nearly knocked me into the middle of the week after next--the man who, first and last, has broken every bone in my skin--the man who i hate the sight of, and detest afresh every time i see--the 'bomination of all 'bominations; and then to call him our friend sponge! "our friend sponge,"' continued his lordship, reading, '"is coming on a visit of inspection to my hounds, and i should be glad if you would meet him."' 'shouldn't wonder!' exclaimed jack. '_meet him!_' snapped his lordship; 'i'd go ten miles to avoid him.' '"glad if you would meet him,"' repeated his lordship, returning to the letter, and reading as follows: '"if you bring a couple of nags or so we can put them up, and you may get a wrinkle or two from bragg." a wrinkle or two from bragg! 'exclaimed his lordship, dropping the letter and rolling in his chair with laughter. 'a wrinkle or two from bragg!--he--he--he--he! the idea of a wrinkle or two from bragg!--haw--haw--haw--haw! 'that beats cockfightin',' observed jack, squinting frightfully. 'doesn't it?' replied his lordship. 'the man who's so brimful of science that he doesn't kill above three brace of foxes in a season.' 'which puff calls thirty,' observed jack. 'th-i-r-ty!' exclaimed his lordship, adding, 'i'll lay he'll not kill thirty in ten years.' his lordship then picked the letter from the floor, and resumed where he had left off. '"i expect you will meet tom washball, lumpleg, and charley slapp."' 'a very pretty party,' observed jack, adding, 'wouldn't be seen goin' to a bull-bait with any on 'em.' 'nor i,' replied his lordship. 'birds of a feather,' observed jack. 'just so,' said his lordship, resuming his reading. '"i think i have a hound that may be useful to you--" the devil you have!' exclaimed his lordship, grinding his teeth with disgust. 'useful to _me_, you confounded haberdasher!--you hav'n't a hound in your pack that i'd take. "i think i have a hound that may be useful to you--"' repeated his lordship. 'a beaufort justice one, for a guinea!' interrupted jack, adding, 'he got the name into his head at oxford, and has been harping upon it ever since.' '"i think i have a hound that may be useful to you--"' resumed his lordship, for the third time. '"it is old merriman, a remarkably stout, true line hunting hound; but who is getting slow for me--" slow for you, you beggar!' exclaimed his lordship; 'i should have thought nothin' short of a wooden 'un would have been too slow for you. "he's a six-season hunter, and is by fitzwilliam's singwell out of his darling. singwell was by the rutland rallywood out of tavistock's rhapsody. rallywood was by old lonsdale's--" old lonsdale's!--the snob!' sneered lord scamperdale--'"old lonsdale's palafox, out of anson's--" anson's!--curse the fellow,' again muttered his lordship--'"out of anson's madrigal. darling was by old grafton's bolivar, out of blowzy. bolivar was by the brocklesby; that's yarborough's--" that's yarborough's!' sneered his lordship, 'as if one didn't know that as well as him--"by the brocklesby; that's yarborough's marmion out of petre's matchless; and marmion was by that undeniable hound, the--" the--what?' asked his lordship. 'beaufort justice, to be sure!' replied jack. '"the beaufort justice!"' read his lordship, with due emphasis. 'hurrah!' exclaimed jack, waving the dirty, egg-stained, mustardy copy of _bell's life_ over his head. 'hurrah! i told you so.' 'but hark to justice!' exclaimed his lordship, resuming his reading. '"i've always been a great admirer of the beaufort justice blood--"' 'no doubt,' said jack; 'it's the only blood you know.' '"it was in great repute in the badminton country in old beaufort's time, with whom i hunted a great deal many years ago, i'm sorry to say. the late mr. warde, who, of course, was very justly partial to his own sort, had never any objection to breeding from this _beaufort_ justice. he was of lord egremont's blood, by the new forest justice; justice by mr. gilbert's jasper; and jasper bred by egremont--" oh, the hosier!' exclaimed his lordship; 'he'll be the death of me.' 'is that all?' asked jack, as his lordship seemed lost in meditation. 'all?--no!' replied he, starting up, adding, 'here's something about you.' 'me!' exclaimed jack. '"if mr. spraggon is with you, and you like to bring him, i can manage to put him up too,"' read his lordship. 'what think you of that?' asked his lordship, turning to our friend, who was now squinting his eyes inside out with anger. 'think of it!' retorted jack, kicking out his legs--'think of it!--why, i think he's a dim'd impittant feller, as bragg would say.' 'so he is,' replied his lordship; 'treating my friend jack so.' 'i've a good mind to go,' observed jack, after a pause, thinking he might punish puff, and try to do a little business with sponge. 'i've a good mind to go,' repeated he; 'just by way of paying master puff off. he's a consequential jackass, and wants taking down a peg or two.' 'i think you may as well go and do it,' replied his lordship, after thinking the matter over; 'i think you may as well go and do it. not that he'll be good to take the conceit out of, but you may vex him a bit; and also learn something of the movements of his friend sponge. if he sarves puff out as he's sarved me,' continued his lordship, rubbing his ribs with his elbows, 'he'll very soon have enough of him.' 'well,' said jack, 'i really think it will be worth doing. i've never been at the beggar's shop, and they say he lives well.' '_well_, aye!' exclaimed his lordship; 'fat o' the land--dare say that man has fish and soup every day.' 'and wax-candles to read by, most likely,' observed jack, squinting at the dim mutton-fats that baggs now brought in. 'not so grand as that,' observed his lordship, doubting whether any man could be guilty of such extravagance; 'composites, p'raps.' it being decided that jack should answer mr. puffington's invitation as well and saucily as he could, and a sheet of very inferior paper being at length discovered in the sideboard drawer, our friends forthwith proceeded to concoct it. jack having at length got all square, and the black-ink lines introduced below, dipped his pen in the little stone ink-bottle, and, squinting up at his lordship, said: 'how shall i begin?' 'begin?' replied he. 'begin--oh, let's see--begin--begin, "dear puff," to be sure.' 'that'll do,' said jack, writing away. ('dear puff!' sneered our friend, when he read it; 'the idea of a fellow like that writing to a man of my p-r-o-r-perty that way.') 'say "scamp,"' continued his lordship, dictating again, '"is engaged, but i'll be with you at feeding-time."' ('scamp's engaged,' read puffington, with a contemptuous curl of the lip, 'scamp's engaged: i like the impudence of a fellow like that calling noblemen nicknames.') the letter concluded by advising puffington to stick to the beaufort justice blood, for there was nothing in the world like it. and now, having got both our friends booked for visits, we must yield precedence to the nobleman, and accompany him to jawleyford court. [illustration: lord scamperdale as he appeared in his 'swell' clothes] chapter xxxv lord scamperdale at jawleyford court although we have hitherto depicted lord scamperdale either in his great uncouth hunting-clothes or in the flare-up red and yellow stunner tartan, it must not be supposed that he had not fine clothes when he chose to wear them, only he wanted to save them, as he said, to be married in. that he had fine ones, indeed, was evident from the rig-out he lent jack when that worthy went to jawleyford court, and, in addition to those which were of the evening order, he had an uncommonly smart stultz frock-coat, with a velvet collar, facings, and cuffs, and a silk lining. though so rough and ready among the men, he was quite the dandy among the ladies, and was as anxious about his appearance as a girl of sixteen. he got himself clipped and trimmed, and shaved with the greatest care, curving his whiskers high on to the cheekbones, leaving a great breadth of bare fallow below. baggs the butler was despatched betimes to jawleyford court with the dog-cart freighted with clothes, driven by a groom to attend to the horses, while his lordship mounted his galloping grey hack towards noon, and dashed through the country like a comet. the people, who were only accustomed to see him in his short, country-cut hunting-coats, baggy breeches, and shapeless boots, could hardly recognize the frock-coated, fancy-vested, military-trousered swell, as lord scamperdale. even titus grabbington, the superintendent of police, declared that he wouldn't have known him but for his hat and specs. the latter, we need hardly say, were the silver ones--the pair that he would not let jack have when he went to jawleyford court. so his lordship went capering and careering along, avoiding, of course, all the turnpike-gates, of which he had a mortal aversion. jawleyford court was in full dress to receive him--everything was full fig. spigot appeared in buckled shorts and black silk stockings; while vases of evergreens and winter flowers mounted sentry on passage tables and landing-places. everything bespoke the elegant presence of the fair. to the credit of dame fortune let us record that everything went smoothly and well. even the kitchen fire behaved as it ought. neither did lord scamperdale arrive before he was wanted, a very common custom with people unused to public visiting. he cast up just when he was wanted. his ring of the door-bell acted like the little tinkling bell at a theatre, sending all parties to their places, for the curtain to rise. spigot and his two footmen answered the summons, while his lordship's groom rushed out of a side-door, with his mouth full of cold meat, to take his hack. having given his flat hat to spigot, his whip-stick to one footman, and his gloves to the other, he proceeded to the family tableau in the drawing-room. though his lordship lived so much by himself he was neither _gauche_ nor stupid when he went into society. unlike mr. spraggon, he had a tremendous determination of words to the mouth, and went best pace with his tongue instead of coughing and hemming, and stammering and stuttering--wishing himself 'well out of it,' as the saying is. his seclusion only seemed to sharpen his faculties and make him enjoy society more. he gushed forth like a pent-up fountain. he was not a bit afraid of the ladies--rather the contrary; indeed, he would make love to them all--all that were good-looking, at least, for he always candidly said that he 'wouldn't have anything to do with the ugly 'uns.' if anything, he was rather too vehement, and talked to the ladies in such an earnest, interested sort of way, as made even bystanders think there was 'something in it,' whereas, in point of fact, it was mere manner. he began as soon as ever he got to jawleyford court--at least, as soon as he had paid his respects all round and got himself partially thawed at the fire; for the cold had struck through his person, his fine clothes being a poor substitute for his thick double-milled red coat, blankety waistcoat, and jersey shirt. there are some good-natured, well-meaning people in this world who think that fox-hunters can talk of nothing but hunting, and who put themselves to very serious inconvenience in endeavouring to get up a little conversation for them. we knew a bulky old boy of this sort, who invariably, after the cloth was drawn, and he had given each leg a kick out to see if they were on, commenced with, 'well, i suppose, mr. harkington has a fine set of dogs this season?' 'a fine set of dogs this season! 'what an observation! how on earth could any one hope to drive a conversation on the subject with such a commencement? some ladies are equally obliging in this respect. they can stoop to almost any subject that they think will procure them husbands. music!--if a man is fond of music, they will sing themselves into his good graces in no time. painting!--oh, they adore painting--though in general they don't profess to be great hands at it themselves. balls, boating, archery, racing--all these they can take a lively interest in; or, if occasion requires, can go on the serious tack and hunt a parson with penny subscriptions for a clothing-club or soup-kitchen. fox-hunting!--we do not know that fox-hunting is so safe a speculation for young ladies as any of the foregoing. there are many pros and cons in the matter of the chase. a man may think--especially in these hard times, with 'wheat below forty,' as mr. springwheat would say--that it will be as much as he can do to mount himself. again, he may not think a lady looks any better for running down with perspiration, and being daubed with mud. above all, if he belongs to the worshipful company of craners, he may not like for his wife to be seen beating him across country. still, there are many ways that young ladies may insinuate themselves into the good graces of sportsmen without following them into the hunting-field. talking about their horses, above all admiring them, taking an interest in their sport, seeing that they have nice papers of sandwiches to take out with them, or recommending them to be bled when they come home with dirty faces after falls. miss amelia jawleyford, who was most elegantly attired in a sea-green silk dress with large imitation pearl buttons, claiming the usual privilege of seniority of birth, very soon led the charge against lord scamperdale. 'oh, what a lovely horse that is you were riding,' observed she, as his lordship kept stooping with both his little red fists close into the bars of the grate. 'isn't it!' exclaimed he, rubbing his hands heartily together. 'isn't it!' repeated he, adding, 'that's what i call a clipper.' 'why do you call it so?' asked she. 'oh, i don't mean that clipper is its name,' replied he; 'indeed, we call her cherry bounce in the stable--but she's what they call a clipper--a good 'un to go, you know,' continued he, staring at the fair speaker through his great, formidable spectacles. we believe there is nothing frightens a woman so much as staring at her through spectacles. a barrister in barnacles is a far more formidable cross-examiner than one without. but, to his lordship's back. 'will he eat bread out of your hand?' asked amelia, adding, 'i _should_ so like a horse that would eat bread out of my hand.' 'oh yes; or cheese either,' replied his lordship, who was a bit of a wag, and as likely to try a horse with one as the other. 'oh, how delightful! what a charming horse!' exclaimed amelia, turning her fine eyes up to the ceiling. 'are you fond of horses?' asked his lordship, smacking one hand against the other, making a noise like the report of a pistol. 'oh, so fond!' exclaimed amelia, with a start; for she hadn't got through her favourite, and, as she thought, most attractive attitude. 'well, now, that's nice,' said his lordship, giving his other hand a similar bang, adding, 'i like a woman that's fond of horses.' 'then 'melia and you'll 'gree nicely,' observed mrs. jawleyford, who was always ready to give a helping hand to her own daughters, at least. 'i don't doubt it!' replied his lordship, with emphasis, and a third bang of his hand, louder if possible than before. 'and do _you_ like horses?' asked his lordship, darting sharply round on emily, who had been yielding, or rather submitting, to the precedence of her sister. 'oh yes; and hounds, too!' replied she eagerly. 'and hounds, too!' exclaimed his lordship, with a start, and another hearty bang of the fist, adding, 'well, now, i like a woman that likes hounds.' amelia frowned at the unhandsome march her sister had stolen upon her. just then in came jawleyford, much to the annoyance of all parties. a host should never show before the dressing-bell rings. when that glad sound was at length heard, the ladies, as usual, immediately withdrew; and of course the first thing amelia did when she got to her room was to run to the glass to see how she had been looking: when, grievous to relate, she found an angry hot spot in the act of breaking out on her nose. what a distressing situation for a young lady, especially one with a spectacled suitor. 'oh, dear!' she thought, as she eyed it in the glass, 'it will look like vesuvius itself through his formidable inquisitors.' worst of all, it was on the side she would have next him at dinner, should he choose to sit with his back to the fire. however, there was no help for it, and the maid kindly assuring her, as she worked away at her hair, that it 'would never be seen,' she ceased to watch it, and turned her attention to her toilette. the fine, new broad-lace flounced, light-blue satin dress--a dress so much like a ball dress as to be only appreciable as a dinner one by female eyes--was again in requisition; while her fine arms were encircled with chains and armlets of various brilliance and devices. thus attired, with a parting inspection of the spot, she swept downstairs, with as smart a bouquet as the season would afford. as luck would have it, she encountered his lordship himself wandering about the passage in search of the drawing-room, of whose door he had not made a sufficient observation on leaving. he too, was uncommonly smart, with the identical dress-coat mr. spraggon wore, a white waistcoat with turquoise buttons, a lace-frilled shirt, and a most extensive once-round joinville. he had been eminently successful in accomplishing a tie that would almost rival the sticks farmers put upon truant geese to prevent their getting through gaps or under gates. well, miss amelia having come to his lordship's assistance, and eased him of his candle, now showed him into the drawing-room; and his hands being disengaged, like a true englishman, he must be doing, and accordingly he commenced an attack on her bouquet. 'that's a fine nosegay!' exclaimed he, staring and rubbing his snub nose into the midst of it. 'let me give you a piece,' replied amelia, proceeding to detach some of the best. 'do,' replied his lordship, banging one hand against the other, adding, 'i'll wear it next my heart of hearts.' in sidled miss emily just as his lordship was adjusting it in his button-hole, and the inconstant man immediately chopped over to her. 'well, now, that _is_ a beautiful nosegay!' exclaimed he, turning upon her in precisely the same way, with a bang of the hand and a dive of his nose into emily's. she did not offer him any, and his lordship continued his attentions to her until mrs. jawleyford entered. dinner was presently announced; but his lordship, instead of choosing to sit with his back to the fire, took the single chair opposite, which gave him a commanding view of the young ladies. he did not, however, take any advantage of his position during the repast, neither did he talk much, his maxim being to let his meat stop his mouth. the preponderance of his observations, perhaps, were addressed to amelia, though a watchful observer might have seen that the spectacles were oftener turned upon emily. up to the withdrawal of the cloth, however, there was no perceptible advantage on either side. [illustration] as his lordship settled to the sweets, at which he was a great hand at dessert, amelia essayed to try her influence with the popular subject of a ball. 'i wish the members of your hunt would give us a ball, my lord,' observed she. 'ah, hay, hum--ball,' replied he, ladling up the syrup of some preserved peaches that he had been eating; 'ball, ball, ball. no place to give it--no place to give it,' repeated he. 'oh, give it in the town-hall, or the long room at the angel,' replied she. 'town-hall--long room at the angel--angel at the long room of the town-hall--oh, certainly, certainly, certainly,' muttered he, scraping away at the contents of his plate. 'then that's a bargain, mind,' observed amelia significantly. 'bargain, bargain, bargain--certainly,' replied he; 'and i'll lead off with you, or you'll lead off with me--whichever way it is--meanwhile, i'll trouble you for a piece of that gingerbread.' having supplied him with a most liberal slice, she resumed the subject of the ball. 'then we'll fix it so,' observed she. 'oh, fix it so, certainly--certainly fix it so,' replied his lordship, filling his mouth full of gingerbread. 'suppose we have it on the day of the races?' continued amelia. 'couldn't be better,' replied his lordship; 'couldn't be better,' repeated he, eyeing her intently through his formidable specs. his lordship was quite in the assenting humour, and would have agreed to anything--anything short of lending one a five-pound note. amelia was charmed with her success. despite the spot on her nose, she felt she was winning. his lordship sat like a target, shot at by all, but making the most of his time, both in the way of eating and staring between questions. at length the ladies withdrew, and his lordship having waddled to the door to assist their egress, now availed himself of jawleyford's invitation to occupy an arm-chair during the enjoyment of his 'wintle.' whether it was the excellence of the beverage, or that his lordship was unaccustomed to wine-drinking, or that jawleyford's conversation was unusually agreeable, we know not, but the summons to tea and coffee was disregarded, and when at length they did make their appearance, his lordship was what the ladies call rather elevated, and talked thicker than there was any occasion for. he was very voluble at first--told all how sponge had knocked him about, how he detested him, and wouldn't allow him to come to the hunt ball, &c.; but he gradually died out, and at last fell asleep beside mrs. jawleyford on the sofa, with his little legs crossed, and a half-emptied coffee-cup in his hand, which mr. jawleyford and she kept anxiously watching, expecting the contents to be over the fine satin furniture every moment. in this pleasant position they remained till he awoke himself with a hearty snore, and turned the coffee over on to the carpet. fortunately there was little damage done, and, it being nearly twelve o'clock, his lordship waddled off to bed. amelia, when she came to think matters over in the retirement of her own room, was well satisfied with the progress she had made. she thought she only wanted opportunity to capture him. though she was most anxious for a good night in order that she might appear to advantage in the morning, sleep forsook her eyelids, and she lay awake long thinking what she would do when she was my lady--how she would warm woodmansterne, and what a dashing equipage she would keep. at length she dropped off, just as she thought she was getting into her well-appointed chariot, showing a becoming portion of her elegantly turned ankles. in the morning she attired herself in her new light blue satin robe, corsage albanaise, with a sort of three-quarter sleeves, and muslin under ones--something, we believe, out of the last book of fashion. she also had her hair uncommonly well arranged, and sported a pair of clean primrose-coloured gloves. 'now for victory,' said she, as she took a parting glance at herself in general, and the hot spot in particular. judge of her disgust on meeting her mamma on the staircase at learning that his lordship had got up at six o'clock, and had gone to meet his hounds on the other side of the county. that baggs had boiled his oatmeal porridge in his bedroom, and his lordship had eaten it as he was dressing. it may be asked, what was the maid about not to tell her. the fact is, that ladies'-maids are only numb hands in all that relates to hunting, and though juliana knew that his lordship was up, she thought he had gone to have his hunt before breakfast, just as the young gentlemen in the last place she lived in used to go and have a bathe. [illustration] baggs, we may add, was a married man, and juliana and he had not had much conversation. chapter xxxvi mr. bragg's kennel management the reader will now have the kindness to consider that mr. puffington has undergone his swell huntsman, dick bragg, for three whole years, during which time it was difficult to say whether his winter's service or his summer's impudence was most oppressive. either way, mr. puffington had had enough both of him and the honours of hound-keeping. mr. bragg was not a judicious tyrant. he lorded it too much over mr. puffington; was too fond of showing himself off, and exposing his master's ignorance before the servants, and field. a stranger would have thought that mr. bragg, and not 'mr. puff,' as bragg called him, kept the hounds. mr. puffington took it pretty quietly at first, bragg inundating him with what they did at the duke of downeybird's, lord reynard's, and the other great places in which he had lived, till he almost made puff believe that such treatment was a necessary consequence of hound-keeping. moreover, the cost was heavy, and the promised subscriptions were almost wholly imaginary; even if they had been paid, they would not have covered a quarter of the expense mr. bragg ran him to; and worst of all, there was an increasing instead of a diminishing expenditure. trust a servant for keeping things up to the mark. all things, however, have an end, and mr. bragg began to get to the end of mr. puff's patience. as puff got older he got fonder of his five-pound notes, and began to scrutinize bills and ask questions; to be, as mr. bragg said, 'very little of the gentleman'; bragg, however, being quite one of your 'make-hay-while-the-sun-shines' sort, and knowing too well the style of man to calculate on a lengthened duration of office, just put on the steam of extravagance, and seemed inclined to try how much he could spend for his master. his bills for draft hounds were enormous; he was continually chopping and changing his horses, often almost without consulting his master; he had a perfect museum of saddles and bridles, in which every invention and variety of bit was exhibited; and he had paid as much as twenty pounds to different 'valets' and grooms for invaluable recipes for cleaning leather breeches and gloves. altogether, bragg overdid the thing; and when mr. puffington, in the solitude of a winter's day, took pen, ink, and paper, and drew out a 'balance sheet,' he found that on the average of six brace of foxes to the season, they had cost him about three hundred pounds a head killing. it was true that bragg always returned five or six and twenty brace; but that was as between bragg and the public, as between bragg and his master the smaller figure was the amount. mr. puffington had had enough of it, and he now thought if he could get mr. sponge (who he still believed to be a sporting author on his travels) to immortalize him, he might retire into privacy, and talk of 'when _i_ kept hounds,' 'when _i_ hunted the country,' 'when _i_ was master of hounds _i_ did this, and _i_ did that,' and fuss, and be important as we often see ex-masters of hounds when they go out with other packs. it was this erroneous impression with regard to mr. sponge that took our friend to the meet of lord scamperdale's hounds at scrambleford green, when he gave mr. sponge a general invitation to visit him before he left the country, an invitation that was as acceptable to mr. sponge on his expulsion from jawleyford court, as it was agreeable to mr. puffington--by opening a route by which he might escape from the penalty of hound-keeping, and the persecution of his huntsman. the reader will therefore now have the kindness to consider mr. puffington in receipt of mr. sponge's note, volunteering a visit. with gay and cheerful steps our friend hurried off to the kennel, to communicate the intelligence to mr. bragg of an intended honour that he inwardly hoped would have the effect of extinguishing that great sporting luminary. arriving at the kennel, he learned from the old feeder, jack horsehide, who, as usual, was sluicing the flags with water, though the weather was wet, that mr. bragg was in the house (a house that had been the steward's in the days of the former owner of hanby house). thither mr. puffington proceeded; and the front door being open he entered, and made for the little parlour on the right. opening the door without knocking, what should he find but the swell huntsman, mr. bragg, full fig, in his cap, best scarlet and leathers, astride a saddle-stand, sitting for his portrait! '_o, dim it!_' exclaimed bragg, clasping the front of the stand as if it was a horse, and throwing himself off, an operation that had the effect of bringing the new saddle on which he was seated bang on the floor. 'o, sc-e-e-use me, sir,' seeing it was his master, 'i thought it was my servant; this, sir,' continued he, blushing and looking as foolish as men do when caught getting their hair curled or sitting for their portraits, 'this, sir, is my friend, mr. ruddle, the painter, sir--yes, sir--very talented young man, sir--asked me to sit for my portrait, sir--is going to publish a series of portraits of all the best huntsmen in england, sir.' 'and masters of hounds,' interposed mr. ruddle, casting a sheep's eye at mr. puffington. 'and masters of hounds, sir,' repeated mr. bragg; 'yes, sir, and masters of hounds, sir'; mr. bragg being still somewhat flurried at the unexpected intrusion. 'ah, well,' interrupted mr. puffington, who was still eager about his mission, 'we'll talk about that after. at present i'm come to tell you,' continued he, holding up mr. sponge's note, 'that we must brush up a little--going to have a visit of inspection from the great mr. sponge.' 'indeed, sir!' replied mr. bragg, with the slightest possible touch of his cap, which he still kept on. 'mr. sponge, sir!--indeed, sir--mr. sponge, sir--pray who may _he_ be, sir?' 'oh--why--hay--hum--haw--he's mr. sponge, you know--been hunting with lord scamperdale, you know--great sportsman, in fact--great authority, you know.' 'indeed--great authority is he--indeed--oh--yes--thinks so p'raps--sc-e-e-use me, sir, but des-say, sir, i've forgot more, sir, than mr. sponge ever knew, sir.' 'well, but you mustn't tell him so,' observed mr. puffington, fearful that bragg might spoil sport. 'oh, tell him--no,' sneered bragg, with a jerk of the head; 'tell him--no; i'm not exactly such a donkey as that; on the contrary, i'll make things pleasant, sir--sugar his milk for him, sir, in short, sir.' 'sugar his milk!' exclaimed mr. puffington, who was only a matter-of-fact man; 'sugar his milk! i dare say he takes tea.' 'well, then, sugar his tea,' replied bragg, with a smile, adding, 'can 'commodate myself, sir, to circumstances, sir,' at the same time taking off his cap and setting a chair for his master. 'thank you, but i'm not going to stay,' replied mr. puffington; 'i only came up to let you know who you had to expect, so that you might prepare, you know--have all on the square, you know--best horses--best hounds--best appearance in general, you know.' 'that i'll attend to,' replied mr. bragg, with a toss of the head--'that _i'll_ attend to,' repeated he, with an emphasis on the _i'll_, as much as to say, 'don't you meddle with what doesn't concern you.' mr. puffington would fain have rebuked him for his impertinence, as indeed he often would fain have rebuked him; but mr. bragg had so overpowered him with science, and impressed him with the necessity of keeping him--albeit mr. puffington was sensible that he killed very few foxes--that, having put up with him so long, he thought it would never do to risk a quarrel, which might lose him the chance of getting rid of him and hounds altogether; therefore, mr. puffington, instead of saying, 'you conceited humbug, get out of this,' or indulging in any observations that might lead to controversy, said, with a satisfied, confidential nod of the head: 'i'm sure you will--i'm sure you will,' and took his departure, leaving mr. bragg, to remount the saddle-stand and take the remainder of his sitting. chapter xxxvii mr. puffington's domestic arrangements perhaps it was fortunate that mr. bragg did take the kennel management upon himself, or there is no saying but what with that and the house department, coupled with the usual fussiness of a bachelor, the sponge visit might have proved too much for our master. the notice of the intended visit was short; and there were invitations to send out, and answers to get, bedrooms to prepare, and culinary arrangements to make--arrangements that people in town, with all their tradespeople at their elbows, can have no idea of the difficulty of effecting in the country. mr. puffington was fully employed. in addition to the parties mentioned as asked in his note to lord scamperdale, viz. washball, charley slapp, and lumpleg, were parson blossomnose; mr. fossick of the flat hat hunt, who declined--mr. crane of crane hall; captain guano, late of that noble corps the spotted horse marines; and others who accepted. mr. spraggon was a sort of volunteer, at all events an undesired guest, unless his lordship accompanied him. it so happened that the least wanted guest was the first to arrive on the all-important day. lord scamperdale, knowing our friend jack was not over affluent, had no idea of spoiling him by too much luxury, and as the railway would serve a certain distance in the line of hanby house, he despatched jack to the over-shoes-over-boots station with the dog-cart, and told him he would be sure to find a 'bus, or to get some sort of conveyance at the squandercash station to take him up to puffington's; at all events, his lordship added to himself, 'if he doesn't, it'll do him no harm to walk, and he can easily get a boy to carry his bag.' the latter was the case; for though the station-master assured jack, on his arrival at squandercash, that there was a 'bus, or a mail gig, or a something to every other train, there was nothing in connexion with the one that brought him, nor would he undertake to leave his carpet-bag at hanby house before breakfast-time the next morning. [illustration: jack protests against all railways] jack was highly enraged, and proceeded to squint his eyes inside out, and abuse all railways, and chairmen, and directors, and secretaries, and clerks, and porters, vowing that railways were the greatest nuisances under the sun--that they were a perfect impediment instead of a facility to travelling--and declared that formerly a gentleman had nothing to do but order his four horses, and have them turned out at every stage as he came up, instead of being stopped in the _ridicklous_ manner he then was; and he strutted and stamped about the station as if he would put a stop to the whole line. his vehemence and big talk operated favourably on the cockney station-master, who, thinking he must be a duke, or some great man, began to consider how to get him forwarded. it being only a thinly populated district--though there was a station equal to any mercantile emergency, indeed to the requirements of the whole county--he ran the resources of the immediate neighbourhood through his mind, and at length was obliged to admit--humbly and respectfully--that he really was afraid martha muggins's donkey was the only available article. jack fumed and bounced at the very mention of such a thing, vowing that it was a downright insult to propose it; and he was so bumptious that the station-master, who had nothing to gain by the transaction, sought the privacy of the electric telegraph office, and left him to vent the balance of his wrath upon the porters. of course they could do nothing more than the king of their little colony had suggested; and finding there was no help for it, mr. spraggon at last submitted to the humiliation, and set off to follow young muggins with his bag on the donkey, in his best top-boots, worn under his trousers--an unpleasant operation to any one, but especially to a man like jack, who preferred wearing his tops out against the flaps of his friends' saddles, rather than his soles by walking upon them. however, necessity said yes; and cocking his flat hat jauntily on his head, he stuck a cheroot in his mouth, and went smoking and swaggering on, looking--or rather squinting--bumptiously at everybody he met, as much as to say, 'don't suppose i'm walking from necessity! i've plenty of tin.' the third cheroot brought jack and his suite within sight of hanby house. mr. puffington had about got through all the fuss of his preparations, arranged the billets of the guests and of those scarcely less important personages--their servants, allotted the stables, and rehearsed the wines, when a chance glance through the gaily furnished drawing-room window discovered jack trudging up the trimly kept avenue. 'here's that nasty spraggon,' exclaimed he, eyeing jack dragging his legs along, adding, 'i'll be bound to say he'll never think of wiping his filthy feet if i don't go to meet him.' so saying, puffington rushed to the entrance, and crowning himself with a white wide-awake, advanced cheerily to do so. jack, who was more used to 'cold shoulder' than cordial reception, squinted and stared with surprise at the unwonted warmth, so different to their last interview, when jack was fresh out of his clay-hole in the brick fields; but not being easily put out of his way, he just took puff as puff took him. they talked of scamperdale, and they talked of frostyface, and the number of foxes he had killed, the price of corn, and the difference its price made in the keep of hounds and horses. altogether they were very 'thick.' 'and how's our friend sponge?' asked puffington, as the conversation at length began to flag. 'oh, he's nicely,' replied jack, adding, 'hasn't he come yet?' 'not that i've seen,' answered puffington, adding, 'i thought, perhaps, you might come together.' 'no,' grunted jack; 'he comes from jawleyford's, you know; i'm from woodmansterne.' 'we'll go and see if he's come,' observed puffington, opening a door in the garden-wall, into which he had manoeuvred jack, communicating with the courtyard of the stable. 'here are his horses,' observed puffington, as mr. leather rode through the great gates on the opposite side, with the renowned hunters in full marching order. 'monstrous fine animals they are,' said jack, squinting intently at them. 'they are that,' replied puffington. 'mr. sponge seems a very pleasant, gentlemanly man,' observed mr. puffington. 'oh, he is,' replied jack. 'can you tell me--can you inform me--that's to say, can you give me any idea,' hesitated puffington, 'what is the usual practice--the usual course--the usual understanding as to the treatment of those sort of gentlemen?' 'oh, the best of everything's good enough for them,' replied jack, adding, 'just as it is with me.' 'ah, i don't mean in the way of eating and drinking, but in the way of encouragement--in the way of a present, you know?' adding--'what did my lord do?' seeing jack was slow at comprehension. 'oh, my lord bad-worded him well,' replied jack, adding, 'he didn't get much encouragement from him.' 'ah, that's the worst of my lord,' observed puffington; 'he's rather coarse--rather too indifferent to public opinion. in a case of this sort, you know, that doesn't happen every day, or, perhaps, more than once in a man's life, it's just as well to be favourably spoken of as not, you know'; adding, as he looked intently at jack--'do you understand me?' jack, who was tolerably quick at a chance, now began to see how things were, and to fathom mr. puffington's mistake. his ready imagination immediately saw there might be something made of it, so he prepared to keep up the delusion. 'wh-o-o-y!' said he, straddling out his legs, clasping his hands together, and squinting steadily through his spectacles, to try and see, by puffington's countenance, how much he would stand. 'w-h-o-o-y!' repeated he, 'i shouldn't think--though, mind, it's mere conjectur' on my part--that you couldn't offer him less than--twenty or five-and-twenty punds; or, say, from that to thirty,' continued jack, seeing that puff's countenance remained complacent under the rise. 'and that you think would be sufficient?' asked puff, adding--'if one does the thing at all, you know, it's as well to do it handsomely.' 'true,' replied jack, sticking out his great thick lips, 'true. i'm a great advocate for doing things handsomely. many a row i have with my lord for thanking fellows, and saying he'll _remember_ them instead of giving them sixpence or a shilling; but really i should say, if you were to give him forty or fifty pund--say a fifty--pund note, he'd be--' the rest of the sentence was lost by the appearance of mr. sponge, cantering up the avenue on the conspicuous piebald. mr. puffington and mr. spraggon greeted him as he alighted at the door. sponge was quickly followed by tom washball; then came charley slapp and lumpleg, and captain guano came in a gig. mutual bows and bobs and shakes of the hand being exchanged, amid offers of 'anything before dinner' from the host, the guests were at length shown to their respective apartments, from which in due time they emerged, looking like so many bridegrooms. first came the worthy master of the hounds himself, in his scarlet dress-coat, lined with white satin; tom washball, and charley slapp also sported puff's uniform; while captain guano, who was proud of his leg, sported the uniform of the muffington hunt--a pea-green coat lined with yellow, and a yellow collar, white shorts with gold garters, and black silk stockings. spraggon had been obliged to put up with lord scamperdale's second best coat, his lordship having taken the best one himself; but it was passable enough by candle light, and the seediness of the blue cloth was relieved by a velvet collar and a new set of the flat hat hunt buttons. mr. sponge wore a plain scarlet with a crimson velvet collar, and a bright fox on the frosted ground of a gilt button, with tights as before; and when mr. crane arrived he was found to be attired in a dress composed partly of mr. puffington's and partly of the muggeridge hunt uniform--the red coat of the former surmounting the white shorts and black stockings of the other. altogether, however, they were uncommonly smart, and it is to be hoped that they appreciated each other. the dinner was sumptuous. puff, of course, was in the chair; and captain guano coming last into the room, and being very fond of office, was vice. when men run to the 'noble science' of gastronomy, they generally outstrip the ladies in the art of dinner-giving, for they admit of no makeweight, or merely ornamental dishes, but concentrate the cook's energies on sterling and approved dishes. everything men set on is meant to be eaten. above all, men are not too fine to have the plate-warmer in the room, the deficiency of hot plates proving fatal to many a fine feast. it was evident that puff prided himself on his table. his linen was the finest and whitest, his glass the most elegant and transparent, his plate the brightest, and his wines the most costly and _recherché_. like many people, however, who are not much in the habit of dinner-giving, he was anxious and fussy, too intent upon making people comfortable to allow of their being so, and too anxious to get victuals and drink down their throats to allow of their enjoying either. he not only produced a tremendous assortment of wines--hock, sauterne, champagne, barsack, burgundy, but descended into endless varieties of sherries and madeiras. these he pressed upon people, always insisting that the last sample was the best. in these hospitable exertions puffington was ably assisted by captain guano, who, being fond of wine, came in for a good quantity; first of all by asking everyone to take wine with him, and then in return every one asking him to do the same with them. the present absurd non-asking system was not then in vogue. the great captain, noisy and talkative at all times, began to be boisterous almost before the cloth was drawn. puffington was equally promiscuous with his after-dinner wines. he had all sorts of clarets, and 'curious old ports.' the party did not seem to have any objection to spoil their digestions for the next day, and took whatever he produced with great alacrity. lengthened were the candle examinations, solemn the sips, and sounding the smacks that preceded the delivery of their campbell-like judgements. the conversation, which at first was altogether upon wine, gradually diverged upon sporting, and they presently brewed up a very considerable cry. foremost among the noisy ones was captain guano. he seemed inclined to take the shine out of everybody. 'oh! if they could but find a good fox that would give them a run of ten miles--say, ten miles--just ten miles would satisfy him--say, from barnesley wold to chingforde wood, or from carleburg clump to wetherden head. he was going to ride his famous horse jack-a-dandy--the finest horse that ever was foaled! no day too long for him--no pace too great for him--no fence too stiff for him--no brook too broad for him.' tom washball, too, talked as if wearing a red coat was not the only purpose for which he hunted; and altogether they seemed to be an amazing, sporting, hard-riding set. when at length they rose to go to bed, it struck each man as he followed his neighbour upstairs that the one before him walked very crookedly. chapter xxxviii a day with puffington's hounds day dawned cheerfully. if there was rather more sun than the strict rules of beckford prescribe, still sunshine is not a thing to quarrel with under any circumstances--certainly not for a gentleman to quarrel with who wants his place seen to advantage on the occasion of a meet of hounds. everything at hanby house was in apple-pie order. all the stray leaves that the capricious wintry winds still kept raising from unknown quarters, and whisking about the trim lawns, were hunted and caught, while a heavy roller passed over the kensington gravel, pressing out the hoof and wheelmarks of the previous day. the servants were up betimes, preparing the house for those that were in it, and a _déjeûner à la fourchette_ for chance customers, from without. they were equally busy at the stable. although mr. bragg did profess such indifference for mr. sponge's opinion, he nevertheless thought it might perhaps be as well to be condescending to the stranger. accordingly, he ordered his whips to be on the alert, to tie their ties and put on their boots as they ought to be, and to hoist their caps becomingly on the appearance of our friend. bragg, like a good many huntsmen, had a sort of tariff of politeness, that he indicated by the manner in which he saluted the field. to a lord, he made a sweep of his cap like the dome of st. paul's; a baronet came in for about half as much; a knight, to a quarter. bragg had also a sort of city or monetary tariff of politeness--a tariff that was oftener called in requisition than the 'debrett' one, in mr. puffington's country. to a good 'tip' he vouchsafed as much cap as he gave to a lord; to a middling 'tip' he gave a sort of move that might either pass for a touch of the cap or a more comfortable adjustment of it to his head; a very small 'tip' had a forefinger to the peak; while he who gave nothing at all got a good stare or a good morning! or something of that sort. a man watching the arrival of the field could see who gave the fives, who the fours, who the threes, who the twos, who the ones, and who were the great 's. but to our day with mr. puffington's hounds. our over-night friends were not quite so brisk in the morning as the servants and parties outside. puffington's 'mixture' told upon a good many of them. washball had a headache, so had lumpleg; crane was seedy; and captain guano, sea-green. soda-water was in great request. there was a splendid breakfast, table and sideboard looking as if fortnum and mason or morel had opened a branch establishment at hanby house. though the staying guests could not do much for the good things set out, they were not wasted, for the place was fairly taken by storm shortly before the advertised hour of meeting; and what at one time looked like a most extravagant supply, at another seemed likely to prove a deficiency. each man helped himself to whatever he fancied, without waiting for the ceremony of an invitation, in the usual style of fox-hunting hospitality. a few minutes before eleven, a 'gently, rantaway,' accompanied by a slight crack of a whip, drew the seedy and satisfied parties to the oriel window, to see mr. bragg pass along with his hounds. they were just gliding noiselessly over the green sward, mr. bragg rising in his stirrups, as spruce as a game-cock, with his thoroughbred bay gambolling and pawing with delight at the frolic of the hounds, some clustering around him, others shooting forward a little, as if to show how obediently they would return at his whistle. mr. bragg was known as the whistling huntsman, and was a great man for telegraphing and signalizing with his arms, boasting that he could make hounds so handy that they could do everything, except pay the turnpike-gates. at his appearance the men all began to shuffle to the passage and entrance-hall, to look for their hats and whips; and presently there was a great outpouring of red coats upon the lawn, all straddling and waddling of course. then mr. bragg, seeing an audience, with a slight whistle and wave of his right arm, wheeled his forces round, and trotted gaily towards where our guests had grouped themselves, within the light iron railing that separated the smooth slope from the field. as he reined in his horse, he gave his cap an aerial sweep, taking off perpendicularly, and finishing at his horse's ears--an example that was immediately followed by the whips, and also by mr. bragg's second horseman, tom stot. 'good morning, mister bragg! good morning, mister bragg!--good morning, mister bragg!' burst from the assembled spectators: for mr. bragg was one of those people that one occasionally meets whom everybody 'misters.' mister bragg, rising in his stirrups with a gracious smile, passed a very polite bow along the line. 'here's a fine morning, mr. bragg,' observed tom washball, who thought it knowing to talk to servants. 'y_as_, sir,' replied bragg, 'y_as_,' with a slight inclination to cap; '_r-a-y_-ther more s_a_n, p'raps, than desirable,' continued he, raising his face towards the heavens; 'but still by no means a bad day, sir--no, sir--by no means a bad day, sir.' 'hounds looking well,' observed charley slapp between the whiffs of a cigar. 'y_as_, sir,' said bragg, 'y_as_,' looking around them with a self-satisfied smile; adding, 'so they ought, sir--so they ought; if _i_ can't bring a pack out as they should be, don't know who can.' 'why, here's our old rummager, i declare!' exclaimed spraggon, who, having vaulted the iron hurdles, was now among the pack. 'why, here's our old rummager, i declare!' repeated he, laying his whip on the head of a solemn-looking black and white hound, somewhat down in the toes, and looking as if he was about done. 'sc-e-e-use me, sir,' replied bragg, leaning over his horse's shoulder, and whispering into jack's ear; 'sc-e-e-use me, sir, but _drop_ that, sir, if you please, sir.' 'drop what?' asked jack, squinting through his great tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles up into bragg's face. ''bout knowing of that 'ound, sir,' whispered bragg; 'the fact is, sir--we call him merryman, sir; master don't know i got him from you, sir.' 'o-o-o,' replied jack, squinting, if possible, more frightfully than before. 'ah, that's the hound i offered to scamperdale,' observed puffington, seeing the movement, and coming up to where jack stood; 'that's the hound i offered to scamperdale,' repeated he, taking the old dog's head between his hands. 'there's no better hound in the world than this,' continued he, patting and smoothing him; 'and no better _bred_ hound either,' added he, rubbing the dog's sides with his whip. 'how is he bred?' asked jack, who knew the hound's pedigree better than he did his own. 'why, i got him from reynard--no, i mean from downeybird--the duke, you know; but he was bred by fitzwilliam--by his singwell out of darling. singwell was by the rutland rallywood out of tavistock rhapsody; but to make a long story short, he's lineally descended from the beaufort justice.' 'indeed!' exclaimed jack hardly able to contain himself; 'that's undeniable blood.' 'well, i'm glad to hear you say so,' replied puffington. 'i'm glad to hear you say so, for you understand these things--no man better; and i confess i've a warm side to that beaufort justice blood.' 'don't wonder at it,' replied jack, laughing his waistcoat strings off. 'the great mr. warde,' continued mr. puffington, 'who was justly partial to his own sort, had never any objection to breeding from the beaufort justice.' 'no, nor nobody else that knew what he was about,' replied jack, turning away to conceal his laughter. 'we should be moving, i think, sir,' observed bragg, anxious to put an end to the conversation; 'we should be moving, i think, sir,' repeated he, with a rap of his forefinger against his cap peak. 'it's past eleven,' added he, looking at his gold watch, and shutting it against his cheek. 'what do you draw first?' asked jack. 'draw--draw--draw,' replied puffington. 'oh, we'll draw rabbitborough gorse--that's a new cover i've inclosed on my pro-o-r-perty.' 'sc-e-e-use me, sir,' replied bragg, with a smile, and another rap of the cap: 'sc-e-e-use me, sir, but i'm going to hollyburn hanger first.' 'ah, well, hollyburn hanger,' replied puffington, complacently; 'either will do very well.' if puff had proposed hollyburn hanger, bragg would have said rabbitborough gorse. the move of the hounds caused a rush of gentlemen to their horses, and there was the usual scramblings up, and fidgetings, and funkings, and who-o-hayings and drawing of girths, and taking up of curbs, and lengthening and shortening of stirrups. captain guano couldn't get his stirrups to his liking anyhow. ''ord hang these leathers,' roared he, clutching up a stirrup-iron; 'who the devil would ever have sent one out a-huntin' with a pair of new stirrup-leathers?' 'hang you and the stirrup leathers,' growled the groom, as his master rode away; 'you're always wantin' sumfin to find fault with. i'm blowed if it arn't a disgrace to an oss to carry such a man,' added he, eyeing the chestnut fidgeting and wincing as the captain worked away at the stirrups. mr. bragg trotted briskly on with the hounds, preceded by joe banks the first whip, and having jack swipes the second, and tom stot, riding together behind him, to keep off the crowd. thus the cavalcade swept down the avenue, crossed the swillingford turnpike, and took through a well-kept field road, which speedily brought them to the cover--rough, broomy, brushwood-covered banks, of about three acres in extent, lying on either side of the little hollyburn brook, one of the tiny streams that in angry times helped to swell the swill into a river. 'dim all these foot people!' exclaimed mr. bragg, in well-feigned disgust, as he came in view, and found all the swillingford snobs, all the tinkers and tailors, and cobblers and poachers, and sheep-stealers, all the scowling, rotten-fustianed, baggy-pocketed scamps of the country ranged round the cover, some with dogs, some with guns, some with snares, and all with sticks or staffs. 'well, i'm dimmed if ever i seed sich a--' the rest of the speech being lost amidst the exclamations of: 'ah! the hunds! the hunds! hoop! tally-o the hunds!' and a general rush of the ruffians to meet them. [illustration: captain guano can't get his stirrups the right length] captain guano, who had now come up, joined in the denunciation, inwardly congratulating himself on the probability that the first cover, at least, would be drawn blank. tom washball, who was riding a very troublesome tail-foremost grey, also censured the proceeding. and mr. puffington, still an 'am_aa_izin' instance of a pop'lar man,' exclaimed, as he rode among them, 'ah! my good fellows, i'd rather you'd come up and had some ale than disturbed the cover'; a hint that the wily ones immediately took, rushing up to the house, and availing themselves of the absence of the butler, who had followed the hounds, to take a couple of dozen of his best fiddle-handled forks while the footman was drawing them the ale. the whips being duly signalled by bragg to their points--brick to the north corner, swipes to the south--and the field being at length drawn up to his liking, mr. bragg looked at mr. puffington for his signal (the only piece of interference he allowed him); at a nod mr. bragg gave a wave of his cap, and the pack dashed into cover with a cry. 'yo-o-icks--wind him! yo-o-icks--pash him up!' cheered bragg, standing erect in his stirrups, eyeing the hounds spreading and sniffing about, now this way, now that--now pushing through a thicket, now threading and smelling along a meuse. 'yo-o-icks--wind him! yo-o-icks--pash him up!' repeated he, cracking his whip, and moving slowly on. he then varied the entertainment by whistling, in a sharp, shrill key, something like the chirp of a sparrow-hawk. thus the hounds rummaged and scrimmaged for some minutes. 'no fox here,' observed captain guano, bringing his horse alongside of mr. bragg's. 'not so sure o' _that_,' replied mr. bragg, with a sneer, for he had a great contempt for the captain. 'not so sure o' that,' replied he, eyeing thunderer and galloper feathering up the brook. 'hang these stirrups!' exclaimed the captain, again attempting to adjust them; adding, 'i declare i have no seat whatever in this saddle.' 'nor in any other,' muttered bragg. 'yo-icks, galloper! yo-icks, thunderer! ge-e-ntly, warrior!' continued he, cracking his whip, as warrior pounced at a bunny. the hounds were evidently on a scent, hardly strong enough to own, but sufficiently indicated by their feathering, and the rush of their comrades to the spot. 'a fox for a thousand!' exclaimed mr. bragg, eyeing them, and looking at his watch. 'oh, d--mn me! i've got one stirrup longer than another now!' roared captain guano, trying the fresh adjustment. 'i've got one stirrup longer than another!' added he in a terrible pucker. [illustration] a low snatch of a whimper now proceeded from galloper, and bragg cheered him to the echo. in another second a great banging brown fox burst from among the broom, and dashed down the little dean. what noises, what exclamations rent the air! 'talli-ho! talliho! talliho!' screamed a host of voices, in every variety of intonation, from the half-frantic yell of a party seeing him, down to the shout of a mere partaker of the epidemic. shouting is very contagious. the horsemen gathered up their reins, pressed down their hats, and threw away their cigar-ends. ''ord hang it!' roared captain guano, still fumbling at the leathers, 'i shall never be able to ride with stirrups in this state.' 'hang your stirrups!' exclaimed charley slapp, shooting past him; adding, 'it was your _saddle_ last time.' bragg's queer tootle of his horn, for he was full of strange blows, now sounded at the low end of the cover; and, having a pet line of gaps and other conveniences that he knew how to turn to on the minute, he soon shot so far ahead as to give him the appearance (to the slow 'uns) of having flown. brick and swipes quickly had all the hounds after him, and stot, dropping his elbows, made for the road, to ride the second horse gently on the line. the field, as usual, divided into two parts, the soft riders and the hard ones--the soft riders going by the fields, the hard riders by the road. messrs. spraggon, sponge, slapp, quilter, rasper, crasher, smasher, and some half-dozen more, bustled after bragg; while the worthy master mr. puffington, lumpleg, washball, crane, guano, shirker, and very many others, came pounding along the lane. there was a good scent, and the hounds shot across the fleecyhaughwater meadows, over the hill, to the village of berrington roothings, where, the fox having been chased by a cur, the hounds were brought to a check on some very bad scenting-ground, on the common, a little to the left of the village, at the end of a quarter of an hour or so. the road having been handy, the hard riders were there almost as soon as the soft ones; and there being no impediments on the common, they all pushed boldly on among the now stooping hounds. 'hold hard, gentlemen!' exclaimed mr. bragg, rising in his stirrups and telegraphing with his right arm. 'hold hard!--pray do!' added he, with little better success. 'dim it, gen'lemen, hold hard!' added he, as they still pressed upon the pack. 'have a little regard for a huntsman's raputation,' continued he. 'remember that it rises and falls with the sport he shows'--exhortations that seemed to be pretty well lost upon the field, who began comparing notes as to their respective achievements, enlarging the leaps and magnifying the distance into double what they had been. puffington and some of the fat ones sat gasping and mopping their brows. seeing there was not much chance of the hounds hitting off the scent by themselves, mr. bragg began telegraphing with his arm to the whippers-in, much in the manner of the captain of a thames steamer to the lad at the engine, and forthwith they drove the pack on for our swell huntsman to make his cast. as good luck would have it, bragg crossed the line of the fox before he had got half-through his circle, and away the hounds dashed, at a pace and with a cry that looked very like killing. mr. bragg was in ecstasies, and rode in a manner very contrary to his wont. all again was life, energy, and action; and even some who hoped there was an end of the thing, and that they might go home and say, as usual, 'that they had had a very good run, but not killed,' were induced to proceed. away they all went as before. at the end of eighteen minutes more the hounds ran into their fox in the little green valley below mountnessing wood, and mr. bragg had him stretched on the green with the pack baying about him, and the horses of the field-riders getting led about by the country people, while the riders stood glorying in the splendour of the thing. all had a direct interest in making it out as good as possible, and mr. bragg was quite ready to appropriate as much praise as ever they liked to give. ''ord dim him,' said he, turning up the fox's grim head with his foot, 'but mr. bragg's an awkward customer for gen'lemen of your description.' 'you hunted him well!' exclaimed charley slapp, who was trumpeter general of the establishment. 'oh, sir,' replied bragg, with a smirk and a condescending bow, 'if richard bragg can't kill foxes, i don't know who can.' just then 'puffington and co.' hove in sight up the valley, their faces beaming with delight as the tableau before them told the tale. they hastened to the spot. 'how many brace is that?' asked puffington, with the most matter-of-course air, as he trotted up, and reined in his horse outside the circle. 'seventeen brace, your grace, i mean to say my lord, that's to say _sur_,' replied bragg, with a strong emphasis on the _sur_, as if to say, 'i'm not used to you snobs of commoners.' 'seventeen brace!' sneered jack spraggon to sponge, adding, in a whisper, 'more like _seven_ foxes.' 'and how many run to ground?' asked puffington, alighting. 'four brace,' replied bragg, stooping to cut off the brush. we were wrong in saying that bragg only allowed puff the privilege of nodding his head to say when he might throw off. he let him lead the 'lie gallop' in the kill department. mr. puffington then presented mr. sponge with the brush, and the usual solemnities being observed, the sherry flasks were produced and drained, the biscuits munched, and, amidst the smoke of cigars, the ring broke up in great good-will. chapter xxxix writing a run [illustration: letter t] the first fumes of excitement over, after a run with a kill, the field begin to take things more coolly and veraciously, and ere long some of them begin to pick holes in the affair. the men of the hunt run it up, while those of the next hunt run it down. added to this there are generally some cavilling, captious fellows in every field who extol a run to the master's face, and abuse it behind his back. so it was on the present occasion. the men of the hunt--charley slapp, lumpleg, guano, crane, washball, and others--lauded and magnified it into something magnificent; while fossick, fyle, wake, blossomnose, and others of the 'flat hat hunt,' pronounced it a niceish thing--a pretty burst; and mr. vosper, who had hunted for five-and-twenty seasons without ever subscribing one farthing to hounds, always declaring that each season was 'his last,' or that he was going to confine himself entirely to some other pack, said it was nothing to make a row about, that he had seen fifty better things with the tinglebury harriers, and never a word said. 'well,' said sponge to spraggon, between the whiffs of a cigar, as they rode together; 'it wasn't so bad, was it?' 'bad!--no,' squinted jack, 'devilish good--for puff, at least,' adding, 'i question he's had a better this season.' 'well, we are in luck,' observed tom washball, riding up and joining them; 'we are in luck to have a satisfactory thing with you great connoisseurs out.' 'a pretty thing enough,' replied jack, 'pretty thing enough.' 'oh, i don't mean to say it's equal to many we've had this season,' replied washball; 'nothing like the boughton hill day, nor yet the hembury forest one; but still, considering the meet and the state of the country--' 'hout! the country's good enough,' growled jack, who hated washball; adding, 'a good fox makes any country good'; with which observation he sidled up to sponge, leaving washball in the middle of the road. 'that reminds me,' said jack, _sotto voce_ to sponge, 'that the crittur wants his run puffed, and he thinks you can do it.' 'me!' exclaimed sponge, 'what's put that in his head?' 'why, you see,' exclaimed jack, 'the first time you came out with our hounds at dundleton tower, you'll remember--or rather, the first time we saw you, when your horse ran away with you--somebody, fyle, i think it was, said you were a literary cove; and puff, catchin' at the idea, has never been able to get rid of it since: and the fact is, he'd like to be flattered--he'd be uncommonly pleased if you were to "soft sawder" him handsomely.' '_me!_' exclaimed sponge; 'bless your heart, man, i can't write anything--nothing fit to print, at least.' 'hout, fiddle!' retorted spraggon, 'you can write as well as any other man; see what lots of fellows write, and nobody ever finds fault.' 'but the spellin' bothers one,' replied sponge, with a shake of his elbow and body, as if the idea was quite out of the question. 'hang the spellin',' muttered jack, 'one can always borrow a dictionary; or let the man of the paper--the editor, as they call him--smooth out the spellin'. you say at the end of your letter, that your hands are cold, or your hand aches with holdin' a pullin' horse, and you'll thank him to correct any inadvertencies--you needn't call them errors, you know.' 'but where's the use of it?' exclaimed sponge; 'it'll do us no good, you know, praisin' puff's pack, or himself, or anything about him.' 'that's just the point,' said jack, 'that's just the point. i can make it answer both our purposes,' said he, with a nudge of the elbow, and an inside-out squint of his eyes. 'oh, that's another matter,' replied our friend; 'if we can turn the thing to account, well and good--i'm your man for a shy.' 'we _can_ turn it to account,' rejoined jack; 'we _can_ turn it to account--at least _i_ can; but then you must do it. he wouldn't take it as any compliment from me. it's the stranger that sees all things in their true lights. d'ye understand?' asked he eagerly. 'i twig,' replied sponge. 'you write the account,' continued jack, 'and i'll manage the rest.' 'you must help me,' observed sponge. 'certainly,' replied jack; 'we'll do it together, and go halves in the plunder.' 'humph,' mused sponge: 'halves,' said he to himself. 'and what will you give me for my half?' asked he. 'give you!' exclaimed jack, brightening up. 'give you! let me see,' continued he, pretending to consider--'puff's rich--puff's a liberal fellow--puff's a conceited beggar--mix it strong,' said jack, 'and i'll give you ten pounds.' 'make it twelve,' replied sponge, after a pause. if jack had said twelve. sponge would have asked fourteen. 'couldn't,' said jack, with a shake of the head; 'it really isn't with (worth) the money.' the two then rode on in silence for some little distance. 'i'll tell you what i'll do,' said jack, spurring his horse, and trotting up the space that the other had now shot ahead. 'i'll split the difference with you!' 'well, give me the sov.,' said sponge, holding out his hand for earnest. 'why, i haven't a sov. upon me,' replied jack; 'but, honour bright, i'll do what i say.' 'give me eleven golden sovereigns for my chance,' repeated sponge slowly, in order that there might be no mistake. 'eleven golden sovereigns for your chance,' repeated jack. 'done!' replied sponge. 'done!' repeated jack. 'let's jog on and do it at once while the thing's fresh in our minds,' said jack, working his horse into a trot. sponge did the same; and the grass-siding of orlantire parkwall favouring their design, they increased the trot to a canter. they soon passed the park's bounds, and entering upon one of those rarities--an unenclosed common, angled its limits so as to escape the side-bar, and turning up farningham green lane, came out upon the kingsworth and swillingford turnpike within sight of hanby house. 'we'd better pull up and walk the horses gently in, p'raps,' observed sponge, reining his in. 'ah! i was only wantin' to get home before the rest,' observed jack, pulling up too. they then proceeded more leisurely together. 'we'd better get into one of our bedrooms to do it,' observed jack, as they passed the lodge. 'just so,' replied sponge, adding, 'i dare say we shall want all the quiet we can get.' 'oh no!' said jack; 'the thing's simple enough--met at such a place--found at such another--killed at so and so.' 'well, i hope it will,' said sponge, riding into the stable-yard, and resigning his steed to the care of his groom. [illustration] jack did the same by sponge's other horse, which he had been riding, and in reply to leather's inquiry (who stood with his right hand ready, as if to shake hands with him), 'how the horse had carried him?' replied: 'cursed ill,' and stamped away without giving him anything. 'ah, _you're_ a gen'leman, you are,' muttered leather, as he led the horse away. 'now, come!' exclaimed jack to sponge, 'come! let's get in before any of those bothersome fellows come'; adding, as he dived into a passage, 'i'll show you the back way.' after passing a scullery, a root-house, and a spacious entrance-hall, upon a table in which stood the perpetual beer-jug and bread-basket, a green baize door let them into the regions of upper service, and passing the dashed carpets of the housekeeper's room and butler's pantry, a red baize door let them into the far-side of the front entrance. having deposited their hats and whips, they bounded up the richly carpeted staircase to their rooms. hanby house, as we have already said, was splendidly furnished. all the grandeur did not run to the entertaining rooms; but each particular apartment, from the state bedroom down to the smallest bachelor snuggery, was replete with elegance and comfort. like many houses, however, the bedrooms possessed every imaginable luxury except boot-jacks and pens that would write. in sponge's room for instance, there were hip-baths, and foot-baths, a shower-bath, and hot and cold baths adjoining, and mirrors innumerable; an eight-day mantel-clock, by moline of geneva, that struck the hours, half-hours, and quarters: cut-glass toilet candlesticks, with silver sconces; an elegant zebra-wood cabinet; also a beautiful davenport of zebra-wood, with a plate-glass back, containing a pen rug worked on silver ground, an ebony match box, a blue crystal, containing a sponge pen-wiper, a beautiful envelope-case, a white-cornelian seal, with 'hanby house' upon it, wax of all colours, papers of all textures, envelopes without end--every imaginable requirement of correspondence except a pen that would write. there _were_ pens, indeed--there almost always are--but they were miserable apologies of things; some were mere crow-quills--sort of cover-hacks of pens, while others were great, clumsy, heavy-heeled, cart-horse sort of things, clotted up to the hocks with ink, or split all the way through--vexatious apologies, that throw a person over just at the critical moment, when he has got his sheet prepared and his ideas all ready to pour upon paper; then splut--splut--splutter goes the pen, and away goes the train of thought. bold is the man who undertakes to write his letters in his bedroom with country-house pens. but, to our friends. jack and sponge slept next door to each other; sponge, as we have already said, occupying the state-room, with its canopy-topped bedstead, carved and panelled sides, and elegant chintz curtains lined with pink, and massive silk-and-bullion tassels; while jack occupied the dressing-room, which was the state bedroom in miniature, only a good deal more comfortable. the rooms communicated with double doors, and our friends very soon effected a passage. 'have you any 'baccy?' asked jack, waddling in in his slippers, after having sucked off his tops without the aid of a boot-jack. 'there's some in my jacket pocket,' replied sponge, nodding to where it hung in the wardrobe; 'but it won't do to smoke here, will it?' asked he. 'why not?' inquired jack. 'such a fine room,' replied sponge, looking around. 'oh, fine be hanged!' replied jack, adding, as he made for the jacket, 'no place too fine for smokin' in.' having helped himself to one of the best cigars, and lighted it, jack composed himself cross-legged in an easy, spring, stuffed chair, while sponge fussed about among the writing implements, watering and stirring up the clotted ink, and denouncing each pen in succession, as he gave it the initiatory trial in writing the word 'sponge.' 'curse the pens!' exclaimed he, throwing the last bright crisp yellow thing from him in disgust. 'there's not one among 'em that can go!--all reg'larly stumped up.' 'haven't you a penknife?' asked jack, taking the cigar out of his mouth. 'not i,' replied sponge. 'take a razor, then,' said jack, who was good at an expedient. 'i'll take one of yours,' said sponge, going into the dressing-room for one. 'hang it, but you're rather too sharp,' exclaimed jack, with a shake of his head. 'it's more than your razor 'll be when i'm done with it,' replied sponge. having at length, with the aid of jack's razor, succeeded in getting a pen that would write, mr. sponge selected a sheet of best cream-laid satin paper, and, taking a cane-bottomed chair, placed himself at the table in an attitude for writing. dipping the fine yellow pen in the ink, he looked in jack's face for an idea. jack, who had now got well advanced in the cigar, sat squinting through his spectacles at our scribe, though apparently looking at the top of the bed. 'well?' said sponge, with a look of inquiry. 'well,' replied jack, in a tone of indifference. 'how shall i begin?' asked sponge, twirling the pen between his fingers, and spluttering the ink over the paper. 'begin!' replied jack, 'begin, oh, begin, just as you usually begin.' 'as a letter?' asked sponge. 'i 'spose so,' replied jack; 'how would you think?' 'oh, i don't know,' replied sponge. 'will _you_ try your hand?' added he, holding out the pen. 'why, i'm busy just now, you see,' said he, pointing to his cigar, 'and that horse of yours' (jack had ridden the redoubtable chestnut, multum in parvo, who had gone very well in the company of hercules) pulled so confoundedly that i've almost lost the use of my fingers,' continued he, working away as if he had got the cramp in both hands; 'but i'll prompt you,' added he, 'i'll prompt you.' 'why don't you begin then?' asked sponge. 'begin!' exclaimed jack, taking the cigar from his lips; 'begin!' repeated he, 'oh, i'll begin directly--didn't know you were ready.' jack then threw himself back in his chair, and sticking out his little bandy legs, turned the whites of his eyes up to the ceiling, as if lost in meditation. 'begin,' said he, after a pause, 'begin, "this splendid pack had a stunning run."' 'but we must put _what_ pack first,' observed sponge, writing the words 'mr. puffington's hounds' at the top of the paper. 'well,' said he, writing on, 'this stunning pack had a splendid run.' 'no, not stunning _pack_,' growled jack, '_splendid_ pack--"this splendid pack had a stunning run."' 'stop!' exclaimed sponge, writing it down; 'well,' said he looking up, 'i've got it.' 'this stunning pack had a splendid run,' repeated jack, squinting away at the ceiling. 'i thought you said _splendid_ pack,' observed sponge. 'so i did,' replied jack. 'you said stunning just now,' rejoined he. 'ah, that was a slip of the tongue,' said jack. 'this splendid pack had a stunning run,' repeated jack, appealing again to his cigar for inspiration; 'well, then,' said he, after a pause, 'you just go on as usual, you know,' continued he, with a flourish of his great red hand. 'as usual!' exclaimed sponge, 'you don't s'pose one's pen goes of itself.' 'why, no,' replied jack, knocking the ashes off his cigar on to the arabesque-patterned tapestry carpet--'why, no, not exactly; but these things, you know, are a good deal matter of course; just describe what you saw, you know, and butter puff well, that's the main point.' 'but you forget,' replied sponge, 'i don't know the country, i don't know the people, i don't know anything at all about the run--i never once looked at the hounds.' 'that's nothin',' replied jack, 'there'd be plenty like you in that respect. however,' continued he, gathering himself up in his chair as if for an effort, 'you can say--let me see what you can say--you can say, "this splendid pack had a stunning run from hollyburn hanger, the property of its truly popular master, mr. puffington," or--stop,' said jack, checking himself, 'say, "the property of its truly popular and sporting master, mr. puffington." the cover's just as much mine as it's his,' observed jack; 'it belongs to old sir timothy tensthemain, who's vegetating at boulogne-sur-mer, but puff says he'll buy it when it comes to the hammer, so we'll flatter him by considering it his already, just as we flatter him by calling him a sportsman--_sportsman_!' added jack, with a sneer, 'he's just as much taste for the thing as a cow.' 'well,' said sponge, looking up, 'i've got "truly popular and sporting master, mr. puffington,"' adding, 'hadn't we better say something about the meet and the grand spread here before we begin with the run?' 'true,' replied jack, after a long-drawn whiff and another adjustment of the end of his cigar; 'say that "a splendid field of well-appointed sportsmen"--' 'a splendid field of well-appointed sportsmen,' wrote sponge. '"among whom we recognized several distinguished strangers and members of lord scamperdale's hunt." that means you and i,' observed jack. '"of lord scamperdale's hunt--that means you and i"'--read sponge, as he wrote it. 'but you're not to put in that; you're not to write "that means you and i," my man,' observed jack. 'oh, i thought that was part of the sentence,' replied sponge. 'no, no,' said jack; 'i meant to say that you and i were the distinguished strangers and members of lord scamperdale's hunt; but that's between ourselves, you know.' 'good,' said sponge; 'then i'll strike that out,' running his pen through the words 'that means you and i.' 'now get on,' said he, appealing to jack, adding, 'we've a deal to do yet.' 'say,' said jack, '"after partaking of the well-known profuse and splendid hospitality of hanby house, they proceeded at once to hollyburn hanger, where a fine seasoned fox--though some said he was a bag one--"' 'did they?' exclaimed sponge, adding, 'well, i thought he went away rather queerly.' 'oh, it was only old bung the brewer, who runs down every run he doesn't ride.' 'well, never mind,' replied sponge, 'we'll make the best of it, whatever it was'; writing away as he spoke, and repeating the words 'bag one' as he penned them. '"broke away,"' continued jack: '"in view of the whole field,"' added sponge. 'just so,' assented jack. '"every hound scoring to cry, and making the "--the--the--what d'ye call the thing?' asked jack. 'country,' suggested sponge. 'no,' replied jack, with a shake of the head. 'hill and dale?' tried sponge again. 'welkin!' exclaimed jack, hitting it off himself--'"makin' the welkin ring with their melody!" makin' the welkin ring with their melody,' repeated he, with exultation. 'capital!' observed sponge, as he wrote it. 'equal to littlelegs,'[ ] said jack, squinting his eyes inside out. 'we'll make a grand thing of it,' observed sponge. 'so we will,' replied jack, adding, 'if we had but a book of po'try we'd weave in some lines here. you haven't a book o' no sort with you that we could prig a little po'try from?' asked he. 'no,' replied sponge thoughtfully. 'i'm afraid not; indeed, i'm sure not. i've got nothin' but _mogg's cab fares_.' 'ah, that won't do,' observed jack, with a shake of the head. 'but stay,' said he, 'there are some books over yonder,' pointing to the top of an indian cabinet, and squinting in a totally different direction. 'let's see what they are,' added he, rising, and stumping away to where they stood. _i promessi sposi_, read he off the back of one. 'what can that mean! ah, it's latin,' said he, opening the volume. _contes à ma fille_, read he off the back of another. 'that sounds like racin',' observed he, opening the volume, 'it's latin too,' said he, returning it. 'however, never mind, we'll "sugar puff's milk," as mr. bragg would say, without po'try.' so saying, mr. spraggon stumped back to his easy-chair. 'well, now,' said he, seating himself comfortably in it, 'let's see where did we go first? "he broke at the lower end of the cover, and, crossing the brook, made straight for fleecyhaugh water meadows, over which, you may say, "there's always a ravishing scent."' 'have you got that?' asked jack, after what he thought a sufficient lapse of time for writing it. '"ravishing scent,"' repeated sponge as he wrote the words. 'very good,' said jack, smoking and considering. '"from there,"' continued he, '"he made a bit of a bend, as if inclining for the plantations at winstead, but, changing his mind, he faced the rising ground, and crossing over nearly the highest part of shillington hill, made direct for the little village of berrington roothings below."' 'stop!' exclaimed sponge, 'i haven't got half that; i've only got to "the plantations at winstead."' sponge made play with his pen, and presently held it up in token of being done. 'well,' pondered jack, 'there was a check there. say,' continued he, addressing himself to sponge, '"here the hounds came to a check."' 'here the hounds came to a check,' wrote sponge. 'shall we say anything about distance?' asked he. 'p'raps we may as well,' replied jack. 'we shall have to stretch it though a bit.' 'let's see,' continued he; 'from the cover to berrington roothings over by shillington hill and fleecyhaugh water meadows will be--say, two miles and a half or three miles at the most--call it four, well, four miles--say four miles in twelve minutes, twenty miles an hour,--too quick--four miles in fifteen minutes, sixteen miles an hour; no--i think p'raps it'll be safer to lump the distance at the end, and put in a place or two that nobody knows the name of, for the convenience of those who were not out.' 'but those who _were_ out will blab, won't they?' asked sponge. 'only to each other,' replied jack. 'they'll all stand up for the truth of it as against strangers. you need never be afraid of over-eggin' the puddin' for those that were out.' 'well, then,' observed sponge, looking at his paper to report progress, 'we've got the hounds to a check. "here the hounds came to a check,"' read he. 'ah! now, then,' said jack, in a tone of disgust, 'we must say summut handsome of bragg; and of all conceited animals under the sun, he certainly is the most conceited. i never saw such a man! how that unfortunate, infatuated master of his keeps him, i can't for the life of me imagine. _master_! faith, bragg's the _master_,' continued jack, who now began to foam at the mouth. 'he laughs at old puff to his face; yet it's wonderful the influence bragg has over him. i really believe he has talked puff into believing that there's not such another huntsman under the sun, and really he's as great a muff as ever walked. he can just dress the character, and that's all.' so saying jack wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his red coat preparatory to displaying mr. bragg upon paper. 'well, now we are at fault,' said jack, motioning sponge to resume; 'we are at fault; now say, "but mr. bragg, who had ridden gallantly on his favourite bay, as fine an animal as ever went, though somewhat past mark of mouth--" he _is_ a good horse, at least _was_,' observed jack, adding, 'i sold puff him, he was one of old sugarlip's,' meaning lord scamperdale's. 'sure to be a good 'un, then,' replied sponge, with a wink, adding, 'i wonder if he'd like to buy any more?' 'we'll talk about that after,' replied jack, 'at present let us get on with our run.' 'well,' said sponge, 'i've got it: "mr. bragg, who had ridden gallantly on his favourite bay, as fine an animal as ever went, though somewhat past mark of mouth--"' '"was well up with his hounds,"' continued jack, '"and with a gently, rantipole! and a single wave of his arm, proceeded to make one of those scientific casts for which this eminent huntsman is so justly celebrated." justly _celebrated_!' repeated jack, spitting on the carpet with a hawk of disgust; 'the conceited self-sufficient bantam-cock never made a cast worth a copper, or rode a yard but when he thought somebody was looking at him.' 'i've got it,' said sponge, who had plied his pen to good purpose. 'justly celebrated,' repeated jack, with a snort. 'well, then, say, "hitting off the scent like a workman"--big h, you know, for a fresh sentence--"they went away again at score, and passing by moorlinch farm buildings, and threading the strip of plantation by bexley burn, he crossed silverbury green, leaving longford hutch to the right, and passing straight on by the gibbet at harpen." those are all bits of places, observed jack, 'that none but the country folks know; indeed, i shouldn't have known them but for shootin' over them when old bloss lived at the green. well, now, have you got all that?' asked he. '"gibbet at harpen,"' read sponge, as he wrote it. '"here, then, the gallant pack, breaking from scent to view,"' continued jack, speaking slowly, '"ran into their fox in the open close upon mountnessing wood, evidently his point from the first, and into which a few more strides would have carried him. it was as fine a run as ever was seen, and the hunting of the hounds was the admiration of all who saw it. the distance couldn't have been less than"--than--what shall we say?' asked jack. 'ten, twelve miles, as the crow flies,' suggested sponge. 'no,' said jack,' that would be too much. say ten'; adding, 'that will be four miles more than it was.' 'never mind,' said sponge, as he wrote it; 'folks like good measure with runs as well as ribbons.' 'now we must butter old puff,' observed spraggon. 'what can we say for him?' asked sponge; 'that he never went off the road?' 'no, by jove!' said jack; 'you'll spoil all if you do that: better leave it alone altogether than do that. say, "the justly popular owner of this most celebrated pack, though riding good fourteen stone" (he rides far more,' observed jack; 'at least sixteen; but it'll please him to make out that he _can_ ride fourteen), "led the welters, on his famous chestnut horse, tappey lappey."' 'what shall we say about the rest?' asked sponge; 'lumpleg, slapp, guano, and all those?' [illustration: jack and mr. sponge write an article for the swillingford paper] 'oh, say nothin',' replied jack; 'we've nothin' to do with nobody but puff, and we couldn't mention them without bringin' in our flat hat men too--blossomnose, fyle, fossick, and so on. besides, it would spoil all to say that guano was up--people would say directly it couldn't have been much of a run if guano was there. you might finish off,' observed jack, after a pause, 'by saying that "after this truly brilliant affair, mr. puffington, like a thorough sportsman, and one who never trashes his hounds unnecessarily--unlike some masters," you may say, "who never know when to leave off" (that will be a hit at old scamp,' observed jack, with a frightful squint), '"returned to hanby house, where a distinguished party of sportsmen--" or, say, "a distinguished party of noblemen and gentlemen"--that'll please the ass more--"a large party of noblemen and gentlemen were partaking of his"--his--what shall we call it?' 'grub!' said sponge. 'no, no--summut genteel--his--his--his--"splendid hospitality!"' concluded jack, waving his arm triumphantly over his head. 'hard work, authorship!' exclaimed sponge, as he finished writing, and threw down the pen. 'oh, i don't know,' replied jack, adding, 'i could go on for an hour.' 'ah, _you_!--that's all very well,' replied sponge, 'for you, squatting comfortably in your arm-chair: but consider me, toiling with my pen, bothered with the writing, and craning at the spelling.' 'never mind, we've done it,' replied jack, adding, 'puff'll be as pleased as punch. we've polished him off uncommon. that's just the sort of account to tickle the beggar. he'll go riding about the country, showing it to everybody, and wondering who wrote it.' 'and what shall we send it to?--the _sporting magazine_, or what?' asked sponge. '_sporting magazine!_--no,' replied jack; 'wouldn't be out till next year--quick's the word in these railway times. send it to a newspaper--_bell's life_, or one of the swillingford papers. either of them would be glad to put it in.' 'i hope they'll be able to read it,' observed sponge, looking at the blotched and scrawled manuscript. 'trust them for that,' replied jack, adding, 'if there's any word that bothers them, they've nothing to do but look in the dictionary--these folks all have dictionaries, wonderful fellows for spellin'.' just then a little buttony page, in green and gold, came in to ask if there were any letters for the post; and our friends hastily made up their packet, directing it to the editor of the swillingford 'guide to glory and freeman's friend'; words that in the hurried style of mr. sponge's penmanship looked very like 'guide to grog, and freeman's friend.' chapter xl a literary bloomer time was when the independent borough of swillingford supported two newspapers, or rather two editors, the editor of the _swillingford patriot_, and the editor of the _swillingford guide to glory_; but those were stirring days, when politics ran high and votes and corn commanded good prices. the papers were never very prosperous concerns, as may be supposed when we say that the circulation of the former at its best time was barely seven hundred, while that of the latter never exceeded a thousand. they were both started at the reform times, when the reduction of the stamp-duty brought so many aspiring candidates for literary fame into the field, and for a time they were conducted with all the bitter hostility that a contracted neighbourhood, and a constant crossing by the editors of each other's path, could engender. the competition, too, for advertisements, was keen, and the editors were continually taunting each other with taking them for the duty alone. Ã�neas m'quirter was the editor of the _patriot_, and felix grimes that of the _guide to glory_. m'quirter, we need hardly say, was a scotsman--a big, broad-shouldered sawney--formidable in 'slacks,' as he called his trousers, and terrific in kilts; while grimes was a native of swillingford, an ex-schoolmaster and parish clerk, and now an auctioneer, a hatter, a dyer and bleacher, a paper-hanger, to which the wits said when he set up his paper, he added the trade of 'stainer.' at first the rival editors carried on a 'war to the knife' sort of contest with one another, each denouncing his adversary in terms of the most unmeasured severity. in this they were warmly supported by a select knot of admirers, to whom they read their weekly effusions at their respective 'houses of call' the evening before publication. gradually the fire of bitterness began to pale, and the excitement of friends to die out; m'quirter presently put forth a signal of distress. to accommodate 'a large and influential number of its subscribers and patrons,' he determined to publish on a tuesday instead of on a saturday as heretofore, whereupon mr. grimes, who had never been able to fill a single sheet properly, now doubled his paper, lowered his charge for advertisements, and hinted at his intention of publishing an occasional supplement. however exciting it may be for a time, parties soon tire of carrying on a losing game for the mere sake of abusing each other, and Ã�neas m'quirter not being behind the generality of his countrymen in 'canniness' and shrewdness of intellect, came to the conclusion that it was no use doing so in this case, especially as the few remaining friends who still applauded would be very sorry to subscribe anything towards his losses. he therefore very quietly negotiated the sale of his paper to the rival editor, and having concluded a satisfactory bargain, he placed the bulk of his property in the poke of his plaid, and walked out of swillingford just as if bent on taking the air, leaving mr. grimes in undisputed possession of both papers, who forthwith commenced leading both whig and tory mind, the one on the tuesday, the other on the saturday. the pot and pipe companions of course saw how things were, but the majority of the readers living in the country just continued to pin their faith to the printed declarations of their oracles, while grimes kept up the delusion of sincerity by every now and then fulminating a tremendous denunciation against his trimming, vacillating, inconsistent opponent on the tuesday, and then retaliating with equal vigour upon himself on the saturday. he wrote his own 'leaders,' both whig and tory, the arguments of one side pointing out answers for the other. sometimes he led the way for a triumphant refutal, while the general tone of the articles was quite of the 'upset a ministry' style. indeed, grimes strutted and swaggered as if the fate of the nation rested with him. the papers themselves were not very flourishing-looking concerns, the wide-spread paragraphs, the staring type, the catching advertisements, forming a curious contrast to the close packing of _the times_. the 'gutta percha company,' 'locock's female pills,' 'keating's cough lozenges,' and the 'triumphs of medicine,' all with staring woodcuts and royal arms, occupied conspicuous places in every paper. a new advertisement was a novelty. however, the two papers answered a great deal better than either did singly, and any lack of matter was easily supplied from the magazines and new books. in this department, indeed, in the department of elegant light literature generally, mr. grimes was ably assisted by his eldest daughter, lucy, a young lady of a certain age--say liberal thirty--an ardent bloomer--with a considerable taste for sentimental poetry, with which she generally filled the poet's corner. this assistance enabled grimes to look after his auctioneering, bleaching, and paper-hanging concerns, and it so happened that when the foregoing run arrived at the office he, having seen the next paper ready for press, had gone to mr. vosper's, some ten miles off, to paper his drawing-room, consequently the duties of deciding upon its publication devolved on the bloomer. now, she was a most refined, puritanical young woman, full of sentiment and elegance, with a strong objection to what she considered the inhumanities of the chase. at first she was for rejecting the article altogether, and had it been a run with the tinglebury harriers, or even, we believe, with lord scamperdale's hounds, she would have consigned it to the 'balaam box,' but seeing it was with mr. puffington's hounds, whose house they had papered, and who advertised with them, she condescended to read it; and though her delicacy was shocked at encountering the word 'stunning' at the outset, and also at the term 'ravishing scent' farther on, she nevertheless sent the manuscript to the compositors, after making such alterations and corrections as she thought would fit it for eyes polite. the consequence was that the article appeared in the following form, though whether all the absurdities were owing to miss lucy's corrections, or the carelessness of the writer, or the printers, had anything to do with it, we are not able to say. the errors, some of them arising from the mere alteration or substitution of a letter, will strike a sporting more than a general reader. thus it appeared in the middle of the third sheet of the _swillingford patriot_: splendid run with mr. puffington's hounds. this splendid pack had a superb run from hollyburn hanger, the property of its truly popular and sporting owner, mr. puffington. a splendid field of well-appointed sportsmen, among whom we recognized several distinguished strangers, and members of lord scamperdale's hunt, were present. after partaking of the well-known profuse and splendid hospitality of hanby house, they proceeded at once to hollyburn hanger, where a fine seasonal fox, though some said he was a bay one, broke away in view of the whole pack, every hound scorning to cry, and making the welkin ring with their melody. he broke at the lower end of the cover, and crossing the brook, made straight for fleecyhaugh water meadows, over which there is always an exquisite perfume; from there he made a slight bend, as if inclining for the plantations at winstead, but changing his mind, he faced the rising ground, and crossing over nearly the highest point of shillington hill, made direct for the little village of berrington roothings below. here the hounds came to a check, but mr. bragg, who had ridden gallantly on his favourite bay, as fine an animal as ever went, though somewhat past work of mouth, was well up with his hounds, and with a 'gentle rantipole!' and a single wave of his arm, proceeded to make one of those scientific rests for which this eminent huntsman is so justly celebrated. hitting off the scent like a coachman, they went away again at score, and passing by moorlinch farm buildings, and threading the strip of plantation by bexley burn, he crossed silverbury green, leaving longford hutch to the right, and passing straight on by the gibbet at harpen. here, then, the gallant pack, breaking from scent to view, ran into their box in the open close upon mountnessing wood, evidently his point from the first, and into which a few more strides would have carried him. it was as fine a run as ever was seen, and the grunting of the hounds was the admiration of all who heard it. the distance could not have been less than ten miles as a cow goes. the justly popular owner of this most celebrated pack, though riding good fourteen stones, led the walters on his famous chestnut horse tappy lappey. after this truly brilliant affair, mr. puffington, like a thorough sportsman, and one who never thrashes his hounds unnecessarily--unlike some masters who never know when to leave off--returned to hanby house, where a distinguished party of noblemen and gentlemen partook of his splendid hospitality. and the considerate bloomer added of her own accord, 'we hope we shall have to record many such runs in the imperishable columns of our paper.' [illustration: miss grimes giving the 'corrected' copy to the printer] chapter xli a dinner and a deal another grand dinner, on a more extensive scale than its predecessor, marked the day of this glorious run. 'there's goin' to be a great blow-out,' observed mr. spraggon to mr. sponge, as, crossing his hands and resting them on the crown of his head, he threw himself back in his easy-chair, to recruit after the exertion of concocting the description of the run. 'how d'ye know?' asked sponge. 'saw by the dinner table as we passed,' replied jack, adding, 'it reaches nearly to the door.' 'indeed,' said sponge, 'i wonder who's coming?' 'most likely guano again; indeed, i know he is, for i asked his groom if he was going home, and he said no; and lumpleg, you may be sure, and possibly old blossomnose, slapp, and, very likely, young pacey.' 'are they chaps with any "go" in them?--shake their elbows, or anything of that sort?' asked sponge, working away as if he had the dice-box in his hand. 'i hardly know,' replied jack thoughtfully. 'i hardly know. young pacey, i think, might be made summut on; but his uncle, major screw, looks uncommon sharp after him, and he's a minor.' 'would he _pay_?' asked sponge, who, keeping as he said, 'no books,' was not inclined to do business on 'tick.' 'don't know,' replied jack, squinting at half-cock; 'don't know--would depend a good deal, i should say, upon how it was done. it's a deuced unhandsome world this. if one wins a trifle of a youngster at cards, let it be ever so openly done, it's sure to say one's cheated him, just because one happens to be a little older, as if age had anything to do with making the cards come right.' 'it's an ungenerous world,' observed sponge, 'and it's no use being abused for nothing. what sort of a genius is pacey? is he inclined to go the pace?' 'oh, quite,' replied jack; 'his great desire is to be thought a sportsman.' 'a sportsman or a sporting man?' asked sponge. 'w-h-o-y! i should say p'raps a sportin' man more than the sportsman,' replied jack. 'he's a great lumberin' lad, buttons his great stomach into a newmarket cutaway, and carries a betting-book in his breast pocket.' 'oh, he's a bettor, is he!' exclaimed sponge, brightening up. 'he's a raw poult of a chap,' replied jack; 'just ready for anything--in a small way, at least--a chap that's always offering two to one in half-crowns. he'll have money, though, and can't be far off age. his father was a great spectacle-maker. you have heard of pacey's spectacles?' 'can't say as how i have,' replied sponge, adding, 'they are more in your line than mine.' the further consideration of the youth was interrupted by the entrance of a footman with hot water, who announced that dinner would be ready in half an hour. 'who's there coming?' asked jack. 'don't know 'xactly, sir,' replied the man; 'believe much the same party as yesterday, with the addition of mr. pacey; mr. miller, of newton; mr. fogo, of bellevue; mr. brown, of the hill; and some others whose names i forget.' 'is major screw coming?' asked sponge. 'i rayther think not, sir. i think i heard mr. plummey, the butler, say he declined.' 'so much the better,' growled jack, throwing off his purple-lapped coat in commencement of his toilette. as the two dressed they discussed the point how pacey might be done. when our friends got downstairs it was evident there was a great spread. two red-plushed footmen stood on guard in the entrance, helping the arrivers out of their wraps, while a buzz of conversation sounded through the partially opened drawing-room door, as mr. plummey stood, handle in hand, to announce the names of the guests. our friends, having the entrée, of course passed in as at home, and mingled with the comers and stayers. guest after guest quickly followed, almost all making the same observation, namely, that it was a fine day for the time of year, and then each sidled off, rubbing his hands, to the fire. captain guano monopolized about one-half of it, like a colossus of rhodes, with a coat-lap under each arm. he seemed to think that, being a stayer, he had more right to the fire than the mere diners. mr. puffington moved briskly among the motley throng, now expatiating on the splendour of the run, now hoping a friend was hungry, asking a third after his wife, and apologizing to a fourth for not having called on his sister. still his real thoughts were in the kitchen, and he kept counting noses and looking anxiously at the timepiece. after the door had had a longer rest than usual, blossomnose at last cast up: 'now we're all here surely!' thought he, counting about; 'one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, thirteen, fourteen, myself fifteen--fifteen, fifteen, must be another--sixteen, eight couple asked. oh, that pacey's wanting; always comes late, won't wait'--so saying, or rather thinking, mr. puffington rang the bell and ordered dinner. pacey then cast up. he was just the sort of swaggering youth that jack had described; a youth who thought money would do everything in the world--make him a gentleman, in short. he came rolling into the room, grinning as if he had done something fine in being late. he had both his great red hands in his tight trouser pockets, and drew the right one out to favour his friends with it 'all hot.' 'i'm late, i guess,' said he, grinning round at the assembled guests, now dispersed in the various attitudes of expectant eaters, some standing ready for a start, some half-sitting on tables and sofa ends, others resigning themselves complacently to their chairs, abusing mr. pacey and all dinner delayers. 'i'm late, i guess,' repeated he, as he now got navigated up to his host and held out his hand. 'oh, never mind,' replied puffington, accepting as little of the proffered paw as he could; 'never mind,' repeated he, adding, as he looked at the french clock on the mantelpiece now chiming a quarter past six, 'i dare say i told you we dined at half-past five.' 'dare say you did, old boy,' replied pacey, kicking out his legs, and giving puffington what he meant for a friendly poke in the stomach, but which in reality nearly knocked his wind out; 'dare say you did, old boy, but so you did last time, if you remember, and deuce a bite did i get before six; so i thought i'd be quits with you this--_he--he--he--haw--haw--haw_,' grinning and staring about as if he had done something very clever. [illustration: mr. pacey] pacey was one of those deplorable beings--a country swell. tomkins and hopkins, the haberdashers of swillingford, never exhibited an ugly out-of-the-way neckcloth or waistcoat with the words 'patronized by the prince,' 'very fashionable,' or 'quite the go,' upon them, but he immediately adorned himself in one. on the present occasion he was attired in a wide-stretching, lace-tipped, black joinville, with recumbent gills, showing the heavy amplitude of his enormous jaws, while the extreme scooping out of a collarless, flashy-buttoned, chain-daubed, black silk waistcoat, with broad blue stripes, afforded an uninterrupted view of a costly embroidered shirt, the view extending, indeed, up to a portion of his white satin 'forget-me-not' embroidered braces. his coat was a broad-sterned, brass-buttoned blue, with pockets outside, and of course he wore a pair of creaking highly varnished boots. he was apparently, about twenty; just about the age when a youth thinks it fine to associate with men, and an age at which some men are not above taking advantage of a youth. perhaps he looked rather older than he was, for he was stiff built and strong, with an ample crop of whiskers extending from his great red docken ears round his harvest moon of a face. he was lumpy, and clumsy, and heavy all over. having now got inducted, he began to stare round the party, and first addressed our worthy friend mr. spraggon. 'well, sprag, how are you?' asked he. 'well, specs' (alluding to his father's trade), 'how are you?' replied jack, with a growl, to the evident satisfaction of the party, who seemed to regard pacey as the common enemy. fortunately just at the moment mr. plummey restored harmony by announcing dinner; and after the usual backing and retiring of mock modesty, mr. puffington said he would 'show them the way,' when there was as great a rush to get in, to avoid the bugbear of sitting with their backs to the fire, as there had been apparent disposition not to go at all. notwithstanding the unfavourable aspect of affairs, mr. spraggon placed himself next mr. pacey, who sat a good way down the table, while mr. sponge occupied the post of honour by our host. in accordance with the usual tactics of these sort of gentlemen, spraggon and sponge essayed to be two--if not exactly strangers, at all events gentlemen with very little acquaintance. spraggon took advantage of a dead silence to call up the table to _mister_ sponge to take wine; a compliment that sponge acknowledged the accordance of by a very low bow into his plate, and by-and-by mister sponge 'mistered' mr. spraggon to return the compliment. 'do you know much of that--that--that--_chap_?' (he would have said snob if he'd thought it would be safe) asked pacey, as sponge returned to still life after the first wine ceremony. 'no,' replied spraggon, 'nor do i wish.' 'great snob,' observed pacey. 'shocking,' assented spraggon. 'he's got a good horse or two, though,' observed pacey; 'i saw them on the road coming here the other day.' pacey, like many youngsters, professed to be a judge of horses, and thought himself rather sharp at a deal. 'they are _good_ horses,' replied jack, with an emphasis on the good, adding, 'i'd be very glad to have one of them.' mr. spraggon then asked mr. pacey to take champagne, as the commencement of a better understanding. the wine flowed freely, and the guests, particularly the fresh infusion, did ample justice to it. the guests of the day before, having indulged somewhat freely, were more moderate at first, though they seemed well inclined to do their best after they got their stomachs a little restored. spraggon could drink any given quantity at any time. the conversation got brisker and brisker: and before the cloth was drawn there was a very general clamour, in which all sorts of subjects seemed to be mixed--each man addressing himself to his immediate neighbour; one talking of taxes--another of tares--a third, of hunting and the system of kennel--a fourth, of the corn-laws--old blossomnose, about tithes--slapp, about timber and water-jumping--miller, about collison's pills; and guano, about anything that he could get a word edged in about. great, indeed, was the hubbub. gradually, however, as the evening advanced pacey and guano out-talked the rest, and at length pacey got the noise pretty well to himself. when anything definite could be extracted from the mass of confusion, he was expatiating on steeple-chasing, hurdle-racing, weights for age, ons and offs clever--a sort of mixture of hunting, racing, and 'alken.' sponge cocked his ear, and sat on the watch, occasionally hazarding an observation, while jack, who was next pacey, on the left, pretended to decry sponge's judgement, asking _sotto voce_, with a whiff through his nose, what such a cockney as that could know about horses? what between jack's encouragement, and the inspiring influence of the bottle, aided by his own self-sufficiency, pacey began to look upon sponge with anything but admiration; and at last it occurred to him that he would be a very proper subject to, what he called, 'take the shine out of.' 'that isn't a bad-like nag, that chestnut of yours, for the wheeler of a coach, mr. sponge,' exclaimed he, at the instigation of spraggon, to our friend, producing, of course, a loud guffaw from the party. 'no, he isn't,' replied sponge coolly, adding, 'very like one, i should say.' 'devilish _good_ horse,' growled jack in pacey's ear. 'oh, i dare say,' whispered pacey, pretending to be scraping up the orange syrup in his plate, adding, 'i'm only chaffing the beggar.' 'he looks solitary without the coach at his tail,' continued pacey, looking up, and again addressing sponge up the table. 'he does,' affirmed sponge, amidst the laughter of the party. pacey didn't know how to take this; whether as a 'sell' or a compliment to his own wit. he sat for a few seconds grinning and staring like a fool; at last after gulping down a bumper of claret, he again fixed his unmeaning green eyes upon sponge, and exclaimed: 'i'll challenge your horse, mr. sponge.' a burst of applause followed the announcement; for it was evident that amusement was in store. 'you'll w-h-a-w-t?' replied sponge, staring, and pretending ignorance. 'i'll challenge your horse,' repeated pacey with confidence, and in a tone that stopped the lingering murmur of conversation, and fixed the attention of the company on himself. 'i don't understand you,' replied sponge, pretending astonishment. 'lor bless us! why, where have you lived all your life?' asked pacey. 'oh, partly in one place, and partly in another,' was the answer. 'i should think so,' replied pacey, with a look of compassion, adding, in an undertone, 'a good deal with your mother, i should think.' 'if you could get that horse at a moderate figure,' whispered jack to his neighbour, and squinting his eyes inside out as he spoke, 'he's well worth having.' 'the beggar won't sell him,' muttered pacey, who was fonder of talking about buying horses than of buying them. 'oh yes, he will,' replied jack; 'he didn't understand what you meant. mr. sponge,' said he, addressing himself slowly and distinctly up the table to our hero--'mr. sponge, my friend mr. pacey here challenges your chestnut.' sponge still stared in well-feigned astonishment. 'it's a custom we have in this country,' continued jack, looking, as he thought, at sponge, but, in reality, squinting most frightfully at the sideboard. 'do you mean he wants to buy him?' asked sponge. 'yes,' replied jack confidently. 'no, i don't,' whispered pacey, giving jack a kick under the table. pacey had not yet drunk sufficient wine to be rash. 'yes, yes,' replied jack tartly, 'you do,' adding, in an undertone, 'leave it to me, man, and i'll let you in for a good thing. yes, mr. sponge,' continued he, addressing himself to our hero, 'mr. pacey fancies the chestnut and challenges him.' 'why doesn't he ask the price?' replied sponge, who was always ready for a deal. 'ah, the price must be left to a third party,' said jack. 'the principle of the thing is this,' continued he, enlisting the aid of his fingers to illustrate his position: 'mr. pacey, here,' said he, applying the forefinger of his right hand to the thumb of the left, looking earnestly at sponge, but in reality squinting up at the chandelier--'mr. pacey here challenges your horse multum-in-somethin'--i forget what you said you call him--but the nag i rode to-day. well, then,' continued jack, 'you' (demonstrating sponge by pressing his two forefingers together, and holding them erect) 'accept the challenge, but can challenge anything mr. pacey has--a horse, dog, gun--anything; and, having fixed on somethin' then a third party' (who jack represented by cocking up his thumb), 'any one you like to name, makes the award. well, having agreed upon that party' (jack still cocking up the thumb to represent the arbitrator), 'he says, "give me money." the two then put, say half a crown or five shillin's each, into his hand, to which the arbitrator adds the same sum for himself. that being done, the arbitrator says, "hands in pockets, gen'lemen."' (jack diving his right hand up to the hilt in his own.) 'if this be an award, mr. pacey's horse gives mr. sponge's horse so much--draw.' (jack suiting the action to the word, and laying his fist on the table.) 'if each person's hand contains money, it is an award--it is a deal; and the arbitrator gets the half-crowns, or whatever it is, for his trouble; so that, in course, he has a direct interest in makin' such an award as will lead to a deal. _now_ do you understand?' continued jack, addressing himself earnestly to sponge. 'i think i do,' replied sponge who had been at the game pretty often. 'well, then,' continued jack, reverting to his original position, 'my friend, mr. pacey here, challenges your chestnut.' 'no, never mind,' muttered pacey peevishly, in an undertone, with a frown on his face, giving jack a dig in the ribs with his elbow. 'never mind,' repeated he; '_i_ don't care about it--_i_ don't want the horse.' 'but _i_ do,' growled jack, adding, in an undertone also, as he stooped for his napkin, 'don't spoil sport, man; he's as good a horse as ever stepped; and if you'll challenge him, i'll stand between you and danger.' 'but he may challenge something i don't want to part with,' observed pacey. 'then you've nothin' to do,' replied jack, 'but bring up your hand without any money in it.' 'ah! i forgot,' replied pacey, who did not like not to appear what he called 'fly.' 'well, then, i challenge your chestnut!' exclaimed he, perking up, and shouting up the table to sponge. 'good!' replied our friend. 'i challenge your watch and chain, then,' looking at pacey's chain-daubed vest. 'name _me_ arbitrator,' muttered jack, as he again stooped for his napkin. 'who shall handicap us? captain guano, mr. lumpleg, or who?' asked sponge. 'suppose we say spraggon?--he says he rode the horse to-day,' replied pacey. 'quite agreeable,' said sponge. 'now, jack!' 'now, spraggon!' 'now, old solomon!' 'now, doctor wiseman,' resounded from different parts of the table. jack looked solemn; and diving both hands into his breeches' pockets, stuck out his legs extensively before him. 'give me money,' said he pompously. they each handed him half a crown; and jack added a third for himself. 'mr. pacey challenges mr. sponge's chestnut horse, and mr. sponge challenges mr. pacey's gold watch,' observed jack sententiously. 'come, old slowman, go on!' exclaimed guano, adding, 'have you got no further than that?' 'hurry no man's cattle,' replied jack tartly, adding, 'you may keep a donkey yourself some day.' 'mr. pacey challenges mr. sponge's chestnut horse,' repeated jack. 'how old is the chestnut, mr. sponge?' added he, addressing himself to our friend. 'upon my word i hardly know,' replied sponge, 'he's past mark of mouth; but i think a hunter's age has very little to do with his worth.' 'who-y, that depends,' rejoined jack, blowing out his cheeks, and looking as pompous as possible--'that depends a good deal upon how he's been used in his youth.' 'he's about nine, i should say,' observed sponge, pretending to have been calculating, though, in reality, he knew nothing whatever about the horse's age. 'say nine, or rising ten, and never did a day's work till he was six.' 'indeed!' said jack, with an important bow, adding, 'being easy with them at the beginnin' puts on a deal to the end. perfect hunter, i s'pose?' 'why, you can judge of that yourself,' replied sponge. 'perfect hunter, _i_ should say,' rejoined jack, 'and steady at his fences--don't know that i ever rode a better fencer. well,' continued he, having apparently pondered all that over in his mind, 'i must trouble you to let me look at your ticker,' said he, turning short round on his neighbour. 'there,' said mr. pacey, producing a fine flash watch from his waistcoat-pocket, and holding it to jack. 'the chain's included in the challenge, mind,' observed sponge. 'in course,' said jack; 'it's what the pawnbrokers call a watch with its appurts.' (jack had his watch at his uncle's and knew the terms exactly.) 'it's a repeater, mind,' observed pacey, taking off the chain. 'the chain's heavy,' said jack, running it up in his hand; 'and here's a pistol-key and a beautiful pencil-case, with the pacey crest and motto,' observed jack, trying to decipher the latter. 'if it had been without the words, whatever they are,' said he, giving up the attempt, 'it would have been worth more, but the gold's fine, and a new stone can easily be put in.' he then pulled an old hunting-card out of his pocket, and proceeded to make sundry calculations and estimates in pencil on the back. 'well, now,' said he, at length, looking up, 'i should say, such a watch as that and appurts,' holding them up, 'couldn't be bought in a shop under eight-and-twenty pund.' 'it cost five-and-thirty,' observed mr. pacey. 'did it!' rejoined jack, adding, 'then you were done.' jack then proceeded to do a little more arithmetic, during which process mr. puffington passed the wine and gave as a toast--'success to the handicap.' 'well,' at length said jack, having apparently struck a balance, 'hands in pocket, gen'lemen. if this is an award, mr. pacey's gold watch and appurts gives mr. sponge's chestnut horse seventy golden sovereigns. show money,' whispered jack to pacey, adding, 'i'll stand the shot.' 'stop!' roared guano, 'do either of you sport your hand?' 'yes, i do,' replied mr. pacey coolly. 'and i,' said mr. sponge. 'hold hard, then, gen'lemen!' roared jack, getting excited, and beginning to foam. 'hold hard, gen'lemen!' repeated he, just as he was in the habit of roaring at the troublesome customers in lord scamperdale's field; 'mr. pacey and mr. sponge both sport their hands.' 'i'll lay a guinea pacey doesn't hold money,' exclaimed guano. 'done!' exclaimed parson blossomnose. 'i'll bet it does,' observed charley slapp. 'i'll take you,' replied mr. miller. then the hubbub of betting commenced, and raged with fury for a short time; some betting sovereigns, some half-sovereigns, other half-crowns and shillings, as to whether the hands of one or both held money. givers and takers being at length accommodated, perfect silence at length reigned, and all eyes turned upon the double fists of the respective champions. jack having adjusted his great tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles, and put on a most consequential air, inquired, like a gambling-house keeper, if they were 'all done'--had all 'made their game?' and 'yes! yes! yes!' resounded from all quarters. 'then, gen'lemen,' said jack, addressing pacey and sponge, who still kept their closed hands on the table, '_show_!' at the word, their hands opened, and each held money. 'a deal! a deal! a deal!' resounded through the room, accompanied with clapping of hands, thumping of the table, and dancing of glasses. 'you owe me a guinea,' exclaimed one. 'i want half a sovereign of you,' roared another. 'here's my half-crown,' said a third, handing one across the table to the fortunate winner. a general settlement took place, in the midst of which the 'watch and appurts' were handed to mr. sponge. 'we'll drink mr. pacey's health,' said mr. puffington, helping himself to a bumper, and passing the lately replenished decanters. 'he's done the thing like a sportsman, and deserves to have luck with his deal. your good health, mr. pacey!' continued he, addressing himself specifically to our friend, 'and luck to your horse.' 'your good health, mr. pacey--your good health, mr. pacey--your good health, mr. pacey,' then followed in the various intonations that mark the feelings of the speaker towards the toastee, as the bottles passed round the table. the excitement seemed to have given fresh zest to the wine, and those who had been shirking, or filling on heel-taps, now began filling bumpers, while those who always filled bumpers now took back hands. there is something about horse-dealing that seems to interest every one. conversation took a brisk turn, and nothing but the darkness of the night prevented their having the horse out and trying him. pacey wanted him brought into the dining-room, _à la_ briggs, but puff wouldn't stand that. the transfer seemed to have invested the animal with supernatural charms, and those who in general cared nothing about horses wanted to have a sight of him. toasting having commenced, as usual, it was proceeded with. sponge's health followed that of mr. pacey's, mr. puffington availing himself of the opportunity afforded by proposing it, of expressing the gratification it afforded himself and all true sportsmen to see so distinguished a character in the country; and he concluded by hoping that the diminution of his stud would not interfere with the length of his visit--a toast that was drunk with great applause. mr. sponge replied by saying, 'that he certainly had not intended parting with his horse, though one more or less was neither here nor there, especially in these railway times, when a man had nothing to do but take a half-guinea's worth of electric wire, and have another horse in less than no time; but mr. pacey having taken a fancy to the horse, he had been more accommodating to him than he had to his friend, mr. spraggon, if he would allow him to call him so (jack squinted and bowed assent), who,' continued mr. sponge, 'had in vain attempted that morning to get him to put a price upon him.' 'very true,' whispered jack to pacey, with a feel of the elbow in his ribs, adding, in an undertone, 'the beggar doesn't think i've got him in spite of him, though.' 'the horse,' mr. sponge continued, 'was an undeniable good 'un, and he wished mr. pacey joy of his bargain.' this venture having been so successful, others attempted similar means, appointing mr. spraggon the arbitrator. captain guano challenged mr. fogo's phaeton, while mr. fogo retaliated upon the captain's chestnut horse; but the captain did not hold money to the award. blossomnose challenged mr. miller's pig; but the latter could not be induced to claim anything of the worthy rector's for mr. spraggon to exercise his appraising talents upon. after an evening of much noise and confusion, the wine-heated party at last broke up--the staying company retiring to their couches, and the outlying ones finding their ways home as best they could. chapter xlii the morning's reflections when young pacey awoke in the morning he had a very bad headache, and his temples throbbed as if the veins would burst their bounds. the first thing that recalled the actual position of affairs to his mind was feeling under the pillow for his watch: a fruitless search that ended in recalling something of the overnight's proceedings. pacey liked a cheap flash, and when elated with wine might be betrayed into indiscretions that his soberer moments were proof against. indeed, among youths of his own age he was reckoned rather a sharp hand; and it was the vanity of associating with men, and wishing to appear a match for them, that occasionally brought him into trouble. in a general way, he was a very cautious hand. he now lay tumbling and tossing about in bed, and little by little he laid together the outline of the evening's proceedings, beginning with his challenging mr. sponge's chestnut, and ending with the resignation of his watch and chain. he thought he was wrong to do anything of the sort. he didn't want the horse, not he. what should he do with him? he had one more than he wanted as it was. then, paying for him seventy sovereigns! confound it, it would be very inconvenient--_most_ inconvenient--indeed, he couldn't do it, so there was an end of it. the facilities of carrying out after-dinner transactions frequently vanish with the morning's sun. so it was with mr. pacey. then he began to think how to get out of it. should he tell mr. sponge candidly the state of his finances, and trust to his generosity for letting him off? was mr. sponge a likely man to do it? he thought he was. but, then, would he blab? he thought he would, and that would blow him among those by whom he wished to be thought knowing, a man not to be done. altogether he was very much perplexed: seventy pounds was a vast of money; and then there was his watch gone, too! a hundred and more altogether. he must have been drunk to do it--_very_ drunk, he should say; and then he began to think whether he had not better treat it as an after-dinner frolic, and pretend to forget all about it. that seemed feasible. all at once it occurred to pacey that mr. spraggon was the purchaser, and that he was only a middle-man. his headache forsook him for the moment, and he felt a new man. it was clearly the case, and bit by bit he recollected all about it. how jack had told him to challenge the horse, and he would stand to the bargain; how he had whispered him (pacey) to name him (jack) arbitrator; and how he had done so, and jack had made the award. then he began to think that the horse must be a good one, as jack would not set too high a price on him, seeing that he was the purchaser. then he wondered that he had put enough on to induce sponge to sell him: that rather puzzled him. he lay a long time tossing, and proing and coning, without being able to arrive at any satisfactory solution of the matter. at last he rang his bell, and finding it was eight o'clock he got up, and proceeded to dress himself; which operation being accomplished, he sought jack's room, to have a little confidential conversation with him on the subject, and arrange about paying sponge for the horse, without letting out who was the purchaser. jack was snoring, with his great mouth wide open, and his grizzly head enveloped in a white cotton nightcap. the noise of pacey entering awoke him. 'well, old boy' growled he, turning over as soon as he saw who it was, 'what are you up to?' 'oh, nothing particular,' replied mr. pacey, in a careless sort of tone. 'then make yourself scarce, or i'll baptize you in a way you won't like,' growled jack, diving under the bedclothes. 'oh, why i just wanted to have--have half a dozen words with you about our last night's' (ha--hem--haw!) 'handicap, you know--about the horse, you know.' 'about the w-h-a-w-t?' drawled jack, as if perfectly ignorant of what pacey was talking about. 'about the horse, you know--about mr. sponge's horse, you know--that you got me to challenge for you, you know,' stammered pacey. 'oh, dash it, the chap's drunk,' growled jack aloud to himself, adding to pacey, 'you shouldn't get up so soon, man--sleep the drink off.' pacey stood nonplussed. 'don't you remember, mr. spraggon,' at last asked he, after watching the tassel of jack's cap peeping above the bedclothes, 'what took place last night, you know? you asked me to get you mr. sponge's chestnut, and you know i did, you know.' 'hout, lad, disperse!--get out of this!' exclaimed jack, starting his great red face above the bedclothes and squinting frightfully at pacey. 'well, my dear friend, but you did,' observed pacey soothingly. 'nonsense!' roared jack, again ducking under. pacey stood agape. 'come!' exclaimed jack, again starting up, 'cut your stick!--be off!--make yourself scarce!--give your rags a gallop, in short!--don't be after disturbin' a gen'leman of fortin's rest in this way.' 'but, my dear mr. spraggon,' resumed pacey, in the same gentle tone, 'you surely forget what you asked me to do.' '_i do_,' replied jack firmly. 'well, but, my dear mr. spraggon, if you'll have the kindness to recollect--to consider--to reflect on what passed, you'll surely remember commissioning me to challenge mr. sponge's horse for you?' '_me!_' exclaimed jack, bouncing up in bed, and sitting squinting furiously. '_me!_' repeated he; '_un_possible. how could _i_ do such a thing? why, i handicap'd him, man, for you, man?' 'you told me, for all that,' replied mr. pacey, with a jerk of the head. 'oh, by jove!' exclaimed jack, taking his cap by the tassel, and twisting it off his head,' that won't do!--downright impeachment of one's integrity. oh, by jingo! that won't do!' motioning as if he was going to bounce out of bed; 'can't stand that--impeach one's integrity, you know, better take one's life, you know. life without honour's nothin', you know. cock pheasant at weybridge, six o'clock i' the mornin'!' 'oh, i assure you, i didn't mean anything of that sort,' exclaimed mr. pacey, frightened at jack's vehemence, and the way in which he now foamed at the mouth, and flourished his nightcap about. 'oh, i assure you, i didn't mean anything of that sort,' repeated he, 'only i thought p'raps you mightn't recollect all that had passed, p'raps; and if we were to talk matters quietly over, by putting that and that together, we might assist each other and--' 'oh, by jove!' interrupted jack, dashing his nightcap against the bedpost, 'too late for anything of that sort, sir--_down_right impeachment of one's integrity, sir--must be settled another way, sir.' 'but, i assure you, you mistake!' exclaimed pacey. 'rot your mistakes!' interrupted jack; 'there's no mistake in the matter. you've _reg_larly impeached my integrity--blood of the spraggons won't stand that. "death before dishonour!"' shouted he, at the top of his voice, flourishing his nightcap over his head, and then dashing it on to the middle of the floor. 'what's the matter?--what's the matter?--what's the matter?' exclaimed mr. sponge, rushing through the connecting door. 'what's the matter?' repeated he, placing himself between the bed in which jack still sat upright, squinting his eyes inside out, and where mr. pacey stood. 'oh, mr. sponge!' exclaimed jack, clasping his raised hands in thankfulness, 'i'm so glad you're here!--i'm so thankful you're come! i've been insulted!--oh, goodness, how i've been insulted!' added he, throwing himself back in the bed, as if thoroughly overcome with his feelings. 'well, but what's the matter?--what is it all about?' asked sponge coolly, having a pretty good guess what it was. 'never was so insulted in my life!' ejaculated jack, from under the bedclothes. 'well but what _is_ it?' repeated sponge, appealing to pacey, who stood as pale as ashes. 'oh! nothing,' replied he; 'quite a mistake; mr. spraggon misunderstood me altogether.' 'mistake! there's no mistake in the matter!' exclaimed jack, appearing again on the surface like an otter; 'you gave me the lie as plain as a pikestaff.' 'indeed!' observed mr. sponge, drawing in his breath and raising his eyebrows right up into the roof of his head. 'indeed!' repeated he. 'no; nothing of the sort, i assure you,' asserted mr. pacey. 'must have satisfaction!' exclaimed jack, again diving under the bedclothes. 'well, but let us hear how matters stand,' said mr. sponge coolly, as jack's grizzly head disappeared. 'you'll be my second,' growled jack, from under the bedclothes. 'oh! second be hanged,' retorted sponge. 'you've nothing to fight about; mr. pacey says he didn't mean anything, that you misunderstood him, and what more can a man want?' 'just so,' replied mr. pacey, 'just so. i assure you i never intended the slightest imputation on mr. spraggon.' 'i'm sure not,' replied mr. sponge. 'h-u-m-p-h,' grunted jack from under the bedclothes, like a pig in the straw. not showing any disposition to appear on the surface again, mr. sponge, after standing a second or two, gave a jerk of his head to mr. pacey, and forthwith conducted him into his own room, shutting the door between mr. spraggon and him. mr. sponge then inquired into the matter, kindly sympathizing with mr. pacey, who he was certain never meant anything disrespectful to mr. spraggon, who, mr. sponge thought, seemed rather quick at taking offence; though, doubtless, as mr. sponge observed, 'a man was perfectly right in being tenacious of his integrity,' a position that he illustrated by a familiar passage from shakespeare, about stealing a purse and stealing trash, &c. emboldened by his kindness, mr. pacey then got mr. sponge on to talk about the horse of which he had become the unwilling possessor--the renowned chestnut, multum in parvo. mr. sponge spoke like a very prudent, conscientious man; said that really it was difficult to give an opinion about a horse; that what suited one man might not suit another--that _he_ considered multum in parvo a very good horse; indeed, that he wouldn't have parted with him if he hadn't more than he wanted, and the cream of the season had passed without his meeting with any of those casualties that rendered the retention of an extra horse or two desirable. altogether, he gave mr. pacey to understand that he held him to his bargain. having thanked sponge for his great kindness, and got an order on the groom (mr. leather) to have the horse out, mr. pacey took his departure to the stable, and sponge having summoned his neighbour mr. spraggon from his bed, the two proceeded to a passage window that commanded a view of the stable-yard. mr. pacey presently went swaggering across it, cracking his jockey whip against his leg, followed by mr. leather, with a saddle on his shoulder and a bridle in his hand. 'he'd better keep his whip quiet,' observed mr. sponge, with a shake of his head, as he watched pacey's movements. 'the beggar thinks he can ride anything,' observed jack. 'he'll find his mistake out just now,' replied sponge. presently the stable-door opened, and the horse stepped slowly and quietly out, looking blooming and bright after his previous day's gallop. pacey, running his eyes over his clean muscular legs and finely shaped form, thought he hadn't done so far amiss after all. leather stood at the horse's head, whistling and soothing him, feeling anything but the easy confidence that mr. pacey exhibited. putting his whip under his arm, pacey just walked up to the horse, and, placing the point of his foot in the stirrup, hoisted himself on by the mane, without deigning to take hold of the reins. having soused himself into the saddle, he then began feeling the stirrups. 'how are they for length, sir?' asked leather, with a hitch of his hand to his forehead. 'they'll do,' replied pacey, in a tone of indifference, gathering up the reins, and applying his left heel to the horse's side, while he gave him a touch of the whip on the other. the horse gave a wince, and a hitch up behind; as much as to say, 'if you do that again i'll kick in right earnest,' and then walked quietly out of the yard. 'i took the fiery edge off him yesterday, i think,' observed jack, as he watched the horse's leisurely movements. 'not so sure of that,' replied sponge, adding, as he left the passage-window, 'he'll be trying him in the park; let's go and see him from my window.' accordingly, our friends placed themselves at sponge's bedroom window, and presently the clash of a gate announced that sponge was right in his speculation. in another second the horse and rider appeared in sight--the horse going much at his ease, but mr. pacey preparing himself for action. he began working the bridle and kicking his sides, to get him into a canter; an exertion that produced quite a contrary effect, for the animal slackened his pace as pacey's efforts increased. when, however, he took his whip from under his arm, the horse darted right up into the air, and plunging down again, with one convulsive effort shot mr. pacey several yards over his head, knocking his head clean through his hat. the brute then began to graze, as if nothing particular had happened. this easy indifference, however, did not extend to the neighbourhood; for no sooner was mr. pacey floored than there was such a rush of grooms, and helpers, and footmen, and gardeners--to say nothing of women, from all parts of the grounds, as must have made it very agreeable to him to know how he had been watched. one picked him up--another his hat-crown--a third his whip--a fourth his gloves--while margaret, the housemaid, rushed to the rescue with her private bottle of _sal volatile_--and john, the under-butler, began to extricate him from the new-fashioned neckcloth he had made of his hat. [illustration: mr. pacey tries multum-in-parvo] though our friend was a good deal shaken by the fall, the injury to his body was trifling compared to that done to his mind. being kicked off a horse was an indignity he had never calculated upon. moreover, it was done in such a masterly manner as clearly showed it could be repeated at pleasure. in addition to which everybody laughs at a man that is kicked off. all these considerations rushed to his mind, and made him determine not to brook the mirth of the guests as well as the servants. accordingly he borrowed a hat and started off home, and seeking his guardian, major screw, confided to him the position of affairs. the major, who was a man of the world, forthwith commenced a negotiation with mr. sponge, who, after a good deal of haggling, and not until the horse had shot the major over his head, too, at length, as a great favour, consented to take fifty pounds to rescind the bargain, accompanying his kindness by telling the major to advise his ward never to dabble in horseflesh after dinner; a piece of advice that we also very respectfully tender to our juvenile readers. and sponge shortly after sent spraggon a five pound note as his share of the transaction. chapter xliii another sick host [illustration: letter w] when mr. puffington read messrs. sponge and spraggon's account of the run with his hounds, in the swillingford paper, he was perfectly horrified; words cannot describe the disgust that he felt. it came upon him quite by surprise, for he expected to be immortalized in some paper or work of general circulation, in which the lords loosefish, sir toms, and sir harrys of former days might recognize the spirited doings of their early friend. he wanted the superiority of his establishment, the excellence of his horses, the stoutness of his hounds, and the polish of his field, proclaimed, with perhaps a quiet cut at the flat-hat gentry; instead of which he had a mixed medley sort of a mess, whose humdrum monotony was only relieved by the absurdities and errors with which it was crammed. at first, mr. puffington could not make out what it meant, whether it was a hoax for the purpose of turning run-writing into ridicule, or it had suffered mutilation at the hands of the printer. calling a good scent an exquisite perfume looked suspicious of a hoax, but then seasonal fox for seasoned fox, scorning to cry for scoring to cry, bay fox for bag fox, grunting for hunting, thrashing for trashing, rests for casts, and other absurdities, looked more like accident than design. these are the sort of errors that non-sporting compositors might easily make, one term being as much like english to them as the other, though amazingly different to the eye or the ear of a sportsman. mr. puffington was thoroughly disgusted. he was sick of hounds and horses, and bragg, and hay and corn, and kennels and meal, and saddles and bridles; and now, this absurdity seemed to cap the whole thing. he was ill-prepared for such a shock. the exertion of successive dinner-giving--above all, of bachelor dinner-giving--and that too in the country, where men sit, talk, talk, talking, sip, sip, sipping, and 'just another bottle-ing'; more, we believe, from want of something else to do than from any natural inclination to exceed; the exertion, we say, of such parties had completely unstrung our fat friend, and ill-prepared his nerves for such a shock. being a great man for his little comforts, he always breakfasted in his dressing-room, which he had fitted up in the most luxurious style, and where he had his newspapers (most carefully ironed out) laid with his letters against he came in. it was late on the morning following our last chapter ere he thought he had got rid of as much of his winey headache as fitful sleep would carry off, and enveloped himself in a blue and yellow-flowered silk dressing-gown and turkish slippers. he looked at his letters, and knowing their outsides, left them for future perusal, and sousing himself into the depths of a many-cushioned easy-chair, proceeded to spell his _morning post_--tattersall's advertisements--'grosjean's pale-tots'--'mr. albert smith'--'coals, best stewart hetton or lambton's'--'police intelligence,' and such other light reading as does not require any great effort to connect or comprehend. then came his breakfast, for which he had very little appetite, though he relished his coffee, and also an anchovy. while dawdling over these, he heard sundry wheels grinding about below the window, and the bumping and thumping of boxes, indicative of 'goings away,' for which he couldn't say he felt sorry. he couldn't even be at the trouble of getting up and going to the window to see who it was that was off, so weary and head-achy was he. he rolled and lolled in his chair, now taking a sip of coffee, now a bite of anchovy toast, now considering whether he durst venture on an egg, and again having recourse to the _post_. at last, having exhausted all the light reading in it, and scanned through the list of hunting appointments, he took up the swillingford paper to see that they had got his 'meets' right for the next week. how astonished he was to find the previous day's run staring him in the face, headed 'splendid run with mr. puffington's hounds,' in the imposing type here displayed. 'well, that's quick work, however,' said he, casting his eyes up to the ceiling in astonishment, and thinking how unlike it was the swillingford papers, which were always a week, but generally a fortnight behindhand with information. 'splendid run with mr. puffington's hounds,' read he again, wondering who had done it: bardolph, the innkeeper; allsop, the cabinet-maker; tuggins, the doctor, were all out; so was weatherhog, the butcher. which of them could it be? grimes, the editor, wasn't there; indeed, he couldn't ride, and the country was not adapted for a gig. he then began to read it, and the further he got the more he was disgusted. at last, when he came to the 'seasonal fox, which some thought was a bay one,' his indignation knew no bounds, and crumpling the paper up in a heap, he threw it from him in disgust. just then in came plummey, the butler. plummey saw at a glance what had happened; for mr. bragg, and the whips, and the grooms, and the helpers, and the feeder--the whole hunting establishment--were up in arms at the burlesque, and vowing vengeance against the author of it. mr. spraggon, on seeing what a mess had been made of his labours, availed himself of the offer of a seat in captain guano's dog-cart, and was clear of the premises; while mr. sponge determined to profit by spraggon's absence, and lay the blame on him. 'oh, plummey!' exclaimed mr. puffington, as his servant entered, 'i'm deuced unwell--quite knocked up, in short,' clapping his hand on his forehead, adding, 'i shall not be able to dine downstairs to-day.' ''deed, sir,' replied mr. plummey, in a tone of commiseration--''deed, sir; sorry to hear that, sir.' 'are they all gone?' asked mr. puffington, dropping his boiled-gooseberry-looking eyes upon the fine-flowered carpet. 'all gone, sir--all gone,' replied mr. plummey; 'all except mr. sponge.' 'oh, he's still here!' replied mr. puffington, shuddering with disgust at the recollection of the newspaper run. 'is he going to-day?' asked he. 'no, sir--i dare say not, sir,' replied mr. plummey. 'his man--his groom--his--whatever he calls him, expects they'll be staying some time.' 'the deuce!' exclaimed mr. puffington, whose hospitality, like jawleyford's, was greater in imagination than in reality. 'shall i take these things away?' asked plummey, after a pause. 'couldn't you manage to get him to go?' asked mr. puffington, still harping on his remaining guest. 'don't know, sir. i could try, sir--believe he's bad to move, sir,' replied plummey, with a grin. 'is he really?' replied mr. puffington, alarmed lest sponge should fasten himself upon him for good. 'they say so,' replied mr. plummey, 'but i don't speak from any personal knowledge, for i know nothing of the man.' 'well,' said mr. puffington, amused at his servant's exclusiveness, 'i wish you would try to get rid of him, bow him out civilly, you know--say i'm unwell--very unwell--deuced unwell--_ordered_ to keep quiet--say it as if from yourself, you know--it mustn't appear as if it came from me, you know.' 'in course not,' replied mr. plummey, 'in course not,' adding, 'i'll do my best, sir--i'll do my best.' so saying, he took up the breakfast things and departed. mr. sponge regaling himself with a cigar in the stables and shrubberies, it was some time before mr. plummey had an opportunity of trying his diplomacy upon him, it being contrary to mr. plummey's custom to go out of doors after any one. at last he saw sponge coming lounging along the terrace-walk, looking like a man thoroughly disengaged, and, timing himself properly, encountered him in the entrance. 'beg pardon, sir,' said mr. plummey, 'but cook, sir, wishes to know, sir, if you dine here to-day, sir?' 'of course,' replied mr. sponge, 'where would you have me dine?' 'oh, i don't know, sir--only mr. puffington, sir, is very poorly, sir, and i thought p'raps you'd be dining out. 'poorly is he?' replied mr. sponge; 'sorry to hear that--what's the matter with him?' 'bad bilious attack, i think,' replied plummey--'very subject to them, at this time of year particklarly; was laid up, at least confined to his room, three weeks last year of a similar attack.' 'indeed!' replied mr. sponge, not relishing the information. 'then i must say you'll dine here?' said the butler. 'yes; i must have my dinner, of course,' replied mr. sponge. 'i'm not ill, you know. no occasion to make a great spread for me, you know; but still i must have some victuals, you know.' 'certainly, sir, certainly,' replied mr. plummey. 'i couldn't think of leaving mr. puffington when he's poorly,' observed mr. sponge, half to himself and half to the butler. 'oh, master--that's to say, mr. puffington--always does best when left alone,' observed mr. plummey, catching at the sentence: 'indeed the medical men recommend perfect quiet and moderate living as the best thing.' 'do they?' replied sponge, taking out another cigar. mr. plummey then withdrew, and presently went upstairs to report progress, or rather want of progress, to the gentleman whom he sometimes condescended to call 'master.' mr. puffington had been taking another spell at the paper, and we need hardly say that the more he read of the run the less he liked it. 'ah, that's mr. sponge's handiwork,' observed plummey, as with a sneer of disgust mr. puffington threw the paper from him as plummey entered the room. 'how do you know?' asked mr. puffington. 'saw it, sir--saw it in the letter-bag going to the post.' 'indeed!' replied mr. puffington. 'mr. spraggon and he did it after they came in from hunting.' 'i thought as much,' replied mr. puffington, in disgust. mr. plummey then related how unsuccessful had been his attempts to get rid of the now most unwelcome guest. mr. puffington listened with attention, determined to get rid of him somehow or other. plummey was instructed to ply sponge well with hints, all of which, however, mr. sponge skilfully parried. so, at last, mr. puffington scrawled a miserable-looking note, explaining how very ill he was, how he regretted being deprived of mr. sponge's agreeable society, but hoping that it would suit mr. sponge to return as soon as he was better and pay the remainder of his visit--a pretty intelligible notice to quit, and one which even the cool mr. sponge was rather at a loss how to parry. he did not like the aspect of affairs. in addition to having to spend the evening by himself, the cook sent him a very moderate dinner, smoked soup, sodden fish, scraggy cutlets, and sour pudding. mr. plummey, too, seemed to have put all the company bottle-ends together for him. this would not do. if sponge could have satisfied himself that his host would not be better in a day or two, he would have thought seriously of leaving; but as he could not bring himself to think that he would not, and, moreover, had no place to go to, had it not been for the concluding portion of mr. puffington's note, he would have made an effort to stay. that, however, put it rather out of his power, especially as it was done so politely, and hinted at a renewal of the visit. mr. sponge spent the evening in cogitating what he should do--thinking what sportsmen had held out the hand of good-fellowship, and hinted at hoping to have the pleasure of seeing him. fyle, fossick, blossomnose, capon, dribble, hook, and others, were all run through his mind, without his thinking it prudent to attempt to fix a volunteer visit upon any of them. many people he knew could pen polite excuses, who yet could not hit them off at the moment, especially in that great arena of hospitality--the hunting-field. he went to bed very much perplexed. chapter xliv wanted--a rich god-papa! 'when one door shuts another opens,' say the saucy servants; and fortune was equally favourable to our friend mr. sponge. though he could not think of any one to whom he could volunteer a visit. dame fortune provided him with an overture from a party who wanted him! but we will introduce his new host, or rather victim. people hunt from various motives--some for the love of the thing--some for show--some for fashion--some for health--some for appetites--some for coffee-housing--some to say they have hunted--some because others hunt. mr. jogglebury crowdey did not hunt from any of these motives, and it would puzzle a conjurer to make out why he hunted; indeed, the members of the different hunts he patronized--for he was one of the run-about, non-subscribing sort--were long in finding out. it was observed that he generally affected countries abounding in large woods, such as stretchaway forest, hazelbury chase, and oakington banks, into which he would dive with the greatest avidity. at first people thought he was a very keen hand, anxious to see a fox handsomely found, if he could not see him handsomely finished, against which latter luxury his figure and activity, or want of activity, were somewhat opposed. indeed, when we say that he went by the name of the woolpack, our readers will be able to imagine the style of man he was: long-headed, short-necked, large-girthed, dumpling-legged little fellow, who, like most fat men, made himself dangerous by compressing a most unreasonable stomach into a circumscribed coat, each particular button of which looked as if it was ready to burst off, and knock out the eye of any one who might have the temerity to ride alongside of him. he was a puffy, wheezy, sententious little fellow, who accompanied his parables with a snort into a large finely plaited shirt-frill, reaching nearly up to his nose. his hunting-costume consisted of a black coat and waistcoat, with white moleskin breeches, much cracked and darned about the knees and other parts, as nether garments made of that treacherous stuff often are. his shapeless tops, made regardless of the refinements of 'right and left,' dangled at his horse's sides like a couple of stable-buckets; and he carried his heavy iron hammer-headed whip over his shoulder like a flail. but we are drawing his portrait instead of saying why he hunted. well, then, having married mrs. springwheat's sister, who was always boasting to mrs. crowdey what a loving, doting husband springey was after hunting, mrs. crowdey had induced crowdey to try his hand, and though soon satisfied that he hadn't the slightest taste for the sport, but being a great man for what he called gibbey-sticks, he hunted for the purpose of finding them. as we said before, he generally appeared at large woodlands, into which he would ride with the hounds, plunging through the stiffest clay, and forcing his way through the strongest thickets, making observations all the while of the hazels, and the hollies, and the blackthorns, and, we are sorry to say, sometimes of the young oaks and ashes, that he thought would fashion into curious-handled walking-sticks; and these he would return for at a future day, getting them with as large clubs as possible, which he would cut into the heads of beasts, or birds, or fishes, or men. at the time of which we are writing, he had accumulated a vast quantity--thousands; the garret at the top of his house was quite full, so were most of the closets, while the rafters in the kitchen, and cellars, and out-houses, were crowded with others in a state of _déshabille_. he calculated his stock at immense worth, we don't know how many thousand pounds; and as he cut, and puffed, and wheezed, and modelled, with a volume of buffon, or the picture of some eminent man before him, he chuckled, and thought how well he was providing for his family. he had been at it so long, and argued so stoutly, that mrs. jogglebury crowdey, if not quite convinced of the accuracy of his calculations, nevertheless thought it well to encourage his hunting predilections, inasmuch as it brought him in contact with people he would not otherwise meet, who, she thought, might possibly be useful to their children. accordingly, she got him his breakfast betimes on hunting-mornings, charged his pockets with currant-buns, and saw to the mending of his moleskins when he came home, after any of those casualties that occur as well in the chase as in gibbey-stick hunting. a stranger being a marked man in a rural country, mr. sponge excited more curiosity in mr. jogglebury crowdey's mind than mr. jogglebury crowdey did in mr. sponge's. in truth, jogglebury was one of those unsportsmanlike beings, that a regular fox-hunter would think it waste of words to inquire about, and if mr. sponge saw him, he did not recollect him; while, on the other hand, mr. jogglebury crowdey went home very full of our friend. now, mrs. jogglebury crowdey was a fine, bustling, managing woman, with a large family, for whom she exerted all her energies to procure desirable god-papas and mammas; and, no sooner did she hear of this newcomer, than she longed to appropriate him for god-papa to their youngest son. 'jog, my dear,' said she, to her spouse, as they sat at tea; 'it would be well to look after him.' 'what for, my dear?' asked jog, who was staring a stick, with a half-finished head of lord brougham for a handle, out of countenance. 'what for, jog? why, can't you guess?' 'no,' replied jog doggedly. 'no!' ejaculated his spouse. 'why, jog, you certainly are the stupidest man in existence.' 'not necessarily!' replied jog, with a jerk of his head and a puff into his shirt-frill that set it all in a flutter. 'not necessarily!' replied mrs. jogglebury, who was what they call a 'spirited woman,' in the same rising tone as before. 'not necessarily! but i say necessarily--yes, necessarily. do you hear me, mr. jogglebury?' 'i hear you,' replied jogglebury scornfully, with another jerk, and another puff into the frill. the two then sat silent for some minutes, jogglebury still contemplating the progressing head of lord brougham, and recalling the eye and features that some five-and-twenty years before had nearly withered him in a breach of promise action, 'smiler _v_. jogglebury,'[ ] that being our friend's name before his uncle crowdey left him his property. [illustration] mrs. jogglebury having an object in view, and knowing that, though jogglebury might lead, he would not drive, availed herself of the lull to trim her sail, to try and catch him on the other tack. 'well, mr. jogglebury crowdey,' said she, in a passive tone of regret, 'i certainly thought however indifferent you might be to me' (and here she applied her handkerchief--rather a coarse one--to her eyes) 'that still you had some regard for the interests of your (sob) children'; and here the waterfalls of her beady black eyes went off in a gush. 'well, my dear,' replied jogglebury, softened, 'i'm (puff) sure i'm (wheeze) anxious for my (puff) children. you don't s'pose if i wasn't (puff), i'd (wheeze) labour as i (puff--wheeze) do to leave them fortins?'--alluding to his exertions in the gibbey-stick line. 'oh, jog, i dare say you're very good and very industrious,' sobbed mrs. jogglebury, 'but i sometimes (sob) think that you might apply your (sob) energies to a better (sob) purpose.' 'indeed, my dear (puff), i don't see that (wheeze),' replied jogglebury, mildly. 'why, now, if you were to try and get this rich mr. sponge for a god-papa for gustavus james,' continued she, drying her eyes as she came to the point, '_that_, i should say, would be worthy of you.' 'but, my (puff) dear,' replied jogglebury, 'i don't know mr. (wheeze) sponge, to begin with.' 'that's nothing,' replied mrs. jogglebury; 'he's a stranger, and you should call upon him.' mr. jogglebury sat silent, still staring at lord brougham, thinking how he pitched into him, and how sick he was when the jury, without retiring from the box, gave five hundred pounds damages against him. 'he's a fox-hunter, too,' continued his wife; 'and you ought to be civil to him.' 'well, but, my (puff) dear, he's as likely to (wheeze) these fifty years as any (puff, wheeze) man i ever looked at,' replied jogglebury. 'oh, nonsense,' replied mrs. jogglebury; 'there's no saying when a fox-hunter may break his neck. my word! but mrs. slooman tells me pretty stories of sloo's doings with the harriers--jumping over hurdles, and everything that comes in the way, and galloping along the stony lanes as if the wind was a snail compared to his horse. i tell you. jog, you should call on this gentleman--' 'well,' replied mr. jogglebury. 'and ask him to come and stay here,' continued mrs. jogglebury. 'perhaps he mightn't like it (puff),' replied jogglebury. 'i don't know that we could (puff) entertain him as he's (wheeze) accustomed to be,' added he. 'oh, nonsense,' replied mrs. jogglebury; 'we can entertain him well enough. you always say fox-hunters are not ceremonious. i tell you what, jog, you don't think half enough of yourself. you are far too easily set aside. my word! but i know some people who would give themselves pretty airs if their husband was chairman of a board of guardians, and trustee of i don't know how many of her majesty's turnpike roads,' mrs. jog here thinking of her sister mrs. springwheat, who, she used to say, had married a mere farmer. 'i tell you, jog, you're far too humble, you don't think half enough of yourself.' 'well, but, my (puff) dear, you don't (puff) consider that all people ain't (puff) fond of (wheeze) children,' observed jogglebury, after a pause. 'indeed, i've (puff) observed that some (wheeze) don't like them.' 'oh, but those will be nasty little brats, like mrs. james wakenshaw's, or mrs. tom cheek's. but such children as ours! such charmers! such delights! there isn't a man in the county, from the lord-lieutenant downwards, who wouldn't be proud--who wouldn't think it a compliment--to be asked to be god-papa to such children. i tell you what, mr. jogglebury crowdey, it would be far better to get them rich god-papas and god-mammas than to leave them a whole house full of sticks.' 'well, but, my (puff) dear, the (wheeze) sticks will prove very (wheeze) hereafter,' replied jogglebury, bridling up at the imputation on his hobby. 'i _hope_ so,' replied mrs. jogglebury, in a tone of incredulity. 'well, but, my (puff) dear, i (wheeze) you that they will be--indeed (puff), i may (wheeze) say that they (puff) are. it was only the other (puff) day that (wheeze) patrick o'fogo offered me five-and-twenty (wheeze) shillings for my (puff) blackthorn daniel o'connell, which is by no means so (puff) good as the (wheeze) wild-cherry one, or, indeed (puff), as the yew-tree one that i (wheeze) out of spankerley park.' 'i'd have taken it if i'd been you,' observed mrs. jogglebury. 'but he's (puff) worth far more,' retorted jogglebury angrily; 'why (wheeze) lumpleg offered me as much for disraeli.' 'well, i'd have taken it, too,' rejoined mrs. jogglebury. 'but i should have (wheeze) spoilt my (puff) set,' replied the gibbey-stick man. 's'pose any (wheeze) body was to (puff) offer me five guineas a (puff) piece for the (puff) pick of my (puff) collection--my (puff) wellingtons, my (wheeze) napoleons, my (puff) byrons, my (wheeze) walter scotts, my (puff) lord johns, d'ye think i'd take it?' 'i should hope so,' replied mrs. jogglebury. 'i should (puff) do no such thing,' snorted her husband into his frill. 'i should hope,' continued he, speaking slowly and solemnly, 'that a (puff) wise ministry will purchase the whole (puff) collection for a (wheeze) grateful nation, when the (wheeze)' something 'is no more (wheeze).' the concluding words being lost in the emotion of the speaker (as the reporters say). 'well, but will you go and call on mr. sponge, dear?' asked mrs. jogglebury crowdey, anxious as well to turn the subject as to make good her original point. 'well, my dear, i've no objection,' replied joggle, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye with his coat-cuff. 'that's a good soul!' exclaimed mrs. jogglebury soothingly. 'go to-morrow, like a nice, sensible man.' 'very well,' replied her now complacent spouse. 'and ask him to come here,' continued she. 'i can't (puff) ask him to (puff) come, my dear (wheeze), until he (puff--wheeze) returns my (puff) call.' 'oh, fiddle,' replied his wife, 'you always say fox-hunters never stand upon ceremony; why should you stand upon any with him?' mr. jogglebury was posed, and sat silent. chapter xlv the discomfited diplomatist well, then, as we said before, when one door shuts another opens; and just as mr. puffington's door was closing on poor mr. sponge, who should cast up but our newly introduced friend, mr. jogglebury crowdey. mr. sponge was sitting in solitary state in the fine drawing-room, studying his old friend _mogg_, calculating what he could ride from spur street, leicester square, by short's gardens, and across waterloo bridge, to the elephant and castle for, when the grinding of a vehicle on the gravelled ring attracted his attention. looking out of the window, he saw a horse's head in a faded-red, silk-fronted bridle, with the letters 'j.c.' on the winkers; not 'j.c.' writhing in the elegant contortions of modern science, but 'j.c.' in the good, plain, matter-of-fact characters we have depicted above. 'that'll be the doctor,' said mr. sponge to himself, as he resumed his reading and calculations, amidst a peal of the door-bell, well calculated to arouse the whole house. 'he's a good un to ring!' added he, looking up and wondering when the last lingering tinkle would cease. before the fact was ascertained, there was a hurried tramp of feet past the drawing-room door, and presently the entrance one opened and let in--a rush of wind. 'is mr. sponge at home?' demanded a slow, pompous-speaking, deep-toned voice, evidently from the vehicle. 'yez-ur,' was the immediate answer. 'who can that be?' exclaimed sponge, pocketing his _mogg_. then there was a creaking of springs and a jingling against iron steps, and presently a high-blowing, heavy-stepping body was heard crossing the entrance-hall, while an out-stripping footman announced mr. jogglebury crowdey, leaving the owner to follow his name at his leisure. mrs. jogglebury had insisted on jog putting on his new black frock--a very long coat, fitting like a sack, with the well-filled pockets bagging behind, like a poor man's dinner wallet. in lieu of the shrunk and darned white moleskins, receding in apparent disgust from the dingy tops, he had got his nether man enveloped in a pair of fine cinnamon-coloured tweeds, with broad blue stripes down the sides, and shaped out over the clumsy foot. [illustration: mr. jogglebury introducing himself to mr. sponge] puff, wheeze, puff, he now came waddling and labouring along, hat in hand, hurrying after the servant; puff, wheeze, puff, and he found himself in the room. 'your servant, sir,' said he, sticking himself out behind, and addressing mr. sponge, making a ground sweep with his woolly hat. '_yours_,' said mr. sponge, with a similar bow. 'fine day (puff--wheeze),' observed mr. jogglebury, blowing into his large frill. 'it is,' replied mr. sponge, adding, 'won't you be seated?' 'how's puffington?' gasped our visitor, sousing himself upon one of the rosewood chairs in a way that threatened destruction to the slender fabric. 'oh, he's pretty middling, _i_ should say,' replied sponge, now making up his mind that he was addressing the doctor. 'pretty middlin' (puff),' repeated jogglebury, blowing into his frill; 'pretty middlin' (wheeze); i s'pose that means he's got a (puff) gumboil. my third (wheeze) girl, margaret henrietta has one.' 'do you want to see him?' asked sponge, after a pause, which seemed to indicate that his friend's conversation had come to a period, or full stop. 'no,' replied jogglebury unconcernedly. 'no; i'll leave a (puff) card for him (wheeze),' added he, fumbling in his wallet behind for his card-case. 'my (puff) object is to pay my (wheeze) respects to you,' observed he, drawing a great carved indian case from his pocket, and pulling off the top with a noise like the drawing of a cork. 'much obliged for the compliment,' observed mr. sponge, as jogglebury fumbled and broke his nails in attempting to get a card out. 'do you stay long in this part of the world?' asked he, as at last he succeeded, and commenced tapping the corners of the card on the table. 'i really don't know,' replied mr. sponge, as the particulars of his situation flashed across his mind. could this pudding-headed man be a chap puffington had got to come and sound him, thought he. jogglebury sat silent for a time, examining his feet attentively as if to see they were pairs, and scrutinizing the bags of his cinnamon-coloured trousers. 'i was going to say (hem--cough--hem),' at length observed he, looking up, 'that's to say, i was thinking (hem--wheeze--cough--hem), or rather i should say, mrs. jogglebury crowdey sent me to say--i mean to say,' continued he, stamping one of his ponderous feet against the floor as if to force out his words, 'mrs. jogglebury crowdey and i would be glad--happy, that's to say (hem)--if you would arrange (hem) to (wheeze) pay us a visit (hem).' 'most happy, i'm sure!' exclaimed mr. sponge, jumping at the offer. 'before you go (hem),' continued our visitor, taking up the sentence where sponge had interrupted him; 'i (hem) live about nine miles (hem) from here (hem).' 'are there any hounds in your neighbourhood?' asked mr. sponge. 'oh yes,' replied mr. jogglebury slowly; 'mr. puffington here draws up to greatacre gorse within a few (puff--wheeze) miles--say, three (puff)--of my (wheeze) house; and sir harry scattercash (puff) hunts all the (puff--wheeze) country below, right away down to the (puff--wheeze) sea.' 'well, you're a devilish good fellow!' exclaimed sponge; 'and i'll tell you what, as i'm sure you mean what you say, i'll take you at your word and go at once; and that'll give our friend here time to come round.' 'oh, but (puff--wheeze--gasp),' started mr. jogglebury, the blood rushing to his great yellow, whiskerless cheeks, 'i'm not quite (gasp) sure that mrs. (gasp) jogglebury (puff) crowdey would be (puff--wheeze--gasp) prepared.' 'oh, _hang_ preparation!' interrupted mr. sponge. 'i'll take you as you are. never mind me. i hate being made company of. just treat me like one of yourselves; toad-in-the-hole, dog-in-the-blanket, beef-steaks and oyster-sauce, rabbits and onions--anything; nothing comes amiss to me.' so saying, and while jogglebury sat purple and unable to articulate, mr. sponge applied his hand to the ivory bell-knob and sounded an imposing peal. mr. jogglebury sat wondering what was going to happen, and thinking what a wigging he would get from mrs. j. if he didn't manage to shake off his friend. above all, he recollected that they had nothing but haddocks and hashed mutton for dinner. 'tell leather i want him,' said mr. sponge, in a tone of authority, as the footman answered the summons; then, turning to his guest, as the man was leaving the room, he said, 'won't you take something after your drive--cold meat, glass of sherry, soda-water, bottled porter--anything in that line?' in an ordinary way, jogglebury would have said, 'if you please,' at the sound of the words 'cold meat,' for he was a dead hand at luncheon; but the fix he was in completely took away his appetite, and he sat wheezing and thinking whether to make another effort, or to wait the arrival of leather. presently leather appeared, jean-jacketed and gaitered, smoothing his hair over his forehead, after the manner of the brotherhood. 'leather,' said mr. sponge, in the same tone of importance, 'i'm going to this gentleman's'; for as yet he had not sufficiently mastered the name to be able to venture upon it in the owner's presence. 'leather, i'm going to this gentleman's, and i want you to bring me a horse over in the morning; or stay,' said he, interrupting himself, and, turning to jogglebury, he exclaimed, 'i dare say you could manage to put me up a couple of horses, couldn't you? and then we should be all cosy and jolly together, you know.' ''pon my word,' gasped jogglebury nearly choked by the proposal; ''pon my word, i can hardly (puff) say, i hardly (wheeze) know, but if you'll (puff--wheeze) allow me, i'll tell you what i'll do: i'll (puff--wheeze) home, and see what i can (puff) do in the way of entertainment for (puff--wheeze) man as well as for (puff--wheeze) horse.' 'oh, _thank you_, my dear fellow!' exclaimed sponge, seeing the intended dodge; '_thank you_, my dear fellow!' repeated he; 'but that's giving you too much trouble--_far_ too much trouble!--couldn't think of such a thing--no, indeed, i couldn't. _i'll_ tell you what we'll do--_i'll_ tell you what we'll do. you shall drive me over in that shandrydan-rattle-trap thing of yours'--sponge looking out of the window, as he spoke, at the queer-shaped, jumped-together, lack-lustre-looking vehicle, with a turnover seat behind, now in charge of a pepper-and-salt attired youth, with a shabby hat, looped up by a thin silver cord to an acorn on the crown, and baggy berlin gloves--'and i'll just see what there is in the way of stabling; and if i think it will do, then i'll give a boy sixpence or a shilling to come over to leather, here,' jerking his head towards his factotum; 'if it won't do, why then--' 'we shall want _three_ stalls, sir--recollect, sir, 'interrupted leather, who did not wish to move his quarters. 'true, i forgot,' replied sponge, with a frown at his servant's officiousness; 'however, if we can get two good stalls for the hunters,' said he, 'we'll manage the hack somehow or other.' 'well,' replied mr. leather, in a tone of resignation, knowing how hopeless it was arguing with his master. 'i really think,' gasped mr. jogglebury crowdey, encouraged by the apparent sympathy of the servant to make a last effort, 'i really think,' repeated he, as the hashed mutton and haddocks again flashed across his mind, 'that my (puff--wheeze) plan is the (puff) best; let me (puff--wheeze) home and see how all (puff--wheeze) things are, and then i'll write you a (puff--wheeze) line, or send a (puff--wheeze) servant over.' 'oh no,' replied mr. sponge, 'oh no--that's far too much trouble. i'll just go over with you now and reconnoitre.' 'i'm afraid mrs. (puff--wheeze) crowdey will hardly be prepared for (puff--wheeze) visitors,' ejaculated our friend, recollecting it was washing-day, and that mary ann would be wanted in the laundry. 'don't mention it!' exclaimed mr. sponge; 'don't mention it. i hate to be made company of. just give me what you have yourselves--just give me what you have yourselves. where two can dine, three can dine, you know.' mr. jogglebury crowdey was nonplussed. 'well, now,' said mr. sponge, turning again to leather; 'just go upstairs and help me to pack up my things; and,' addressing himself to our visitor, he said, 'perhaps you'll amuse yourself with the paper--the _post_--or i'll lend you my _mogg_,' continued he, offering the little gilt-lettered, purple-backed volume as he spoke. 'thank'ee,' replied mr. jogglebury, who was still tapping away at the card, which he had now worked very soft. mr. sponge then left him with the volume in his hand, and proceeded upstairs to his bedroom. in less than twenty minutes, the vehicle was got under way, mr. jogglebury crowdey and mr. sponge occupying the roomy seats in front, and bartholomew badger, the before-mentioned tiger, and mr. sponge's portmanteau and carpet-bag, being in the very diminutive turnover seat behind. the carriage was followed by the straining eyes of sundry johns and janes, who unanimously agreed that mr. sponge was the meanest, shabbiest gent they had ever had in _their_ house. mr. leather was, therefore, roasted in the servants' hall, where the sins of the masters are oft visited upon the servants. but to our travellers. little conversation passed between our friends for the first few miles, for, in addition to the road being rough, the driving-seat was so high, and the other so low, that mr. jogglebury crowdey's parables broke against mr. sponge's hat-crown, instead of dropping into his ear; besides which, the unwilling host's mind was a good deal occupied with wishing that there had been three haddocks instead of two, and speculating whether mrs. crowdey would be more pleased at the success of his mission, or put out of her way by mr. sponge's unexpected coming. above all, he had marked some very promising-looking sticks--two blackthorns and a holly--to cut on his way home, and he was intent on not missing them. so sudden was the jerk that announced his coming on the first one, as nearly to throw the old family horse on his knees, and almost to break mr. sponge's nose against the brass edge of the cocked-up splash-board. ere mr. sponge recovered his equilibrium, the whip was in the case, the reins dangling about the old screw's heels, and mr. crowdey scrambling up a steep bank to where a very thick boundary-hedge shut out the view of the adjacent country. presently, chop, chop, chop, was heard, from mr. crowdey's pocket axe, with a tug--wheeze--puff from himself; next a crash of separation; and then the purple-faced mr. crowdey came bearing down the bank dragging a great blackthorn bush after him. 'what have you got there?' inquired mr. sponge, with surprise. 'got! (wheeze--puff--wheeze),' replied mr. crowdey, pulling up short, and mopping his perspiring brow with a great claret-coloured bandana. 'got! i've (puff--wheeze) got what i (wheeze) think will (puff) into a most elaborate and (wheeze) valuable walking-stick. this i (puff) think,' continued he, eyeing the great ball with which he had got it up, 'will (wheeze) come in most valuably (puff) for my great (puff--wheeze--gasp) national undertaking--the (puff) kings and (wheeze) queens of great britain (gasp).' 'what are _they_?' asked mr. sponge, astonished at his vehemence. 'oh! (puff--wheeze--gasp) haven't you heard?' exclaimed mr. jogglebury, taking off his great woolly hat, and giving his lank, dark hair, streaked with grey, a sweep round his low forehead with the bandana. 'oh! (puff--gasp) haven't you heard?' repeated he, getting a little more breath. 'i'm (wheeze) undertaking a series of (gasp) sticks, representing--(gasp)--immortalizing, i may say (puff), all the (wheeze) crowned heads of england (puff).' 'indeed!' replied mr. sponge. 'they'll be a most valuable collection (wheeze--puff),' continued mr. jogglebury, still eyeing the knob. 'this,' added he, 'shall be william the fourth.' he then commenced lopping and docking the sides, making bartholomew badger bury them in a sand-pit hard by, observing, in a confidential wheeze to mr. sponge, 'that he had once been county-courted for a similar trespass before.' the top and lop being at length disposed of, mr. crowdey, grasping the club-end, struck the other forcibly against the ground, exclaiming, 'there!--there's a (puff) stick! who knows what that (puff--wheeze) stick may be worth some day?' he then bundled into his carriage and drove on. two more stoppages marked their arrival at the other sticks, which being duly captured and fastened within the straps of the carriage-apron, mr. crowdey drove on somewhat more at ease in his mind, at all events somewhat comforted at the thoughts of having increased his wealth. he did not become talkative--indeed that was not his forte, but he puffed into his shirt-frill, and made a few observations, which, if they did not possess much originality, at all events showed that he was not asleep. 'those are draining-tiles,' said he, after a hearty stare at a cart-load. then about five minutes after he blew again, and said, 'i don't think (puff) that (wheeze) draining without (gasp) manuring will constitute high farming (puff).' so he jolted and wheezed, and jerked and jagged the old quadruped's mouth, occasionally hissing between his teeth, and stamping against the bottom of the carriage, when other persuasive efforts failed to induce it to keep up the semblance of a trot. at last the ill-supported hobble died out into a walk, and mr. crowdey, complacently dropping his fat hand on his fat knees, seemed to resign himself to his fate. so they crawled along the up-and-downy piece of road below poplarton plantations, mr. jogglebury keeping a sharp eye upon the underwood for sticks. after passing these, they commenced the gradual ascent of roundington hill, when a sudden sweep of the road brought them in view of the panorama of the rich vale of butterflower. 'there's a snug-looking box,' observed sponge, as he at length espied a confused jumble of gable-ends and chimney-pots rising from amidst a clump of scotch firs and other trees, looking less like a farmhouse than anything he had seen. 'that's my house (puff); that's puddingpote bower (wheeze),' replied crowdey slowly and pompously, adding an 'e' to the syllable, to make it sound better, the haddocks, hashed mutton, and all the horrors of impromptu hospitality rushing upon his mind. things began to look worse the nearer he got home. he didn't care to aggravate the old animal into a trot. he again wondered whether mrs. j. would be pleased at the success of his mission, or angry at the unexpected coming. 'where are the stables?' asked sponge, as he scanned the in-and-out irregularities of the building. 'stables (wheeze), stables (puff),' repeated crowdey--thinking of his troubles--of its being washing-day, and mary ann, or murry ann, as he called her, the under-butler, being engaged; of bartholomew badger having the horse and fe-_a_-ton to clean, &c.--'stables,' repeated he for the third time; 'stables are at the back, behind, in fact; you'll see a (puff) vane--a (wheeze) fox, on the top.' 'ah, indeed!' replied mr. sponge, brightening up, thinking there would be old hay and corn. they now came to a half-swiss, half-gothic little cottage of a lodge, and the old horse turned instinctively into the open white gate with pea-green bands. 'here's mrs. crow--crow--crowdey!' gasped jogglebury, convulsively, as a tall woman, in flare-up red and yellow stunner tartan, with a swarm of little children, similarly attired, suddenly appeared at an angle of the road, the lady handling a great alpaca umbrella-looking parasol in the stand-and-deliver style. 'what's kept you?' exclaimed she, as the vehicle got within ear-shot. 'what's kept you?' repeated she, in a sharper key, holding her parasol across the road, but taking no notice of our friend sponge, who, in truth, she took for edgebone, the butcher. 'oh! you've been after your sticks, have you?' added she, as her spouse drew the vehicle up alongside of her, and she caught the contents of the apron-straps. 'my dear (puff)' gasped her husband, 'i've brought mr. (wheeze) sponge,' said he, winking his right eye, and jerking his head over his left shoulder, looking very frightened all the time. 'mr. (puff) sponge, mrs. (gasp) jogglebury (wheeze) crowdey,' continued he, motioning with his hand. finding himself in the presence of his handsome hostess, sponge made her one of his best bows, and offered to resign his seat in the carriage to her. this she declined, alleging that she had the children with her--looking round on the grinning, gaping group, the majority of them with their mouths smeared with lollipops. crowdey, who was not so stupid as he looked, was nettled at sponge's attempting to fix his wife upon him at such a critical moment, and immediately retaliated with, 'p'raps (puff) you'd like to (puff) out and (wheeze) walk.' there was no help for this, and sponge having alighted, mr. crowdey said, half to mr. sponge and half to his fine wife, 'then (puff--wheeze) i'll just (puff) on and get mr. (wheeze) sponge's room ready.' so saying, he gave the old nag a hearty jerk with the bit, and two or three longitudinal cuts with the knotty-pointed whip, and jingled away with a bevy of children shouting, hanging on, and dragging behind, amidst exclamations from mrs. crowdey, of 'o anna maria! juliana jane! o frederick james, you naughty boy! you'll spoil your new shoes! archibald john, you'll be kilt! you'll be run over to a certainty. o jogglebury, you inhuman man!' continued she, running and brandishing her alpaca parasol, 'you'll run over your children! you'll run over your children!' 'my (puff) dear,' replied jogglebury, looking coolly over his shoulder,' how can they be (wheeze) run over behind?' [illustration] so saying jogglebury ground away at his leisure. chapter xlvi puddingpote bower, the seat of jogglebury crowdey, esq. 'your good husband,' observed mr. sponge as he now overtook his hostess and proceeded with her towards the house, 'has insisted upon bringing me over to spend a few days till my friend puffington recovers. he's just got the gout. i said i was 'fraid it mightn't be quite convenient to you, but mr. crowdey assured me you were in the habit of receivin' fox-hunters at short notice; and so i have taken him at his word, you see, and come.' mrs. jogglebury, who was still out of wind from her run after the carriage, assured him that she was extremely happy to see him, though she couldn't help thinking what a noodle jog was to bring a stranger on a washing-day. that, however, was a point she would reserve for jog. just then a loud outburst from the children announced the approach of the eighth wonder of the world, in the person of gustavus james in the nurse's arms, with a curly blue feather nodding over his nose. mrs. jogglebury's black eyes brightened with delight as she ran forward to meet him; and in her mind's eye she saw him inheriting a splendid mansion, with a retinue of powdered footmen in pea-green liveries and broad gold-laced hats. great--prospectively great, at least--as had been her successes in the sponsor line with her other children, she really thought, getting mr. sponge for a god-papa for gustavus james eclipsed all her other doings. mr. sponge, having been liberal in his admiration of the other children, of course could not refuse unbounded applause to the evident object of a mother's regards; and, chucking the young gentleman under his double chin, asked him how he was, and said something about something he had in his 'box,' alluding to a paper of cheap comfits he had bought at sugarchalk's, the confectioner's, sale in oxford street, and which he carried about for contingencies like the present. this pleased mrs. crowdey--looking, as she thought, as if he had come predetermined to do what she wanted. amidst praises and stories of the prodigy, they reached the house. if a 'hall' means a house with an entrance-'hall,' puddingpote bower did not aspire to be one. a visitor dived, _in medias res_, into the passage at once. in it stood an oak-cased family clock, and a large glass-case, with an alarming-looking, stuffed tiger-like cat, on an imitation marble slab. underneath the slab, indeed all about the passage, were scattered children's hats and caps, hoops, tops, spades, and mutilated toys--spotted horses without heads, soldiers without arms, windmills without sails, and wheelbarrows without wheels. in a corner were a bunch of 'gibbeys' in the rough, and alongside the weather-glass hung jog's formidable flail of a hunting-whip. mr. sponge found his portmanteau standing bolt upright in the passage, with the bag alongside of it, just as they had been chucked out of the phaeton by bartholomew badger, who, having got orders to put the horse right, and then to put himself right to wait at dinner, mr. jogglebury proceeded to vociferate: 'murry ann!--murry ann!' in such a way that mary ann thought either that the cat had got young crowdey, or the house was on fire. 'oh! murry ann!' exclaimed mr. jogglebury, as she came darting into the passage from the back settlements, up to the elbows in soap-suds; 'i want you to (puff) upstairs with me, and help to get my (wheeze) gibbey-sticks out of the best room; there's a (puff) gentleman coming to (wheeze) here.' 'oh, indeed, sir,' replied mary ann, smiling, and dropping down her sleeves--glad to find it was no worse. they then proceeded upstairs together. all the gibbey-sticks were bundled out, both the finished ones, that were varnished and laid away carefully in the wardrobe, and those that were undergoing surgical treatment, in the way of twistings, and bendings, and tyings in the closets. as they routed them out of hole and corner, jogglebury kept up a sort of running recommendation to mercy, mingled with an inquiry into the state of the household affairs. 'now (puff), murry ann!' exclaimed he; 'take care you don't scratch that (puff) franky burdett,' handing her a highly varnished oak stick, with the head of sir francis for a handle; 'and how many (gasp) haddocks d'ye say there are in the house?' 'three, sir,' replied mary ann. 'three!' repeated he, with an emphasis. 'i thought your (gasp) missus told me there were but (puff) two; and, murry ann, you must put the new (puff) quilt on the (gasp) bed, and (puff) just look under it (gasp) and you'll find the (puff) old truro rolled up in a dirty (puff) pocket hankercher; and, murry ann, d'ye think the new (wheeze) purtaters came that i bought of (puff) billy bloxom? if so, you'd better (puff) some for dinner, and get the best (wheeze) decanters out; and, murry ann, there are two gibbeys on the (puff) surbase at the back of the bed, which you may as well (puff) away. ah! here he is,' added mr. jogglebury, as mr. sponge's voice rose now from the passage into the room above. things now looked pretty promising. mr. sponge's attentions to the children generally, and to gustavus james in particular, coupled with his free-and-easy mode of introducing himself, made mrs. crowdey feel far more at her ease with regard to entertaining him than she would have done if her neighbour, mr. makepeace, or the rev. mr. facey himself, had dropped in to take 'pot luck,' as they called it. with either of these she would have wished to appear as if their every-day form was more in accordance with their company style, whereas jog and she wanted to get something out of mr. sponge, instead of electrifying him with their grandeur. that gustavus james was destined for greatness she had not the least doubt. she began to think whether it might not be advisable to call him gustavus james sponge. jog, too, was comforted at hearing there were three haddocks, for though hospitably inclined, he did not at all like the idea of being on short commons himself. he had sufficient confidence in mrs. jogglebury's management--especially as the guest was of her own seeking--to know that she would make up a tolerable dinner. [illustration] nor was he out of his reckoning, for at half-past five bartholomew announced dinner, when in sailed mrs. crowdey fresh from the composition of it and from the becoming revision of her own dress. instead of the loose, flowing, gipsified, stunner tartan of the morning, she was attired in a close-fitting french grey silk, showing as well the fulness and whiteness of her exquisite bust, as the beautiful formation of her arms. her raven hair was ably parted and flattened on either side of her well-shaped head. sponge felt proud of the honour of having such a fine creature on his arm, and kicked about in his tights more than usual. the dinner, though it might show symptoms of hurry, was yet plentiful and good of its kind; and if bartholomew had not been always getting in murry ann's way, would have been well set on and served. jog quaffed quantities of foaming bottled porter during the progress of it, and threw himself back in his chair at the end, as if thoroughly overcome with his exertions. scarcely were the wine and dessert set on, ere a violent outbreak in the nursery caused mrs. crowdey to hurry away, leaving mr. sponge to enjoy the company of her husband. 'you'll drink (puff) fox-hunting, i s'pose,' observed jog after a pause, helping himself to a bumper of port and passing the bottle to sponge. 'with all my heart,' replied our hero, filling up. 'fine (puff, wheeze) amusement,' observed mr. crowdey, with a yawn after another pause, and beating the devil's tattoo upon the table to keep himself awake. 'very,' replied mr. sponge, wondering how such a thick-winded chap as jog managed to partake of it. 'fine (puff, wheeze) appetizer,' observed jogglebury, after another pause. 'it is,' replied mr. sponge. presently jog began to snore, and as the increasing melody of his nose gave little hopes of returning animation, mr. sponge had recourse to his old friend _mogg_ and amidst speculations as to time and distances, managed to finish the port. we will now pass to the next morning. whatever deficiency there might be at dinner was amply atoned for at breakfast, which was both good and abundant; bread and cake of all sorts, eggs, muffins, toast, honey, jellies, and preserves without end. on the side-table was a dish of hot kidneys and a magnificent red home-fed ham. but a greater treat far, as mrs. jogglebury thought, was in the guests set around. there were arranged all her tulips in succession, beginning with that greatest of all wonders, gustavus james, and running on with anna maria, frederick john, juliana jane, margaret henrietta, sarah amelia, down to peter william, the heir, who sat next his pa. these formed a close line on the side of the table opposite the fire, that side being left for mr. sponge. all the children had clean pinafores on, and their hairs plastered according to nursery regulation. mr. sponge's appearance was a signal for silence, and they all sat staring at him in mute astonishment. baby, gustavus james, did more; for after reconnoitring him through a sort of lattice window formed of his fingers, he whined out, 'who's that ogl-e-y man, ma?' amidst the titter of the rest of the line. 'hush! my dear,' exclaimed mrs. crowdey, hoping mr. sponge hadn't heard. but gustavus james was not to be put down, and he renewed the charge as his mamma began pouring out the tea. 'send that ogl-e-y man away, ma!' whined he, in a louder tone, at which all the children burst out a-laughing. 'baby (puff), gustavus! (wheeze),' exclaimed jog, knocking with the handle of his knife against the table, and frowning at the prodigy. 'well, pa, he _is_ a ogl-e-y man,' replied the child, amid the ill-suppressed laughter of the rest. 'ah, but what have _i_ got!' exclaimed mr. sponge, producing a gaudily done-up paper of comfits from his pocket, opening and distributing the unwholesome contents along the line, stopping the orator's mouth first with a great, red-daubed, almond comfit. breakfast was then proceeded with without further difficulty. as it drew to a close, and mr. sponge began nibbling at the sweets instead of continuing his attack on the solids, mrs. jogglebury began eyeing and telegraphing her husband. 'jog, my dear,' said she, looking significantly at him, and then at the egg-stand, which still contained three eggs. 'well, my dear,' replied jog, with a vacant stare, pretending not to understand. 'you'd better eat them,' said she, looking again at the eggs. 'i've (puff) breakfasted, my (wheeze) dear,' replied jog pompously, wiping his mouth on his claret-coloured bandana. 'they'll be wasted if you don't,' replied mrs. jog. 'well, but they'll be wasted if i eat them without (wheeze) wanting them,' rejoined he. 'nonsense, jog, you always say that,' retorted his wife. 'nonsense (puff), nonsense (wheeze), i say they _will_.' 'i say they _won't_!' replied mrs. jog; 'now will they, mr. sponge?' continued she, appealing to our friend. 'why, no, not so much as if they went out,' replied our friend, thinking mrs. jog was the one to side with. 'then you'd better (puff, wheeze, gasp) eat them between you,' replied jog, getting up and strutting out of the room. presently he appeared in front of the house, crowned in a pea-green wide-awake, with a half-finished gibbey in his hand; and as mr. sponge did not want to offend him, and moreover wanted to get his horses billeted on him, he presently made an excuse for joining him. although his horses were standing 'free gratis,' as he called it, at mr. puffington's, and though he would have thought nothing of making mr. leather come over with one each hunting morning, still he felt that if the hounds were much on the other side of puddingpote bower, it would not be so convenient as having them there. despite the egg controversy, he thought a judicious application of soft sawder might accomplish what he wanted. at all events, he would try. jog had brought himself short up, and was standing glowering with his hands in his coat-pockets, as if he had never seen the place before. 'pretty look-out you have here, mr. jogglebury,' observed mr. sponge, joining him. 'very,' replied jog, still cogitating the egg question, and thinking he wouldn't have so many boiled the next day. 'all yours?' asked sponge, waving his hand as he spoke. 'my (puff) ter-ri-tory goes up to those (wheeze) firs in the grass-field on the hill,' replied jogglebury, pompously. 'indeed,' said mr. sponge, 'they are fine trees'; thinking what a finish they would make for a steeple-chase. 'my (puff) uncle, crowdey, planted those (wheeze) trees,' observed jog. 'i observe,' added he, 'that it is easier to cut down a (puff) tree than to make it (wheeze) again.' 'i believe you're right,' replied mr. sponge; 'that idea has struck me very often.' 'has it?' replied jog, puffing voluminously into his frill. they then advanced a few paces, and, leaning on the iron hurdles, commenced staring at the cows. 'where are the stables?' at last asked sponge, seeing no inclination to move on the part of his host. 'stables (wheeze)--stables (puff),' replied jogglebury, recollecting sponge's previous day's proposal--'stables (wheeze) are behind,' said he, 'at the back there (puff); nothin' to see at them (wheeze).' 'there'll be the horse you drove yesterday; won't you go to see how he is?' asked mr. sponge. 'oh, sure to be well (puff); never nothing the matter with him (wheeze),' replied jogglebury. 'may as well see,' rejoined mr. sponge, turning up a narrow walk that seemed to lead to the back. jog followed doggedly. he had a good deal of john bull in him, and did not fancy being taken possession of in that sort of way; and thought, moreover, that mr. sponge had not behaved very well in the matter of the egg controversy. the stables certainly were nothing to boast of. they were in an old rubble-stone, red-tiled building, without even the delicacy of a ceiling. nevertheless, there was plenty of room even after jogglebury had cut off one end for a cow-house. 'why, you might hunt the country with all this stabling,' observed mr. sponge, as he entered the low door. 'one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. nine stalls, i declare,' added he, after counting them. 'my (puff) uncle used to (wheeze) a good deal of his own (puff) land,' replied jogglebury. 'ah, well, i'll tell you what: these stables will be much better for being occupied,' observed mr. sponge. 'and i'll tell you what i'll do for you.' 'but they _are_ occupied!' gasped jogglebury, convulsively. 'only half,' replied mr. sponge; 'or a quarter, i may say--not even that, indeed. i'll tell you what i'll do. i'll have my horses over here, and you shall find them in straw in return for the manure, and just charge me for hay and corn at market price, you know. that'll make it all square and fair, and no obligation, you know. i hate obligations,' added he, eyeing jog's disconcerted face. 'oh, but (puff, wheeze, gasp)--' exclaimed jogglebury, reddening up--'i don't (puff) know that i can (gasp) that. i mean (puff) that this (wheeze) stable is all the (gasp) 'commodation i have; and if we had (puff) company, or (gasp) anything of that sort, i don't know where we should (wheeze) their horses,' continued he. 'besides, i don't (puff, wheeze) know about the market price of (gasp) corn. my (wheeze) tenant, tom hayrick, at the (puff) farm on the (wheeze) hill yonder, supplies me with the (puff) quantity i (wheeze) want, and we just (puff, wheeze, gasp) settle once a (puff) half-year, or so.' 'ah, i see,' replied mr. sponge; 'you mean to say you wouldn't know how to strike the average so as to say what i ought to pay.' 'just so,' rejoined mr. jogglebury, jumping at the idea. 'ah, well,' said mr. sponge, in a tone of indifference; 'it's no great odds--it's no great odds--more the name of the thing than anything else; one likes to be independent, you know--one likes to be independent; but as i shan't be with you long, i'll just put up with it for once--i'll just put up with it for once--and let you find me--and let you find me.' so saying, he walked away, leaving jogglebury petrified at his impudence. 'that husband of yours is a monstrous good fellow,' observed mr. sponge to mrs. jogglebury, who he now met coming out with her tail: 'he _will_ insist on my having my horses over here--most liberal, handsome thing of him, i'm sure; and that reminds me, can you manage to put up my servant?' 'i dare say we can,' replied mrs. jogglebury thoughtfully. 'he's not a very fine gentleman, is he?' asked she, knowing that servants were often more difficult to please than their masters. 'oh, not at all,' replied sponge; 'not at all--wouldn't suit me if he was--wouldn't suit me if he was.' just then up waddled jogglebury, puffing and wheezing like a stranded grampus; the idea having just struck him that he might get off on the plea of not having room for the servant. 'it's very unfortunate (wheeze)--that's to say, it never occurred to me (puff), but i quite forgot (gasp) that we haven't (wheeze) room for your (puff) servant.' 'ah, you are a good fellow,' replied mr. sponge--'a devilish good fellow. i was just telling mrs. jogglebury--wasn't i, mrs. jogglebury?--what an excellent fellow you are, and how kind you'd been about the horses and corn, and all that sort of thing, when it occurred to me that it mightn't be convenient, p'raps to put up a servant; but your wife assures me that it will; so that settles the matter, you know--that settles the matter and i'll now send for the horses forthwith.' jog was utterly disconcerted, and didn't know which way to turn for an excuse. mrs. jogglebury, though she would rather have been without the establishment, did not like to peril gustavus james's prospects by appearing displeased; so she smilingly said she would see and do what they could. mr. sponge then procured a messenger to take a note to hanby house, for mr. leather, and having written it, amused himself for a time with his cigars and his _mogg_ in his bedroom, and then turned out to see the stable got ready, and pick up any information about the hounds, or anything else, from anybody he could lay hold of. as luck would have it, he fell in with a groom travelling a horse to hunt with sir harry scattercash's hounds, which, he said, met at snobston green, some eight or nine miles off, the next day, and whither mr. sponge decided on going. mr. jogglebury's equanimity returning at dinner time, mr. sponge was persuasive enough to induce him to accompany him, and it was finally arranged that leather should go on with the horses, and jog should drive sponge to cover in the phe-_a_-ton. chapter xlvii a family breakfast on a hunting morning [illustration] mrs. jogglebury crowdey was a good deal disconcerted at gustavus james's irreverence to his intended god-papa, and did her best, both by promises and entreaties, to bring him to a more becoming state of mind. she promised him abundance of good things if he would astonish mr. sponge with some of his wonderful stories, and expatiated on mr. sponge's goodness in bringing him the nice comfits, though mrs. jogglebury could not but in her heart blame them for some little internal inconvenience the wonder had experienced during the night. however, she brought him to breakfast in pretty good form, where he was cocked up in his high chair beside his mamma, the rest of the infantry occupying the position of the previous day, all under good-behaviour orders. unfortunately, mr. sponge, not having been able to get himself up to his satisfaction, was late in coming down; and when he did make his appearance, the unusual sight of a man in a red coat, a green tie, a blue vest, brown boots, &c., completely upset their propriety, and deranged the order of the young gentleman's performance. mr. sponge, too, conscious that he was late, was more eager for his breakfast than anxious to be astonished; so, what with repressing the demands of the youngster, watching that the others did not break loose, and getting jog and mr. sponge what they wanted, mrs. crowdey had her hands full. at last, having got them set a-going, she took a lump of sugar out of the basin, and showing it to the wonder, laid it beside her plate, whispering 'now, my beauty!' into his ear, as she adjusted him in his chair. the child, who had been wound up like a musical snuff-box, then went off as follows: 'bah, bah, back sheep, have 'ou any 'ool? ess, marry, have i, three bags full; un for ye master, un for ye dame, un for ye 'ittle boy 'ot 'uns about ye 'are.' but unfortunately, mr. sponge was busy with his breakfast, and the prodigy wasted his sweetness on the desert air. mrs. jogglebury, who had sat listening in ecstasies, saw the offended eye and pouting lip of the boy, and attempted to make up with exclamations of 'that _is_ a clever fellow! that _is_ a wonder!' at the same time showing him the sugar. 'a little more (puff) tea, my (wheeze) dear,' said jogglebury, thrusting his great cup up the table. 'hush! jog, hush!' exclaimed mrs. crowdey, holding up her forefinger, and looking significantly first at him, and then at the urchin. 'now, "obin and ichard," my darling,' continued she, addressing herself coaxingly to gustavus james. 'no, _not_ "obin and ichard,"' replied the child peevishly. 'yes, my darling, _do_, that's a treasure.' 'well, _my_ (puff) darling, give me some (wheeze) tea,' interposed jogglebury, knocking with his knuckles on the table. 'oh dear. jog, you and your tea!--you're always wanting tea,' replied mrs. jogglebury snappishly. 'well, but, my (puff) dear, you forget that mr. (wheeze) sponge and i have to be at (puff) snobston green at a (wheeze) quarter to eleven, and it's good twelve (gasp) miles off.' 'well, but it'll not take you long to get there,' replied mrs. jogglebury; 'will it, mr. sponge?' continued she, again appealing to our friend. 'sure i don't know,' replied sponge, eating away; 'mr. crowdey finds conveyance--i only find company.' mrs. jogglebury crowdey then prepared to pour her husband out another cup of tea, and the musical snuff-box, being now left to itself, went off of its own accord with: 'diddle, diddle, doubt, my candle's out. my 'ittle dame's not at 'ome-- so saddle my hog, and bridle my dog' and bring my 'ittle dame 'ome.' a poem that in the original programme was intended to come in after 'obin and ichard,' which was to be the _chef-d'oeuvre_. mrs. jog was delighted, and found herself pouring the tea into the sugar-basin instead of into jog's cup. mr. sponge, too, applauded. 'well, that _was_ very clever,' said he, filling his mouth with cold ham. '"saddle my dog, and bridle my hog"--i'll trouble you for another cup of tea,' addressing mrs. crowdey. 'no, not "saddle my dog," sil-l-e-y man!' drawled the child, making a pet lip: '"saddle my _hog_."' 'oh! "saddle my hog," was it?' replied mr. sponge, with apparent surprise; 'i thought it was "saddle my dog." i'll trouble you for the sugar, mrs. jogglebury'; adding, 'you have devilish good cream here; how many cows have you?' 'cows (puff), cows (wheeze)?' replied jogglebury; 'how many cows?' repeated he. 'oh, _two_,' replied mrs. jogglebury tartly, vexed at the interruption. 'pardon me (puff),' replied jogglebury slowly and solemnly, with a full blow into his frill; 'pardon me, mrs. (puff) jogglebury (wheeze) crowdey, but there are _three_ (wheeze).' 'not in milk. jog--not in milk,' retorted mrs. crowdey. 'three cows, mrs. (puff) jogglebury (wheeze) crowdey, notwithstanding,' rejoined our host. 'well; but when people talk of cream, and ask how many cows you have, they mean in milk, _mister_ jogglebury crowdey.' 'not necessarily. mistress jogglebury crowdey,' replied the pertinacious jog, with another heavy snort. 'ah, now you're coming your fine poor-law guardian knowledge,' rejoined his wife. jog was chairman of the stir-it-stiff union. while this was going on, young hopeful was sitting cocked up in his high chair, evidently mortified at the want of attention. mrs. crowdey saw how things were going, and turning from the cow question, endeavoured to re-engage him in his recitations. 'now, my angel!' exclaimed she, again showing him the sugar; 'tell us about "obin and ichard."' 'no--not "obin and ichard,"' pouted the child. 'oh yes, my sweet, _do_, that's a good child; the gentleman in the pretty coat, who gives baby the nice things, wants to hear it.' 'come, out with it, young man!' exclaimed mr. sponge, now putting a large piece of cold beef into his mouth. 'not a 'ung man,' muttered the child, bursting out a-crying, and extending his little fat arms to his mamma. 'no, my angel, not a 'ung man yet,' replied mrs. jogglebury, taking him out of the chair, and hugging him to her bosom. 'he'll be a man before his mother for all that,' observed mr. sponge, nothing disconcerted by the noise. jog had now finished his breakfast, and having pocketed three buns and two pieces of toast, with a thick layer of cold ham between them, looked at his great warming-pan of a watch, and said to his guest, 'when you're (wheeze), i'm (puff).' so saying he got up, and gave his great legs one or two convulsive shakes, as if to see that they were on. mrs. jogglebury looked reproachfully at him, as much as to say, 'how _can_ you behave so?' mr. sponge, as he eyed jog's ill-made, queerly put on garments, wished that he had not desired leather to go to the meet. it would have been better to have got the horses a little way off, and have shirked jog, who did not look like a desirable introducer to a hunting field. 'i'll be with you directly,' replied mr. sponge, gulping down the remains of his tea; adding, 'i've just got to run upstairs and get a cigar.' so saying, he jumped up and disappeared. murry ann, not approving of sponge's smoking in his bedroom, had hid the cigar-case under the toilet cover, at the back of the glass, and it was some time before he found it. mrs. jogglebury availed herself of the lapse of time, and his absence, to pacify her young turk, and try to coax him into reciting the marvellous 'obin and ichard.' as mr. sponge came clanking downstairs with the cigar-case in his hand, she met him (accidentally, of course) at the bottom, with the boy in her arms, and exclaimed, 'o mr. sponge, here's gustavus james wants to tell you a little story.' mr. sponge stopped--inwardly hoping that it would not be a long one. 'now, my darling,' said she, sticking the boy up straight to get him to begin. 'now, then!' exclaimed mr. crowdey, in the true jehu-like style, from the vehicle at the door, in which he had composed himself. 'coming, jog! coming!' replied mrs. crowdey, with a frown on her brow at the untimely interruption; then appealing again to the child, who was nestling in his mother's bosom, as if disinclined to show off, she said, 'now, my darling, let the gentleman hear how nicely you'll say it.' the child still slunk. 'that's a fine fellow, out with it!' said mr. sponge, taking up his hat to be off. 'now, then!' exclaimed his host again. 'coming!' replied mr. sponge. as if to thwart him, the child then began, mrs. jogglebury holding up her forefinger as well in admiration as to keep silence: 'obin and ichard, two pretty men, lay in bed till 'e clock struck ten; up starts obin, and looks at the sky--' and then the brat stopped. 'very beautiful!' exclaimed mr. sponge; 'very beautiful! one of moore's, isn't it? thank you, my little dear, thank you,' added he, chucking him under the chin, and putting on his hat to be off. 'o, but stop, mr. sponge!' exclaimed mrs. jogglebury, 'you haven't heard it all--there's more yet.' then turning to the child, she thus attempted to give him the cue. 'o, ho! bother--' 'now, then! time's hup!' again shouted jogglebury into the passage. 'o dear, mr. jogglebury, will you hold your stoopid tongue!' exclaimed she, adding, 'you certainly are the most tiresome man under the sun.' she then turned to the child with: 'o ho! bother ichard' again. but the child was mute, and mr. sponge fearing, from some indistinct growling that proceeded from the carriage, that a storm was brewing, endeavoured to cut short the entertainment by exclaiming: 'wonderful two-year-old! pity he's not in the darby. dare say he'll tell me the rest when i come back.' but this only added fuel to the fire of mrs. jogglebury's ardour, and made her more anxious that sponge should not lose a word of it. accordingly she gave the fat dumpling another jerk up on her arm, and repeated: 'o ho! bother ichard, the--what's very high?' asked mrs. jogglebury coaxingly. 'sun's very high,' replied the child. 'yes, my darling!' exclaimed the delighted mamma. mrs. jogglebury then proceeded with: 'ou go before--' child.--'with bottle and bag,' mamma.--'and i'll follow after--' child.--'with 'ittle jack nag.' 'well now, that _is_ wonderful!' exclaimed mr. sponge, hurrying on his dog-skin gloves, and wishing both obin and ichard farther. 'isn't it!' exclaimed mrs. jogglebury, in ecstasies; then addressing the child, she said, 'now that _is_ a good boy--that _is_ a fine fellow. now couldn't he say it all over by himself, doesn't he think?' mrs. jogglebury looking at sponge, as if she was meditating the richest possible treat for him. 'oh,' replied mr. sponge, quite tired of the detention, 'he'll tell me it when i return--he'll tell me it when i return,' at the same time giving the child another parting chuck under the chin. but the child was not to be put off in that way, and instead of crouching, and nestling, and hiding its face, it looked up quite boldly, and after a little hesitation went through 'obin and ichard,' to the delight of mrs. jogglebury, the mortification of sponge, and the growling denunciations of old jog, who still kept his place in the vehicle. mr. sponge could not but stay the poem out. at last they got started, jog driving. sponge occupying the low seat, jog's flail and sponge's cane whip-stick stuck in the straps of the apron. jog was very crusty at first, and did little but whip and flog the old horse, and puff and growl about being late, keeping people waiting, over-driving the horse, and so on. 'have a cigar?' at last asked sponge, opening the well-filled case, and tendering that olive branch to his companion. 'cigar (wheeze), cigar (puff)?' replied jog, eyeing the case; 'why, no, p'raps not, i think (wheeze), thank'e.' 'do you never smoke?' asked sponge. '(puff--wheeze) not often,' replied jogglebury, looking about him with an air of indifference. he did not like to say no, because springwheat smoked, though mrs. springey highly disapproved of it. 'you'll find them very mild,' observed sponge, taking one out for himself, and again tendering the case to his friend. 'mild (wheeze), mild (puff), are they?' said jog, thinking he would try one. mr. sponge then struck a light, and, getting his own cigar well under way, lit one for his friend, and presented it to him. they then went puffing, and whipping, and smoking in silence. jog spoke first. 'i'm going to be (puff) sick,' observed he, slowly and solemnly. 'hope not,' replied mr. sponge, with a hearty whiff, up into the air. 'i _am_ going to be (puff) sick,' observed jog, after another pause. 'be sick on your own side, then,' replied sponge, with another hearty whiff. 'by the (puff) powers! i _am_ (puff) sick!' exclaimed jogglebury, after another pause, and throwing away the cigar. 'oh, dear!' exclaimed he, 'you shouldn't have given me that nasty (puff) thing.' 'my dear fellow, i didn't know it would make you sick,' replied mr. sponge. 'well, but (puff) if they (wheeze) other people sick, in all (puff) probability they'll (wheeze) me. there!' exclaimed he, pulling up again. the delays occasioned by these catastrophes, together with the time lost by 'obin and ichard,' threw our sportsmen out considerably. when they reached chalkerley gate it wanted ten minutes to eleven, and they had still three miles to go. 'we shall be late,' observed sponge inwardly denouncing 'obin and ichard.' 'shouldn't wonder,' replied jog, adding, with a puff into his frill, 'consequences of making me sick, you see.' 'my dear fellow, if you don't know your own stomach by this time, you did ought to do,' replied mr. sponge. 'i (puff) flatter myself i _do_ (wheeze) my own stomach,' replied jogglebury tartly. they then rumbled on for some time in silence. when they came within sight of snobston green, the coast was clear. not a red coat, or hunting indication of any sort, was to be seen. 'i told you so (puff)!' growled jog, blowing full into his frill, and pulling up short. 'they be gone to hackberry dean,' said an old man, breaking stones by the roadside. 'hackberry dean (puff)--hackberry dean (wheeze)!' replied jog thoughtfully; 'then we must (puff) by tollarton mill, and through the (wheeze) village to stewley?' 'y-e-a-z,' drawled the man. jog then drove on a few paces, and turned up a lane to the left, whose finger-post directed the road 'to tollarton.' he seemed less disconcerted than sponge, who kept inwardly anathematizing, not only 'obin and ichard,' but 'diddle, diddle, doubt'--'bah, bah, black sheep'--the whole tribe of nursery ballads, in short. the fact was, jog wanted to be into hackberry dean, which was full of fine, straight hollies, fit either for gibbeys or whip-sticks, and the hounds being there gave him the entrée. it was for helping himself there, without this excuse, that he had been 'county-courted,' and he did not care to renew his acquaintance with the judge. he now whipped and jagged the old nag, as if intent on catching the hounds. mr. sponge liberated his whip from the apron-straps, and lent a hand when jog began to flag. so they rattled and jingled away at an amended pace. still it seemed to mr. sponge as if they would never get there. having passed through tollarton, and cleared the village of stewley, mr. sponge strained his eyes in every direction where there was a bit of wood, in hopes of seeing something of the hounds. meanwhile jog was shuffling his little axe from below the cushion of the driving-seat into the pocket of his great-coat. all of a sudden he pulled up, as they were passing a bank of wood (hackberry dean), and handing the reins to his companion, said: 'just lay hold for a minute whilst i (puff) out.' 'what's happened?' asked sponge. 'not sick again, are you?' 'no (puff), not exactly (wheeze) sick, but i want to be out all the (puff) same.' so saying, out he bundled, and, crushing through the fern-grown woodbiney fence, darted into the wood in a way that astonished our hero. presently the chop, chop, chop of the axe revealed the mystery. 'by the powers, the fool's at his sticks!' exclaimed sponge, disgusted at the contretemps. 'mister jogglebury!' roared he, 'mister jogglebury, we shall never catch up the hounds at this rate!' but jog was deaf--chop, chop, chop was all the answer mr. sponge got. 'well, hang me if ever i saw such a fellow!' continued sponge, thinking he would drive on if he only knew the way. 'chop, chop, chop,' continued the axe. 'mister jogglebury! mister jogglebury crowdey _a-hooi_!' roared sponge, at the top of his voice. [illustration: mr. jogglebury crowdey on his hobby] the axe stopped. 'anybody comin'?' resounded from the wood. '_you come_,' replied mr. sponge. 'presently,' was the answer; and the chop, chop, chopping was resumed. 'the man's mad,' muttered mr. sponge, throwing himself back in the seat. at length jog appeared brushing and tearing his way out of the wood, with two fine hollies under his arm. he was running down with perspiration, and looked anxiously up and down the road as he blundered through the fence to see if there was any one coming. 'i really think (puff) this will make a four-in-hander (wheeze),' exclaimed he, as he advanced towards the carriage, holding a holly so as to show its full length--'not that i (puff, wheeze, gasp) do much in that (puff, wheeze) line, but really it is such a (puff, wheeze) beauty that i couldn't (puff, wheeze, gasp) resist it.' 'well, but i thought we were going to hunt,' observed mr. sponge dryly. 'hunt (puff)! so we are (wheeze); but there are no hounds (gasp). my good (puff) man,' continued he, addressing a smock-frocked countryman, who now came up, 'have you seen anything of the (wheeze) hounds?' 'e-e-s,' replied the man. 'they be gone to brookdale plantin'.' 'then we'd better (puff) after them,' said jog, running the stick through the apron-straps, and bundling into the phaeton with the long one in his hand. away they rattled and jingled as before. 'how far is it?' asked mr. sponge, vexed at the detention. 'oh (puff), close by (wheeze),' replied jog. 'close by,' as most of our sporting readers well know to their cost, is generally anything but close by. nor was jog's close by, close by on this occasion. 'there,' said jog, after they had got crawled up trampington hill; 'that's it (puff) to the right, by the (wheeze) water there,' pointing to a plantation about a mile off, with a pond shining at the end. just as mr. sponge caught view of the water, the twang of a horn was heard, and the hounds came pouring, full cry, out of cover, followed by about twenty variously clad horsemen, and our friend had the satisfaction of seeing them run clean out of sight, over as fine a country as ever was crossed. worst of all, he thought he saw leather pounding away on the chestnut. chapter xlviii hunting the hounds tramptinton hill, whose summit they had just reached as the hounds broke cover, commanded an extensive view over the adjoining vale, and, as mr. sponge sat shading his eyes with his hands from a bright wintry sun, he thought he saw them come to a check, and afterwards bend to the left. 'i really think,' said he, addressing his still perspiring companion, 'that if you were to make for that road on the left' (pointing one out as seen between the low hedge-rows in the distance), 'we might catch them up yet.' 'left (puff), left (wheeze)?' replied mr. jogglebury crowdey, staring about with anything but the quickness that marked his movements when he dived into hackberry dean. 'don't you see,' asked sponge tartly, 'there's a road by the corn-stacks yonder?' pointing them out. 'i see,' replied jogglebury, blowing freely into his shirt-frill. 'i see,' repeated he, staring that way; 'but i think (puff) that's a mere (wheeze) occupation road, leading to (gasp) nowhere.' 'never mind, let's try!' exclaimed mr. sponge, giving the rein a jerk, to get the horse into motion again; adding, 'it's no use sitting here, you know, like a couple of fools, when the hounds are running.' 'couple of (puff)!' growled jog, not liking the appellation, and wishing to be home with the long holly. 'i don't see anything (wheeze) foolish in the (puff) business.' 'there they are!' exclaimed mr. sponge, who had kept his eye on the spot he last viewed them, and now saw the horsemen titt-up-ing across a grass field in the easy way that distance makes very uneasy riding look. 'cut along!' exclaimed he, laying into the horse's hind-quarters with his hunting-whip. 'don't! the horse is (puff) tired,' retorted jog angrily, holding the horse, instead of letting him go to sponge's salute. 'not a bit on't!' exclaimed sponge; 'fresh as paint! spring him a bit, that's a good fellow!' added he. jog didn't fancy being dictated to in this way, and just crawled along at his own pace, some six miles an hour, his dull phlegmatic face contrasting with the eager excitement of mr. sponge's countenance. if it had not been that jog wanted to see that leather did not play any tricks with his horse, he would not have gone a yard to please mr. sponge. jog might, however, have been easy on that score, for leather had just buckled the curb-rein of the horse's bridle round a tree in the plantations where they found, and the animal, being used to this sort of work, had fallen-to quite contentedly upon the grass within reach. bilkington pike now appeared in view, and jog drew in as he spied it. he knew the damage: sixpence for carriages, and he doubted that sponge would pay it. 'it's no use going any (wheeze) farther,' observed he, drawing up into a walk, as he eyed the red-brick gable end of the toll-house, and the formidable white gate across the road. tom coppers had heard the hounds, and, knowing the hurry sportsmen are often in, had taken the precaution to lock the gate. 'just a _leetle_ farther!' exclaimed mr. sponge soothingly, whose anxiety in looking after the hounds had prevented his seeing this formidable impediment. 'if you would just drive up to that farmhouse on the hill,' pointing to one about half a mile off, 'i think we should be able to decide whether it's worth going on or not.' 'well (puff), well (wheeze), well (gasp),' pondered jogglebury, still staring at the gate, 'if you (puff) think it's worth (wheeze) while going through the (gasp) gate,' nodding towards it as he spoke. 'oh, never mind the gate,' replied mr. sponge, with an ostentatious dive into his breeches pocket, as if he was going to pay it. he kept his hand in his pocket till he came close up to the gate, when, suddenly drawing it out, he said: 'oh, hang it! i've left my purse at home! never mind, drive on,' said he to his host; exclaiming to the man, 'it's mr. crowdey's carriage--mr. jogglebury crowdey's carriage! mr. crowdey, the chairman of the stir-it-stiff poor-law union!' 'sixpence!' shouted the man, following the phaeton with outstretched hand. ''ord, hang it (puff)! i could have done that (wheeze),' growled jogglebury, pulling up. 'you harn't got no ticket,' said coppers, coming up, 'and ain't a-goin' to not never no meetin' o' trustees, are you?' asked he, seeing the importance of the person with whom he had to deal;--a trustee of that and other roads, and one who always availed himself of his privilege of going to the meetings toll-free. 'no,' replied jog, pompously handing sponge the whip and reins. he then rose deliberately from his seat, and slowly unbuttoned each particular button of the brown great-coat he had over the tight black hunting one. he then unbuttoned the black, and next the right-hand pocket of the white moleskins, in which he carried his money. he then deliberately fished up his green-and-gold purse, a souvenir of miss smiler (the plaintiff in the breach-of-promise action, smiler _v._ jogglebury), and holding it with both hands before his eyes, to see which end contained the silver, he slowly drew the slide, and took out a shilling, though there were plenty of sixpences in. this gave the man an errand into the toll-house to get one, and, by way of marking his attention, when he returned he said, in the negative way that country people put a question: 'you'll not need a ticket, will you?' 'ticket (puff), ticket (wheeze)?' repeated jog thoughtfully. 'yes, i'll take a ticket,' said he. 'oh! hang it, no,' replied sponge; 'let's get on!' stamping against the bottom of the phaeton to set the horse a-going. 'costs nothin',' observed jog drily, drawing the reins, as the man again returned to the gate-house. a considerable delay then took place; first, pikey had to find his glasses, as he called his spectacles, to look out a one-horse-chaise ticket. then he had to look out the tickets, when he found he had all sorts except a one-horse-chaise one ready--waggons, hearses, mourning-coaches, saddle-horses, chaises and pair, mules, asses, every sort but the one that was wanted. well, then he had to fill one up, and to do this he had, first, to find the ink-horn, and then a pen that would 'mark,' so that, altogether, a delay took place that would have been peculiarly edifying to a kennington common or lambeth gate-keeper to witness. but it was not all over yet. having got the ticket jog examined it minutely, to see that it was all right, then held it to his nose to smell it, and ultimately drew the purse slide, and deposited it among the sovereigns. he then restored that expensive trophy to his pocket, shook his leg, to send it down, then buttoned the pocket, and took the tight black coat with both hands and dragged it across his chest, so as to get his stomach in. he then gasped and held his breath, making himself as small as possible, while he coaxed the buttons into the holes; and that difficult process being at length accomplished, he stood still awhile to take breath after the exertion. then he began to rebutton the easy, brown great-coat, going deliberately up the whole series, from the small button below, to keep the laps together, up to the one on the neck, or where the neck would have been if jog had not been all stomach up to the chin. he then soused himself into his seat, and, snorting heavily through his nostrils, took the reins and whip and long holly from mr. sponge, and drove leisurely on. sponge sat anathematizing his slowness. when they reached the farmhouse on the hill the hounds were fairly in view. the huntsman was casting them, and the horsemen were grouped about as usual, while the laggers were stealing quietly up the lanes and by-roads, thinking nobody would see them. save the whites or the greys, our friends in the 'chay' were not sufficiently near to descry the colours of the horses; but mr. sponge could not help thinking that he recognized the outline of the wicked chestnut, multum in parvo. 'by the powers, but if it is him,' muttered he to himself, clenching his fist and grinding his teeth as he spoke, 'but i'll--i'll--i'll make _sich_ an example of you,' meaning of leather. mr. sponge could not exactly say what he would do, for it was by no means a settled point whether leather or he were master. but to the hounds. if it had not been for mr. sponge's shabbiness at the turnpike gate, we really believe he might now have caught them up, for the road to them was down hill all the way, and the impetus of the vehicle would have sent the old screw along. that delay, however, was fatal. before they had gone a quarter of the distance the hounds suddenly struck the scent at a hedge-row, and, with heads up and sterns down, went straight away at a pace that annihilated all hope. they were out of sight in a minute. it was clearly a case of kill. 'well, there's a go!' exclaimed mr. sponge, folding his arms, and throwing himself back in the phaeton in disgust. 'i think i never saw such a mess as we've made this morning.' and he looked at the stick in the apron, and the long holly between jog's legs, and longed to lay them about his great back. 'well (puff), i s'pose (wheeze) we may as well (puff) home now?' observed jog, looking about him quite unconcernedly. 'i think so,' snapped sponge, adding, 'we've done it for once, at all events.' the observation, however, was lost upon jog, whose mind was occupied with thinking how to get the phaeton round without upsetting. the road was narrow at best, and the newly laid stone-heaps had encroached upon its bounds. he first tried to back between two stone-heaps, but only succeeded in running a wheel into one; he then tried the forward tack, with no better success, till mr. sponge seeing matters were getting worse, just jumped out, and taking the old horse by the head, executed the manoeuvre that mr. jogglebury crowdey first attempted. they then commenced retracing their steps, rather a long trail, even for people in an amiable mood, but a terribly long one for disagreeing ones. jog, to be sure, was pretty comfortable. he had got all he wanted--all he went out a-hunting for; and as he hissed and jerked the old horse along, he kept casting an eye at the contents of the apron, thinking what crowned, or great man's head, the now rough, club-headed knobs should be fashioned to represent; and indulged in speculations as to their prospective worth and possible destination. he had not the slightest doubt that a thousand sticks to each of his children would be as good as a couple of thousand pounds a-piece; sometimes he thought more, but never less. mr. sponge, on the other hand, brooded over the loss of the run; indulged in all sorts of speculations as to the splendour of the affair; pictured the figure he would have cut on the chestnut, and the price he might have got for him in the field. then he thought of the bucketing leather would give him; the way he would ram him at everything; how he would let him go with a slack rein in the deep--very likely making him over-reach--nay, there was no saying but he might stake him. then he thought over all the misfortunes and mishaps of the day. the unpropitious toilet; the aggravation of 'obin and ichard'; the delay caused by jog being sick with his cigar; the divergence into hackberry dean; and the long protracted wait at the toll-bar. reviewing all the circumstances fairly and dispassionately, mr. sponge came to the determination of having nothing more to do with mr. jogglebury crowdey in the hunting way. these, or similar cogitations and resolutions were, at length, interrupted by their arriving at home, as denoted by an outburst of children rushing from the lodge to receive them--gustavus james, in his nurse's arms, bringing up the rear, to whom our friend could hardly raise the semblance of a smile. it was all that little brat! thought he. chapter xlix country quarters [illustration: lady scattercash] sir harry scattercash's were only an ill-supported pack of hounds; they were not kept upon any fixed principles. we do not mean to say that they had not plenty to eat, but their management was only of the scrimmaging order. sir harry was what is technically called 'going it.' like our noble friend, lord hard-up, now earl of scamperdale, he had worked through the morning of life without knowing what it was to be troubled with money; but, unlike his lordship, now that he had unexpectedly come into some, he seemed bent upon trying how fast he could get through it. in this laudable endeavour he was ably assisted by lady scattercash, late the lovely and elegant miss spangles, of the 'theatre royal, sadler's wells.' sir harry had married her before his windfall made him a baronet, having, at the time, some intention of trying his luck on the stage, but he always declared that he never regretted his choice; on the contrary, he said, if he had gone among the 'duchesses,' he could not have suited himself better. lady scattercash could ride--indeed, she used to do scenes in the circle (two horses and a flag)--and she could drive, and smoke, and sing, and was possessed of many other accomplishments. sir harry would sometimes drink straight on end for a week, and then not taste wine again for a month; sometimes the hounds hunted, and sometimes they did not; sometimes they were advertized, and sometimes they were not; sometimes they went out on one day, and sometimes on another; sometimes they were fixed to be at such a place, and went to quite a different one. when sir harry was on a drinking-bout they were shut up altogether; and the huntsman, tom watchorn, late of the 'camberwell and balham hill union harriers,' an early acquaintance of miss spangles--indeed, some said he was her uncle--used to go away on a drinking excursion too. altogether, they were what the country people called a very 'promiscuous set.' the hounds were of all sorts and sizes; the horses of no particular stamp; and the men scamps and vagabonds of the first class. with such a master and such an establishment, we need hardly say that no stranger ever came into the country for the purpose of hunting. sir harry's fields were entirely composed of his own choice 'set,' and a few farmers, and people whom he could abuse and do what he liked with. mr. jogglebury crowdey, to be sure, had mentioned sir harry approvingly, when he went to mr. puffington's, to inveigle mr. sponge over to puddingpote bower; but what might suit mr. jogglebury, who went out to seek gibbey sticks, might not suit a person who went out for the purpose of hunting a fox in order to show off and sell his horses. in fact, puddingpote bower was an exceedingly bad hunting quarter, as things turned out. sir harry scattercash, having had the run described in our two preceding chapters, and having just imported a few of the 'sock-and-buskin' sort from town, was not likely to be going out again for a time; while mr. puffington, finding where mr. sponge had taken refuge, determined not to meet within reach of puddingpote bower, if he could possibly help it; and lord scamperdale was almost always beyond distance, unless horse and rider lay out over-night--a proceeding always deprecated by prudent sportsmen. mr. sponge, therefore, got more of mr. jogglebury crowdey's company than he wanted, and mr. crowdey got more of mr. sponge's than he desired. in vain jog took him up into his attics and his closets, and his various holes and corners, and showed him his enormous stock of sticks--some tied in sheaves, like corn; some put up more sparingly; and others, again, wrapped in silver paper, with their valuable heads enveloped in old gloves. jog would untie the strings of these, and placing the heads in the most favourable position before our friend, just as an artist would a portrait, question him as to whom he thought they were. 'there, now (puff),' said he, holding up one that he thought there could be no mistake about; 'who do you (wheeze) that is?' 'deaf burke,' replied mr. sponge, after a stare. '_deaf burke!_ (puff),' replied jog indignantly. 'who is it, then?' asked mr. sponge. 'can't you see? (wheeze),' replied jog tartly. 'no,' replied sponge, after another examination. 'it's not scroggins, is it?' 'napoleon (puff) bonaparte,' replied jog, with great dignity, returning the head to the glove. he showed several others, with little better success, mr. sponge seeming rather to take a pleasure in finding ridiculous likenesses, instead of helping his host out in his conceits. the stick-mania was a failure, as far as mr. sponge was concerned. neither were the peregrinations about the farms, or ter-ri-to-ry, as jog called his estate, more successful; a man's estate, like his children, being seldom of much interest to any but himself. jog and sponge were soon most heartily sick of each other. nor did mrs. jog's charms, nor the voluble enunciation of 'obin and ichard,' followed by 'bah, bah, black sheep,' &c, from that wonderful boy, gustavus james, mend matters; for the young rogue having been in mr. sponge's room while murry ann was doing it out, had torn the back off sponge's _mogg_, and made such a mess of his tooth-brush, by cleaning his shoes with it, as never was seen. mr. sponge soon began to think it was not worth while staying at puddingpote bower for the mere sake of his keep, seeing there was no hunting to be had from it, and it did not do to keep hack hunters idle, especially in open weather. leather and he, for once, were of the same opinion, and that worthy shook his head, and said mr. crowdey was 'awful mean,' at the same time pulling out a sample of bad ship oats, that he had got from a neighbouring ostler, to show the 'stuff' their 'osses' were a eatin' of. the fact was, jog's beer was nothing like so strong as mr. puffington's; added to which, mr. crowdey carried the principles of the poor-law union into his own establishment, and dieted his servants upon certain rules. sunday, roast beef, potatoes, and pudding under the meat; monday, fried beef, and stick-jaw (as they profanely called a certain pudding); wednesday, leg of mutton, and so on. the allowance of beer was a pint and a half per diem to bartholomew, and a pint to each woman; and mr. crowdey used to observe from the head of the servants' dinner-table on the arrival of each cargo, 'now this (puff) beer is to (wheeze) a month, and, if you choose to drink it in a (gasp) day, you'll go without any for the rest of the (wheeze) time'; an intimation that had a very favourable effect upon the tap. mr. leather, however, did not like it. 'puffington's servants,' he said, 'had beer whenever they chose,' and he thought it 'awful mean' restricting the quantity. mr. jog, however, was not to be moved. thus time crawled heavily on. mr. and mrs. jog had a long confab one night on the expediency of getting rid of mr. sponge. mrs. jog wanted to keep him on till after the christening; while jog combated her reasons by representing the improbability of its doing gustavus james any good having him for a godpapa, seeing sponge's age, and the probability of his marrying himself. mrs. jog, however, was very determined; rather too much so, indeed, for she awakened jog's jealousy, who lay tossing and tumbling about all through the night. he was up very early, and as mrs. jog was falling into a comfortable nap, she was aroused by his well-known voice hallooing as loud as he could in the middle of the entrance-passage. 'bartholo-_me-e-w!_' the last syllable being pronounced or prolonged like a mew of a cat. 'bartholo-_me-e-w!_' repeated he, not getting an answer to the first shout. 'murry ann!' shouted he, after another pause. 'murry ann!' exclaimed he, still louder. just then, the iron latch of a door at the top of the house opened, and a female voice exclaimed hurriedly over the banisters: 'yes, sir! here, sir! comin' sir! comin'!' 'oh, murry ann (puff), that's (wheeze) you, is it?' asked jog, still speaking at the top of his voice. 'yes, sir,' replied mary ann. 'oh! then, murry ann, i wanted to (puff)--that you'd better get the (puff) breakfast ready early. i think mr. (gasp)--sponge will be (wheezing) away to-day.' 'yes, sir,' replied mary ann. all this was said in such a tone as could not fail to be heard all over the house; certainly into mr. sponge's room, which was midway between the speakers. what prevented mr. sponge wheezing away, will appear in the next chapter. chapter l sir harry scattercash's hounds [illustration] the reason mr. sponge did not take his departure, after the pretty intelligible hint given by his host, was that, as he was passing his shilling army razor over his soapy chin, he saw a stockingless lad, in a purply coat and faded hunting-cap, making his way up to the house, at a pace that betokened more than ordinary vagrancy. it was the kennel, stable, and servants' hall courier of nonsuch house, come to say that sir harry hunted that day. presently mr. leather knocked at mr. sponge's bedroom door, and, being invited in, announced the fact. 'sir 'arry's 'ounds 'unt,' said he, twisting the door handle as he spoke. 'what time?' asked mr. sponge, with his half-shaven face turned towards him. 'meet at eleven,' replied leather. 'where?' inquired mr. sponge. 'nonsuch house, 'bout nine miles off.' it was thirteen, but mr. leather heard the malt liquor was good and wanted to taste it. 'take on the brown, then,' said mr. sponge, quite pompously;' and tell bartholomew to have the hack at the door at ten--or say a quarter to. tell him, i'll lick him for every minute he's late; and, mind, don't let old rory o'more here know,' meaning our friend jog, 'or he may take a fancy to go, and we shall never get there,' alluding to their former excursion. 'no, no,' replied mr. leather, leaving the room. mr. sponge then arrayed himself in his hunting costume--scarlet coat, green tie, blue vest, gosling-coloured cords, and brown tops; and was greeted with a round of applause from the little jogs as he entered the breakfast-room. gustavus james would handle him; and, considering that his paws were all over raspberry jam, our friend would as soon have dispensed with his attentions. mrs. jog was all smiles, and jog all scowls. a little after ten our friend, cigar in mouth, was in the saddle. mrs. jog, with gustavus james in her arms, and all the children clustering about, stood in the passage to see him start, and watch the capers and caprioles of the piebald, as he ambled down the avenue. 'nine miles--nine miles,' muttered mr. sponge to himself, as he passed through the lodge and turned up the quarryburn road; 'do it in an hour well enough,' said he, sticking spurs into the hack, and cantering away. having kept this pace up for about five miles, till he thought from the view he had taken of the map it was about time to be turning, he hailed a blacksmith in his shop, who, next to saddlers, are generally the most intelligent people about hounds, and asked how far it was to sir harry's? 'eight miles,' replied the man, in a minute. 'impossible!' exclaimed mr. sponge. 'it was only nine at starting, and i've come i don't know how many.' the next person mr. sponge met told him it was ten miles; the third, after asking him where he had come from, said he was a stranger in the country, and had never heard of the place; and, what with mr. leather's original mis-statement, misdirections from other people, and mistakes of his own, it was more good luck than good management that got mr. sponge to nonsuch house in time. [illustration: mr. sponge starting from the bower] the fact was, the whole hunt was knocked up in a hurry. sir harry, and the choice spirits by whom he was surrounded, had not finished celebrating the triumphs of the snobston green day, and as it was not likely that the hounds would be out again soon, the people of the hunting establishment were taking their ease. watchorn had gone to be entertained at a public supper, given by the poachers and fox-stealers of the village of bark-shot, as a 'mark of respect for his abilities as a sportsman and his integrity as a man,' meaning his indifference to his master's interests; while the first-whip had gone to visit his aunt, and the groom was away negotiating the exchange of a cow. with things in this state, wily tom of tinklerhatch, a noted fox-stealer in lord scamperdale's country, had arrived with a great thundering dog fox, stolen from his lordship's cover near the cross roads at dallington burn, which being communicated to our friends about midnight in the smoking-room at nonsuch house, it was resolved to hunt him forthwith, especially as one of the guests, mr. orlando bugles, of the surrey theatre, was obliged to return to town immediately, and, as he sometimes enacted the part of squire tallyho, it was thought a little of the reality might correct the tom and jerry style in which he did it. accordingly, orders were issued for a hunt, notwithstanding the hounds were fed and the horses watered. sir harry didn't 'care a rap; let them go as fast as they could.' all these circumstances conspired to make them late; added to which, when watchorn, the huntsman, cast up, which he did on a higgler's horse, he found the only sound one in his stud had gone to the neighbouring town to get some fiddlers--her ladyship having determined to compliment mr. bugles' visit by a quadrille party. bugles and she were old friends. when mr. sponge cast up at half-past eleven, things were still behind-hand. sir harry and party had had a wet night of it, and were all more or less drunk. they had kept up the excitement with a champagne breakfast and various liqueurs, to say nothing of cigars. they were a sad debauched-looking set, some of them scarcely out of their teens, with pallid cheeks, trembling hands, sunken eyes, and all the symptoms of premature decay. others--the sock-and-buskin ones--were a made-up, wigged, and padded set. bugles was resplendent. he had on a dress scarlet coat, lined and faced with yellow satin (one of the properties, we believe, of the victoria), a beautifully worked pink shirt-front, a pitch-plaster coloured waistcoat, white ducks, and jack-boots, with brass heel spurs. he carried his whip in the arm's-length-way of a circus master following a horse. some dozen of these curiosities were staggering, and swaggering, and smoking in front of nonsuch house, to the edification of a lot of gaping grooms and chawbacons, when mr. sponge cantered becomingly up on the piebald. lady scattercash, with several elegantly dressed females, all with cigars in their mouths, were conversing with them from the open drawing-room windows above, while sundry good-looking damsels ogled them from the attics above. such was the tableau that presented itself to mr. sponge as he cantered round the turn that brought him in front of the elizabethan mansion of nonsuch house. sir harry, who was still rather drunk, thinking that every person there must be either one of his party, or a friend of one of his party, or a neighbour, or some one that he had seen before, reeled up to our friend as he stopped, and, shaking him heartily by the hand, asked him to come in and have something to eat. this was a godsend to mr. sponge, who accepted the proffered hand most readily, shaking it in a way that quite satisfied sir harry he was right in some one or other of his conjectures. bugles, and all the reeling, swaggering bucks, looked respectfully at the well-appointed man, and bugles determined to have a pair of nut-brown tops as soon as ever he got back to town. sir harry was a tall, wan, pale young man, with a strong tendency to delirium tremens; that, and consumption, appeared to be running a match for his person. he was a harum-scarum fellow, all strings, and tapes, and ends, and flue. he looked as if he slept in his clothes. his hat was fastened on with a ribbon, or rather a ribbon passed round near the band, in order to fasten it on, for it was seldom or ever applied to the purpose, and the ends generally went flying out behind like a chinaman's tail. then his flashy, many-coloured cravats, stared and straggled in all directions, while his untied waistcoat-strings protruded between the laps of his old short-waisted swallow-tailed scarlet, mixing in glorious confusion with those of his breeches behind. the knee-strings were generally also loose; the web straps of his boots were seldom in; and, what with one set of strings and another, he had acquired the name of sixteen-string'd jack. mr. sponge having dismounted, and given his hack to the now half-drunken leather, followed sir harry through a foil and four-in-hand whip-hung hall to the deserted breakfast-room, where chairs stood in all directions, and crumpled napkins strewed the floor. the litter of eggs, and remnants of muffins, and diminished piles of toast, and broken bread and empty toast racks, and cups and saucers, and half-emptied glasses, and wholly emptied champagne bottles, were scattered up and down a disorderly table, further littered with newspapers, letter backs, county court summonses, mustard pots, anchovies, pickles--all the odds and ends of a most miscellaneous meal. the side-table exhibited cold joints, game, poultry, lukewarm hashed venison, and sundry lamp-lit dishes of savoury grills. 'here you are!' exclaimed sir harry, taking his hunting-whip and sweeping the contents of one end of the table on to the floor with a crash that brought in the butler and some theatrical-looking servants. 'take those filthy things away! (hiccup),' exclaimed sir harry, crushing the broken china smaller under his heels; 'and (hiccup) bring some red-herrings and soda-water. what the deuce does the (hiccup) cook mean by not (hiccuping) things as he ought? now,' said he, addressing mr. sponge, and raking the plates and dishes up to him with the handle of his whip, just as a gaming-table keeper rakes up the stakes, 'now,' said he, 'make your (hiccup) game. there'll be some hot (hiccup) in directly.' he meant to say 'tea,' but the word failed him. mr. sponge fell to with avidity. he was always ready to eat, and attacked first one thing and then another, as though he had not had any breakfast at puddingpote bower. sir harry remained mute for some minutes, sitting cross-legged and backwards in his chair, with his throbbing temples resting upon the back, wondering where it was that he had met mr. sponge. he looked different without his hat; and, though he saw it was no one he knew particularly, he could not help thinking he had seen him before. indeed, he thought it was clear, from mr. sponge's manner, that they had met, and he was just going to ask him whether it was at offley's or the coal hole, when a sudden move outside attracted his attention. it was the hounds. the huntsman's horse having at length returned from the fiddler hunt, and being whisped over, and made tolerably decent, mr. watchorn, having exchanged the postilion saddle in which it had been ridden for a horn-cased hunting one, had mounted, and, opening the kennel-door, had liberated the pent-up pack, who came tearing out full cry and spread themselves over the country, regardless alike of the twang, twang, twang of the horn and the furious onslaught of a couple of stable lads in scarlet and caps, who, true to the title of 'whippers-in,' let drive at all they could get within reach of. the hounds had not been out, even to exercise, since the snobston-green day, and were as wild as hawks. they were ready to run anything. furious and furrier tackled with a cow. bountiful ran a black cart-colt, and made him leap the haw-haw. sempstress, singwell, and saladin (puppies), went after some crows. mercury took after the stable cat, while old thunderer and come-by-chance (supposed to be one of lord scamperdale's) joined in pursuit of a cur. watchorn, however, did not care for these little ebullitions of spirit, and never having been accustomed to exercise the camberwell and balham hill union harriers, he did not see any occasion for troubling the fox-hounds. 'they would soon settle,' he said, 'when they got a scent.' it was this riotous start that diverted sixteen-string'd jack's attention from our friend, and, looking out of the window, mr. sponge saw all the company preparing to be off. there was the elegant bugles mounting her ladyship's white arab; the brothers spangles climbing on to their cream-colours; mr. this getting on to the postman's pony, and mr. that on to the gamekeeper's. mr. sponge hurried out to get to the brown ere his anger arose at being left behind, and provoked a scene. he only just arrived in time; for the twang of the horn, the cracks of the whips, the clamorous rates of the servants, the yelping of the hounds, and the general commotion, had got up his courage, and he launched out in such a way, when mr. sponge mounted, as would have shot a loose rider into the air. as it was, mr. sponge grappled manfully with him, and, letting the latchfords into his sides, shoved him in front of the throng, as if nothing had happened. mr. leather then slunk back to the stables, to get out the hack to have a hunt in the distance. the hounds, as we said before, were desperately wild; but at length, by dint of coaxing and cracking, and whooping and hallooing, they got some ten couples out of the five-and-twenty gathered together, and mr. watchorn, putting himself at their head, trotted briskly on, blowing most lustily, in the hopes that the rest would follow. so he clattered along the avenue, formed between rows of sombre-headed firs and sweeping spruce, out of which whirred clouds of pheasants, and scuttling rabbits, and stupid hares kept crossing and recrossing, to the derangement of mr. watchorn's temper, and the detriment of the unsteady pack. squeak, squeak, squeal sounded right and left, followed sometimes by the heavy retributive hand of justice on the offenders' hides, and sometimes by the snarl, snap, and worry of a couple of hounds contending for the prey. twang, twang, twang, still went the horn; and when the huntsman reached the unicorn-crested gates, between tea-caddy looking lodges, he found himself in possession of a clear majority of his unsizable pack. some were rather bloody to be sure, and a few carried scraps of game, which fastidious masters would as soon have seen them without; but neither sir harry nor his huntsman cared about appearances. on clearing the lodges, and passing about a quarter of a mile on the hardington road, hedge-rows ceased, and they came upon farleyfair downs, across which mr. watchorn now struck, making for a square plantation, near the first hill-top, where it had been arranged the bag-fox should be shook. it was a fine day, rather brighter perhaps, than sportsmen like, and there was a crispness in the air indicative of frost, but then there is generally a burning scent just before one. so thought mr. watchorn, as he turned his feverish face up to the bright, blue sky, imbibing the fine fresh air of the wide-extending downs, instead of the stale tobacco smoke of the fetid beer-shop. as he trotted over the springy sward, up the gently rising ground, he rose in his stirrups; and, laying hold of his horse's mane, turned to survey the long-drawn, lagging field behind. 'you'll have to look sharp, my hearties,' said he to himself, as he ran them over in his eye, and thought there might be twenty or five-and-twenty horsemen; 'you'll have to look sharp, my hearties,' said he, 'if you mean to get away, for wily tom has his hat on the ground, which shows he has put him down, and if he's the sort of gem'man i expect he'll not be long in cover.' so saying, he resumed his seat in the saddle, and easing his horse, endeavoured, by sundry dog noises--such as, 'yooi doit, ravager!' 'gently, paragon!' 'here again. mercury!'--to restrain the ardour of the leading hounds, so as to let the rebellious tail ones up and go into cover with something like a body. this was rather a difficult task to accomplish, for those with him being light, and consequently anxious to be doing and ready for riot, were difficult to restrain from dashing forward; while those that had taken their diversion and refreshment among the game, were easy whether they did anything more or not. while watchorn was thus manoeuvring his forces wily tom beckoned him on, and old cruiser and marmion, who had often been at the game before, and knew what wily tom's hat on the ground meant, flew to him full cry, drawing all their companions after them. 'i think he's away to the west,' said tom in an undertone, resting his hand on watchorn's horse's shoulder; 'back home,' added he, jerking his head with a knowing leer of his roguish eye. 'they're on him!' exclaimed he after a pause, as the outburst of melody proclaimed that the hounds had crossed his line. then there was such racing and striving among the field to get up, and such squeezing and crowding, and 'mind, my horse kicks!' at the little white hunting wicket leading into cover. 'knock down the wall!' exclaimed one. 'get out of the way; i'll ride over it!' roared another. 'we shall be here all day!' vociferated a third. 'that's a header!' cried another, as a clatter of stones was followed by a pair of white breeches summerseting in the air with a horse underneath. 'it's tom sawbones, the doctor!' exclaimed one, 'and he can mend himself.' 'by jove! but he's killed!' shrieked another. 'not a bit of it,' added a third, as the dead man rose and ran after his horse. 'let mr. bugles through,' cried sir harry, seeing his friend, or rather his wife's friend, was fretting the arab. meanwhile, the melody of hounds increased, and each man, as he got through the little gate, rose in his stirrups and hustled his horse along the green ride to catch up those on before. the plantation was about twenty acres, rather thick and briary at the bottom; and master reynard, finding it was pretty safe, and, moreover, having attempted to break just by where some chawbacons were ploughing, had headed short back, so that, when the excited field rushed through the parallel gate on the far side of the plantation, expecting to see the pack streaming away over the downs, they found most of the hounds with their heads in the air, some looking for halloos, others watching their companions trying to carry the scent over the fallow. watchorn galloped up in the frantic state half-witted huntsmen generally are, and one of the impromptu whips being in attendance, got quickly round the hounds, and commenced a series of assaults upon them that very soon sent them scuttling to mr. watchorn for safety. if they had been at the hares again, or even worrying sheep, he could not have rated or flogged more severely. 'marksman! marksman! _ough, ye old divil, get to him!_' roared the whip, aiming a stinging cut with his heavy knotty-pointed whip, at a venerable sage who still snuffed down a furrow to satisfy himself the fox was not on before he returned to cover--an exertion that overbalanced the whip, and would have landed him on the ground, had not he caught by the spur in the old mare's flank. then he went on scrambling and rating after marksman, the field exclaiming, as the edmonton people did, by johnny gilpin: he's on! no, he's off, he hangs by the mane! [illustration: 'let mr. bugles through'] at last he got shuffled back into the saddle, and the cry of hounds in cover attracting the outsiders back, the scene quickly changed, and the horsemen were again overhead in wood. they now swept up the grass ride to the exposed part of the higher ground, the trees gradually diminishing in size, till, on reaching the top, they did not come much above a horse's shoulder. this point commanded a fine view over the adjacent country. behind was the rich vale of dairylow, with its villages and spires, and trees and enclosures, while in front was nothing but the undulating, wide-stretching downs, reaching to the soft grey hills in the distance. there was not, however, much time for contemplating scenery; for wily tom, who had stolen to this point immediately the hounds took up the scent, now viewed the fox stealing over a gap in the wall, and, the field catching sight, there was such a hullabaloo as would have made a more composed and orderly minded fox think it better to break instead of running the outside of the wall as this one intended to do. what wind there was swept over the downs; and putting himself straight to catch it, he went away whisking his brush in the air, as if he was fresh out of his kennel instead of a sack. then what a commotion there was! such jumpings off to lead down, such huggings and holdings, and wooa-ings of those that sat on, such slidings and scramblings, and loosenings and rollings of stones. then the frantic horses began to bound, and the frightened riders to exclaim: 'do get out of my way, sir.' 'mind, sir! i'm a-top of you!' 'give him his head and let him go!' exclaimed the still drunken brother bob spangles, sliding his horse down with a slack rein. 'that's your sort!' roared sir harry, and just as he said it, his horse dropped on his hind-quarters like a rabbit, landing sir harry comfortably on his feet, amid the roars of the foot-people, and the mirth of such of the horsemen as were not too frightened to laugh. 'i think i'll stay where i am,' observed mr. bugles, preparing for a bird's-eye view where he was. 'this hunting,' said he, getting off the fidgety arab, 'seems dangerous.' the parties who accomplished the descent had now some fine plain sailing for their trouble. the line lay across the open downs, composed of sound, springy, racing-like turf, extremely well adapted for trying the pace either of horses or hounds. and very soon it did try the pace of them, for they had not gone above a mile before there was very considerable tailing with both. to be sure, they had never been very well together, but still the line lengthened instead of contracting. horses that could hardly be held downhill, and that applied themselves to the turf, on landing, as if they could never have enough of it, now began to bear upon the rein and hang back to those behind; while the hounds came straggling along like a flock of wild geese, with full half a mile between the leader and the last. however, they all threw their tongues, and each man flattered himself that the hound he was with was the first. in vain the galloping watchorn looked back and tootled his horn; in vain he worked with his cap; in vain the whips rode at the tail hounds, cursing and swearing, and vowing they would cut them in two. there was no getting them together. every now and then the fox might be seen, looking about the size of a marble, as he rounded some distant hill, each succeeding view making him less, till, at last, he seemed no bigger than a pea. five-and-twenty minutes best pace over downs is calculated to try the mettle of anything; and, long before the leading hounds reached cockthropple dean, the field was choked by the pace. sir harry had long been tailed off; both the brothers spangles had dropped astern; the horse of one had dropped too; sawbones, the doctor's, had got a stiff neck; willing, the road surveyor, and mr. lavender, the grocer, pulled up together. muddyman, the farmer's four-year-old, had enough at the end of ten minutes; both the whips tired theirs in a quarter of an hour; and in less than twenty minutes watchorn and sponge were alone in their glory, or rather sponge was in his glory, for watchorn's horse was beat. 'lend me your horn!' exclaimed sponge, as he heard by the hammer and pincering of watchorn's horse, it was all u p with him. the horse stopped as if shot; and getting the horn, mr. sponge went on, the brown laying himself out as if still full of running. cockthropple dean was now close at hand, and in all probability the fox would not leave it. so thought mr. sponge as he dived into it, astonished at the chorus and echo of the hounds. [illustration: 'he's away!--reet 'cross tornops'] 'tally ho!' shouted a countryman on the opposite side; and the road sponge had taken being favourable to the point, he made for it at a hand-gallop, horn in hand, to blow as soon as he got there. 'he's away!' cried the man as soon as our friend appeared; 'reet 'cross tornops!' added he, pointing with his hoe. mr. sponge then put his horse's head that way, and blew a long shrill reverberating blast. as he paused to take breath and listen, he heard the sound of horses' hoofs, and presently a stentorian voice, half frantic with rage, exclaimed from behind: 'who the dickens are you?' 'who the dickens are you?' retorted mr. sponge, without looking round. 'they commonly call me the earl of scamperdale,' roared the same sweet voice, 'and those are my hounds.' 'they're not your hounds!' snapped mr. sponge, now looking round on his big-spectacled, flat-hatted lordship, who was closely followed by his double, mr. spraggon. 'not my hounds!' screeched his lordship. 'oh, ye barber's apprentice! oh, ye draper's assistant! oh ye unmitigated mahomedon! sing out, jack! sing out! for heaven's sake, sing out!' added he, throwing out his arms in perfect despair. 'not his lordship's hounds!' roared jack, now rising in his stirrups and brandishing his big whip. 'not his lordship's hounds! tell me _that_, when they cost him five-and-twenty 'underd--two thousand five 'underd a year! oh, by jingo, but that's a pretty go! if they're not his lordship's hounds, i should like to know whose they are?' and thereupon jack wiped the foam from his mouth on his sleeve. 'sir harry's!' exclaimed mr. sponge, again putting the horn to his lips, and blowing another shrill blast. 'sir harry's!' screeched his lordship in disgust, for he hated the very sound of his name--'sir harry's! oh, you rusty-booted ruffian! tell me that to my very face!' 'sir harry's!' repeated jack, again standing erect in his stirrups. 'what! impeach his lordship's integrity--oh, by jove, there's an end of everything! death before dishonour! slugs in a saw-pit! pistols and coffee for two! cock pheasant at weybridge, six o'clock i' the mornin'!' and jack, sinking exhausted on his saddle, again wiped the foam from his mouth. his lordship then went at sponge again. 'oh, you sanctified, putrified, pestilential, perpendicular, gingerbread-booted, counter-skippin' snob, you think because i'm a lord, and can't swear or use coarse language, that you may do what you like; but i'll let you see the contrary,' said he, brandishing his brother to jack's whip. 'mark you, sir, i'll fight you, sir, any non-huntin' day you like, sir, 'cept sunday.' just then the clatter and blowing of horses was heard, and frostyface emerged from the wood followed by the hounds, who, swinging themselves 'forrard' over the turnips, hit off the scent and went away full cry, followed by his lordship and jack, leaving mr. sponge transfixed with astonishment. 'changed foxes,' at length said sponge, with a shake of his head; and just then the cry of hounds on the opposite bank confirmed his conjecture, and he got to sir harry's in time to take up his lordship's fox. his lordship's hounds ran into sir harry's fox about two miles farther on, but the hounds would not break him up; and, on examining him, he was found to have been aniseeded; and, worst of all, by the mark on his ear to be one that they had turned down themselves the season before, being one of a litter that sly had stolen from sir harry's cover at seedeygorse--a beautiful instance of retributive justice. chapter li farmer peastraw's dÃ�nÃ�-matinÃ�e there are pleasanter situations than being left alone with twenty couple of even the best-mannered fox-hounds; far pleasanter situations than being left alone with such a tearing, frantic lot as composed sir harry scattercash's pack. sportsmen are so used (with some hounds at least) to see foxes 'in hand' that they never think there is any difficulty in getting them there; and it is only a single-handed combat with the pack that shows them that the hound does not bring the fox up in his mouth like a retriever. a tyro's first _tête-à-tête_ with a half-killed fox, with the baying pack circling round, must leave as pleasing a souvenir on the memory as mr. gordon cumming would derive from his first interview with a lion. our friend mr. sponge was now engaged with a game of 'pull devil, pull baker' with the hounds for the fox, the difficulty of his situation being heightened by having to contend with the impetuous temper of a high-couraged, dangerous horse. to be sure, the gallant hercules was a good deal subdued by the distance and severity of the pace, but there are few horses that get to the end of a run that have not sufficient kick left in them to do mischief to hounds, especially when raised or frightened by the smell of blood; nevertheless, there was no help for it. mr. sponge knew that unless he carried off some trophy, it would never be believed he had killed the fox. considering all this, and also that there was no one to tell what damage he did, he just rode slap into the middle of the pack, as marksman, furious, thunderer, and bountiful were in the act of despatching the fox. singwell and saladin (puppies) having been sent away howling, the one bit through the jowl, the other through the foot. 'ah! leave him--leave him--leave him!' screeched mr. sponge, trampling over warrior and tempest, the brown horse lashing out furiously at melody and lapwing. 'ah, leave him! leave him!' repeated he, throwing himself off his horse by the fox, and clearing a circle with his whip, aided by the hoofs of the animal. there lay the fox before him killed, but as yet little broken by the pack. he was a noble fellow; bright and brown, in the full vigour of life and condition, with a gameness, even in death, that no other animal shows. mr. sponge put his foot on the body, and quickly whipped off his brush. before he had time to pocket it, the repulsed pack broke in upon him and carried off the carcass. 'ah! dash ye, you may have _that_,' said he, cutting at them with his whip as they clustered upon it like a swarm of bees. they had not had a wild fox for five weeks. 'who-hoop!' cried mr. sponge, in the hopes of attracting some of the field. 'who-hoop!' repeated he, as loud as he could halloo. 'where can they all be, i wonder?' said he, looking around; and echo answered--where? the hounds had now crunched their fox, or as much of him as they wanted. old marksman ran about with his head, and warrior with a haunch. 'drop it, you old beggar!' cried mr. sponge, cutting at marksman with his whip, and mr. sponge being too near to make a trial of speed prudent, the old dog did as he was bid, and slunk away. our friend then appended this proud trophy to his saddle-flap by a piece of whipcord, and, mounting the now tractable hercules, began to cast about in search of a landmark. like most down countries, this one was somewhat deceptive; there were plenty of landmarks, but they were all the same sort--clumps of trees on hill-tops, and plantations on hill-sides, but nothing of a distinguishing character, nothing that a stranger could say, 'i remember seeing that as i came'; or, 'i remember passing that in the run.' the landscape seemed all alike: north, south, east, and west, equally indifferent. 'curse the thing,' said mr. sponge, adjusting himself in his saddle, and looking about; 'i haven't the _slightest_ idea where i am. i'll blow the horn, and see if that will bring any one.' so saying, he applied the horn to his lips, and blew a keen, shrill blast, that spread over the surrounding country, and was echoed back by the distant hills. a few lost hounds cast up from various quarters, in the unexpected way that hounds do come to a horn. among them were a few branded with s,[ ] who did not at all set off the beauty of the rest. ''ord rot you, you belong to that old ruffian, do you?' said mr. sponge, riding and cutting at one with his whip, exclaiming, 'get away to him, ye beggar, or i'll tuck you up short.' he now, for the first time, saw them together in anything like numbers, and was struck with the queerness and inequality of the whole. they were of all sorts and sizes, from the solemn towering calf-like fox-hound down to the little wriggling harrier. they seemed, too, to be troubled with various complaints and infirmities. some had the mange; some had blear eyes; some had but one; many were out at the elbows; and not a few down at the toes. however, they had killed a fox, and 'handsome is that handsome does,' said mr. sponge, as, with his horse surrounded by them, he moved on in quest of his way home. at first, he thought to retrace his steps by the marks of his horse's hoofs, and succeeded in getting back to the dean, where sir harry's hounds changed foxes with lord scamperdale's; but he got confused with the imprints of the other horses, and very soon had to trust entirely to chance. chance, we are sorry to say, did not befriend him; for, after wandering over the wide-extending downs, he came upon the little hamlet of tinkler hatch, and was informed that he had been riding in a semicircle. he there got some gruel for his horse, and, with day closing in, now set off, as directed, on the ribchester road, with the assurance that he 'couldn't miss his way.' some of the hounds here declined following him any farther, and slunk into cottages and outhouses as they passed along. mr. sponge, however, did not care for their company. having travelled musingly along two or three miles of road, now thinking over the glorious run--now of the gallant way in which hercules had carried him--now of the pity it was that there was nobody there to see--now of the encounter with lord scamperdale, just as he passed a well-filled stackyard, that had shut out the view of a flaming red brick house with a pea-green door and windows, an outburst of 'hoo-rays!' followed by one cheer more--'hoo-ray!' made the remaining wild hounds prick up their ears, and our friend rein in his horse, to hear what was 'up.' a bright fire in a room on the right of the door overpowered the clouds of tobacco-smoke with which the room was enveloped, and revealed sundry scarlet coats in the full glow of joyous hilarity. it was sir harry and friends recruiting at fanner peastraw's after their exertions; for, though they could not make much of hunting, they were always ready to drink. they were having a rare set-to--rashers of bacon, wedges of cheese, with oceans of malt-liquor. it was the appearance of a magnificent cold round of home-fed beef, red with saltpetre and flaky with white fat, borne on high by their host, that elicited the applause and the one cheer more that broke on mr. sponge's ear as he was passing--applause that was renewed as they caught a glimpse of his red coat, not on account of his safety or that of the hounds, but simply because being in the cheering mood, they were ready to cheer anything. 'hil-loo! there's mr. what's-his-name!' exclaimed brother bob spangles, as he caught view of sponge and the hounds passing the window. 'so there is!' roared another; 'hoo-ray!' 'hoo-ray!' yelled two or three more. 'stop him!' cried another. 'call him in,' roared sir harry, 'and let's liquor him.' 'hilloo! mister what's-your-name!' exclaimed the other spangles, throwing up the window. 'hilloo, won't you come in and have some refreshment?' 'who's there?' asked mr. sponge, reining in the brown. 'oh, we're all here,' shouted brother bob spangles, holding up a tumbler of hot brandy-and-water; 'we're all here--sir harry and all,' added he. 'but what shall i do with the hounds?' asked mr. sponge, looking down upon the confused pack, now crowding about his horse's head. 'oh, let the beef-eaters--the scene-shifters--i meant to say the servants--those fellows, you know, in scarlet and black caps, look after them,' replied brother bob spangles. 'but there are none of them here,' exclaimed mr. sponge, looking back on the deserted road. 'none of them here!' hiccuped sir harry, who had now got reeled to the window. 'none of them here,' repeated he, staring vacantly at the uneven pack. 'oh (hiccup) i'll tell you what do--(hiccup) them into a barn or a stable, or a (hiccup) of any sort, and we'll send for them when we want to (hiccup) again.' 'then just you call them to you,' replied sponge, thinking they would go to their master. 'just you call them,' repeated he, 'and i'll put them to you.' '(hiccup) call to them?' replied harry. 'i can't (hiccup).' 'oh yes!' rejoined mr. sponge; 'call one or two by their names, and the rest will follow.' 'names! (hiccup) i don't know any of their nasty names,' replied sir harry, staring wildly. 'towler! towler! towler! here, good dog--hoop!--here's your liquor!' cried brother bob spangles, holding the smoking tumbler of brandy-and-water out of the window, as if to tempt any hound that chose to answer to the name of towler. there didn't seem to be a towler in the pack; at least, none of them qualified for the brandy-and-water. 'oh, i'll (hiccup) you what we'll do,' exclaimed sir harry: 'i'll (hiccup) you what we'll do. 'we'll just give them a (hiccup) kick a-piece and send them (hiccuping) home,' sir harry reeling back into the room to the black horse-hair sofa, where his whip was. he presently appeared at the door, and, going into the midst of the hounds, commenced laying about him, rating, and cutting, and kicking, and shouting. [illustration: sir harry of nonsuch house] 'geete away home with ye, ye brutes; what are you all (hiccup)ing here about? ah! cut off his tail!' cried he, staggering after a venerable blear-eyed sage, who dropped his stern and took off. 'be off! does your mother know you're out?' cried bob spangles, out of the window, to old marksman, who stood wondering what to do. the old hound took the hint also. 'now, then, old feller,' cried sir harry, staggering up to mr. sponge, who still sat on his horse, in mute astonishment at sir harry's mode of dealing with his hounds. 'now, then, old feller,' said he, seizing mr. sponge by the hand, 'get rid of your quadruped, and (hiccup) in, and make yourself "o'er all the (hiccups) of life victorious," as bob spangles says, when he (hiccups) it neat. this is old (hiccup) peastraw's, a (hiccup) tenant of mine, and he'll be most (hiccup) to see you.' 'but what must i do with my horse?' asked mr. sponge, rubbing some of the dried sweat off the brown's shoulder as he spoke; adding, 'i should like to get him a feed of corn.' 'give him some ale, and a (hiccup) of sherry in it,' replied sir harry; 'it'll do him far more good--make his mane grow,' smoothing the horse's thin, silky mane as he spoke. 'well, i'll put him up,' replied mr. sponge, 'and then come to you,' throwing himself, jockey fashion, off the horse as he spoke. 'that's a (hiccup) feller,' said sir harry; adding, 'here's old pea himself come to see after you.' so saying, sir harry reeled back to his comrades in the house, leaving mr. sponge in the care of the farmer. 'this way, sir; this way,' said the burly mr. peastraw, leading the way into his farmyard, where a line of hunters stood shivering under a long cart-shed. 'but i can't put my horse in here,' observed mr. sponge, looking at the unfortunate brutes. 'no, sir, no,' replied mr. peastraw; 'put yours in a stable, sir; put yours in a stable'; adding, 'these young gents don't care much about their horses.' 'does anybody know the chap's name?' asked sir harry, reeling back into the room. 'know his name!' exclaimed bob spangles; 'why, don't you?' 'no,' replied sir harry, with a vacant stare. 'why, you went up and shook hands with him, as if you were as thick as thieves,' replied bob. 'did i?' hiccuped sir harry. 'well, i thought i knew him. at least, i thought it was somebody i had (hiccup)ed before; and at one's own (hiccup) house, you know, one's 'bliged to be (hiccup) feller well (hiccup) with everybody that comes. but surely, some of you know his (hiccup) name,' added he, looking about at the company. 'i think i know his (hiccup) face,' replied bob spangles, imitating his brother-in-law. 'i've seen him somewhere,' observed the other spangles, through a mouthful of beef. 'so have i,' exclaimed some one else, 'but where i can't say.' 'most likely at church,' observed brother bob spangles. 'well, i don't think he'll corrupt me,' observed captain quod, speaking between the fumes of a cigar. 'he'll not borrow much of me,' observed captain seedeybuck, producing a much tarnished green purse, and exhibiting two fourpenny-pieces at one end, and three-halfpence at the other. 'oh, i dare say he's a good feller,' observed sir harry; 'i make no doubt he's one of the right sort.' just then in came the man himself, hat and whip in hand, waving the brush proudly over his head. 'ah, that's (hiccup) right, old feller,' exclaimed sir harry, again advancing with extended hand to meet him, adding, 'you'd (hiccup) all you wanted for your (hiccup) horse: mutton broth--i mean barley-water, foot-bath, everything right. let me introduce my (hiccup) brother-in-law, bob spangles, my (hiccup) friend captain ladofwax, captain quod, captain (hiccup) bouncey, captain (hiccup) seedeybuck, and my (hiccup) brother-in-law, mr. spangles, as lushy a cove as ever was seen; ar'n't you, old boy?' added he, grasping the latter by the arm. all these gentlemen severally bobbed their heads as sir harry called them over, and then resumed their respective occupations--eating, drinking, and smoking. these were some of the debauched gentlemen mr. sponge had seen before nonsuch house in the morning. they were all captains, or captains by courtesy. ladofwax had been a painter and glazier in the borough, where he made the acquaintance of captain quod, while that gentleman was an inmate of captain hudson's strong house. captain bouncey was the too well-known betting-office keeper; and seedeybuck was such a constant customer of mr. commissioner fonblanque's court, that that worthy legal luminary, on discharging him for the fifth time, said to him, with a very significant shake of the head, 'you'd better not come here again, sir.' seedeybuck, being of the same opinion, had since fastened himself on to sir harry scattercash, who found him in meat, drink, washing, and lodging. they were all attired in red coats, of one sort or another, though some of which were of a very antediluvian, and others of a very dressing-gown cut. bouncey's had a hare on the button, and seedeybuck's coat sat on him like a sack. still a scarlet coat is a scarlet coat in the eyes of some, and the coats were not a bit more unsportsmanlike than the men. to mr. sponge's astonishment, instead of breaking out in inquiries as to where they had run to, the time, the distance, who was up, who was down, and so on, they began recommending the victuals and drink; and this, notwithstanding mr. sponge kept flourishing the brush. 'we've had a rare run,' said he, addressing himself to sir harry. 'have you (hiccup)? i'm glad of it (hiccup). pray have something to (hiccup) after it; you _must_ be (hiccup).' 'let me help you to some of this cold round of beef?' exclaimed captain bouncey, brandishing the great broad-bladed carving knife. 'have a slice of 'ot 'am,' suggested captain quod. 'the finest run i ever rode!' observed mr. sponge, still endeavouring to get a hearing. 'dare say it would,' replied sir harry;' those (hiccup) hounds of mine are uncommon (hiccup).' he didn't know what they were, and the hiccup came very opportunely. 'the pace was terrific!' exclaimed sponge. 'dare say it would,' replied sir harry; 'and that's what makes me (hiccup) you're so (hiccup). pea, here, has some rare old october--(hiccup) bushels to the (hiccup) hogshead.' 'it's capital!' exclaimed captain seedeybuck, frothing himself a tumblerful out of the tall brown jug. 'so is this,' rejoined captain quod, pouring himself out a liberal allowance of gin. 'that horse of mine carried me mag_nificently_!' observed mr. sponge, with a commanding emphasis on the mag. 'dare say he would,' replied sir harry; 'he looked like a (hiccup)er--a white 'un, wasn't he?' 'no; a _brown_,' replied mr. sponge, disgusted at the mistake. 'ah, well; but there _was_ somebody on a white,' replied sir harry. 'oh--ah--yes--it was old bugles on my lady's horse. by the (hiccup) way (hiccup), gentlemen, what's got mr. orlando (hiccup) bugles?' asked sir harry, staring wildly round. 'oh! old bugles! old pad-the-hoof! old mr. funker! the horse frightened him so, that he went home crying,' replied bob spangles. 'hope he didn't lose him?' asked sir harry. 'oh no,' replied bob; 'he gave a lad a shilling to lead him, and they trudged away very quietly together.' 'the old (hiccup)!' exclaimed sir harry; 'he told me he was a member of the surrey something.' 'the sorry union,' replied captain quod. 'he _was_ out with them once, and fell off on his head and knocked his hat-crown out.' 'well, but i was telling you about the run,' interposed mr. sponge, again endeavouring to enlist an audience. 'i was telling you about the run,' repeated he. 'don't trouble yourself, my dear sir,' interrupted captain bouncey; 'we know all about it--found--checked--killed, killed--found--checked.' 'you _can't_ know all about it!' snapped mr. sponge; 'for there wasn't a soul there but myself, much to my horror, for i had a reg'lar row with old scamperdale, and never a soul to back me.' 'what! you fell in with that mealy-mouthed gentleman, who can't (hiccup) swear because he's a (hiccup) lord, did you?' asked sir harry, his attention being now drawn to our friend. '_i did_,' replied mr. sponge; 'and a pretty passage of politeness we had of it.' 'indeed! (hiccup),' exclaimed sir harry. 'tell us (hiccup) all about it.' 'well,' said mr. sponge, laying the brush lengthways before him on the table, as if he was going to demonstrate upon it. 'well, you see we had a devil of a run--i don't know how many miles, as hard as ever we could lay legs to the ground; one by one the field all dropped astern, except the huntsman and myself. at last he gave in, or rather his horse did, and i was left alone in my glory. well, we went over the downs at a pace that nothing but blood could live with, and, though my horse has never been beat, and is as thorough-bred as eclipse--a horse that i have refused three hundred guineas for over and over again, i really did begin to think i might get to the bottom of him, when all of a sudden we came to a dean.' 'ah! cockthropple that would be,' observed sir harry. 'dare say,' replied mr. sponge; 'cock-anything-you-like-to-call-it for me. well, when we got there, i thought we should have some breathing time, for the fox would be sure to hug it. but no; no sooner had i got there than a countryman hallooed him away on the far side. i got to the halloo as quick as i could, and just as i was blowing the horn,' producing watchorn's from his pocket as he spoke; 'for i must tell you,' said he, 'that when i saw the huntsman's horse was beat, i took this from him--a horn to a foot huntsman being of no more use, you know, than a side-pocket to a cow, or a frilled shirt to a pig. well, as i was tootleing the horn for hard life, who should turn out of the wood but old mealy-mouth himself, as you call him, and a pretty volley of abuse he let drive at me.' 'no doubt,' hiccuped sir harry; 'but what was _he_ doing there?' 'oh! i should tell you,' replied mr. sponge, 'his hounds had run a fox into it, and were on him full cry when i got there.' 'i'll be bund,' cried sir harry, 'it was all sham--that he just (hiccup) and excuse for getting into that cover. the old (hiccup) beggar is always at some trick, (hiccup)-ing my foxes or disturbing my covers or something,' sir harry being just enough of a master of hounds to be jealous of the neighbouring ones. 'well, however, there he was,' continued mr. sponge; 'and the first intimation i had of the fact was a great, gruff voice, exclaiming, "who the dickens are you?" '"who the dickens are you?" replied i.' 'bravo!' shouted sir harry. 'capital!' exclaimed seedeybuck. 'go it, you cripples! newgate's on fire!' shouted captain quod. 'well, what said he?' asked sir harry. '"they commonly call me the earl of scamperdale," roared he, "and those are my hounds." '"they're _not_ your hounds," replied i. '"whose are they, then?" asked he. '"sir harry scattercash's, a devilish deal better fellow," replied i. '"oh, by jove!" roared he, "there's an end of everything, jack," shouted he to old spraggon, "this gentleman says these are not my hounds!" '"i'll tell you what it is, my lord," said i, gathering my whip and riding close up as if i was goin' to pitch into him, "i'll tell you what it is; you think, because you're a lord, you may abuse people as you like, but by jingo you've mistaken your man. i'll not put up with any of your nonsense. the sponges are as old a family as the scamperdales, and i'll fight you any non-hunting day you like with pistols, broadswords, fists or blunder-busses."' 'well done you! bravo! that's your sort!' with loud thumping of tables and clapping of hands, resounded from all parts. 'by jove, fill him up a stiff'un! he deserves a good drink after that!' exclaimed sir harry, pouring mr. sponge out a beaker, equal parts brandy and water. mr. sponge immediately became a hero, and was freely admitted into their circle. he was clearly a choice spirit--a trump of the first water--and they only wanted his name to be uncommonly thick with him. as it was, they plied him with victuals and drink, all seeming anxious to bring him up to the same happy state of inebriety as themselves. they talked and they chattered, and they abused old scamperdale and jack spraggon, and lauded mr. sponge up to the skies. thus day closed in, with farmer peastraw's bright fire shedding its cheering glow over the now encircling group. one would have thought that, with their hearts mellow, and their bodies comfortable, their minds would have turned to that sport in whose honour they sported the scarlet; but no, hunting was never mentioned. they were quite as genteel as nimrod's swell friends at melton, who cut it altogether. they rambled from subject to subject, chiefly on indoor and london topics; billiards, betting-offices, coal holes, cremorne, cider cellars, judge and jury courts, there being an evident confusion in their minds between the characters of sportsmen and sporting men, or gents as they are called. mr. sponge tried hard to get them on the right tack, were it only for the sake of singing the praises of the horse for which he had so often refused three hundred guineas, but he never succeeded in retaining an hearing. talkers were far more plentiful than listeners. at last they got to singing, and when men begin to sing, it is a sign that they are either drunk, or have had enough of each other's company. sir harry's hiccup, from which he was never wholly free, increased tenfold, and he hiccuped and spluttered at almost every word. his hand, which shook so at starting that it was odds whether he got his glass to his mouth or his ear, was now steadied, but his glazed eye and green haggard countenance showed at what a fearful sacrifice the temporary steadiness had been obtained. at last his jaw dropped on his chest, his left arm hung listlessly over the back of the chair, and he fell asleep. captain quod, too, was overcome, and threw himself full-length on the sofa. captain seedeybuck began to talk thick. just as they were all about brought to a standstill, the trampling of horses, the rumbling of wheels, and the shrill twang, twang, twang of the now almost forgotten mail horn, roused them from their reveries. it was sir harry's drag scouring the country in search of our party. it had been to all the public-houses and beer-shops within a radius of some miles of nonsuch house, and was now taking a speculative blow through the centre of the circle. it was a clear frosty night, and the horses' hoofs rang, and the wheels rolled soundly over the hard road, cracking the thin ice, yet hardly sufficiently frozen to prevent a slight upshot from the wheels. [illustration: mr. bugles prefers dancing to hunting] twang, twang, twang, went the horn full upon farmer peastraw's house, causing the sleepers to start, and the waking ones to make for the window. 'coach-a-hoy!' cried bob spangles, smashing a pane in a vain attempt to get the window up. the coachman pulled up at the sound. 'here we are, sir harry!' cried bob spangles, into his brother-in-law's ear, but sir harry was too far gone; he could not 'come to time.' presently a footman entered with furred coats, and shawls, and checkered rugs, in which those who were sufficiently sober enveloped themselves, and those who were too far gone were huddled by peastraw and the man; and amid much hurry and confusion, and jostling for inside seats, the party freighted the coach, and whisked away before mr. sponge knew where he was. when they arrived at nonsuch house, they found mr. bugles exercising the fiddlers by dancing the ladies in turns. chapter lii a moonlight ride the position, then, of mr. sponge was this. he was left on a frosty, moonlight night at the door of a strange farmhouse, staring after a receding coach, containing all his recent companions. 'you'll not be goin' wi' 'em, then?' observed mr. peastraw, who stood beside him, listening to the shrill notes of the horn dying out in the distance. 'no,' replied mr. sponge. 'rummy lot,' observed mr. peastraw, with a shake of the head. 'are they?' asked mr. sponge. 'very!' replied mr. peastraw. 'be the death of sir harry among 'em.' 'who are they all?' asked mr. sponge. 'rubbish!' replied peastraw with a sneer, diving his hands into the depths of his pockets. 'well, we'd better go in,' added he, pulling his hands out and rubbing them, to betoken that he felt cold. mr. sponge, not being much of a drinker, was more overcome with what he had taken than a seasoned cask would have been; added to which the keen night air striking upon his heated frame soon sent the liquor into his head. he began to feel queer. 'well,' said he to his host, 'i think i'd better be going.' 'where are you bound for?' asked mr. peastraw. 'to puddingpote bower,' replied mr. sponge. 's-o-o,' observed mr. peastraw thoughtfully; 'mr. crowdey's--mr. jogglebury that was?' 'yes,' replied mr. sponge. 'he is a deuce of a man, that, for breaking people's hedges,' observed mr. peastraw; after a pause, 'he can't see a straight stick of no sort, but he's sure to be at it.' 'he's a great man for walking-sticks,' replied mr. sponge, staggering in the direction of the stable in which he put his horse. the house clock then struck ten. 'she's fast,' observed mr. peastraw, fearing his guest might be wanting to stay all night. 'how far will puddingpote bower be from here?' asked mr. sponge. 'oh, no distance, sir, no distance,' replied mr. peastraw, now leading out the horse. 'can't miss your way, sir--can't miss your way. first turn on the right takes you to collins' green; then keep by the side of the church, next the pond; then go straight forward for about a mile and a half, or two miles, till you come to a small village called lea green; turn short at the finger-post as you enter, and keep right along by the side of the hills till you come to the winslow woods; leave them to the left, and pass by mr. roby's farm, at runton--you'll know mr. roby?' 'not i,' replied mr. sponge, hoisting himself into the saddle, and holding out a hand to take leave of his host. 'good night, sir; good night!' exclaimed mr. peastraw, shaking it; 'and have the goodness to tell mr. crowdey from me that the next time he comes here a bush-rangin', i'll thank him to shut the gates after him. he set all my young stock wrong the last time he was here.' 'i will,' replied mr. sponge, riding off. mr. peastraw's directions were well calculated to confuse a clearer head than mr. sponge then carried; and the reader will not be surprised to learn that, long before he reached the winslow woods, he was regularly bewildered. indeed, there is no surer way of losing oneself than trying to follow a long train of directions in a strange country. it is far better to establish one's own landmarks, and make for them as the natural course of the country seems to direct. our forefathers had a wonderful knack of getting to points with as little circumlocution as possible. mr. sponge, however, knew no points, and was quite at sea; indeed, even if he had, they would have been of little use, for a fitful and frequently obscured moon threw such bewildering lights and shades around, that a native would have had some difficulty in recognizing the country. the frost grew more intense, the stars shone clear and bright, and the cold took our friend by the nape of the neck, shooting across his shoulder-blades and right down his back. mr. sponge wished and wished he was anywhere but where he was--flattening his nose against the coffee-room window of the bantam, tooling in a hansom as hard as he could go, squaring along oxford street criticizing horses--nay, he wouldn't care to be undergoing gustavus james himself--anything, rather than rambling about a strange country in a cold winter's night, with nothing but the hooting of owls and the occasional bark of shepherds' dogs to enliven his solitude. the houses were few and far between. the lights in the cottages had long been extinguished, and the occupiers of such of the farmhouses as would come to his knocks were gruff in their answers, and short in their directions. at length, after riding, and riding, and riding, more with a view of keeping himself awake than in the expectation of finding his way, just as he was preparing to arouse the inmates of a cottage by the roadside, a sudden gleam of moonlight fell upon the building, revealing the half-swiss, half-gothic lodge of puddingpote bower. chapter liii puddingpote bower we must now back the train a little, and have a look at jog and co. mr. and mrs. jog had had another squabble after mr. sponge's departure in the morning, mr. jog reproving mrs. jog for the interest she seemed to take in mr. sponge, as shown by her going to the door to see him amble away on the piebald hack. mrs. jog justified herself on the score of gustavus james, with whom she was quite sure mr. sponge was much struck, and to whom, she made no doubt, he would leave his ample fortune. jog, on the other hand, wheezed and puffed into his frill, and reasserted that mr. sponge was as likely to live as gustavus james, and to marry and to have a bushel of children of his own; while mrs. jog rejoined that he was 'sure to break his neck'--breaking their necks being, as she conceived, the inevitable end of fox-hunters. jog, who had not prosecuted the sport of hunting long enough to be able to gainsay her assertion, though he took especial care to defer the operation of breaking his own neck as long as he could, fell back upon the expense and inconvenience of keeping mr. sponge and his three horses, and his saucy servant, who had taught their domestics to turn up their noses at his diet table; above all, at his stick-jaw and undeniable small-beer. so they went fighting and squabbling on, till at last the scene ended, as usual, by mrs. jogglebury bursting into tears, and declaring that jog didn't care a farthing either for her or her children. jog then bundled off, to try and fashion a most incorrigible-looking, knotty blackthorn into a head of lord chancellor lyndhurst. he afterwards took a turn at a hazel that he thought would make a joe hume. having occupied himself with these till the children's dinner-hour, he took a wandering, snatching sort of meal, and then put on his paletot, with a little hatchet in the pocket, and went off in search of the raw material in his own and the neighbouring hedges. evening came, and with it came jog, laden, as usual, with an armful of gibbeys, but the shades of night followed evening ere there was any tidings of the sporting inmates of his house. at length, just as jog was taking his last stroll prior to going in for good, he espied a pair of vacillating white breeches coming up the avenue with a clearly drunken man inside them. jog stood straining his eyes watching their movements, wondering whether they would keep the saddle or come off--whenever the breeches seemed irrevocably gone, they invariably recovered themselves with a jerk or a lurch--jog now saw it was leather on the piebald, and though he had no fancy for the man, he stood to let him come up, thinking to hear something of sponge. leather in due time saw the great looming outline of our friend and came staring and shaking his head, endeavouring to identify it. he thought at first it was the squire--next he thought it wasn't--then he was sure it wasn't. 'oh! it's you, old boy, is it?' at last exclaimed he, pulling up beside the large holly against which our friend had placed himself, 'it's you, old boy, is it?' repeated he, extending his right hand and nearly overbalancing himself, adding as he recovered his equilibrium, 'i thought it was the old woolpack at first,' nodding his head towards the house. 'well,' spluttered he, pulling up, and sitting, as he thought, quite straight in the saddle, 'we've had the finest day's sport and the most equitable drink i've enjoyed for many a long day. 'ord bless us, what a gent that sir 'arry is! he's the sort of man that should have money. i'm blowed, if i were queen, but i'd melt all the great blubber-headed fellows like this 'ere crowdey down, and make one sich man as sir 'arry out of the 'ole on 'em. beer! they don't know wot beer is there! nothin' but the werry strongest hale, instead of the puzzon one gets at this awful mean place, that looks like nothin' but the weshin' o' brewers' haprons. oh! i 'umbly begs pardon,' exclaimed he, dropping from his horse on to his knees on discovering that he was addressing mr. crowdey--'i thought it was robins, the mole-ketcher.' 'thought it was robins, the mole-catcher,' growled jog; 'what have you to do with (puff) robins, the (wheeze) mole-catcher?' jog boiled over with indignation. at first he thought of kicking leather, a feat that his suppliant position made extremely convenient, if not tempting. prudence, however, suggested that leather might have him up for the assault. so he stood puffing and wheezing and eyeing the blear-eyed, brandy-nosed old drunkard with, as he thought, a withering look of contempt; and then, though the man was drunk and the night was dark, he waddled off, leaving mr. leather on his once white breeches' knees. if jog had had reasonable time, say an hour or an hour and twenty minutes, to improvise it in, he would have said something uncommonly sharp; as it was he left him with the pertinent inquiry we have recorded--'what have you to do with robins, the mole-catcher?' we need hardly say that this little incident did not at all ingratiate mr. sponge with his host, who re-entered his house in a worse humour than ever. it was insulting a gentleman on his own ter-ri-tory--bearding an englishman in his own castle. 'not to be borne (puff),' said jog. it was now nearly five o'clock, jog's dinner hour, and still no mr. sponge. mrs. jog proposed waiting half an hour, indeed, she had told susan, the cook, to keep the dinner back a little, to give mr. sponge a chance, who could not possibly change his tight hunting things for his evening tights in the short space of time that jog could drop off his loose-flowing garments, wash his hands, and run the comb through his lank, candle-like hair. five o'clock struck, and jog was just applying his hand to the fat red-and-black worsted bell-pull, when mrs. jog announced what she had done. 'put off the dinner (wheeze)! put off the dinner (puff)!' repeated he, blowing furiously into his clean shirt-frill, which stuck up under his nose like a hand-saw; 'put off the dinner (wheeze)! put off the dinner (puff), i wish you wouldn't do such (wheeze) things without consulting (gasp) me.' 'well, but, my dear, you couldn't possibly sit down without him,' observed mrs. jog mildly. 'possibly! (puff), possibly! (wheeze),' repeated jog. 'there's no possibly in the matter,' retorted he, blowing more furiously into the frill. mrs. jog was silent. 'a man should conform to the (puff) hours of the (wheeze) house,' observed jog, after a pause. 'well, but, my dear, you know hunters are always allowed a little law,' observed mrs. jog. 'law! (puff), law! (wheeze),' retorted jog. 'i never want any law,' thinking of smiler _v._ jogglebury. half-past five o'clock came, and still no sponge; and mrs. jog, thinking it would be better to arrange to have something hot for him when he came, than to do further battle with her husband, gave the bell the double ring indicative of 'bring dinner.' 'nay (puff), nay (wheeze); when you have (gasp)ed so long,' growled jog, taking the other tack, 'you might as well have (wheez)ed a little longer'--snorting into his frill as he spoke. mrs. jogglebury said nothing, but slipped quietly out, as if after her keys, to tell susan to keep so-and-so in the meat-screen, and have a few potatoes ready to boil against mr. sponge arrived. she then sidled back quietly into the room. jog and she presently proceeded to that all-important meal. jog blowing out the company candles on the side-table as he passed. jog munched away with a capital appetite; but mrs. jog, who took the bulk of her lading in at the children's dinner, sat trifling with the contents of her plate, listening alternately for the sound of horses' hoofs outside, and for nursery squalls in. dinner passed over, and the fruity port and sugary sherry soon usurped the places that stick-jaw pudding and cheese had occupied. 'mr. (puff) sponge must be (wheeze), i think,' observed jog, hauling his great silver watch out, like a bucket, from his fob, on seeing that it only wanted ten minutes to seven. 'oh, jog!' exclaimed mrs. jog, clasping her beautiful hands, and casting her bright beady eyes up to the low ceiling. 'oh, jog! what's the matter now? (puff--wheeze--gasp),' exclaimed our friend, reddening up, and fixing his stupid eyes intently on his wife. 'oh, nothing,' replied mrs. jog, unclasping her hands, and bringing down her eyes. 'oh, nothin'!' retorted jog. 'nothin'!' repeated he. 'ladies don't get into such tantrums for nothin'.' 'well, then, jog, i was thinking if anything should have ha--ha--happened mr. sponge, how gustavus ja--ja--james will have lost his chance.' and thereupon she dived for her lace-fringed pocket-handkerchief, and hurried out of the room. but mrs. jog had said quite enough to make the caldron of jog's jealousy boil over, and he sat staring into the fire, imagining all sorts of horrible devices in the coals and cinders, and conjuring up all sorts of evils, until he felt himself possessed of a hundred and twenty thousand devils. 'i'll get shot of this chap at last,' said he, with a knowing jerk of his head and a puff into his frill, as he drew his thick legs under his chair, and made a semi-circle to get at the bottle. 'i'll get shot of this chap,' repeated he, pouring himself out a bumper of the syrupy port, and eyeing it at the composite candle. he drained off the glass, and immediately filled another. that, too, went down; then he took another, and another, and another; and seeing the bottle get low, he thought he might as well finish it. he felt better after it. not that he was a bit more reconciled to our friend mr. sponge, but he felt more equal to cope with him--he even felt as if he could fight him. there did not, however, seem to be much likelihood of his having to perform that ceremony, for nine o'clock struck and no mr. sponge, and at half-past mr. crowdey stumped off to bed. mrs. crowdey, having given bartholomew and susan a dirty pack of cards to play with to keep them awake till mr. sponge arrived, went to bed, too, and the house was presently tranquil. it, however, happened that that amazing prodigy, gustavus james, having been out on a sort of eleemosynary excursion among the neighbouring farmers and people, exhibiting as well his fine blue-feathered hat, as his astonishing proficiency in 'bah! bah! black sheep,' and 'obin and ichard,' getting seed-cake from one, sponge cake from another, and toffy from a third, was troubled with a very bad stomach-ache during the night, of which he soon made the house sensible by his screams and his cries. jog and his wife were presently at him; and, as jog sat in his white cotton nightcap and flowing flannel dressing-gown in an easy chair in the nursery, he heard the crack of the whip, and the prolonged _yeea-yu-u-p_ of mr. sponge's arrival. presently the trampling of a horse was heard passing round to the stable. the clock then struck one. [illustration: gustavus james in trouble] 'pretty hour for a man to come home to a strange house!' observed mr. jog, for the nurse, or murry ann, or mrs. jog, or any one that liked, to take up. mrs. jog was busy with the rhubarb and magnesia, and the others said nothing. after the lapse of a few minutes, the clank, clank, clank of mr. sponge's spurs was heard as he passed round to the front, and mr. jog stole out on to the landing to hear how he would get in. thump! thump! thump! went mr. sponge at the door; rap--tap--tap he went at it with his whip. 'comin', sir! comin'!' exclaimed bartholomew from the inside. presently the shooting of bolts, the withdrawal of bands, and the opening of doors, were heard. 'not gone to bed yet, old boy?' said mr. sponge, as he entered. 'no, thir!' snuffled the boy, who had a bad cold, 'been thitten up for you.' 'old puff-and-blow gone?' asked mr. sponge, depositing his hat and whip on a chair. the boy gave no answer. 'is old bellows-to-mend gone to bed?' asked mr. sponge in a louder voice. 'the charman's gone,' replied the boy, who looked upon his master--the chairman of the stir-it-stiff union--as the impersonification of all earthly greatness. 'dash your impittance,' growled jog, slinking back into the nursery; 'i'll pay you off! (puff),' added he, with a jerk of his white night-capped head, 'i'll bellows-to-mend you! (wheeze).' chapter liv family jars gustavus james's internal qualms being at length appeased, mr. jogglebury crowdey returned to bed, but not to sleep--sleep there was none for him. he was full of indignation and jealousy, and felt suspicious of the very bolster itself. he had been insulted--grossly insulted. three such names--the 'woolpack,' 'old puff-and-blow,' and 'bellows-to-mend'--no gentleman, surely, ever was called before by a guest, in his own house. called, too, before his own servant. what veneration, what respect, could a servant feel for a master whom he heard called 'old bellows-to-mend'? it damaged the respect inspired by the chairmanship of the stir-it-stiff union, to say nothing of the trusteeship of the sloppyhocks, tolpuddle, and other turnpike-roads. it annihilated everything. so he fumed, and fretted, and snorted, and snored. worst of all, he had no one to whom he could unburden his grievance. he could not make the partner of his bosom a partner in his woes, because--and he bounced about so that he almost shot the clothes off the bed, at the thoughts of the 'why.' thus he lay tumbling and tossing, and fuming and wheezing and puffing, now vowing vengeance against leather, who he recollected had called him the 'woolpack,' and determining to have him turned off in the morning for his impudence--now devising schemes for getting rid of mr. sponge and him together. oh, could he but see them off! could he but see the portmanteau and carpet-bag again standing in the passage, he would gladly lend his phaeton to carry them anywhere. he would drive it himself for the pleasure of knowing and feeling he was clear of them. he wouldn't haggle about the pikes; nay, he would even give sponge a gibbey, any he liked--the pick of the whole--wellington, napoleon bonaparte, a crowned head even, though it would damage the set. so he lay, rolling and restless, hearing every clock strike; now trying to divert his thoughts, by making a rough calculation what all his gibbeys put together were worth; now considering whether he had forgotten to go for any he had marked in the course of his peregrinations; now wishing he had laid one about old leather, when he fell on his knees after calling him the 'woolpack'; then wondering whether leather would have had him before the county court for damages, or taken him before justice slowcoach for the assault. as morning advanced, his thoughts again turned upon the best mode of getting rid of his most unwelcome guests, and he arose and dressed, with the full determination of trying what he could do. having tried the effects of an upstairs shout the morning before, he decided to see what a down one would do; accordingly, he mounted the stairs and climbed the sort of companion-ladder that led to the servants' attics, where he kept a stock of gibbeys in the rafters. having reached this, he cleared his throat, laid his head over the banisters, and putting an open hand on each side of his mouth to direct the sound, exclaimed with a loud and audible voice: 'bartholo--_m--e--w_!' 'bar--tho--lo--_m--e--e--w_!' repeated he, after a pause, with a full separation of the syllables and a prolonged intonation of the _m--e--w_. no bartholomew answered. 'murray ann!' then hallooed jog, in a sharper, quicker key. 'murray ann!' repeated he, still louder, after a pause. 'yes, sir! here, sir!' exclaimed that invaluable servant, tidying her pink-ribboned cap as she hurried into the passage below. looking up, she caught sight of her master's great sallow chaps hanging like a flitch of bacon over the garret banister. 'oh, murry ann,' bellowed mr. jog, at the top of his voice, still holding his hands to his mouth, as soon as he saw her, 'oh, murry ann, you'd better get the (puff) breakfast ready; i think the (gasp) mr. sponge will be (wheezing) away to-day.' 'yes, sir,' replied mary ann. 'and tell bartholomew to get his washin' bills in.' 'he harn't had no washin' done,' replied mary ann, raising her voice to correspond with that of her master. 'then his bill for postage,' replied mr. jog, in the same tone. 'he harn't had no letters neither,' replied mary ann. 'oh, then, just get the breakfast ready,' rejoined jog, adding, 'he'll be (wheezing) away as soon as he gets it, i (puff) expect.' 'will he?' said mr. sponge to himself, as, with throbbing head, he lay tumbling about in bed, alleviating the recollections of the previous day's debauch with an occasional dive into his old friend _mogg_. corporeally, he was in bed at puddingpote bower, but mentally, he was at the door of the goose and gridiron, in st. paul's churchyard, waiting for the three o'clock bus, coming from the bank to take him to isleworth gate. jog's bellow to 'bartholo--_m--e--w_' interrupted the journey, just as in imagination mr. sponge was putting his foot on the wheel and hallooing to the driver to hand him the strap to help him on to the box. 'will he?' said mr. sponge to himself, as he heard jog's reiterated assertion that he would be wheezing away that day. 'wish you may get it, old boy,' added he, tucking the now backless _mogg_ under his pillow, and turning over for a snooze. when he got down, he found the party ranged at breakfast, minus the interesting prodigy, gustavus james, whom sponge proceeded to inquire after as soon as he had made his obeisance to his host and hostess, and distributed a round of daubed comfits to the rest of the juvenile party. 'but where's my little friend, augustus james?' asked he, on arriving at the wonder's high chair by the side of mamma. 'where's my little friend, augustus james?' asked he, with an air of concern. 'oh, _gustavus_ james,' replied mrs. jog, with an emphasis on gustavus; '_gustavus_ james is not very well this morning; had a little indigestion during the night.' 'poor little hound,' observed mr. sponge, filling his mouth with hot kidney, glad to be rid for a time of the prodigy. 'i thought i heard a row when i came home, which was rather late for an early man like me, but the fact was, nothing would serve sir harry but i should go with him to get some refreshment at a tenant's of his; and we got on talking, first about one thing, and then about another, and the time slipped away so quickly, that day was gone before i knew where i was; and though sir harry was most anxious--indeed, would hardly take a refusal--for me to go home with him, i felt that, being a guest here, i couldn't do it--at least, not then; so i got my horse, and tried to find my way with such directions as the farmer gave me, and soon lost my way, for the moon was uncertain, and the country all strange both to me and my horse.' 'what farmer was it?' asked jog, with the butter streaming down the gutters of his chin from a mouthful of thick toast. 'farmer--farmer--farmer--let me see, what farmer it was,' replied mr. sponge thoughtfully, again attacking the kidneys. 'oh, farmer beanstraw, i should say.' '_pea_straw, p'raps?' suggested jog, colouring up, and staring intently at mr. sponge. 'pea--peastraw was the name,' replied mr. sponge. 'i know him,' said jog; 'peastraw of stoke.' 'ah, he said he knew you.' replied mr. sponge. 'did he?' asked jog eagerly. 'what did he say?' 'say--let me see what he said,' replied he, pretending to recollect.' he said "you are a deuced good feller," and i'd to make his compliments to you, and to say that there were some nice young ash saplings on his farm that you were welcome to cut.' 'did he?' exclaimed jog; 'i'm sure that's very (puff) polite of him. i'll (wheeze) over there the first opportunity.' 'and what did you make of sir harry?' asked mrs. jog. 'did you (puff) say you were going to (wheeze) over to him?' asked jog eagerly. 'i told him i'd go to him before i left the country,' replied mr. sponge carelessly; adding, 'sir harry is rather too fast a man for me.' 'too fast for himself, i should think,' observed mrs. jog. 'fine (puff--wheeze) young man,' growled jog into the bottom of his cup. 'have you known him long?' asked mrs. jogglebury. 'oh, we fox-hunters all know each other,' replied mr. sponge evasively. 'well, now that's what i tell mr. jogglebury,' exclaimed she. 'mr. jog's so shy, that there's no getting him to do what he ought,' added the lady. 'no one, to hear him, would think he's the great man he is.' 'ought (puff)--ought (wheeze),' retorted jog, puffing furiously into his capacious shirt-frill. 'it's one (puff) thing to know (puff) people out with the (wheeze) hounds, and another to go calling upon them at their (gasp) houses.' 'well, but, my dear, that's the way people make acquaintance,' replied his wife. 'isn't it, mr. sponge?' continued she, appealing to our friend. 'oh, certainly,' replied mr. sponge, 'certainly; all men are equal out hunting.' 'so i say,' exclaimed mrs. jogglebury; 'and yet i can't get jog to call on sir george stiff, though he meets him frequently out hunting.' 'well, but then i can't (puff) upon him out hunting (wheeze), and then we're not all equal (gasp) when we go home.' so saying, our friend rose from his chair, and after giving each leg its usual shake, and banging his pockets behind to feel that he had his keys safe, he strutted consequentially up to the window to see how the day looked. mr. sponge, not being desirous of continuing the 'calling' controversy, especially as it might lead to inquiries relative to his acquaintance with sir harry, finished the contents of his plate quickly, drank up his tea, and was presently alongside of his host, asking him whether he 'was good for a ride, a walk, or what?' 'a (puff) ride, a (wheeze) walk, or a (gasp) what?' repeated jog thoughtfully. 'no, i (puff) think i'll stay at (puff) home,' thinking that would be the safest plan. ''ord, hang it, you'll never lie at earth such a day as this!' exclaimed sponge, looking out on the bright, sunny landscape. 'got a great deal to do,' retorted jog, who, like all thoroughly idle men, was always dreadfully busy. he then dived into a bundle of rough sticks, and proceeded to select one to fashion into the head of mr. hume. sponge, being unable to make anything of him, was obliged to exhaust the day in the stable, and in sauntering about the country. it was clear jog was determined to be rid of him, and he was sadly puzzled what to do. dinner found his host in no better humour, and after a sort of quakers' meeting of an evening, they parted heartily sick of each other. chapter lv the trigger jog slept badly again, and arose next morning full of projects for getting rid of his impudent, unceremonious, free-and-easy guest. having tried both an up and a downstairs shout, he now went out and planted himself immediately under mr. sponge's bedroom window, and, clearing his voice, commenced his usual vociferations. 'bartholo--_m--e--w_!' whined he. '_bartholo--m--e--w_!' repeated he, somewhat louder. 'bar--tholo--_m--e--w_!' roared he, in a voice of thunder. bartholomew did not answer. 'murry ann!' exclaimed jog, after a pause. '_murry ann!_' repeated he, still louder. 'murray ann!' roared he, at the top of his voice. 'comin', sir! comin'!' exclaimed mary ann, peeping down upon him from the garret-window. 'oh, murry ann,' cried mr. jog, looking up, and catching the ends of her blue ribbons streaming past the window-frame, as she changed her nightcap for a day one, 'oh, murry ann, you'd better be (puff)in' forrard with the (gasp) breakfast; mr. sponge'll most likely be (wheeze)in' away to-day.' 'yes, sir,' replied mary ann, adjusting the cap becomingly. 'confounded, puffing, wheezing, gasping, broken-winded old blockhead it is!' growled mr. sponge, wishing he could get to his former earth at puffington's, or anywhere else. when he got down he found jog in a very roomy, bright, green-plush shooting-jacket, with pockets innumerable, and a whistle suspended to a button-hole. his nether man was encased in a pair of most dilapidated white moleskins, that had been degraded from hunting into shooting ones, and whose cracks and darns showed the perils to which their wearer had been exposed. below these were drab, horn-buttoned gaiters, and hob-nailed shoes. 'going a-gunning, are you?' asked mr. sponge, after the morning salutation, which jog returned most gruffly. 'i'll go with you,' said mr. sponge, at once dispelling the delusion of his wheezing away. 'only going to frighten the (puff) rooks off the (gasp) wheat,' replied jog carelessly, not wishing to let sponge see what a numb hand he was with a gun. 'i thought you told me you were going to get me a hare,' observed mrs. jog; adding, 'i'm sure shooting is a much more rational amusement than tearing your clothes going after the hounds,' eyeing the much dilapidated moleskins as she spoke. mrs. jog found shooting more useful than hunting. 'oh, if a (puff) hare comes in my (gasp) way, i'll turn her over,' replied jog carelessly, as if turning them over was quite a matter of course with him; adding, 'but i'm not (wheezing) out for the express purpose of shooting one.' 'ah, well,' observed sponge, 'i'll go with you, all the same.' 'but i've only got one gun,' gasped jog, thinking it would be worse to have sponge laughing at his shooting than even leaving him at home. 'then, we'll shoot turn and turn about,' replied the pertinacious guest. jog did his best to dissuade him, observing that the birds were (puff) scarce and (wheeze) wild, and the (gasp) hares much troubled with poachers; but mr. sponge wanted a walk, and moreover had a fancy for seeing jog handle his gun. having cut himself some extremely substantial sandwiches, and filled his 'monkey' full of sherry, our friend jog slipped out the back way to loosen old ponto, who acted the triple part of pointer, house-dog, and horse to gustavus james. he was a great fat, black-and-white brute, with a head like a hat-box, a tail like a clothes-peg, and a back as broad as a well-fed sheep's. the old brute was so frantic at the sight of his master in his green coat, and wide-awake to match, that he jumped and bounced, and barked, and rattled his chain, and set up such yells, that his noise sounded all over the house, and soon brought mr. sponge to the scene of action, where stood our friend, loading his gun and looking as consequential as possible. 'i shall only just take a (puff) stroll over moy (wheeze) ter-ri-to-ry,' observed jog, as mr. sponge emerged at the back door. [illustration: frantic delight of ponto] jog's pace was about two miles and a half an hour, stoppages included, and he thought it advisable to prepare mr. sponge for the trial. he then shouldered his gun and waddled away, first over the stile into farmer stiffland's stubble, round which ponto ranged in the most riotous, independent way, regardless of jog's whistles and rates and the crack of his little knotty whip. jog then crossed the old pasture into mr. lowland's turnips, into which ponto dashed in the same energetic way, but these impediments to travelling soon told on his great buttermilk carcass, and brought him to a more subdued pace; still, the dog had a good deal more energy than his master. round he went, sniffing and hunting, then dashing right through the middle of the field, as if he was out on his own account alone, and had nothing whatever to do with a master. 'why, your dog'll spring all the birds out of shot,' observed mr. sponge; and, just as he spoke, whirr! rose a covey of partridges, eleven in number, quite at an impossible distance, but jog blazed away all the same. ''ord rot it, man! if you'd only held your (something) tongue,' growled jog, as he shaded the sun from his eyes to mark them down, 'i'd have (wheezed) half of them over.' 'nonsense, man!' replied mr. sponge. 'they were a mile out of shot.' 'i think i should know my (puff) gun better than (wheeze) you,' replied jog, bringing it down to load. 'they're down!' exclaimed mr. sponge, who, having watched them till they began to skim in their flight, saw them stop, flap their wings, and drop among some straggling gorse on the hill before them. 'let's break the covey; we shall bag them better singly.' 'take time (puff), replied jog, snorting into his frill, and measuring out his powder most leisurely. 'take time (wheeze),' repeated he; 'they're just on the bounds of moy ter-ri-to-ry.' jog had had many a game at romps with these birds, and knew their haunts and habits to a nicety. the covey consisted of thirteen at first, but by repeated blazings into the 'brown of 'em,' he had succeeded in knocking down two. jog was not one of your conceited shots, who never fired but when he was sure of killing; on the contrary, he always let drive far or near; and even if he shot a hare, which he sometimes did, with the first barrel, he always popped the second into her, to make sure. the chairman's shooting afforded amusement to the neighbourhood. on one occasion a party of reapers, having watched him miss twelve shots in succession, gave him three cheers on coming to the thirteenth--but to our day. jog had now got his gun reloaded with mischief, the cap put on, and all ready for a fresh start. ponto, meanwhile, had been ranging, jog thinking it better to let him take the edge off his ardour than conform to the strict rules of lying down or coming to heel. 'now, let's on,' cried mr. sponge, stepping out quickly. 'take time (puff), take time (wheeze),' gasped jog, waddling along; 'better let 'em settle a little (puff). better let 'em settle a little (gasp),' added he, labouring on. 'oh no, keep them moving,' replied mr. sponge, 'keep them moving. only get at 'em on the hill, and drive 'em into the fields below, and we shall have rare fun.' 'but the (puff) fields below are not mine,' gasped jog. 'whose are they?' asked mr. sponge. 'oh (puff), mrs. moses's,' gasped jog. 'my stoopid old uncle,' continued he, stopping, and laying hold of mr. sponge's arm, as if to illustrate his position, but in reality to get breath, 'my stoopid old uncle (puff) missed buying that (wheeze) land when old harry griperton died. i only wanted that to make moy (wheeze) ter-ri-to-ry extend all the (gasp) way up to cockwhistle park there,' continued he, climbing on to a stile they now approached, and setting aside the top stone. 'that's cockwhistle park, up there--just where you see the (puff) windmill--then (puff) moy (wheeze) ter-ri-to-ry comes up to the (wheeze) fallow you see all yellow with runch; and if my old (puff) uncle (wheeze) crowdey had had the sense of a (gasp) goose, he'd have (wheezed) that when it was sold. moy (puff) name was (wheeze) jogglebury,' added he, 'before my (gasp) uncle died.' 'well, never mind about that,' replied mr. sponge; 'let us go on after these birds.' 'oh, we'll (puff) up to them presently,' observed jog, labouring away, with half a ton of clay at each foot, the sun having dispelled the frost where it struck, and made the land carry. '_presently!_' retorted mr. sponge. 'but you should make haste, man.' 'well, but let me go my own (puff) pace,' snapped jog, labouring away. 'pace!' exclaimed mr. sponge, 'your own crawl, you should say.' 'indeed!' growled jog, with an angry snort. they now got through a well-established cattle-gap into a very rushy, squashy, gorse-grown pasture, at the bottom of the rising ground on which mr. sponge had marked the birds. ponto, whose energetic exertions had been gradually relaxing, until he had settled down to a leisurely hunting-dog, suddenly stood transfixed, with the right foot up, and his gaze settled on a rushy tuft. 'p-o-o-n-to!' ejaculated jog, expecting every minute to see him dash at it. 'p-o-o-n-to!' repeated he, raising his hand. mr. sponge stood on the tip-toe of expectation; jog raised his wide-awake hat from his eyes and advanced cautiously with the engine of destruction cocked. up started a great hare; bang! went the gun, with the hare none the worse. bang! went the other barrel, which the hare acknowledged by two or three stotting bounds and an increase of pace. 'well missed!' exclaimed mr. sponge. away went ponto in pursuit. 'p-o-o-n-to!' shrieked jog, stamping with rage. 'i could have wiped your nose,' exclaimed mr. sponge, covering the hare with a hedge-stake placed to his shoulder like a gun. 'could you?' growled jog; ''spose you wipe your own,' added he, not understanding the meaning of the term. meanwhile, old ponto went rolling away most energetically, the farther he went the farther he was left behind, till the hare having scuttled out of sight, he wheeled about and came leisurely back, as if he was doing all right. jog was very wroth, and vented his anger on the dog, which, he declared, had caused him to miss, vowing, as he rammed away at the charge, that he never missed such a shot before. mr. sponge stood eyeing him with a look of incredulity, thinking that a man who could miss such a shot could miss anything. they were now all ready for a fresh start, and ponto, having pocketed his objurgation, dashed forward again up the rising ground over which the covey had dropped. jog's thick wind was a serious impediment to the expeditious mounting of the hill, and the dog seemed aware of his infirmity, and to take pleasure in aggravating him. 'p-o-o-n-to!' gasped jog, as he slipped, and scrambled, and toiled, sorely impeded by the encumbrance of his gun. but p-o-o-n-to heeded him not. he knew his master couldn't catch him, and if he did, that he durstn't flog him. 'p-o-o-n-to!' gasped jog again, still louder, catching at a bush to prevent his slipping back. 't-o-o-h-o-o! p-o-o-n-to!' wheezed he; but the dog just rolled his great stern, and bustled about more actively than ever. 'hang ye! but i'd cut you in two if i had you!' exclaimed mr. sponge, eyeing his independent proceedings. 'he's not a bad (puff) dog,' observed jog, mopping the perspiration from his brow. 'he's not a good 'un,' retorted mr. sponge. 'd'ye think not (wheeze)?' asked jog. 'sure of it,' replied sponge. 'serves me,' growled jog, labouring up the hill. 'easy served,' replied mr. sponge, whistling, and eyeing the independent animal. 't-o-o-h-o-o! p-o-o-n-t-o!' gasped jog, as he dashed forward on reaching level ground more eagerly than ever. 'p-o-o-n-to! t-o-o-h-o-o!' repeated he, in a still louder tone, with the same success. 'you'd better get up to him,' observed mr. sponge, 'or he'll spring all the birds.' jog, however, blundered on at his own pace, growling: 'most (puff) haste, least (wheeze) speed.' the dog was now fast drawing upon where the birds lit; and mr. sponge and jog having reached the top of the hill, mr. sponge stood still to watch the result. up whirred four birds out of a patch of gorse behind the dog, all presenting most beautiful shots. jog blazed a barrel at them without touching a feather, and the report of the gun immediately raised three brace more into the thick of which he fired with similar success. they all skimmed away unhurt. 'well missed!' exclaimed mr. sponge again. 'you're what they call a good shooter but a bad hitter.' 'you're what they call a (wheeze) fellow,' growled jog. he meant to say 'saucy,' but the word wouldn't rise. he then commenced reloading his gun, and lecturing p-o-o-n-to, who still continued his exertions, and inwardly anathematizing mr. sponge. he wished he had left him at home. then recollecting mrs. jog, he thought perhaps he was as well where he was. still his presence made him shoot worse than usual, and there was no occasion for that. 'let _me_ have a shot now,' said mr. sponge. 'shot (puff)--shot (wheeze); well, take a shot if you choose,' replied he. just as mr. sponge got the gun, up rose the eleventh bird, and he knocked it over. [illustration: mr. sponge gives ponto a lesson] '_that's_ the way to do it!' exclaimed mr. sponge, as the bird fell dead before ponto. the excited dog, unused to such descents, snatched it up and ran off. just as he was getting out of shot, mr. sponge fired the other barrel at him, causing him to drop the bird and run yelping and howling away. jog was furious. he stamped, and gasped, and fumed, and wheezed, and seemed like to burst with anger and indignation. though the dog ran away as hard as he could lick, jog insisted that he was mortally wounded, and would die. 'he never saw so (wheeze) a thing done. he wouldn't have taken twenty pounds for the dog. no, he wouldn't have taken thirty. forty wouldn't have bought him. he was worth fifty of anybody's money,' and so he went on, fuming and advancing his value as he spoke. mr. sponge stole away to where the dog had dropped the bird; and mr. jog, availing himself of his absence, retraced his steps down the hill, and struck off home at a much faster pace than he came. arrived there, he found the dog in the kitchen, somewhat sore from the visitation of the shot, but not sufficiently injured to prevent his enjoying a most liberal plate of stick-jaw pudding supplied by a general contribution of the servants. jog's wrath was then turned in another direction, and he blew up for the waste and extravagance of the act, hinting pretty freely that he knew who it was that had set them against it. altogether he was full of troubles, vexations, and annoyances; and after spending another most disagreeable evening with our friend sponge, went to bed more determined than ever to get rid of him. chapter lvi nonsuch house again poor jog again varied his hints the next morning. after sundry prefatory 'murry anns!' and 'bar-tho-lo-_mews_!' he at length got the latter to answer, when, raising his voice so as to fill the whole house, he desired him to go to the stable, and let mr. sponge's man know his master would be (wheezing) away. 'you're wrong there, old buck,' growled leather, as he heard the foregoing; 'he's half-way to sir 'arry's by this time.' and sure enough, mr. sponge was, as none knew better than leather, who had got him his horse, the hack being indisposed--that is to say, having been out all night with mr. leather on a drinking excursion, leather having just got home in time to receive the purple-coated, bare-footed runner of nonsuch house, who dropped in, _en passant_, to see if there was anything to stow away in his roomy trouser-pockets, and leave word that sir harry was going to hunt, and would meet before the house. leather, though somewhat muzzy, was sufficiently sober to be able to deliver this message, and acquaint mr. sponge with the impossibility of his 'ridin' the 'ack.' indeed, he truly said that he had 'been hup with him all night, and at one time thought it was all hover with him,' the all-overishness consisting of mr. leather being nearly all over the hack's head, in consequence of the animal shying at another drunken man lying across the road. mr. sponge listened to the recital with the indifference of a man who rides hack-horses, and coolly observed that leather must take on the chestnut, and he would ride the brown to cover. 'couldn't, sir, couldn't,' replied leather, with a shake of the head and a twinkle of his roguish, watery grey eyes. 'why not?' asked mr. sponge, who never saw any difficulty. 'oh, sur,' replied leather, in a tone of despondency, 'it would be quite unpossible. consider wot a day the last one was; why, he didn't get to rest till three the next mornin'.' 'it'll only be walking exercise,' observed mr. sponge; 'do him good.' 'better valk the chestnut,' replied mr. leather; 'multum in parvo hasn't 'ad a good day this i don't know wen, and will be all the better of a bucketin'.' 'but i hate crawling to cover on my horse,' replied mr. sponge, who liked cantering along with a flourish. 'you'll have to crawl if you ride 'ercles,' observed leather, 'if not walk. bless you! i've been a-nussin' of him and the 'ack most the 'ole night.' 'indeed!' replied mr. sponge, who began to be alarmed lest his hunting might be brought to an abrupt termination. 'true as i'm 'ere,' rejoined leather. 'he's just as much off his grub as he vos when he com'd in; never see'd an 'oss more reg'larly dished--more--' 'well, well,' said mr. sponge, interrupting the catalogue of grievances; 'i s'pose i must do as you say--i s'pose i must do as you say: what sort of a day is it?' 'vy, the day's not a bad day; at least that's to say, it's not a wery haggrivatin' day. i've seen a betterer day, in course; but i've also seen many a much worser day, and days at this time of year, you know, are apt to change--sometimes, in course, for the betterer--sometimes, in course, for the worser.' 'is it a frost?' snapped mr. sponge, tired of his loquacity. 'is it a frost?' repeated mr. leather thoughtfully; 'is it a frost? vy, no; i should say it _isn't_ a frost--at least, not a frost to 'urt; there may be a little rind on the ground and a little rawness in the hair, but the general concatenation--' 'hout, tout!' exclaimed mr. sponge, 'let's have none of your dictionary words.' mr. leather stood silent, twisting his hat about. the consequence of all this was, that mr. sponge determined to ride over to nonsuch house to breakfast, which would give his horse half an hour in the stable to eat a feed of corn. accordingly, he desired leather to bring him his shaving-water, and have the horse ready in the stable in half an hour, whither, in due time, mr. sponge emerged by the back door, without encountering any of the family. the ambling piebald looked so crestfallen and woebegone in all the swaddling-clothes in which leather had got him enveloped, that mr. sponge did not care to look at the gallant hercules, who occupied a temporary loose-box at the far end of the dark stable, lest he might look worse. he, therefore, just mounted multum in parvo as leather led him out at the door, and set off without a word. 'well, hang me, but you are a good judge of weather,' exclaimed sponge to himself, as he got into the field at the back of the house, and found the horse made little impression on the grass. '_no frost!_' repeated he, breathing into the air; 'why it's freezing now, out of the sun.' on getting into marygold lane, our friend drew rein, and was for turning back, but the resolute chestnut took the bit between his teeth and shook his head, as if determined to go on. 'oh, you brute!' growled mr. sponge, letting the spurs into his sides with a hearty good-will, which caused the animal to kick, as if he meant to stand on his head. 'ah, you _will_, will ye?' exclaimed mr. sponge, letting the spurs in again as the animal replaced his legs on the ground. up they went again, if possible higher than before. the brute was clearly full of mischief, and even if the hounds did not throw off, which there was little prospect of their doing from the appearance of the weather, mr. sponge felt that it would be well to get some of the nonsense taken out of him; and, moreover, going to nonsuch house would give him a chance of establishing a billet there--a chance that he had been deprived of by sir harry's abrupt departure from farmer peastraw's. so saying, our friend gathered his horse together, and settling himself in his saddle, made his sound hoofs ring upon the hard road. 'he _may_ hunt,' thought mr. sponge, as he rattled along; 'such a rum beggar as sir harry may think it fun to go out in a frost. it's hard, too,' said he, as he saw the poor turnip-pullers enveloped in their thick shawls, and watched them thumping their arms against their sides to drive the cold from their finger-ends. multum in parvo was a good, sound-constitutioned horse, hard and firm as a cricket-ball, a horse that would not turn a hair for a trifle even on a hunting morning, let alone on such a thorough chiller as this one was; and mr. sponge, after going along at a good round pace, and getting over the ground much quicker than he did when the road was all new to him, and he had to ask his way, at length drew in to see what o'clock it was. it was only half-past nine, and already in the far distance he saw the encircling woods of nonsuch house. 'shall be early,' said mr. sponge, returning his watch to his waistcoat-pocket, and diving into his cutty coat-pocket for the cigar-case. having struck a light, he now laid the rein on the horse's neck and proceeded leisurely along, the animal stepping gaily and throwing its head about as if he was the quietest, most trustworthy nag in the world. if he got there at half-past ten, mr. sponge calculated he would have plenty of time to see after his horse, get his own breakfast, and see how the land lay for a billet. it would be impossible to hunt before twelve; so he went smoking and sauntering along, now wondering whether he would be able to establish a billet, now thinking how he would like to sell sir harry a horse, then considering whether he would be likely to pay for him, and enlivening the general reflections by ringing his spurs against his stirrup-irons. having passed the lodges at the end of the avenue, he cocked his hat, twiddled his hair, felt his tie, and arranged for a becoming appearance. the sudden turn of the road brought him full upon the house. how changed the scene! instead of the scarlet-coated youths thronging the gravelled ring, flourishing their scented kerchiefs and hunting-whips--instead of buxom abigails and handsome mistresses hanging out of the windows, flirting and chatting and ogling, the door was shut, the blinds were down, the shutters closed, and the whole house had the appearance of mourning. mr. sponge reined up involuntarily, startled at the change of scene. what could have happened! could sir harry be dead? could my lady have eloped? 'oh, that horrid bugles!' thought he; 'he looked like a gay deceiver.' and mr. sponge felt as if he had sustained a personal injury. just as these thoughts were passing in his mind, a drowsy, slatternly charwoman, in an old black straw bonnet and grey bed-gown, opened one of the shutters, and throwing up the sash of the window by where mr. sponge sat, disclosed the contents of the apartment. the last waxlight was just dying out in the centre of a splendid candelabra on the middle of a table scattered about with claret-jugs, glasses, decanters, pine-apple tops, grape-dishes, cakes, anchovy-toast plates, devilled biscuit-racks--all the concomitants of a sumptuous entertainment. 'sir harry at home?' asked mr. sponge, making the woman sensible of his presence, by cracking his whip close to her ear. 'no,' replied the dame gruffly, commencing an assault upon the nearest chair with a duster. 'where is he?' asked our friend. 'bed, to be sure,' replied the woman, in the same tone. [illustration: mr. sponge's red coat commands no respect] 'bed, to be sure,' repeated mr. sponge. 'i don't think there's any 'sure' in the case. do you know what o'clock it is?' asked he. 'no,' replied the woman, flopping away at another chair, and arranging the crimson velvet curtains on the holders. mr. sponge was rather nonplussed. his red coat did not command the respect that a red coat generally does. the fact was, they had such queer people in red coats at nonsuch house, that a red coat was rather an object of suspicion than otherwise. 'well, but, my good woman,' continued mr. sponge, softening his tone, 'can you tell me where i shall find anybody who can tell me anything about the hounds?' 'no,' growled the woman, still flopping, and whisking, and knocking the furniture about. 'i'll remember you for your trouble,' observed mr. sponge, diving his right hand into his breeches' pocket. 'mr. bottleends be gone to bed,' observed the woman, now ceasing her evolutions, and parting her grisly, disordered tresses, as she advanced and stood staring, with her arms akimbo, out of the window. she was the under-housemaid's deputy; all the servants at nonsuch house doing the rough of their work by deputy. lady scattercash was a _real_ lady, and liked to have the credit of the house maintained, which of course can only be done by letting the upper servants do nothing. 'mr. bottleends be gone to bed,' observed the woman. 'mr. bottleends?' repeated mr. sponge; 'who's he?' 'the butler, to be sure,' replied she, astonished that any person should have to ask who such an important personage was. 'can't you call him?' asked mr. sponge, still fumbling in his pocket. 'couldn't, if it was ever so,' replied the dame, smoothing her dirty blue-checked apron with her still dirtier hand. 'why not?' asked mr. sponge. 'why not?' repeated the woman; 'why, 'cause mr. bottleends won't be disturbed by no one. he said when he went to bed that he hadn't to be called till to-morrow.' 'not called till to-morrow!' exclaimed mr. sponge; 'then is sir harry from home?' 'from home, no; what should put that i' your head?' sneered the woman. 'why, if the butler's in bed, one may suppose the master's away.' 'hout!' snapped the woman; 'sir harry's i' bed--captin seedeybuck's i' bed--captin quod's i' bed--captin spangle's i' bed--captin bouncey's i' bed--captin cutitfat's i' bed--they're all i' bed 'cept me, and i've got the house to clean and right, and high time it was cleaned and righted, for they've not been i' bed these three nights any on 'em.' so saying, she flourished her duster as if about to set-to again. 'well, but tell me,' exclaimed mr. sponge, 'can i see the footman, or the huntsman, or the groom, or a helper, or anybody?' 'deary knows,' replied the woman thoughtfully, resting her chin on her hand. 'i dare say they'll be all i' bed too.' 'but they are going to hunt, aren't they?' asked our friend. '_hunt!_' exclaimed the woman; 'what should put that i' your head.' 'why, they sent me word they were.' 'it'll be i' bed, then,' observed she, again giving symptoms of a desire to return to her dusting. mr. sponge, who still kept his hand in his pocket, sat on his horse in a state of stupid bewilderment. he had never seen a case of this sort before--a house shut up, and a master of hounds in bed when the hounds were to meet before the door. it couldn't be the case: the woman must be dreaming, or drunk, or both. 'well, but, my good woman,' exclaimed he, as she gave a punishing cut at the chair, as if to make up for lost time; 'well, but, my good woman, i wish you would try and find somebody who can tell me something about the hounds. i'm sure they must be going to hunt. i'll remember you for your trouble, if you will,' added he, again diving his hand up to the wrist in his pocket. 'i tell you,' replied the woman slowly and deliberately, 'there'll be no huntin' to-day. huntin'!' exclaimed she; 'how can they hunt when they've all had to be carried to bed?' 'carried to bed! had they?' exclaimed mr. sponge; 'what, were they drunk?' 'drunk! aye, to be sure. what would you have them be?' replied the crone, who seemed to think that drinking was a necessary concomitant of hunting. 'well, but i can see the footman or somebody, surely,' observed mr. sponge, fearing that his chance was out for a billet, and recollecting old jog's 'bartholo-_m-e-ws_!' and 'murry anns!' and intimations for him to start. ''deed you can't,' replied the dame--'ye can see nebody but me,' added she, fixing her twinkling eyes intently upon him as she spoke. 'well, that's a pretty go,' observed mr. sponge aloud to himself, ringing his spurs against his stirrup-irons. 'pretty go or ugly go,' snapped the woman, thinking it was a reflection on herself, 'it's all you'll get'; and thereupon she gave the back of the chair a hearty bastinadoing as if in exemplification of the way she would like to serve mr. sponge out for the observation. 'i came here thinking to get some breakfast,' observed mr. sponge, casting an eye upon the disordered table, and reconnoitring the bottles and the remains of the dessert. 'did you?' said the woman; 'i wish you may get it.' 'i wish i may,' replied he. 'if you would manage that for me, just some coffee and a mutton chop or two, i'd remember you,' said he, still tantalizing her with the sound of the silver in his pocket. 'me manish it!' exclaimed the woman, her hopes again rising at the sound; 'me manish it! how d'ye think i'm to manish sich things?' asked she. 'why, get at the cook, or the housekeeper, or somebody,' replied mr. sponge. 'cook or housekeeper!' exclaimed she. 'there'll be no cook or housekeeper astir here these many hours yet; i question,' added she, 'they get up to-day.' 'what! they've been put to bed too, have they?' asked he. 'w-h-y no--not zactly that,' drawled the woman; 'but when sarvants are kept up three nights out of four, they must make up for lost time when they can.' 'well,' mused mr. sponge, 'this is a bother, at all events; get no breakfast, lose my hunt, and perhaps a billet into the bargain. well, there's sixpence for you, my good woman,' said he at length, drawing his hand out of his pocket and handing her the contents through the window; adding, 'don't make a beast of yourself with it.' 'it's nabbut _fourpence_,' observed the woman, holding it out on the palm of her hand. 'ah, well, you're welcome to it whatever it is,' replied our friend, turning his horse to go away. a thought then struck him. 'could you get me a pen and ink, think you?' asked he; 'i want to write a line to sir harry.' 'pen and ink!' replied the woman, who had pocketed the groat and resumed her dusting; 'i don't know where they keep no such things as penses and inkses.' 'most likely in the drawing-room or the sitting-room, or perhaps in the butler's pantry,' observed mr. sponge. 'well, you can come in and see,' replied the woman, thinking there was no occasion to give herself any more trouble for the fourpenny-piece. our worthy friend sat on his horse a few seconds staring intently into the dining-room window, thinking that lapse of time might cause the fourpenny-piece to be sufficiently respected to procure him something like directions how to proceed as well to get rid of his horse, as to procure access to the house, the door of which stood frowningly shut. in this, however, he was mistaken, for no sooner had the woman uttered the words, 'well, you can come in and see,' than she flaunted into the interior of the room, and commenced a regular series of assaults upon the furniture, throwing the hearth-rug over one chair back, depositing the fire-irons in another, rearing the steel fender up against the carrara marble chimney-piece, and knocking things about in the independent way that servants treat unoffending furniture, when master and mistress are comfortably esconced in bed. 'flop' went the duster again; 'bang' went the furniture; 'knock' this chair went against that, and she seemed bent upon putting all things into that happy state of sixes and sevens that characterizes a sale of household furniture, when chairs mount tables, and the whole system of domestic economy is revolutionized. seeing that he was not going to get anything more for his money, our friend at length turned his horse and found his way to the stables by the unerring drag of carriage-wheels. all things there being as matters were in the house, he put the redoubtable nag into a stall, and helped him to a liberal measure of oats out of the well-stored unlocked corn-bin. he then sought the back of the house by the worn flagged-way that connected it with the stables. the back yard was in the admired confusion that might be expected from the woman's account. empty casks and hampers were piled and stowed away in all directions, while regiments of champagne and other bottles stood and lay about among blacking bottles, seltzer-water bottles, boot-trees, bath-bricks, old brushes, and stumpt-up besoms. several pair of dirty top-boots, most of them with the spurs on, were chucked into the shoe-house just as they had been taken off. the kitchen, into which our friend now entered, was in the same disorderly state. numerous copper pans stood simmering on the charcoal stoves, and the jointless jack still revolved on the spit. a dirty slip-shod girl sat sleeping, with her apron thrown over her head, which rested on the end of a table. the open door of the servants' hall hard by disclosed a pile of dress and other clothes, which, after mopping up the ale and other slops, would be carefully folded and taken back to the rooms of their respective owners. [illustration: domestic economy of nonsuch house] 'halloo!' cried mr. sponge, shaking the sleeping girl by the shoulder, which caused her to start up, stare, and rub her eyes in wild affright. 'halloo!' repeated he, 'what's happened you?' 'oh, beg pardon, sir!' exclaimed she; 'beg pardon,' continued she, clasping her hands; 'i'll never do so again, sir; no, sir, i'll never do so again, indeed i won't.' she had just stolen a shape of blanc-mange, and thought she was caught. 'then show me where i'll find pen and ink and paper,' replied our friend. 'oh, sir, i don't know nothin' about them,' replied the girl; 'indeed, sir, i don't'; thinking it was some other petty larceny he was inquiring about. 'well, but you can tell me where to find a sheet of paper, surely?' rejoined he. 'oh, indeed, sir, i can't,' replied she; 'i know nothin' about nothin' of the sort.' servants never do. 'what sort?' asked mr. sponge, wondering at her vehemence. 'well, sir, about what you said,' sobbed the girl, applying the corner of her dirty apron to her eyes. 'hang it, the girl's mad,' rejoined our friend, brushing by, and making for the passage beyond. this brought him past the still-room, the steward's room, the housekeeper's room, and the butler's pantry. all were in most glorious confusion; in the latter, captain cutitfat's lacquer-toed, lavender-coloured dress-boots were reposing in the silver soup tureen, and captain bouncey's varnished pumps were stuffed into a wine-cooler. the last detachment of empty bottles stood or lay about the floor, commingling with boot-jacks, knife-trays, bath-bricks, coat-brushes, candle-end boxes, plates, lanterns, lamp-glasses, oil bottles, corkscrews, wine-strainers--the usual miscellaneous appendages of a butler's pantry. all was still and quiet; not a sound, save the loud ticking of a timepiece, or the occasional creak of a jarring door, disturbed the solemn silence of the house. a nimble-handed mugger or tramp might have carried off whatever he liked. passing onward, mr. sponge came to a red-baized, brass-nailed door, which, opening freely on a patent spring, revealed the fine proportions of a light picture-gallery with which the bright mahogany doors of the entertaining rooms communicated. opening the first door he came to, our friend found himself in the elegant drawing-room, on whose round bird's-eye-maple table, in the centre, were huddled all the unequal-lengthed candles of the previous night's illumination. it was a handsome apartment, fitted up in the most costly style; with rose-colour brocaded satin damask, the curtains trimmed with silk tassel fringe, and ornamented with massive bullion tassels on cornices, cupids supporting wreaths under an arch, with open carved-work and enrichments in burnished gold. the room, save the muster of the candles, was just as it had been left; and the richly gilt sofa still retained the indentations of the sitters, with the luxurious down pillows, left as they had been supporting their backs. the room reeked of tobacco, and the ends and ashes of cigars dotted the tables and white marble chimney-piece, and the gilt slabs and the finely flowered tournay carpet, just as the fires of gipsies dot and disfigure the fair face of a country. costly china and nick-nacks of all sorts were scattered about in profusion. altogether, it was a beautiful room. 'no want of money here,' said mr. sponge to himself, as he eyed it, and thought what havoc gustavus james would make among the ornaments if he had a chance. he then looked about for pen, ink, and paper. these were distributed so wide apart as to show the little request they were in. having at length succeeded in getting what he wanted gathered together, mr. sponge sat down on the luxurious sofa, considering how he should address his host, as he hoped. mr. sponge was not a shy man, but, considering the circumstances under which he made sir harry scattercash's acquaintance, together with his design upon his hospitality--above all, considering the crew by whom sir harry was surrounded--it required some little tact to pave the way without raising the present inmates of the house against him. there are no people so anxious to protect others from robbery as those who are robbing them themselves. mr. sponge thought, and thought, and thought. at last he resolved to write on the subject of the hounds. after sundry attempts on pink, blue, and green-tinted paper, he at last succeeded in hitting off the following, on yellow: 'nonsuch house. 'dear sir harry,--i rode over this morning, hearing you were to hunt, and am sorry to find you indisposed. i wish you would drop me a line to mr. crowdey's, puddingpote bower, saying when next you go out, as i should much like to have another look at your splendid pack before i leave this country, which i fear will have to be soon.--yours in haste, 'h. sponge. 'p.s.--i hope you all got safe home the other night from mr. peastraw's.' having put this into a richly gilt and embossed envelope, our friend directed it conspicuously to sir harry scattercash, bart., and stuck it in the centre of the mantelpiece. he then retraced his steps through the back regions, informing the sleeping beauty he had before disturbed, and who was now busy scouring a pan, that he had left a letter in the drawing-room for sir harry, and if she would see that he got it, he (mr. sponge) would remember her the next time he came, which he inwardly hoped would be soon. he then made for the stable, and got his horse, to go home, sauntering more leisurely along than one would expect of a man who had not got his breakfast, especially one riding a hack hunter. the truth was, mr. sponge did not much like the aspect of affairs. sir harry's was evidently a desperately 'fast' house; added to which, the guests by whom he was surrounded were clearly of the wide-awake order, who could not spare any pickings for a stranger. indeed, mr. sponge felt that they rather cold-shouldered him at farmer peastraw's, and were in a greater hurry to be off when the drag came, than the mere difference between inside and outside seats required. he much questioned whether he got into sir harry's at all. if it came to a vote, he thought he should not. then, what was he to do? old jog was clearly tired of him; and he had nowhere else to go to. the thought made him stick spurs into the chestnut, and hurry home to puddingpote bower, where he endeavoured to soothe his host by more than insinuating that he was going on a visit to nonsuch house. jog inwardly prayed that he might. chapter lvii the debate it was just as mr. sponge predicted with regard to his admission to nonsuch house. the first person who spied his note to sir harry scattercash was captain seedeybuck, who, going into the drawing-room, the day after mr. sponge's visit, to look for the top of his cigar-case, saw it occupying the centre of the mantelpiece. having mastered its contents, the captain refolded and placed it where he found it, with the simple observation to himself of--'that cock won't fight.' captain quod saw it next, then captain bouncey, who told captain cutitfat what was in it, who agreed with bouncey that it wouldn't do to have mr. sponge there. indeed, it seemed agreed on all hands that their party rather wanted weeding than increasing. thus, in due time, everybody in the house knew the contents of the note save sir harry, though none of them thought it worth while telling him of it. on the third morning, however, as the party were assembling for breakfast, he came into the room reading it. 'this (hiccup) note ought to have been delivered before,' observed he, holding it up. 'indeed, my dear,' replied lady scattercash, who was sitting gloriously fine and very beautiful at the head of the table, 'i don't know anything about it.' 'who is it from?' asked brother bob spangles. 'mr. (hiccup) sponge,' replied sir harry. 'what a name!' exclaimed captain seedeybuck. 'who is he?' asked captain quod. 'don't know,' replied sir harry; 'he writes to (hiccup) about the hounds.' 'oh, it'll be that brown-booted buffer,' observed captain bouncey, 'that we left at old peastraw's.' 'no doubt,' assented captain cutitfat, adding, 'what business has he with the hounds?' 'he wants to know when we are going to (hiccup) again,' observed sir harry. 'does he?' replied captain seedeybuck. 'that, i suppose, will depend upon watchorn.' the party now got settled to breakfast, and as soon as the first burst of appetite was appeased, the conversation again turned upon our friend mr. sponge. 'who _is_ this mr. sponge?' asked captain bouncey, the billiard-marker, with the air of a thorough exclusive. nobody answered. 'who's your friend?' asked he of sir harry direct. 'don't know,' replied sir harry, from between the mouthfuls of a highly cayenned grill. 'p'raps a bolting betting-office keeper,' suggested captain ladofwax, who hated captain bouncey. 'he looks more like a glazier, i think,' retorted captain bouncey, with a look of defiance at the speaker. 'lucky if he is one,' retorted captain ladofwax, reddening up to the eyes; 'he may have a chance of repairing somebody's daylights.' the captain raising his saucer, to discharge it at his opponent's head. 'gently with the cheney!' exclaimed lady scattercash, who was too much used to such scenes to care about the belligerents. bob spangles caught ladofwax's arm at the nick of time, and saved the saucer. 'hout! you (hiccup) fellows are always (hiccup)ing,' exclaimed sir harry. 'i declare i'll have you both (hiccup)ed over to keep the peace.' they then broke out into wordy recrimination and abuse, each declaring that he wouldn't stay a day longer in the house if the other remained; but as they had often said so before, and still gave no symptoms of going, their assertion produced little effect upon anybody. sir harry would not have cared if all his guests had gone together. peace and order being at length restored, the conversation again turned upon mr. sponge. 'i suppose we must have another (hiccup) hunt soon,' observed sir harry. 'in course,' replied bob spangles; 'it's no use keeping the hungry brutes unless you work them.' 'you'll have a bagman, i presume,' observed captain seedeybuck, who did not like the trouble of travelling about the country to draw for a fox. 'oh yes,' replied sir harry; 'watchorn will manage all that. he's always (hiccup) in that line. we'd better have a hunt soon, and then, mr. (hiccup) bugles, you can see it.' sir harry addressing himself to a gentleman he was as anxious to get rid of as mr. jogglebury crowdey was to get rid of mr. sponge. 'no; mr. bugles won't go out any more,' replied lady scattercash peremptorily. 'he was nearly killed last time'; her ladyship casting an angry glance at her husband, and a very loving one on the object of her solicitude. 'oh, nought's never in danger!' observed bob spangles. 'then _you_ can go, bob,' snapped his sister. 'i intend,' replied bob. 'then (hiccup), gentlemen, i think i'll just write this mr. (hiccup) what's-his-name to (hiccup) over here,' observed sir harry, 'and then he'll be ready for the (hiccup) hunt whenever we choose to (hiccup) one.' the proposition fell still-born among the party. 'don't you think we can do without him?' at last suggested captain seedeybuck. '_i_ think so,' observed the elder spangles, without looking up from his plate. 'who is it?' asked lady scattercash. 'the man that was here the other morning--the man in the queer chestnut-coloured boots,' replied mr. orlando bugles. 'oh, i think he's rather good-looking; i vote we have him,' replied her ladyship. that was rather a damper for sir harry; but upon reflection, he thought he could not be worse off with mr. sponge and mr. bugles than he was with mr. bugles alone; so, having finished a poor appetiteless breakfast, he repaired to what he called his 'study,' and with a feeble, shaky hand, scrawled an invitation to mr. sponge to come over to nonsuch house, and take his chance of a run with his hounds. he then sealed and posted the letter without further to do. chapter lviii facey romford [illustration: mr. facey romford] four days had now elapsed since mr. sponge penned his overture to sir harry, and each succeeding day satisfied him more of the utter impossibility of holding on much longer in his then billet at puddingpote bower. not only was jog coarse and incessant in his hints to him to be off, but jawleyford-like he had lowered the standard of entertainment so greatly, that if it hadn't been that mr. sponge had his servant and horses kept also, he might as well have been living at his own expense. the company lights were all extinguished; great, strong-smelling, cauliflower-headed moulds, that were always wanting snuffing, usurped the place of belmont wax; napkins were withdrawn; second-hand table-cloths introduced; marsala did duty for sherry; and the stickjaw pudding assumed a consistency that was almost incompatible with articulation. in the course of this time sponge wrote to puffington, saying if he was better he would return and finish his visit; but the wary puff sent a messenger off express with a note, lamenting that he was ordered to handley cross for his health, but 'pop'lar man' like, hoping that the pleasure of sponge's company was only deferred for another season. jawleyford, even sponge thought hopeless; and, altogether, he was very much perplexed. he had made a little money certainly, with his horses; but a permanent investment of his elegant person, such as he had long been on the look-out for, seemed as far off as ever. on the afternoon of the fifth day, as he was taking a solitary stroll about the country, having about made up his mind to be off to town, just as he was crossing jog's buttercup meadow on his way to the stable, a rapid bang! bang! caused him to start, and, looking over the hedge, he saw a brawny-looking sportsman in brown reloading his gun, with a brace of liver-and-white setters crouching like statues in the stubble. 'seek dead!' presently said the shooter, with a slight wave of his hand; and in an instant each dog was picking up his bird. 'i'll have a word with you,' said sponge, 'on and off-ing' the hedge, his beat causing the shooter to start and look as if inclined for a run; second thoughts said sponge was too near, and he'd better brave it. 'what sport?' asked sponge, striding towards him. 'oh, pretty middling,' replied the shooter, a great red-headed, freckly faced fellow, with backward-lying whiskers, crowned in a drab rustic. 'oh, pretty middling,' repeated he, not knowing whether to act on the friendly or defensive. 'fine day!' said sponge, eyeing his fox-maskey whiskers and stout, muscular frame. 'it is,' replied the shooter; adding, 'just followed my birds over the boundary. no 'fence, i s'pose--no 'fence.' 'oh no,' said mr. sponge. 'jog, i dessay, 'll be very glad to see you.' 'oh, you'll be mr. sponge?' observed the stranger, jumping to a conclusion. 'i am,' replied our hero; adding, 'may i ask who i have the honour of addressing?' 'my name's romford--charley romford; everybody knows me. very glad to make your 'quaintance,' tendering sponge a great, rough, heavy hand. 'i was goin' to call upon you,' observed the stranger, as he ceased swinging sponge's arm to and fro like a pump-handle; 'i was goin' to call upon you, to see if you'd come over to washingforde, and have some shootin' at me oncle's--oncle gilroy's, at queercove hill.' 'most happy!' exclaimed sponge, thinking it was the very thing he wanted. 'get a day with the harriers, too, if you like,' continued the shooter, increasing the temptation. 'better still!' thought sponge. 'i've only bachelor 'commodation to offer you; but p'raps you'll not mind roughing it a bit?' observed romford. 'oh, faith, not i!' replied sponge, thinking of the luxuries of puffington's bachelor habitation. 'what sort of stables have you?' asked our friend. 'capital stables--excellent stables!' replied the shooter; 'stalls six feet in the clear, by twelve dip (deep), iron racks, oak stall-posts covered with zinc, beautiful oats, capital beans, splendacious hay--won without a shower!' 'bravo!' exclaimed sponge, thinking he had lit on his legs, and might snap his fingers at jog and his hints. he'd take the high hand, and give jog up. 'i'm your man!' said sponge, in high glee. 'when will you come?' asked romford. 'to-morrow!' replied sponge firmly. 'so be it,' rejoined his proffered host; and, with another hearty swing of the arm, the newly made friends parted. charley romford, or facey, as he was commonly called, from his being the admitted most impudent man in the country, was a great, round-faced, coarse-featured, prize-fighting sort of fellow, who lived chiefly by his wits, which he exercised in all the legitimate lines of industry--poaching, betting, boxing, horse-dealing, cards, quoits--anything that came uppermost. that he was a man of enterprise, we need hardly add, when he had formed a scheme for doing our sponge--a man that we do not think any of our readers would trouble themselves to try a 'plant' upon. this impudent facey, as if in contradiction of terms, was originally intended for a civil engineer; but having early in life voted himself heir to his uncle, mr. gilroy, of queercove hill, a great cattle-jobber, with a 'small independence of his own'--three hundred a year, perhaps, which a kind world called six--facey thought he would just hang about until his uncle was done with his shoes, and then be lord of queercove hill. now, 'me oncle gilroy,' of whom facey was constantly talking, had a left-handed wife and promising family in the sylvan retirement of st. john's wood, whither he used to retire after his business in 'smi'fiel'' was over; so that facey, for once, was out in his calculations. gilroy, however, being as knowing as 'his nevvey,' as he called him, just encouraged facey in his shooting, fishing, and idle propensities generally, doubtless finding it more convenient to have his fish and game for nothing than to pay for them. facey, having the apparently inexhaustible sum of a thousand pounds, began life as a fox-hunter--in a very small way, to be sure--more for the purpose of selling horses than anything else; but, having succeeded in 'doing' all the do-able gentlemen, both with the 'tip and go' and cranerfield hounds, his occupation was gone, it requiring an extended field--such as our friend sponge roamed--to carry on cheating in horses for any length of time. facey was soon blown, his name in connexion with a horse being enough to prevent any one looking at him. indeed, we question that there is any less desirable mode of making, or trying to make money, than by cheating or even dealing in horses. many people fancy themselves cheated, whatever they get; while the man who is really cheated never forgets it, and proclaims it to the end of time. moreover, no one can go on cheating in horses for any length of time, without putting himself in the power of his groom; and let those who have seen how servants lord it over each other say how they would like to subject themselves to similar treatment.--but to our story. facey romford had now a splendid milk-white horse, well-known in mr. nobbington's and lord leader's hunts as mr. hobler, but who facey kindly rechristened the 'nonpareil,' which the now rising price of oats, and falling state of his finances, made him particularly anxious to get rid of, ere the horse performed the equestrian feat of 'eating its head off.' he was a very hunter-like looking horse, but his misfortune consisted in having such shocking seedy toes, that he couldn't keep his shoes on. if he got through the first field with them on, they were sure to be off at the fence. this horse facey voted to be the very thing for mr. sponge, and hearing that he had come into the country to hunt, it occurred to him that it would be a capital thing if he could get him to take mother overend's spare bed and lodge with him, twelve shillings a week being more than facey liked paying for his rooms. not that he paid twelve shillings for the rooms alone; on the contrary, he had a two-stalled stable, with a sort of kennel for his pointers, and a sty for his pig into the bargain. this pig, which was eaten many times in anticipation, had at length fallen a victim to the butcher, and facey's larder was uncommonly well found in black-puddings, sausages, spare ribs, and the other component parts of a pig: so that he was in very hospitable circumstances--at least, in his rough and ready idea of what hospitality ought to be. indeed, whether he had or not, he'd have risked it, being quite as good at carrying things off with a high hand as mr. sponge himself. the invitation came most opportunely; for, worn out with jealousy and watching, jog had made up his mind to cut to australia, and when sponge returned after meeting facey, jog was in the act of combing out an advertisement, offering all that desirable sporting residence called puddingpote bower, with the coach-house, stables, and offices thereunto belonging, to let, and announcing that the whole of the valuable household furniture, comprising mahogany, dining, loo, card, and pembroke tables; sofa, couch, and chairs in hair seating; cheffonier, with plate glass; book-case; flower-stands; pianoforte, by collard and collard; music-stool and canterbury; chimney and pier-glasses; mirror; ormolu time-piece; alabaster and wax figures and shades; china; brussels carpets and rugs; fenders and fire-irons; curtains and cornices; venetian blinds; mahogany four-post, french, and camp bedsteads; feather beds; hair mattresses; mahogany chests of drawers; dressing-glasses; wash and dressing-tables; patent shower-bath; bed and table-linen; dinner and tea-ware; warming-pans, &c., would be exposed to immediate and unreserved sale. how gratefully sponge's inquiry if he knew mr. romford fell on his ear, as they sat moodily together after dinner over some very low-priced port. 'oh yes (puff)--oh yes (wheeze)--oh yes (gasp)! know charley romford--facey, as they call him. he's (puff, wheeze, gasp) heir to old mr. gilroy, of queercove hill.' 'just so,' rejoined sponge, 'just so; that's the man--stout, square-built fellow, with backward-growing whiskers. i'm going to stay with him to shoot at old gil's. where does charley live?' 'live!' exclaimed jog, almost choked with delight at the information; 'live! live!' repeated he, for the third time; 'lives at (puff, wheeze, gasp, cough) washingforde--yes, at washingforde; 'bout ten miles from (puff, wheeze) here. when d'ye go?' 'to-morrow,' replied sponge, with an air of offended dignity. jog was so rejoiced that he could hardly sit on his chair. mrs. jog, when she heard it, felt that gustavus james's chance of independence was gone; for well she knew that jog would never let sponge come back to the bower. we need scarcely say that jog was up betimes in the morning, most anxious to forward mr. sponge's departure. he offered to allow bartholomew to convey him and his 'traps' in the phaeton--an offer that mr. sponge availed himself of as far as his 'traps' were concerned, though he preferred cantering over on his piebald to trailing along in jog's jingling chay. so matters were arranged, and mr. sponge forthwith proceeded to put his brown boots, his substantial cords, his superfine tights, his cuttey scarlet, his dress blue saxony, his clean linen, his heavy spurs, and though last, not least in importance, his now backless _mogg_, into his solid leather portmanteau, sweeping the surplus of his wardrobe into a capacious carpet-bag. while the guest was thus busy upstairs, the host wandered about restlessly, now stirring up this person, now hurrying that, in the full enjoyment of the much-coveted departure. his pleasure was, perhaps, rather damped by a running commentary he overheard through the lattice-window of the stable, from leather, as he stripped his horses and tried to roll up their clothing in a moderate compass. ''ord rot your great carcass!' exclaimed he, giving the roll a hearty kick in its bulging-out stomach, on finding that he had not got it as small as he wanted. ''ord rot your great carcass,' repeated he, scratching his head and eyeing it as it lay; 'this is all the consequence of your nasty brewers' hapron weshins--blowin' of one out, like a bladder!' and, thereupon, he placed his hand on his stomach to feel how his own was. 'never see'd sich a house, or sich an awful mean man!' continued he, stooping and pommelling the package with his fists. it was of no use, he could not get it as small as he wished--'must have my jacket out on you, i do believe,' added he, seeing where the impediment was; 'sticks in your gizzard just like a lump of old puff-and-blow's puddin''; and then he thrust his hand into the folds of the clothing, and pulled out the greasy garment. 'now,' said he, stooping again, 'i think we may manish ye'; and he took the roll in his arms and hoisted it on to hercules, whom he meant to make the led horse, observing aloud, as he adjusted it on the saddle, and whacked it well with his hands to make it lie right, 'i wish it was old jog--wouldn't i sarve him out!' he then turned his horses round in their stalls, tucked his greasy jacket under the flap of the saddle-bags, took his ash-stick from the crook, and led them out of the capacious door. jog looked at him with mingled feelings of disgust and delight. leather just gave his old hat flipe a rap with his forefinger as he passed with the horses--a salute that jog did not condescend to return. having eyed the receding horses with great satisfaction, jog re-entered the house by the kitchens, to have the pleasure of seeing mr. sponge off. he found the portmanteau and carpet-bag standing in the passage, and just at the moment the sound of the phaeton wheels fell on his ear, as bartholomew drove round from the coach-house to the door. mr. sponge was already in the parlour, making his adieus to mrs. jog and the children, who were all assembled for the purpose. 'what, are you goin'?' (puff) asked jog, with an air of surprise. 'yes,' replied mr. sponge; adding, as he tendered his hand, 'the best friends must part, you know.' 'well (puff), but you'd better have your (wheeze) horse round,' observed jog, anxious to avoid any overture for a return. 'thankee,' replied mr. sponge, making a parting bow; 'i'll get him at the stable.' 'i'll go with you,' said jog, leading the way. leather had saddled, and bridled, and turned him round in the stall, with one of mr. jog's blanket-rugs on, which mr. sponge just swept over his tail into the manger, and led the horse out. 'adieu!' said he, offering his hand to his host. 'good-bye!--good (puff) sport to you,' said jog, shaking it heartily. mr. sponge then mounted his hack, and cocking out his toe, rode off at a canter. at the same moment, bartholomew drove away from the front door; and jog, having stood watching the phaeton over the rise of pennypound hill, scraped his feet, re-entered his house, and rubbing them heartily on the mat as he closed the sash-door, observed aloud to himself, with a jerk of his head: 'well, now, that's the most (puff) impittent feller i ever saw in my life! catch me (gasp) godpapa-hunting again.' chapter lix the adjourned debate the fatal invitation to mr. sponge having been sent, the question that now occupied the minds of the assembled sharpers at nonsuch house, was, whether he was a pigeon or one of themselves. that point occupied their very deep and serious consideration. if he was a 'pigeon,' they could clearly accommodate him, but if, on the other hand, he was one of themselves, it was painfully apparent that there were far too many of them there already. of course, the subject was not discussed in full and open conclave--they were all highly honourable men in the gross--and it was only in the small and secret groups of those accustomed to hunt together and unburden their minds, that the real truth was elicited. 'what an ass sir harry is, to ask this mr. sponge,' observed captain quod to captain seedeybuck, as (cigar in mouth) they paced backwards and forwards under the flagged veranda on the west side of the house, on the morning that sir harry had announced his intention of asking him. 'confounded ass,' assented seedeybuck, from between the whiffs of his cigar. 'dash it! one would think he had more money than he knew what to do with,' observed the first speaker, 'instead of not knowing where to lay hands on a halfpenny.' 'soon be who-hoop,' here observed quod, with a shake of the head. 'fear so,' replied seedeybuck. 'have you heard anything fresh?' 'nothing particular. the county court bailiff was here with some summonses, which, of course, he put in the fire.' 'ah! that's what he always does. he got tired of papering the smoking-room with them,' replied seedeybuck. 'well, it's a pity,' observed quod, spitting as he spoke; 'but what can you expect, eaten up as he is by such a set of rubbish.' 'shockin',' replied seedeybuck, thinking how long he and his friend might have fattened there together. 'do you know anything of this mr. sponge?' asked captain quod, after a pause. 'nothin',' replied seedeybuck, 'except what we saw of him here; but i'm sure he won't do.' 'well, i think not either,' replied quod; 'i didn't like his looks--he seems quite one of the free-and-easy sort.' 'quite,' observed seedeybuck, determined to make a set against him, instead of cultivating his acquaintance. 'this mr. sponge won't be any great addition to our party, i think,' muttered captain bouncey to captain cutitfat, as they stood within the bay of the library window, in apparent contemplation of the cows, but in reality conning the sponge matter over in their minds. 'i think not,' replied captain cutitfat, with an emphasis. 'wonder what made sir harry ask him!' whispered bouncey, adding, aloud, for the bystanders to hear, 'that's a fine cow, isn't it?' 'very,' replied cutitfat, in the same key, adding, in a whisper, with a shrug of his shoulders, 'wonder what made him ask half the people that are here!' 'the black and white one isn't a bad un,' observed bouncey, nodding his head towards the cows, adding in an undertone, 'most of them asked themselves, i should think.' 'admiring the cows. captain bouncey?' asked the beautiful and tolerably virtuous miss glitters, of the astley's royal amphitheatre, who had come down to spend a few days with her old friend, lady scattercash. 'admiring the cows, captain bouncey?' asked she, sidling her elegant figure between our friends in the bay. 'we were just saying how nice it would be to have two or three pretty girls, and a sillabub, under those cedars,' replied captain bouncey. 'oh, charming!' exclaimed miss glitters, her dark eyes sparkling as she spoke. 'harriet!' exclaimed she, addressing herself to a young lady, who called herself howard, but whose real name was brown--jane brown--'harriet!' exclaimed she, 'captain bouncey is going to give a _fête champêtre_ under those lovely cedars.' 'oh, how nice!' exclaimed harriet, clapping her hands in ecstasies--theatrical ecstasies at least. 'it must be sir harry,' replied the billiard-table man, not fancying being 'let in' for anything. 'oh! sir harry will let us have anything we like, i'm sure,' rejoined miss glitters. 'what is it (hiccup)?' asked sir harry, who, hearing his name, now joined the party. 'oh, we want you to give us a dance under those charming cedars,' replied the lady, looking lovingly at him. 'cedars!' hiccuped sir harry, 'where do you see any cedars?' 'why there,' replied miss glitters, nodding towards a clump of evergreens. 'those are (hiccup) hollies,' replied sir harry. [illustration] 'well, under the hollies,' rejoined miss glitters; adding, 'it was captain bouncey who said they were cedars.' 'ah, i meant those beyond,' observed the captain, nodding in another direction. 'those are (hiccup) scotch firs,' rejoined sir harry. 'well, never mind what they are,' resumed the lady; 'let us have a dance under them.' 'certainly,' replied sir harry, who was always ready for anything. 'we shall have plenty of partners,' observed miss howard, recollecting how many men there were in the house. 'and another coming,' observed captain cutitfat, still fretting at the idea. 'indeed!' exclaimed miss howard, raising her hands and eyebrows in delight; 'and who is he?' asked she, with unfeigned glee. 'oh such a (hiccup) swell,' replied sir harry; 'reg'lar leicestershire man. a (hiccup) quornite, in fact.' 'we'll not have the dance till he comes, then,' observed miss glitters. 'no more we will,' said miss howard, withdrawing from the group. chapter lx facey romford at home we will now suppose our distinguished sponge entering the village, or what the natives call the town of washingforde, towards the close of a short december day, on his arrival from mr. jog's. 'what sort of stables are there?' asked he, reining up his hack, as he encountered the brandy-nosed leather airing himself on the main street. 'stables be good enough--forage, too,' replied the stud groom--'_per_-wided you likes the sittivation.' 'oh, the sittivation 'll be good enough,' retorted sponge, thinking that, groom-like, leather was grumbling because he hadn't got the best stables. 'well, sir, as you please,' replied the man. 'why, where are they?' asked sponge, seeing there was more in leather's manner than met the eye. '_rose and crown!_' replied leather, with an emphasis. 'rose and crown!' exclaimed sponge, starting in his saddle; 'rose and crown! why, i'm going to stay with mr. romford!' 'so he said.' replied leather; 'so he said. i met him as i com'd in with the osses, and said he to me, said he, "you'll find captle quarters at the crown!"' 'the deuce!' exclaimed mr. sponge, dropping the reins on his hack's neck; 'the deuce!' repeated he with a look of disgust. 'why, where does he live?' ''bove the saddler's, thonder,' replied leather, nodding to a small bow-windowed white house a little lower down, with the gilt-lettered words: overend, saddler and harness-maker to the queen, above a very meagrely stocked shop. 'the devil!' replied mr. sponge, boiling up as he eyed the cottage-like dimensions of the place. the dialogue was interrupted by a sledge-hammer-like blow on sponge's back, followed by such a proffered hand as could proceed from none but his host. 'glad to see ye!' exclaimed facey, swinging sponge's arm to and fro. 'get off!' continued he, half dragging him down, 'and let's go in; for it's beastly cold, and dinner'll be ready in no time!' so saying, he led the captive sponge down street, like a prisoner, by the arm, and, opening the thin house-door, pushed him up a very straight staircase into a little low cabin-like room, hung with boxing-gloves, foils, and pictures of fighters and ballet girls. 'glad to see ye!' again said facey, poking the diminutive fire. 'axed nosey nickel and gutty weazel to meet you,' continued he, looking at the little 'dinner-for-two' table; 'but nosey's gone wrong in a tooth, and gutty's away sweetheartin'. however, we'll be very cosy and jolly together; and if you want to wash your hands, or anything afore dinner, i'll show you your bedroom,' continued he, backing sponge across the staircase landing to where a couple of little black doors opened into rooms, formed by dividing what had been the duplicate of the sitting-room into two. 'there!' exclaimed facey, pointing to sponge's portmanteau and bag, standing midway between the window and door: 'there! there are your traps. yonder's the washhand-stand. you can put your shavin'-things on the chair below the lookin'-glass 'gainst the wall,' pointing to a fragment of glass nailed against the stencilled wall, all of which sponge stood eyeing with a mingled air of resignation and contempt; but when facey pointed to: 'the chest, contrived a double debt to pay-- a bed by night, a chest of drawers by day' and said that was where sponge would have to curl himself up, our friend shook his head, and declared he could not. 'oh, fiddle!' replied facey, 'jack weatherley slept in it for months, and he's half a hand higher than you--sixteen hands, if he's an inch.' and sponge jerked his head and bit his lips, thinking he was 'done' for once. 'w-h-o-y, ar thought you'd been a fox-hunter,' observed facey, seeing his guest's disconcerted look. 'well, but bein' a fox-hunter won't enable one to sleep in a band-box, or to shut one's-self up like a telescope,' retorted the indignant sponge. ''ord hang it, man! you're so nasty partickler,' rejoined facey; 'you're so nasty partickler. you'll never do to go out duck-shootin' i' your shirt. dash it, man! oncle gilroy would disinherit me if ar was such a chap. however, look sharp,' continued he, 'if you are goin' to clean yourself; for dinner 'll be ready in no time, indeed, i hear mrs. end dishin' it up.' so saying, facey rolled out of the room, and sponge presently heard him pulling off his clogs of shoes in the adjoining one. dinner spoke for itself, for the house reeked with the smell of fried onions and roast pork. now, sponge didn't like pork; and there was nothing but pork, or pig in one shape or another. spare ribs, liver and bacon, sausages, black puddings, &c.--all very good in their way, but which came with a bad grace after the comforts of jog's, the elegance of puffington's, and the early splendour of jawleyford's. our hero was a good deal put out, and felt as if he was imposed upon. what business had a man like this to ask him to stay with him--a man who dined by daylight, and ladled his meat with a great two-pronged fork? facey, though he saw mr. sponge wasn't pleased, praised and pressed everything in succession down to a very strong cheese; and as the slip-shod girl whisked away crumbs and all in the coarse tablecloth, he exclaimed in a most open-hearted air, 'well, now, what shall we have to drink?' adding, 'you smoke, of course--shall it be gin, rum, or hollands--hollands, rum, or gin?' sponge was half inclined to propose wine, but recollecting what sloe-juice sort of stuff it was sure to be, and that facey, in all probability, would make him finish it, he just replied, 'oh, i don't care; 'spose we say gin?' 'gin be it,' said facey, rising from his seat, and making for a little closet in the wall, he produced a bottle labelled 'fine london spirit'; and, hallooing to the girl to get a few 'captins' out of the box under his bed, he scattered a lot of glasses about the table, and placed a green dessert-dish for the biscuits against they came. night had now closed in--a keen, boisterous, wintry night, making the pocketful of coals that ornamented the grate peculiarly acceptable. 'b-o-y jove, what a night!' exclaimed facey, as a blash of sleet dashed across the window as if some one had thrown a handful of pebbles against it. 'b-o-y jove, what a night!' repeated he, rising and closing the shutters, and letting down the little scanty red curtain. 'let us draw in and have a hot brew,' continued he, stirring the fire under the kettle, and handing a lot of cigars out of the table-drawer. they then sat smoking and sipping, and smoking and sipping, each making a mental estimate of the other. 'shall we have a game at cards? or what shall we do to pass the evenin'?' at length asked our host. 'better have a game at cards, p'raps,' continued he. 'thank'ee, no; thank'ee, no. i've a book in my pocket,' replied sponge, diving into his jacket-pocket; adding, as he fished up his _mogg_, 'always carry a book of light reading about with me.' 'what, you're a literary cove, are you?' asked facey, in a tone of surprise. 'not exactly that,' replied sponge; 'but i like to improve my mind.' he then opened the valuable work, taking a dip into the omnibus guide--'brentford, from hyde park corner--european coffee house, near the bank, daily,' and so worked his way on through the 'brighton railway station, brixton, bromley both in kent and middlesex, bushey heath, camberwell, camden town, and carshalton,' right into cheam, when facey, who had been eyeing him intently, not at all relishing his style of proceeding and wishing to be doing, suddenly exclaimed, as he darted up: [illustration: facey romford treats sponge to a little music] 'b-o-y jove! you've not heard me play the flute! no more you have. dash it, how remiss!' continued he, making for the little bookshelf on which it lay; adding, as he blew into it and sucked the joints, 'you're musical, of course?' 'oh, i can stand music,' muttered sponge, with a jerk of his head, as if a tune was neither here nor there with him. 'by jingo! you should see me oncle gilroy when a'rm playin'! the old man act'ly sheds tears of delight--he's so pleased.' 'indeed,' replied sponge, now passing on into _mogg's cab fares_--'aldersgate street, hare court, to or from bagnigge wells,' and so on, when facey struck up the most squeaking, discordant, broken-winded 'jump jim crow' that ever was heard, making the sensitive sponge shudder, and setting all his teeth on edge. 'hang me, but that flute of yours wants nitre, or a dose of physic, or something most dreadful!' at length exclaimed he, squeezing up his face as if in the greatest agony, as the laboured: 'jump about and wheel about' completely threw sponge over in his calculation as to what he could ride from aldgate pump to the pied bull at islington for. 'oh no!' replied facey, with an air of indifference, as he took off the end and jerked out the steam. 'oh no--only wants work--only wants work,' added he, putting it together again, exclaiming, as he looked at the now sulky sponge, 'well, what shall it be?' 'whatever you please,' replied our friend, dipping frantically into his _mogg_. 'well, then, i'll play you me oncle's favourite tune, "the merry swiss boy,"' whereupon facey set to most vigorously with that once most popular air. it, however, came off as rustily as 'jim crow,' for whose feats facey evidently had a partiality; for no sooner did he get squeaked through 'me oncle's' tune than he returned to the nigger melody with redoubled zeal, and puffed and blew sponge's calculations as to what he could ride from 'mother redcap's at camden town down liquorpond street, up snow hill, and so on, to the 'angel' in ratcliff highway for, clean out of his head. nor did there seem any prospect of relief, for no sooner did facey get through one tune than he at the other again. 'rot it!' at length exclaimed sponge, throwing his _mogg_ from him in despair, 'you'll deafen me with that abominable noise.' 'bless my heart!' exclaimed facey, in well-feigned surprise, 'bless my heart! why, i thought you liked music, my dear feller!' adding, 'i was playin' to please you.' 'the deuce you were!' snapped mr. sponge. 'i wish i'd known sooner: i'd have saved you a deal of wind.' 'why, my dear feller,' replied facey, 'i wished to entertain you the best in my power. one must do somethin', you know.' 'i'd rather do anything than undergo that horrid noise,' replied sponge, ringing his left ear with his forefinger. 'let's have a game at cards, then,' rejoined facey soothingly, seeing he had sufficiently agonized sponge. 'cards,' replied mr. sponge. 'cards,' repeated he thoughtfully, stroking his hairy chin. 'cards,' added he, for the third time, as he conned facey's rotund visage, and wondered if he was a sharper. if the cards were fair, sponge didn't care trying his luck. it all depended upon that. 'well,' said he, in a tone of indifference, as he picked up his _mogg_, thinking he wouldn't pay if he lost, 'i'll give you a turn. what shall it be?' 'oh--w-h-o-y--s'pose we say _écarté_?' replied facey, in an off-hand sort of way. 'well,' drawled sponge, pocketing his _mogg_, preparatory to action. 'you haven't a clean pack, have you?' asked sponge, as facey, diving into a drawer, produced a very dirty, thumb-marked set. 'w-h-o-y, no, i haven't,' replied facey. 'w-h-o-y, no, i haven't: but, honour bright, these are all right and fair. wouldn't cheat a man, if it was ever so.' 'sure you wouldn't,' replied sponge, nothing comforted by the assertion. they then resumed their seats opposite each other at the little table, with the hot water and sugar, and 'fine london spirit' bottle equitably placed between them. at first mr. sponge was the victor, and by nine o'clock had scored eight-and-twenty shillings against his host, when he was inclined to leave off, alleging that he was an early man, and would go to bed--an arrangement that facey seemed to come into, only pressing sponge to accompany the gin he was now helping himself to with another cigar. this seemed all fair and reasonable; and as sponge conned matters over, through the benign influence of the ''baccy,' he really thought facey mightn't be such a bad beggar after all. 'well, then,' said he, as he finished cigar and glass together, 'if you'll give me eight-and-twenty bob, i'll be off to bedfordshire.' 'you'll give me my revenge surely!' exclaimed facey, in pretended astonishment. 'to-morrow night,' replied sponge firmly, thinking it would have to go hard with him if he remained there to give it. 'nay, _now_!' rejoined facey, adding, 'it's quite early. me oncle gilroy and i always play much later at queercove hill.' sponge hesitated. if he had got the money, he would have refused point-blank; as it was, he thought, perhaps the only chance of getting it was to go on. with no small reluctance and misgivings he mixed himself another tumbler of gin and water, and, changing seats, resumed the game. nor was our discreet friend far wrong in his calculations, for luck now changed, and facey seemed to have the king quite at command. in less than an hour he had not only wiped off the eight-and-twenty shillings, but had scored three pound fifteen against his guest. facey would now leave off. sponge, on the other hand, wanted to go on. facey, however, was firm. 'i'll cut you double or quits, then,' cried sponge, in rash despair. facey accommodated him and doubled the debt. 'again!' exclaimed sponge, with desperate energy. 'no! no more, thank ye,' replied facey coolly. 'fair play's a jewel.' 'so it is,' assented mr. sponge, thinking he hadn't had it. 'now,' continued facey, poking into the table-drawer and producing a dirty scrap of paper, with a little pocket ink-case, 'if you'll give me an "i.o.u.," we'll shut up shop.' 'an "i.o.u.!"' retorted sponge, looking virtuously indignant. 'an "i.o.u.!" i'll give you your money i' the mornin'.' 'i know you will,' replied facey coolly, putting himself in boxing attitude, exclaiming, as he measured out a distance, 'just feel the biceps muscle of my arm--do believe i could fell an ox. however, never mind,' continued he, seeing sponge declined the feel. 'life's uncertain: so you give me an "i.o.u." and we'll be all right and square. short reckonin's make long friends, you know,' added he, pointing peremptorily to the paper. 'i'd better give you a cheque at once,' retorted sponge, looking the very essence of chivalry. '_money_, if you please,' replied facey; muttering, with a jerk of his head, 'don't like paper.' the renowned sponge, for once, was posed. he had the money, but he didn't like to part with it. so he gave the 'i.o.u.' and, lighting a twelve-to-the-pound candle, sulked off to undress and crawl into the little impossibility of a bed. night, however, brought no relief to our distinguished friend; for, little though the bed was, it was large enough to admit lodgers, and poor sponge was nearly worried by the half-famished vermin, who seemed bent on making up for the long fast they had endured since the sixteen-hands-man left. worst of all, as day dawned, the eternal 'jim crow' recommenced his saltations, varied only with the: 'come, arouse ye, arouse ye, my merry swiss boy' of 'me oncle gilroy.' 'well, dash my buttons!' groaned sponge, as the discordant noise shot through his aching head, 'but this is the worst spec i ever made in my life. fed on pork, fluted deaf, bit with bugs, and robbed at cards--fairly, downrightly robbed. never was a more reg'ler plant put on a man. thank goodness, however, i haven't paid him--never will, either. such a confounded, disreputable scoundrel deserves to be punished--big, bad, blackguard-looking fellow! how the deuce i could ever be taken in by such a fellow! believe he's nothing but a great poaching blackleg. hasn't the faintest outlines of a gentleman about him--not the slightest particle--not the remotest glimmerin'.' these and similar reflections were interrupted by a great thump against the thin lath-and-plaster wall that separated their rooms, or rather closets, accompanied by an exclamation of: 'halloo, old boy! how goes it?'--an inquiry to which our friend deigned no answer. ''ord rot ye! you're awake,' muttered facey to himself, well knowing that no one could sleep after such a 'jim-crow-ing' and 'swiss-boy-ing' as he had given him. he therefore resumed his battery, thumping as though he would knock the partition in. 'halloo!' at last exclaimed mr. sponge, 'who's there?' 'well, old sivin-pund-ten, how goes it?' asked facey, in a tone of the keenest irony. 'you be ----!' growled mr. sponge, in disgust. 'breakfast in half an hour!' resumed facey. 'pigs'-puddin's and sarsingers--all 'ot--pipin' 'ot!' continued our host. 'wish you were pipin' 'ot,' growled mr. sponge, as he jerked himself out of his little berth. though facey pumped him pretty hard during this second pig repast, he could make nothing out of sponge with regard to his movements--our friend parrying all his inquiries with his _mogg_, and assurances that he could amuse himself. in vain facey represented that his oncle gilroy would be expecting them; that mr. hobler was ready for him to ride over on; sponge wasn't inclined to shoot, but begged facey wouldn't stay at home on his account. the fact was, sponge meditated a bolt, and was in close confab with leather, in the rose and crown stables, arranging matters, when the sound of his name in the yard caused him to look out, when--oh, welcome sight!--a puddingpote bower messenger put sir harry's note in his hand, which had at length arrived at jog's through their very miscellaneous transit, called a post. sponge, in the joy of his heart, actually gave the lad a shilling! he now felt like a new man. he didn't care a rap for facey, and, ordering leather to give him the hack and follow with the hunters, he presently cantered out of town as sprucely as if all was on the square. when, however, facey found how matters stood, he determined to stop sponge's things, which leather resisted; and, facey showing fight, leather butted him with his head, sending him backwards downstairs and putting his shoulder out. leather than marched off with the kit, amid the honours of war. chapter lxi nonsuch house again [illustration: 'mr. sponge, my lady'] the gallant inmates of nonsuch house had resolved themselves into a committee of speculation, as to whether mr. sponge was coming or not; indeed, they had been betting upon it, the odds at first being a hundred to one that he came, though they had fallen a point or two on the arrival of the post without an answer. 'well, i say mr. what-d'ye-call-him--sponge--doesn't come!' exclaimed captain seedeybuck, as he lay full length, with his shaggy greasy head on the fine rose-coloured satin sofa, and his legs cocked over the cushion. 'why not?' asked miss glitters, who was beguiling the twilight half-hour before candles with knitting. 'don't know,' replied seedeybuck, twirling his moustache, 'don't know--have a presentiment he won't.' 'sure to come!' exclaimed captain bouncey, knocking the ashes off his cigar on to the fine tournay carpet. 'i'll lay ten to one--ten fifties to one--he does,--a thousand to ten if you like.' if all the purses in the house had been clubbed together, we don't believe they would have raised fifty pounds. 'what sort of a looking man is he?' asked miss glitters, now counting her loops. 'oh--whoy--ha--hem--haw--he's just an ordinary sort of lookin' man--nothin' 'tickler any way,' drawled captain seedeybuck, now wetting and twirling his moustache. 'two legs, a head, a back, and so on, i presume,' observed the lady. 'just so,' assented captain seedeybuck. 'he's a horsey-lookin' sort o' man, i should say,' observed captain bouncey, 'walks as if he ought to be ridin'--wears vinegar tops.' 'hate vinegar tops,' growled seedeybuck. just then, in came lady scattercash, attended by mr. orlando bugles, the ladies' attractions having caused that distinguished performer to forfeit his engagement at the surrey theatre. captain cutitfat, bob spangles, and sir harry quickly followed, and the sponge question was presently renewed. 'who says old brown boots comes?' exclaimed seedeybuck from the sofa. 'who's that with his nasty nob on my fine satin sofa?' asked the lady. 'bob spangles,' replied seedeybuck. 'nothing of the sort,' rejoined the lady; 'and i'll trouble you to get off.' 'can't--i've got a bone in my leg,' rejoined the captain. 'i'll soon make you,' replied her ladyship, seizing the squab, and pulling it on to the floor. as the captain was scrambling up, in came peter--one of the wageless footmen--with candles, which having distributed equitably about the room, he approached lady scattercash, and asked, in an independent sort of way, what room mr. soapsuds was to have. 'soapsuds!--soapsuds!--that's not his name,' exclaimed her ladyship. '_sponge_, you fool! soapey sponge,' exclaimed cutitfat, who had ferreted out sponge's _nomme de londres_. 'he's not come, has he?' asked miss glitters eagerly. 'yes, my lady--that's to say, miss,' replied peter. 'come, has he!' chorused three or four voices. 'well, he must have a (hiccup) room,' observed sir harry. 'the green--the one above the billiard-room will do,' added he. 'but _i_ have that, sir harry,' exclaimed miss howard. 'oh, it'll hold two well enough,' observed miss glitters. 'then _you_ can be the second,' replied miss howard, with a toss of her head. 'indeed!' sneered miss glitters, bridling up. 'i like that.' 'well, but where's the (hiccup) man to be put?' asked sir harry. 'there's ladofwax's room,' suggested her ladyship. 'the captain's locked the door and taken the key with him,' replied the footman; 'he said he'd be back in a day or two.' 'back in a (hiccup) or two!' observed sir harry. 'where is he gone?' the man smiled. '_borrowed_,' observed captain quod, with an emphasis. 'indeed!' exclaimed sir harry, adding, 'well, i thought that was nabbum's gig with the old grey.' 'he'll not be back in a hurry,' observed bouncey. 'he'll be like the boulogne gents, who are always going to england, but never do.' 'poor wax!' observed quod; 'he's a big fool, to give him his due.' 'if you give him his due it's more than he gives other people, it seems.' observed miss howard. 'oh, fie, miss h.!' exclaimed captain seedeybuck. 'well, but the (hiccup) man must have a (hiccup) bed somewhere,' observed sir harry; adding to the footman, 'you'd better (hiccup) the door open, you know.' 'perhaps you'd better try what one of yours will do,' observed bob spangles, to the convulsion of the company. in the midst of their mirth mr. bottleends was seen piloting mr. sponge up to her ladyship. 'mr. sponge, my lady,' said he in as low and deferential a tone as if he got his wages punctually every quarter-day. 'how do you do. mr. sponge?' said her ladyship, tendering him her hand with an elegant curtsey. 'how are you, mr. (hiccup) sponge?' asked sir harry, offering his; 'i believe you know the (hiccup) company?' continued he, waving his hand around; 'miss (hiccup) glitters, captain (hiccup) quod, captain bouncey, mr. (hiccup) bugles, captain (hiccup) seedeybuck, and so on'; whereupon miss glitters curtsied, the gentlemen bobbed their heads and drew near our hero, who had now stationed himself before the fire. 'coldish to-night,' said he, stooping, and placing both hands to the bars. 'coldish,' repeated he, rubbing his hands and looking around. [illustration] 'it generally is about this time of year, i think,' observed miss glitters, who was quite ready to enter for our friend. 'hope it won't stop hunting,' said mr. sponge. 'hope not,' replied sir harry; 'would be a bore if it did.' 'i wonder you gentlemen don't prefer hunting in a frost,' observed miss howard; 'one would think it would be just the time you'd want a good warming.' 'i don't agree with you, there,' replied mr. sponge, looking at her, and thinking she was not nearly so pretty as miss glitters. 'do you hunt to-morrow?' asked he of sir harry, not having been able to obtain any information at the stables. '(hiccup) to-morrow? oh, i dare say we shall,' replied sir harry, who kept his hounds as he did his carriages, to be used when wanted. 'dare say we shall,' repeated he. but though sir harry spoke thus encouragingly of their prospects, he took no steps, as far as mr. sponge could learn, to carry out the design. indeed, the subject of hunting was never once mentioned, the conversation after dinner, instead of being about the quorn, or the pytchley, or jack thompson with the atherstone, turning upon the elegance and lighting of the casinos in the adelaide gallery and windmill street, and the relative merits of those establishments over the casino de venise in high holborn. nor did morning produce any change for the better, for sir harry and all the captains came down in their usual flashy broken-down player-looking attire, their whole thoughts being absorbed in arranging for a pool at billiards, in which the ladies took part. so with billiards, brandy, and ''baccy,'--''baccy,' brandy, and billiards, varied with an occasional stroll about the grounds, the non-sporting inmates of nonsuch house beguiled the time, much to mr. sponge's disgust, whose soul was on fire and eager for the fray. the reader's perhaps being the same, we will skip christmas and pass on to new year's day. chapter lxii a family breakfast 'twere almost superfluous to say that new year's day is always a great holiday. it is a day on which custom commands people to be happy and idle, whether they have the means of being happy and idle or not. it is a day for which happiness and idleness are 'booked,' and parties are planned and arranged long beforehand. some go to the town, some to the country; some take rail; some take steam; some take greyhounds; some take gigs; while others take guns and pop at all the little dicky-birds that come in their way. the rural population generally incline to a hunt. they are not very particular as to style, so long as there are a certain number of hounds, and some men in scarlet, to blow their horns, halloo, and crack their whips. the population, especially the rising population about nonsuch house, all inclined that way. a new year's day's hunt with sir harry had long been looked forward to by the little raws, and the little spooneys, and the big and little cheeks, and we don't know how many others. nay, it had been talked of by the elder boys at their respective schools--we beg pardon, academies--dr. switchington's, mr. latherington's, mrs. skelper's, and a liberal allowance of boasting indulged in, as to how they would show each other the way over the hedges and ditches. the thing had long been talked of. old johnny raw had asked sir harry to arrange the day so long ago that sir harry had forgotten all about it. sir harry was one of those good-natured souls who can't say 'no' to any one. if anybody had asked if they might set fire to his house, he would have said: 'oh (hiccup) certainly, my dear (hiccup) fellow, if it will give you any (hiccup) pleasure.' now, for the hiccup day. it is generally a frost on new year's day. however wet and sloppy the weather may be up to the end of the year, it generally turns over a new leaf on that day. new year's day is generally a bright, bitter, sunshiny day, with starry ice, and a most decided anti-hunting feeling about it--light, airy, ringy, anything but cheery for hunting. thus it was in sir harry scattercash's county. having smoked and drunk the old year out, the captains and company retired to their couches without thinking about hunting. mr. sponge, indeed, was about tired of asking when the hounds would be going out. it was otherwise, however, with the rising generation, who were up betimes, and began pouring in upon nonsuch house in every species of garb, on every description of steed, by every line and avenue of approach. 'halloo! what's up now?' exclaimed lady scattercash, as she caught view of the first batch rounding the corner to the front of the house. 'who have we here?' asked miss glitters, as a ponderous, parti-coloured clown, on a great, curly-coated cart-horse, brought up the rear. 'early callers,' observed captain seedeybuck, eating away complacently. 'friends of mr. sponge's, most likely,' suggested captain quod. 'some of the little sponges come to see their pa, p'raps,' lisped miss howard, pretending to be shocked after she had said it. 'bravo, miss howard!' exclaimed captain cutitfat, clapping his hands. '_i_ said nothing, captain,' observed the young lady with becoming prudery. 'here we are again!' exclaimed captain quod, as a troop of various-sized urchins, in pea-jackets, with blue noses and red comforters, on very shaggy ponies, the two youngest swinging in panniers over an ass, drew up alongside of the first comers. 'whose sliding-scale of innocence is that, i wonder!' exclaimed miss howard, contemplating the variously sized chubby faces through the window. 'he, he, he! ho, ho, ho!' giggled the guests. another batch of innocence now hove in sight. 'oh, those are the little (hiccup) raws,' observed sir harry, catching sight of the sky-blue collar of the servant's long drab coat. 'good chap, old johnny raw; ask them to (hiccup) in,' continued he, 'and give them some (hiccup) cherry brandy'; and thereupon sir harry began nodding and smiling, and making signs to them to come in. the youngsters, however, maintained their position. 'the little stupexes!' exclaimed miss howard, going to the window, and throwing up the sash. 'come in, young gents!' cried she, in a commanding tone, addressing herself to the last comers. 'come in, and have some toffy and lollypops! d'ye hear?' continued she, in a still louder voice, and motioning her head towards the door. the boys sat mute. 'you little stupid monkeys,' muttered she in an undertone, as the cold air struck upon her head. 'come in, like good boys,' added she in a louder key, pointing with her finger towards the door. 'nor, thenk ye!' at last drawled the elder of the boys. 'nor, thenk ye!' repeated miss howard, imitating the drawl. 'why not?' asked she sharply. the boy stared stupidly. 'why won't you come in?' asked she, again addressing him. 'don't know!' replied the boy, staring vacantly at his younger brother, as he rubbed a pearl off his nose on the back of his hand. 'don't know!' ejaculated miss howard, stamping her little foot on the turkey carpet. 'mar said we hadn't,' whined the younger boy, coming to the rescue of his brother. 'mar said we hadn't!' retorted the fair interrogator. 'why not?' 'don't know,' replied the elder. 'don't know! you little stupid animal,' snapped miss howard, the cold air increasing the warmth of her temper. 'i wonder what you _do_ know. why did your ma say you were not to come in?' continued she, addressing the younger one. 'because--because,' hesitated he, 'she said the house was full of trumpets.' 'trumpets, you little scamp!' exclaimed the lady, reddening up; 'i'll get a whip and cut your jacket into ribbons on your back.' and thereupon she banged down the window and closed the conversation. chapter lxiii the rising generation the lull that prevailed in the breakfast-room on miss howard's return from the window was speedily interrupted by fresh arrivals before the door. the three master baskets in coats and lay-over collars, master shutter in a jacket and trousers, the two master bulgeys in woollen overalls with very large hunting whips, master brick in a velveteen shooting-jacket, and the two cheeks with their tweed trousers thrust into fiddle-case boots, on all sorts of ponies and family horses, began pawing and disordering the gravel in front of nonsuch house. george cheek was the head boy at mr. latherington's classical and commercial academy, at flagellation hall (late the crown and sceptre hotel and posting house, on the bankstone road), where, for forty pounds a year, eighty young gentlemen were fitted for the pulpit, the senate, the bar, the counting-house, or anything else their fond parents fancied them fit for. george was a tall stripling, out at the elbows, in at the knees, with his red knuckled hands thrust a long way through his tight coat. he was just of that awkward age when boys fancy themselves men, and men are not prepared to lower themselves to their level. ladies get on better with them than men: either the ladies are more tolerant of twaddle, or their discerning eyes see in the gawky youth the germ of future usefulness. george was on capital terms with himself. he was the oracle of mr. latherington's school, where he was not only head boy and head swell, but a considerable authority on sporting matters. he took in _bell's life_, which he read from beginning to end, and 'noted its contents,' as they say in the city. 'i'll tell you what all these little (hiccup) animals will be wanting,' observed sir harry, as he cayenne-peppered a turkey's leg; 'they'll be come for a (hiccup) hunt.' 'wish they may get it,' observed captain seedeybuck; adding, 'why, the ground's as hard as iron.' 'there's a big boy,' observed miss howard, eyeing george cheek through the window. 'let's have him in, and see what he's got to say for himself,' said miss glitters. '_you_ ask him, then,' rejoined miss howard, who didn't care to risk another rub. 'peter,' said lady scattercash to the footman, who had been loitering about, listening to the conversation,--'peter, go and ask that tall boy with the blue neckerchief and the riband round his hat to come in.' 'yes, my lady,' replied peter. 'and the (hiccup) spooneys, and the (hiccup) bulgeys, and the (hiccup) raws, and all the little (hiccup) rascals,' added sir harry. 'the raws won't come. sir h.,' observed miss howard soberly. 'bigger fools they,' replied sir harry. presently peter returned with a tail, headed by george cheek, who came striding and slouching up the room, and stuck himself down on lady scattercash's right. the small boys squeezed themselves in as they could, one by captain seedeybuck, another by captain bouncey, one by miss glitters, a fourth by miss howard, and so on. they all fell ravenously upon the provisions. gobble, gobble, gobble was the order of the day. 'well, and how often have you been flogged this half?' asked lady scattercash of george cheek, as she gave him a cup of coffee. her ladyship hadn't much liking for youths of his age, and would just as soon vex them as not. 'well, and how often have you been flogged this half?' asked she again, not getting an answer to her first inquiry. 'not at all,' growled cheek, reddening up. 'oh, flogged!' exclaimed miss glitters. 'you wouldn't have a young man like him flogged; it's only the little boys that get that--is it, mister cheek?' 'to be sure not,' assented the youth. 'mister cheek's a man,' observed miss glitters, eyeing him archly, as he sat stuffing his mouth with currant-loaf plentifully besmeared with raspberry-jam. 'he'll be wanting a wife soon,' added she, smiling across the table at captain seedeybuck. 'i question but he's got one,' observed the captain. 'no, ar haven't,' replied cheek, pleased at the imputation. 'then there's a chance for you. miss g.,' retorted the captain. 'mrs. george cheek would look well on a glazed card with gilt edges.' 'what a cub!' exclaimed miss howard, in disgust. 'you're another,' replied master cheek, amidst a roar of laughter from the party. 'well, but you ask your master if you mayn't have a wife next half, and we'll see if we can't arrange matters,' observed miss glitters. 'noo, ar sharn't,' replied george, stuffing his mouth full of preserved apricot. 'why not?' asked miss howard, 'because--because--ar'll have somethin' younger,' replied george. 'bravo, young chesterfield!' exclaimed miss howard; adding, 'what it is to be thick with lord john manners!' 'ar'm not,' growled the boy, amidst the mirth of the company. 'well, but what must we do with these little (hiccup)?' asked sir harry, at last rising from the breakfast-table, and looking listlessly round the company for an answer. [illustration] 'oh! liquor them well, and send them home to their mammas,' suggested captain bouncey, who was all for the drink. 'but they won't take their (hiccup),' replied sir harry, holding up a curacao bottle to show how little had disappeared. 'try them with cherry brandy,' suggested captain seedeybuck; adding, 'it's sweeter. now, young man,' continued he, addressing george cheek, as he poured him out a wineglassful, 'this is the real daffy's elixir that you read of in the papers. it's the finest compound that ever was known. it will make your hair curl, your whiskers grow, and you a man before your mother.' 'n-o-a, n-o-ar, don't want any more,' growled the young gentleman, turning away in disgust. 'ar won't drink any more.' 'well, but be sociable,' observed miss howard, helping herself to a glass. 'n-o-a, no, ar don't want to be sociable,' growled he, diving into his trouser-pockets, and wriggling about on his chair. 'well, then, what _will_ you do?' asked miss howard. 'hunt,' replied the youth. 'hunt!' exclaimed bob spangles; 'why, the ground's as hard as bricks.' 'n-o-a, it's not,' replied the youth. 'what a whelp!' exclaimed miss howard, rising from the table in disgust. 'my uncle jellyboy wouldn't let such a frost stop him, i know,' observed the boy. 'who's your uncle jellyboy?' asked miss glitters. 'he's a farmer, and keeps a few harriers at scutley,' observed bob spangles, _sotto voce_. 'and is that your extraordinary horse with all the legs?' asked miss howard, putting her glass to her eye, and scrutinizing a lank, woolly-coated weed, getting led about by a blue-aproned gardener. 'is that your extraordinary horse, with all the legs?' repeated she, following the animal about with her glass. 'hoots, it hasn't more legs than other people's,' growled george. 'it's got ten, at all events,' replied miss howard, to the astonishment of the juveniles. 'nor, it hasn't,' replied george. 'yes, it has,' rejoined the lady. 'nor, it hasn't,' repeated george. 'come and see,' said the lady; adding, 'perhaps it's put out some since you got off.' george slouched up to where she stood at the window. 'now,' said he, as the gardener turned the horse round, and he saw it had but four, 'how many has it?' 'ten!' replied miss howard. 'hoots,' replied george, 'you think it's april fool's day, i dare say.' 'no, i don't,' replied miss howard; 'but i maintain your horse has ten legs. see, now!' continued she, 'what do you call these coming here?' 'his two forelegs,' replied george. 'well, two fours--twice four's eight, eh? and his two hind ones make ten.' 'hoots,' growled george, amidst the mirth of his comrades, 'you're makin' a fool o' one.' 'well, but what must i do with all these little (hiccup) creatures?' asked sir harry again, seeing the plot still thickening outside. 'turn them out a bagman?' suggested mr. sponge, in an undertone; adding, 'watchorn has a three-legged 'un, i know, in the hay-loft.' 'oh, watchorn wouldn't (hiccup) on such a day as this,' replied sir harry. 'new year's day, too--most likely away, seeing his young hounds at walk.' 'we might see, at all events,' observed mr. sponge. 'well,' assented sir harry, ringing the bell. 'peter,' said he, as the servant answered the summons, 'i wish you would (hiccup) to mr. watchorn's, and ask if he'll have the kindness to (hiccup) down here.' sir harry was obliged to be polite, for watchorn, too, was on the 'free' list as miss glitters called it. 'yes, sir harry,' replied peter, leaving the room. presently peter's white legs were seen wending their way among the laurels and evergreens, in the direction of mr. watchorn's house; he having a house and grass for six cows, all whose milk, he declared, went to the puppies and young hounds. luckily, or unluckily perhaps, mr. watchorn was at home, and was in the act of shaving as peter entered. he was a square-built dark-faced, dark-haired, good-looking, ill-looking fellow who cultivated his face on the four-course system of husbandry. first, he had a bare fallow--we mean a clean shave; that of course was followed by a full crop of hair all over, except on his upper lip; then he had a soldier's shave, off by the ear; which in turn was followed by a newgate frill. the latter was his present style. he had now no whiskers, but an immense protuberance of bristly black hair, rising like a wave above his kerchief. though he cared no more about hunting than his master, he was very fond of his red coat, which he wore on all occasions, substituting a hat for a cap when 'off duty,' as he called it. having attired himself in his best scarlet, of which he claimed three a year--one for wet days, one for dry days, another for high days--very natty kerseymere shorts and gaiters, with a small-striped, standing-collar, toilenette waistcoat, he proceeded to obey the summons. 'watchorn,' said sir harry, as the important gentleman appeared at the breakfast-room door--'watchorn, these young (hiccup) gentlemen want a (hiccup) hunt.' 'oh! want must be their master, sir 'arry,' replied watchorn, with a broad grin on his flushed face, for he had been drinking all night, and was half drunk then. 'can't you manage it?' asked sir harry, mildly. ''ow is't possible. sir 'arry,' asked the huntsman, ''ow is't possible? no man's fonder of 'untin' than i am, but to turn out on sich a day as this would be a daring--a desperate violation of all the laws of registered propriety. the pope's bull would be nothin' to it!' 'how so?' asked sir harry, puzzled with the jumble. 'how so?' repeated watchorn; 'how so? why, in the fust place, it's a mortal 'ard frost, 'arder nor hiron; in the second place, i've got no arrangements made--you can't turn out a pack of 'igh-bred fox-'ounds as you would a lot of "staggers" or "muggers"; and, in the third place, you'll knock all your nags to bits, and they are a deal better in their wind than they are on their legs, as it is. no, sir 'arry--no,' continued he, slowly and thoughtfully. 'no, sir 'arry, no. be cardinal wiseman, for once. sir 'arry; be cardinal wiseman for once, and don't _think_ of it.' 'well,' replied sir harry, looking at george cheek, 'i suppose there's no help for it.' 'it was quite a thaw where i came from,' observed cheek, half to sir harry and half to the huntsman. ''deed, sir, 'deed,' replied mr. watchorn, with a chuck of his fringed chin, 'it generally is a thaw everywhere but where hounds meet.' 'my uncle jollyboy wouldn't be stopped by such a frost as this,' observed cheek. ''deed, sir, 'deed,' replied watchorn, 'your uncle jellyboy's a very fine feller, i dare say--very fine feller; no such conjurers in these parts as he is. what man dare, i dare; he who dares more, is no man,' added watchorn, giving his fat thigh a hearty slap. 'well done, old talliho!' exclaimed miss glitters. 'we'll have you on the stage next.' 'what will you wet your whistle with after your fine speech?' asked lady scattercash. 'take a tumbler of chumpine, if there is any,' replied watchorn, looking about for a long-necked bottle. 'fear you'll come on badly,' observed captain seedeybuck, holding up an empty one, 'for bouncey and i have just finished the last'; the captain chucking the bottle sideways on to the floor, and rolling it towards its companion in the corner. 'have a fresh bottle,' suggested lady scattercash, drawing the bell-string at her chair. 'champagne,' said her ladyship, as the footman answered the summons. 'two on 'em!' exclaimed captain bouncey. 'three!' shouted sir harry. 'we'll have a regular set-to,' observed miss howard, who was fond of champagne. 'new year's day,' replied bouncey, 'and ought to be properly observed.' presently, fiz--z,--pop,--bang! fiz--z,--pop,--bang! went the bottles; and, as the hissing beverage foamed over the bottle-necks, glasses were sought and held out to catch the creaming contents. 'here's a (hiccup) happy new year to us all!' exclaimed sir harry, drinking off his wine. 'h-o-o-ray!' exclaimed the company in irregular order, as they drank off theirs. 'we'll drink mr. watchorn and the nonsuch hounds!' exclaimed bob spangles, as watchorn, having drained off his tumbler, replaced it on the sideboard. 'with all the honours!' exclaimed captain cutitfat, filling his glass and rising to give the time; 'watchorn, your good health!' 'watchorn, your good health!' sounded from all parts, which watchorn kept acknowledging, and looking about for the means to return the compliment, his friends being more intent upon drinking his health than upon supplying him with wine. at last he caught the third of a bottle of 'chumpine,' and, emptying it into his tumbler, held it up while he thus addressed them: 'gen'lemen all!' said he, 'i thank you most 'ticklarly for this mark of your 'tention (applause); it's most gratifying to my feelins to be thus remembered (applause). i could say a great deal more, but the liquor won't wait.' so saying, he drained off his glass while the wine effervesced. 'well, and what d'ye (hiccup) of the weather now?' asked sir harry, as his huntsman again deposited his tumbler on the sideboard. 'pon my soul! sir 'arry,' replied watchorn, quite briskly, 'i really think we _might_ 'unt--we might try, at all events. the day seems changed, some'ow,' added he, staring vacantly out of the window on the bright sunny landscape, with the leafless trees dancing before his eyes. '_i_ think so,' said sir harry. 'what do you think, mr. sponge?' added he, appealing to our hero. 'half an hour may make a great difference,' observed mr. sponge. 'the sun will then be at its best.' 'we'll try, at all events,' observed sir harry. 'that's right,' exclaimed george cheek, waving a scarlet bandana over his head. 'i shall expect you to ride up to the 'ounds, young gent,' observed watchorn, darting an angry look at the speaker. 'won't i, old boy!' exclaimed george; 'ride over you, if you don't get out of the way.' ''deed,' sneered the huntsman, whisking about to leave the room; muttering, as he passed behind the large indian screen at the door, something about 'jawing jackanapes, well called cheek.' ''unt in 'alf an hour!' exclaimed watchorn, from the steps of the front door; an announcement that was received by the little raws, and little spooneys, and little baskets, and little bulgeys, and little bricks, and little others, with rapturous applause. all was now commotion and hurry-scurry inside and out; glasses were drained, lips wiped, and napkins thrown hastily away, while ladies and gentlemen began grouping and talking about hats and habits, and what they should ride. 'you go with me, orlando,' said lady scattercash to our friend bugles, recollecting the quantity of diachylon plaster it had taken to repair the damage of his former equestrian performance. 'you go with me, orlando,' said she, 'in the phaeton; and i'll lend lucy,' nodding towards miss glitters, 'my habit and horse.' 'who can lend me a coat?' asked captain seedeybuck, examining the skirts of a much frayed invisible-green surtout. 'a coat!' replied captain quod; 'i can lend you a joinville, if that will do as well,' the captain feeling his own extensive one as he spoke. 'hardly,' said seedeybuck, turning about to ask sir harry. 'what!--you are going to give watchorn a tussle, are you?' asked captain cutitfat of george cheek, as the latter began adjusting the fox-toothed riband about his hat. 'i believe you,' replied george, with a knowing jerk of his head; adding, 'it won't take much to beat him.' 'what! he's a slow 'un, is he?' asked cutitfat, in an undertone. 'slowest coach i ever saw,' growled george. 'won't ride, won't he?' asked the captain. 'not if he can help it,' replied george, adding, 'but he's such a shocking huntsman--never saw such a huntsman in all my life.' george's experience lay between his uncle jellyboy, who rode eighteen stone and a half, tom scramble, the pedestrian huntsman of the slowfoot hounds, near mr. latherington's, and mr. watchorn. but critics, especially hunting ones, are all ready made, as lord byron said. 'well, we'd better disperse and get ready,' observed bob spangles, making for the door; whereupon the tide of population flowed that way, and the room was presently cleared. george cheek and the juveniles then returned to their friends in the front; and george got up pony races among the johnny raws, the baskets, the bulgeys, and the spooneys, thrice round the carriage ring and a distance, to the detriment of the gravel and the discomfiture of the flower-bed in the centre. chapter lxiv the kennel and the stud we will now accompany mr. watchorn to the stable, whither his resolute legs carried him as soon as the champagne wrought the wonderful change in his opinion of the weather, though, as he every now and then crossed a spangled piece of ground upon which the sun had not struck, or stopped to crack a piece of ice with his toe, he shook his heated head and doubted whether _he_ was cardinal wiseman for making the attempt. nothing but the fact of his considering it perfectly immaterial whether he was with his hounds or not encouraged him in the undertaking. 'dash them!' said he, 'they must just take care of themselves.' with which laudable resolution, and an inward anathema at george cheek, he left off trying the ground and tapping the ice. watchorn's hurried, excited appearance produced little satisfaction among the grooms and helpers at the stables, who were congratulating themselves on the opportune arrival of the frost, and arranging how they should spend their new year's day. 'look sharp, lads! look sharp!' exclaimed he, clapping his hands as he ran up the yard. 'look sharp, lads! look sharp!' repeated he, as the astonished helpers showed their bare arms and dirty shirts at the partially opened doors, responsive to the sound. 'send snaffle here, send brown here, send green here, send snooks here,' exclaimed he, with the air of a man in authority. now snaffle was the stud-groom, a personage altogether independent of the huntsman, and, in the ordinary course of nature, snaffle had just as much right to send for watchorn as watchorn had to send for him; but watchorn being, as we said before, some way connected with lady scattercash, he just did as he liked among the whole of them, and they were too good judges to rebel. 'snaffle,' said he, as the portly, well-put-on personage waddled up to him; 'snaffle,' said he, 'how many sound 'osses have you?' '_none_, sir,' replied snaffle confidently. 'how many three-legged 'uns have you that can go, then?' 'oh! a good many,' replied snaffle, raising his hands to tell them off on his fingers. 'there's hop-the-twig, and hannah bell (hannibal), and ugly jade, and sir-danapalis--the baronet as we calls him--and harkaway, and hit-me-hard, and single-peeper, and jack's-alive, and groggytoes, and greedyboy, and puff-and-blow; that's to say _two_ and three-legged 'uns, at least,' observed snaffle, qualifying his original assertion. 'ah, well!' said watchorn, 'that'll do--two legs are too many for some of the rips they'll have to carry--let me see,' continued he thoughtfully, 'i'll ride 'arkaway.' 'yes, sir,' said snaffle. 'sir 'arry, 'it-me-'ard.' 'won't you put him on sir-danapalis?' asked snaffle. 'no,' replied watchorn, 'no; i wants to save the bart.--i wants to save the bart. sir 'arry must ride 'it-me-'ard.' 'is her ladyship going?' asked snaffle. 'her ladyship drives,' replied watchorn. 'and you. snooks,' addressing a bare-armed helper, 'tell mr. traces to turn her out a pony phaeton and pair, with fresh rosettes and all complete, you know.' 'yes sir,' said snooks, with a touch of his forelock. 'and you'd better tell mr. leather to have a horse for his master,' observed watchorn to snaffle, 'unless as how you wish to put him on one of yours.' 'not i,' exclaimed snaffle; 'have enough to mount without him. d'ye know how many'll be goin'?' asked he. 'no,' replied watchorn, hurrying off; adding, as he went, 'oh, hang 'em, just saddle 'em all, and let 'em scramble for 'em.' the scene then changed. instead of hissing helpers pursuing their vocations in stable or saddle-room, they began bustling about with saddles on their heads and bridles in their hands, the day of expected ease being changed into one of unusual trouble. mr. leather declared, as he swept the clothes over multum in parvo's tail, that it was the most unconscionable proceeding he had ever witnessed; and muttered something about the quiet comforts he had left at mr. jogglebury crowdey's, hinting his regret at having come to sir harry's, in a sort of dialogue with himself as he saddled the horse. the beauties of the last place always come out strong when a servant gets to another. but we must accompany mr. watchorn. though his early career with the camberwell and balham hill union harriers had not initiated him much into the delicacies of the chase, yet, recollecting the presence of mr. sponge, he felt suddenly seized with a desire of 'doing things as they should be'; and he went muttering to the kennel, thinking how he would leave dinnerbell and prosperous at home, and how the pack would look quite as well without frantic running half a field ahead, or old stormer and stunner bringing up the rear with long protracted howls. he doubted, indeed, whether he would take desperate, who was an incorrigible skirter; but as she was not much worse in this respect than chatterer or harmony, who was also an inveterate babbler, and the pack would look rather short without them, he reserved the point for further consideration, as the judges say. his speculations were interrupted by arriving at the kennel, and finding the door fast, he looked under the slate, and above the frame, and inside the window, and on the wall, for the key; and his shake, and kick, and clatter were only answered by a full chorus from the excited company within. 'hang the feller! what's got 'im!' exclaimed he, meaning joe haggish, the feeder, whom he expected to find there. joe, however, was absent; not holiday-making, but on a diplomatic visit to mr. greystones, the miller, at splashford, who had positively refused to supply any more meal, until his 'little bill' (£ ) for the three previous years was settled; and flesh being very scarce in the country, the hounds were quite light and fit to go. joe had gone to try and coax greystones out of a ton or two of meal, on the strength of its being new year's day. 'dash the feller! wot's got'im?' exclaimed watchorn, seizing the latch, and rattling it furiously. the melody of the hungry pack increased. ''ord rot the door!' exclaimed the infuriated huntsman, setting his back against it; at the first push, open it flew. watchorn fell back, and the astonished pack poured over his prostrate body, regardless alike of his holiday coat, his tidy tie, and toilenette vest. what a scrimmage! what a kick-up was there! away the hounds scampered, towling and howling, some up to the fleshwheel, to see if there was any meat; some to the bone heap, to see if there was any there; others down to the dairy, to try and effect an entrance in it; while launcher, and lightsome, and burster, rushed to the backyard of nonsuch house, and were presently over ears in the pig-pail. 'get me my horn! get me my whop!--get me my cap!--get me my bouts!' exclaimed watchorn, as he recovered his legs, and saw his wife eyeing the scene from the door. 'get me my bouts!--get me my cap!--get me my whop!--get me my horn, woman!' continued he, reversing the order of things, and rubbing the hounds' feetmarks off his clothes as he spoke. mrs. watchorn was too well drilled to dwell upon orders, and she met her lord and master in the passage with the enumerated articles in her hand. watchorn having deposited himself on an entrance-hall chair--for it was a roomy, well-furnished house, having been the steward's while there was anything to take care of--mrs. watchorn proceeded to strip off his gaiters while he drew on his boots and crowned himself with his cap. mrs. watchorn then buckled on his spurs, and he hurried off, horn in hand, desiring her to have him a basin of turtle-soup ready against he came in; adding, 'she knew where to get it.' the frosty air then resounded with the twang, twang, twang of his horn, and hounds began drawing up from all quarters, just as sportsmen cast up at a meet from no one knows where. 'he-here, hounds--he-here, good dogs!' cried he, coaxing and making much of the first-comers: 'he-here. galloper, old boy!' continued he, diving into his coat-pocket, and throwing him a bit of biscuit. the appearance of food had a very encouraging effect, for forthwith there was a general rush towards watchorn, and it was only by rating and swinging his 'whop' about that he prevented the pack from pawing, and perhaps downing him. at length, having got them somewhat tranquillized, he set off on his return to the stables, coaxing the shy hounds, and rating and rapping those that seemed inclined to break away. thus he managed to march into the stable-yard in pretty good order, just as the house party arrived in the opposite direction, attired in the most extraordinary and incongruous habiliments. there was bob spangles, in a swallow-tailed, mulberry-coloured scarlet, that looked like an old pen-wiper, white duck trousers, and lack-lustre napoleon boots; captain cutitfat, in a smart new 'moses and son's' straight-cut scarlet, with bloodhound heads on the buttons, yellow-ochre leathers, and wellington boots with drab knee-caps; little bouncey in a tremendously baggy long-backed scarlet, whose gaping outside-pockets showed that they had carried its late owner's hands as well as his handkerchief; the clumsy device on the tarnished buttons looking quite as much like sheep's-heads as foxes'. bouncey's tight tweed trousers were thrust into a pair of wide fisherman's boots, which, but for his little roundabout stomach, would have swallowed him up bodily. captain quod appeared in a venerable dresscoat of the melton hunt, made in the popular reign of mr. errington, whose much-stained and smeared silk facings bore testimony to the good cheer it had seen. as if in contrast to the light airiness of this garment, quod had on a tremendously large shaggy brown waistcoat, with horn buttons, a double tier of pockets, and a nick out in front. with an unfair partiality his nether man was attired in a pair of shabby old black, or rather brown, dress trousers, thrust into long wellington boots with brass heel spurs. captain seedeybuck had on a spruce swallow-tailed green coat of sir harry's, a pair of old tweed trousers of his own, thrust into long chamois-leather opera-boots, with red morocco tops, giving the whole a very unique and novel appearance. mr. orlando bugles, though going to drive with my lady, thought it incumbent to put on his jack-boots, and appeared in kerseymere shorts, and a highly frogged and furred blue frock-coat, with the corner of a musked cambric kerchief acting the part of a star on his breast. "here comes old sixteen-string'd jack!" exclaimed bob spangles, as his brother-in-law, sir harry, came hitching and limping along, all strings, and tapes, and ends, as usual, followed by mr. sponge in the strict and severe order of sporting costume; double-stitched, back-stitched, sleeve-strapped, pull-devil, pull-baker coat, broad corduroy vest with fox-teeth buttons, still broader corded breeches, and the redoubtable vinegar tops. "now we're all ready!" exclaimed bob, working his arms as if anxious to be off, and giving a shrill shilling-gallery whistle with his fingers, causing the stable-doors to fly open, and the variously tackled steeds to emerge from their stalls. "a horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!" exclaimed miss glitters, running up as fast as her long habit, or rather lady scattercash's long habit, would allow her. "a horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!" repeated she, diving into the throng. 'white surrey is saddled for the field,' replied mr. orlando bugles, drawing himself up pompously, and waving his right hand gracefully towards her ladyship's arab palfrey, inwardly congratulating himself that miss glitters was going to be bumped upon it instead of him. 'give us a leg up, seedey!' exclaimed lucy glitters to the 'gent' of the green coat, fearing that miss howard, who was a little behind, might claim the horse. [illustration: mr. bugles goes out hunting again] captain seedeybuck seized her pretty little uplifted foot and vaulted her into the saddle as light as a cork. taking the horse gently by the mouth, she gave him the slightest possible touch with the whip, and moved him about at will, instead of fretting and fighting him as the clumsy, heavy-handed bugles had done. she looked beautiful on horseback, and for a time riveted the attention of our sportsmen. at length they began to think of themselves, and then there were such climbings on, and clutchings, and catchings, and clingings, and gently-ings, and who-ho-ings, and who-ah-ings, and questionings if 'such a horse was quiet?' if another 'could leap well?' if a third 'had a good mouth?' and whether a fourth 'ever ran away?' 'take my port-stirrup up two 'oles!' exclaimed captain bouncey from the top of high hop-the-twig, sticking out a leg to let the groom do it. the captain had affected the sea instead of the land service, while a betting-list keeper, and found the bluff sailor character very taking. 'avast there!' exclaimed he, as the groom ran the buckle up to the desired hole. 'now,' said he, gathering up the reins in a bunch, 'how many knots an hour can this 'orse go?' 'twenty,' replied the man, thinking he meant miles. 'let her go, then!' exclaimed the captain, kicking the horse's sides with his spurless heels. mr. watchorn now mounted harkaway; sir harry scrambled on to hit-me-hard; miss howard was hoisted on to groggytoes, and all the rest being 'fit' with horses of some sort or other, and the races in the front being over the juveniles poured into the yard. lady scattercash's pony-phaeton turned out, and our friends were at length ready for a start. chapter lxv the hunt while the foregoing arrangements were in progress, mr. watchorn had desired slarkey, the knife-boy, to go into the old hay-loft and take the three-legged fox he would find, and put him down among the laurels by the summer-house, where he would draw up to him all 'reg'lar' like. accordingly, slarkey went, but the old cripple having mounted the rafters, slarkey didn't see him, or rather seeing but one fox, he clutched him, with a greater regard to his not biting him than to seeing how many legs he had; consequently he bagged an uncommonly fine old dog fox, that wiley tom had just stolen from lord scamperdale's new cover at faggotfurze; and it was not until slarkey put him down among the bushes, and saw how lively he went, that he found out his mistake. however, there was no help for it, and he had just time to pocket the bag when watchorn's half-drunken cheer, and the reverberating cracks of ponderous whips on either side of the dean, announced the approach of the pack. 'he-leu in there!' cried watchorn to the hounds. ''ord, dommee, but it's slippy,' said he to himself. 'have at him. plunderer, good dog! i wish i may be cardinal wiseman for comin',' added he, seeing how his breath showed on the air. 'ho-o-i-cks! p_a_sh 'im hup! i'll be dashed if i shan't be down!' exclaimed he, as his horse slid a long slide. 'he-leu, in! conqueror, old boy!' continued he, exclaiming loud enough for mr. sponge who was drawing near to hear, 'find us a fox that'll give us five and forty minnits!' the speaker inwardly hoping they might chop their bagman in cover. 'y-o-o-icks! rout him out!' continued he, getting more energetic. 'y-o-o-icks! wind him! y-o-o-icks! stir us hup a teaser!' 'no go, i think,' observed george cheek, ambling up on his leggy weed. 'no go, ye young infidel,' growled watchorn, 'who taught you to talk about go's, i wonder? ought to be at school larnin' to cipher, or ridin' the globes,' mr. watchorn not exactly knowing what the term 'use of the globes,' meant. 'd'ye call that _nothin_'!' exclaimed he, taking off his cap as he viewed the fox stealing along the gravel walk; adding to himself, as he saw his even action, and full, well-tagged brush, ''ord rot him, he's got hold of the wrong 'un!' it was, however, no time for thought. in an instant the welkin rang with the outburst of the pack and the clamour of the field. 'talli ho!' 'talli ho!' 'talli ho!' 'hoop!' 'hoop!' 'hoop!' cried a score of voices, and 'twang! twang! twang!' went the shrill horn of the huntsman. the whips, too, stood in their stirrups, cracking their ponderous thongs, which sounded like guns upon the frosty air, and contributed their 'get together! get together, hounds!' 'hark away!' 'hark away!' 'hark away!' 'hark' to the general uproar. oh, what a row, what a riot, what a racket! watchorn being 'in' for it, and recollecting how many saw a start who never thought of seeing a finish, immediately got his horse by the head, and singled himself out from the crowd now pressing at his horse's heels, determining, if the hounds didn't run into their fox in the park, to ride them off the scent at the very first opportunity. the 'chumpine' being still alive within him, in the excitement of the moment he leaped the hand-gate leading out of the shrubberies into the park; the noise the horse made in taking off resembling the trampling on wood-pavement. 'cuss it, but it's 'ard!' exclaimed he, as the horse slid two or three yards as he alighted on the frozen field. george cheek followed him; and multum in parvo, taking the bit deliberately between his teeth, just walked through the gate, as if it had been made of paper. 'ah, ye brute!' groaned mr. sponge, in disgust, digging the latchfords into his sides, as if he intended to make them meet in the middle. 'ah, ye brute!' repeated he, giving him a hearty cropper as he put up his head after trying to kick him off. 'thank you!' exclaimed miss glitters, cantering up; adding, 'you cleared the way nicely for me.' nicely he had cleared it for them all; and the pent-up tide of equestrianism now poured over the park like the flood of an irrigated water meadow. such ponies! such horses! such hugging! such kicking! such scrambling! and so little progress with many! the park being extensive--three hundred acres or more--there was ample space for the aspiring ones to single themselves out; and as lady scattercash and orlando sat in the pony-phaeton, on the rising ground by the keeper's house, they saw a dark-clad horseman (george cheek), old gingerbread boots, as they called mr. sponge, with lucy glitters alongside of him, gradually stealing away from the crowd, and creeping up to mr. watchorn, who was sailing away with the hounds. 'what a scrimmage!' exclaimed her ladyship, standing up in the carriage, and eyeing the strange confusion in the vale below. 'there's bob in his old purple,' said she, eyeing her brother hustling along; 'and there's "fat" in his new moses and son; and bouncey in poor wax's coat; and there's harry all legs and wings, as usual,' added she, as her husband was seen flibberty-gibbertying it along. 'and there's lucy; and where's miss howard, i wonder?' observed orlando, straining his eyes after the scrambling field. nothing but the inspiriting aid of 'chumpine,' and the hope that the thing would soon terminate, sustained mr. watchorn under the infliction in which he so unexpectedly found himself; for nothing would have tempted him to brave such a frost with the burning scent of a game four-legged fox. the park being spacious, and enclosed by a high plank paling, he hoped the fox would have the manners to confine himself within it; and so long as his threadings and windings favoured the supposition, our huntsman bustled along, yelling and screaming in apparent ecstasy at the top of his voice. the hounds, to be sure, wanted keeping together, for frantic as usual had shot ahead, while the gorged pigpailers could never extricate themselves from the ponies. 'f-o-o-o-r-r-a-r-d! f-o-o-o-r-r-a-r-d! f-o-o-o-r-r-a-r-d!' elongated watchorn, rising in his stirrups, and looking back with a grin at george cheek, who was plying his weed with the whip, exclaiming, 'ah, you confounded young warmint, i'll give you a warmin'! i'll teach you to jaw about 'untin'!' as he turned his head straight to look at his hounds, he was shocked to see frantic falling backwards from a first attempt to leap the park-palings, and just as she gathered herself for a second effort, desperate, chatterer, and galloper, charged in line and got over. then came the general rush of the pack, attended with the usual success--some over, some back, some a-top of others. 'oh, the devil!' exclaimed watchorn, pulling up short in a perfect agony of despair. 'oh, the devil!' repeated he in a lower tone, as mr. sponge approached. 'where's there a gate?' roared our friend, skating up. 'gate! there's never a gate within a mile, and that's locked,' replied watchorn sulkily. 'then here goes!' replied mr. sponge, gathering the chestnut together to give him an opportunity of purging himself of his previous _faux pas_. 'here goes!' repeated he, thrusting his hard hat firmly on his head. taking his horse back a few paces, mr. sponge crammed him manfully at the palings, and got over with a rap. 'well done you!' exclaimed miss glitters in delight; adding to watchorn, 'now, old beardey, you go next.' beardey was irresolute. he pretended to be anxious to get the tail hounds over. 'clear the way, then!' exclaimed miss glitters, putting her horse back, her bright eyes flashing as she spoke. she took him back as far as mr. sponge had done, touched him with the whip, and in an instant she was high in the air, landing safely on the far side. 'hoo-ray!' exclaimed captains quod and cutitfat, who now came panting up. 'now, mr. watchorn!' cried captain seedeybuck, adding, 'you're a huntsman!' 'yooi over, prosperous! yooi over, buster!' cheered watchorn, still pretending anxiety about his hounds. 'let _me_ have a shy,' squeaked george cheek, backing his giraffe, as he had seen mr. sponge and miss glitters do. george took his screw by the head, and, giving him a hearty rib-roasting with his whip, ran him full tilt at the palings, and carried away half a rood. 'hoo-ray!' cried the liberated field. '_i_ knew how it would be,' exclaimed mr. watchorn, in well-feigned disgust as he rode through the gap; adding, '_con_-founded young waggabone! deserves to be well _chaste_-tized for breakin' people's palin's in that way--lettin' in all the rubbishin' tail.' the scene then changed. in lieu of the green, though hard, sward of the undulating park, our friends now found themselves on large frozen fallows, upon whose uneven surface the heaviest horses made no impression while the shuffling rats of ponies toiled and floundered about, almost receding in their progress. mr. sponge was just topping the fence out of the first one, and miss glitters was gathering her horse to ride at it, as watchorn and co. emerged from the park. rounding the turnip-hill beyond, the leading hounds were racing with a breast-high scent, followed by the pack in long-drawn file. 'what a mess!' said watchorn to himself, shading the sun from his eyes with his hand; when, remembering his _rôle_, he exclaimed, 'y-o-o-n-der they go!' as if in ecstasies at the sight. seeing a gate at the bottom of the field, he got his horse by the head, and rattled him across the fallow, blowing his horn more in hopes of stopping the pack than with a view of bringing up the tail-hounds. he might have saved his breath, for the music of the pack completely drowned the noise of the horn. 'dash it!' said he, thumping the broad end against his thigh; 'i wish i was quietly back in my parlour. hold up, horse!' roared he, as harkaway nearly came on his haunches in pulling up at the gate. 'i know who's _not_ cardinal wiseman,' continued he, stooping to open it. the gate was fast, and he had to alight and lift it off its hinges. just as he had done so, and had got it sufficiently open for a horse to pass, george cheek came up from behind, and slipped through before him. 'oh, you unrighteous young renegade! did ever mortal see sich an uncivilized trick?' roared watchorn; adding, as he climbed on to his horse again, and went spluttering through the frozen turnips after the offender, 'you've no 'quaintance with lord john manners, i think!' 'oh dear!--oh dear!' exclaimed he, as his horse nearly came on his head, 'but this is the most punishin' affair i ever was in at. puseyism's nothin' to it.' and thereupon he indulged in no end of anathemas at slarkey for bringing the wrong fox. 'about time to take soundings, and cast anchor, isn't it?' gasped captain bouncey, toiling up red-hot on his pulling horse in a state of utter exhaustion, as watchorn stood craneing and looking at a rasper through which mr. sponge and miss glitters had passed, without disturbing a twig. 'c--a--s--t anchor!' exclaimed watchorn, in a tone of derision--'not this half-hour yet, i hope!--not this forty minnits yet, i hope;--not this hour and twenty minnits yet, i hope!' continued he, putting his horse irresolutely at the fence. the horse blundered through it, barking watchorn's nose with a branch. ''ord rot it, cut off my nose!' exclaimed he, muffling it up in his hand. 'cut off my nose clean by my face, i do believe,' continued he, venturing to look into his hand for it. 'well,' said he, eyeing the slight stain of blood on his glove, 'this will be a lesson to me as long as i live. if ever i 'unt again in a frost, may i be ----. thank goodness! they've checked at last!' exclaimed he, as the music suddenly ceased, and mr. sponge and miss glitters sat motionless together on their panting, smoking steeds. watchorn then stuck spurs to his horse, and being now on a flat rushy pasture, with a bridle-gate into the field where the hounds were casting, he hustled across, preparing his horn for a blow as soon as he got there. 'twang--twang--twang--twang,' he went, riding up the hedgerow in the contrary direction to what the hounds leant. 'twang--twang--twang,' he continued, inwardly congratulating himself that the fox would never face the troop of urchins he saw coming down with their guns. 'hang him!--he's never that way!' observed mr. sponge, _sotto voce_, to miss glitters. 'he's never that way,' repeated he, seeing how frantic flung to the right. 'twang--twang--twang,' went the horn, but the hounds regarded it not. 'do, mr. sponge, put the hounds to me!' roared mr. watchorn, dreading lest they might hit off the scent. mr. sponge answered the appeal by turning his horse the way the hounds were feathering, and giving them a slight cheer. ''ord rot it!' roared watchorn, '_do_ let 'em alone! that's a _fresh_ fox! ours is over the 'ill,' pointing towards bonnyfield hill. 'hoop!' hallooed mr. sponge, taking off his hat, as frantic hit off the scent to the right, and galloper, and melody, and all the rest scored to cry. 'oh, you confounded brown-bouted beggar!' exclaimed mr. watchorn, returning his horn to its case, and eyeing mr. sponge and miss glitters sailing away with the again breast-high-scent pack. 'oh, you exorbitant usurer!' continued he, gathering his horse to skate after them. 'well now, that's the most disgraceful proceedin' i ever saw in the whole course of my life. hang me, if i'll stand such work! dash me, but i'll 'quaint the queen!--i'll tell sir george grey! i'll write to mr. walpole! fo-orrard! fo-orrard!' hallooed he, as bob spangles and bouncey popped upon him unexpectedly from behind, exclaiming with well-feigned glee, as he pointed to the streaming pack with his whip, ''ord dash it, but we're in for a good thing!' little bouncey's horse was still yawning and star-gazing, and bouncey, being quite unequal to riding him and well-nigh exhausted, 'downed' him against a rubbing-post in the middle of a field, making a 'cannon' with his own and his horse's head, and was immediately the centre of attraction for the panting tail. bouncey got near a pint of sherry from among them before he recovered from the shock. so anxious were they about him, that not one of them thought of resuming the chase. even the lagging whips couldn't leave him. george cheek was presently _hors de combat_ in a hedge, and watchorn seeing him 'see-sawing,' exclaimed, as he slipped through a gate: 'i'll send your mar to you, you young 'umbug.' watchorn would gladly have stopped too, for the fumes of the champagne were dead within him, and the riding was becoming every minute more dangerous. he trotted on, hoping each jump of brown boots would be the last, and inwardly wishing the wearer at the devil. thus he passed through a considerable extent of country, over harrowdale lordship, or reputed lordship, past roundington tower, down sloppyside banks, and on to cheeseington green; the severity of his affliction being alone mitigated by the intervention of accommodating roads and lines of field gates. these, however, mr. sponge generally declined, and went crashing on, now over high places, now over low, just as they came in his way, closely followed by the fair lucy glitters. 'well, i never see'd sich a man as that!' exclaimed watchorn, eyeing mr. sponge clearing a stiff flight of rails, with a gap near at hand. 'nor woman nouther!' added he, as miss glitters did the like. 'well, i'm dashed if it arn't dangerous!' continued he, thumping his hand against his thick thigh, as the white nearly slipped upon landing. 'f-o-r-r-ard! for-rard! hoop!' screeched he, as he saw miss glitters looking back to see where he was. 'f-o-r-rard! for-rard!' repeated he; adding, in apparent delight, 'my eyes, but we're in for a stinger! hold up, horse!' roared he, as his horse now went starring up to the knees through a long sheet of ice, squirting the clayey water into his rider's face. 'hold up!' repeated he, adding, 'i'm dashed if one mightn't as well be crashin' over the christial palace as ridin' over a country froze in this way! 'ord rot it, how cold it is!' continued he, blowing on his finger-ends; 'i declare my 'ands are quite numb. well done, old brown bouts!' exclaimed he, as a crash on the right attracted his attention; 'well done, old brown bouts!--broke every bar i' the gate!' adding, 'but i'll let mr. buckram know the way his beautiful horses are 'bused. well,' continued he, after a long skate down the grassy side of ditchburn lane, 'there's no fun in this--none whatever. who the deuce would be a huntsman that could be anything else? dash it! i'd rayther be a hosier--i'd rayther be a 'atter--i'd rayther be an undertaker--i'd rayther be a pusseyite parson--i'd rayther be a pig-jobber--i'd rayther be a besom-maker--i'd rayther be a dog's-meat man--i'd rayther be a cat's-meat man--i'd rayther go about a sellin' of chick-weed and sparrow-grass!' added he, as his horse nearly slipped up on his haunches. 'thank 'eavens there's relief at last!' exclaimed he, as on rising gimmerhog hill he saw farmer saintfoin's southdowns wheeling and clustering, indicative of the fox having passed; 'thank 'eavens, there's relief at last!' repeated he, reining up his horse to see the hounds charge them. mr. sponge and miss glitters were now in the bottom below, fighting their way across a broad mill-course with a very stiff fence on the taking-off side. 'hold up!' roared mr. sponge, as, having bored a hole through the fence, he found himself on the margin of the water-race. the horse did hold up, and landed him--not without a scramble--on the far side. 'run him at it, lucy!' exclaimed mr. sponge, turning his horse half round to his fair companion. 'run him at it, lucy!' repeated he; and lucy fortunately hitting the gap, skimmed o'er the water like a swallow on a summer's eve. 'well done! you're a trump!' exclaimed mr. sponge, standing in his stirrups, and holding on by the mane as his horse rose the opposing hill. he just got up in time to save the muttons; another second and the hounds would have been into them. holding up his hand to beckon lucy to stop, he sat eyeing them intently. many of them had their heads up, and not a few were casting sheep's eyes at the sheep. some few of the line hunters were persevering with the scent over the greasy ground. it was a critical moment. they cast to the right, then to the left, and again took a wider sweep in advance, returning however towards the sheep, as if they thought them the best spec after all. 'put 'em to me,' said mr. sponge, giving miss glitters his whip; 'put 'em to me!' said he, hallooing, 'yor-geot, hounds!--yor-geot!'--which, being interpreted, means, 'here again, hounds!--here again!' 'oh, the conceited beggar!' exclaimed mr. watchorn to himself, as, disappointed of his finish, he sat feeling his nose, mopping his face, and watching the proceedings. 'oh, the conceited beggar!' repeated he, adding, 'old 'hogany bouts is _ab_solutely a goin' to kest them.' cast them, however, he did, proceeding very cautiously in the direction the hounds seemed to lean. they were on a piece of cold scenting ground, across which they could hardly own the scent. 'don't hurry 'em!' cried mr. sponge to miss glitters, who was acting whipper-in with rather unnecessary vigour. as they got under the lee of the hedge, the scent improved a little, and, from an occasional feathering stern, a hound or two indulged in a whimper, until at length they fairly broke out in a cry. 'i'll lose a shoe,' said watchorn to himself, looking first at the formidable leap before him, and then to see if there was any one coming up behind. 'i'll lose a shoe,' said he. 'no notion of lippin' of a navigable river--a downright arm of the sea,' added he, getting off. 'forward! forward!' screeched mr. sponge, capping the hounds on, when away they went, heads up and sterns down as before. 'ay, for-rard! for-rard!' mimicked mr. watchorn; adding, 'you're for-rard enough, at all events.' after running about three-quarters of a mile at best pace, mr. sponge viewed the fox crossing a large grass field with all the steam up he could raise, a few hundred yards ahead of the pack, who were streaming along most beautifully, not viewing, but gradually gaining upon him. at last they broke from scent to view, and presently rolled him over and over among them. 'who-hoop!' screamed mr. sponge, throwing himself off his horse and rushing in amongst them. 'who-hoop!' repeated he, still louder, holding the fox up in grim death above the baying pack. 'who-hoop!' exclaimed miss glitters, reining up in delight alongside the chestnut. 'who-hoop!' repeated she, diving into the saddle-pocket for her lace-fringed handkerchief. 'throw me my whip!' cried mr. sponge, repelling the attacks of the hounds from behind with his heels. having got it, he threw the fox on the ground, and clearing a circle, he off with his brush in an instant. 'tear him and eat him!' cried he, as the pack broke in on the carcass. 'tear him and eat him!' repeated he, as he made his way up to miss glitters with the brush, exclaiming, 'we'll put this in your hat, alongside the cock's feathers.' the fair lady leant towards him, and as he adjusted it becomingly in her hat, looking at her bewitching eyes, her lovely face, and feeling the sweet fragrance of her breath, a something shot through mr. sponge's pull-devil, pull-baker coat, his corduroy waistcoat, his eureka shirt, angola vest, and penetrated the very cockles of his heart. he gave her such a series of smacking kisses as startled her horse and astonished a poacher who happened to be hid in the adjoining hedge. sponge was never so happy in his life. he could have stood on his head, or been guilty of any sort of extravagance, short of wasting his money. oh, he was happy! oh, he was joyous! he was intoxicated with pleasure. as he eyed his angelic charmer, her lustrous eyes, her glowing cheeks, her pearly teeth, the bewitching fulness of her elegant _tournure_, and thought of the masterly way she rode the run--above all, of the dashing style in which she charged the mill-race--he felt a something quite different to anything he had experienced with any of the buxom widows or lackadaisical misses whom he could just love or not, according to circumstances, among whom his previous experience had lain. miss glitters, he knew, had nothing, and yet he felt he could not do without her; the puzzlement of his mind was, how the deuce they should manage matters--'make tongue and buckle meet,' as he elegantly phrased it. it is pleasant to hear a bachelor's pros and cons on the subject of matrimony; how the difficulties of the gentleman out of love vanish or change into advantages with the one in--'oh, i would never think of marrying without a couple of thousand a year at the _very least_!' exclaims young fastly. '_i_ can't do without four hunters and a hack. _i_ can't do without a valet. _i_ can't do without a brougham. _i_ must belong to half-a-dozen clubs. _i'll_ not marry any woman who can't keep me comfortable--bachelors can live upon nothing--bachelors are welcome everywhere--very different thing with a wife. frightful things milliners' bills--fifty guineas for a dress, twenty for a bonnet--ladies' maids are the very devil--never satisfied--far worse to please than their mistresses.' and between the whiffs of a cigar he hums the old saw-- 'needles and pins, needles and pins, when a man marries his sorrow begins.' now take him on the other tack--fast is smitten. ''ord hang it! a married man can live on very little,' soliloquizes our friend. a nice lovely creature to keep one at home. hunting's all humbug; it's only the flash of the thing that makes one follow it. then the danger far more than counterbalances the pleasure. awful places one has to ride over, to be sure, or submit to be called "slow." horrible thing to set up for a horseman, and then have to ride to maintain one's reputation. will be thankful to give it up altogether. the bays will make capital carriage-horses, and one can often pick up a second-hand carriage as good as new. shall save no end of money by not having to put "b" to my name in the assessed tax-payer. one club's as good as a dozen--will give up the polyanthus and the sunflower, and the refuse and the rag. ladies' dresses are cheap enough. saw a beautiful gown t'other day for a guinea. will start master bergamotte. does nothing for his wages; will scarce clean my boots. can get a chap for half what i give him, who'll do double the work. will make beans into coachman. what a convenience to have one's wife's maid to sew on one's buttons, and keep one's toes in one's stocking-feet! declare i lose half my things at the washing for want of marking. hanged if i won't marry and be respectable--marriage is an honourable state!' and thereupon tom grows a couple of inches taller in his own conceit. though mr. sponge's thoughts did not travel in quite such a luxurious first-class train as the foregoing, he, mr. sponge, being more of a two-shirts-and-a-dicky sort of man, yet still the future ways and means weighed upon his mind, and calmed the transports of his present joy. lucy was an angel! about that there was no dispute. he would make her mrs. sponge at all events. touring about was very expensive. he could only counterbalance the extravagance of inns by the rigid rule of giving nothing to servants at private houses. he thought a nice airy lodging in the suburbs of london would answer every purpose, while his accurate knowledge of cab-fares would enable lucy to continue her engagement at the royal amphitheatre without incurring the serious overcharges the inexperienced are exposed to. 'where one can dine, two can dine,' mused mr. sponge; 'and i make no doubt we'll manage matters somehow.' 'twopence for your thoughts!' cried lucy, trotting up, and touching him gently on the back with her light silver-mounted riding-whip. 'twopence for your thoughts!' repeated she, as mr. sponge sauntered leisurely along, regardless of the bitter cold, followed by such of the hounds as chose to accompany him. 'ah!' replied he, brightening up; 'i was just thinking what a deuced good run we'd had.' 'indeed!' pouted the fair lady. 'no, my darling; i was thinking what a very pretty girl you are,' rejoined he, sidling his horse up, and encircling her neat waist with his arm. a sweet smile dimpled her plump cheeks, and chased the recollection of the former answer away. it would not be pretty--indeed, we could not pretend to give even the outline of the conversation that followed. it was carried on in such broken and disjointed sentences, eyes and squeezes doing so much more work than words, that even a reporter would have had to draw largely upon his imagination for the substance. suffice it to say that, though the thermometer was below zero, they never moved out of a foot's pace; the very hounds growing tired of the trail, and slinking off one by one as the opportunity occurred. a dazzling sun was going down with a blood-red glare, and the partially softened ground was fast resuming its fretwork of frost, as our hero and heroine were seen sauntering up the western avenue to nonsuch house, as slowly and quietly as if it had been the hottest evening in summer. 'here's old coppertops!' exclaimed captain seedeybuck, as, turning round in the billiard-room to chalk his cue, he espied them crawling along. 'and lucy!' added he as he stood watching them. 'how slowly they come!' observed bob spangles, going to the window. 'must have tired their horses,' suggested captain quod. 'just the sort of man to tire a horse,' rejoined bob spangles. 'hate that sponge,' observed captain cutitfat. 'so do i,' replied captain quod. 'well, never mind the beggar! it's you to play!' exclaimed bob spangles to captain seedeybuck. but lady scattercash, who was observing our friends from her boudoir window, saw with a woman's eye that there was something more than a mere case of tired horses; and, tripping downstairs, she arrived at the front door just as the fair lucy dropped smilingly from her horse into mr. sponge's extended arms. hurrying up into the boudoir, lucy gave her ladyship one of mr. sponge's modified kisses, revealing the truth more eloquently than words could convey. 'oh,' lady scattercash was '_so_ glad!' '_so_ delighted!' '_so_ charmed!' mr. sponge was _such_ a _nice_ man, and _so rich_. she was sure he was rich--couldn't hunt if he wasn't. would advise lucy to have a good settlement, in case he broke his neck. and pin-money! pin-money was most useful! no husband ever let his wife have enough money. must forget all about harry dacre and charley brown, and the swell in the blues. must be prudent for the future. mr. sponge would never know anything of the past. then she reverted to the interesting subject of settlements. 'what had mr. sponge got, and what would he do?' this lucy couldn't tell. 'what! hadn't he told her where is estates were?--'no.' 'well, was his dad dead?' this lucy didn't know either. they had got no further than the tender prop. 'ah! well; would get it all out of him by degrees.' and with the reiteration of her 'so glads,' and the repayment of the kiss lucy had advanced, her ladyship advised her to get off her habit and make herself comfortable while she ran downstairs to communicate the astonishing intelligence to the party below. 'what d'ye think?' exclaimed she, bursting into the billiard-room, where the party were still engaged in a game at pool, all our sportsmen, except captain cutitfat, who still sported his new moses and son's scarlet, having divested themselves of their hunting-gear--'what d'ye think?' exclaimed she, darting into the middle of them. 'that bob don't cannon?' observed captain bouncey from below the bandage that encircled his broken head, nodding towards bob spangles, who was just going to make a stroke. 'that wax is out of limbo?' suggested captain seedeybuck, in the same breath. 'no. guess again!' exclaimed lady scattercash, rubbing her hands in high glee. 'that the pope's got a son?' observed captain quod. 'no. guess again!' exclaimed her ladyship, laughing. 'i give it up,' replied captain bouncey. 'so do i,' added captain seedeybuck. '_that mr. sponge is going to be married_,' enunciated her ladyship, slowly and emphatically, waving her arms. 'ho-o-ray! only think of that!' exclaimed captain quod. 'old 'hogany-tops goin' to be spliced!' 'did you ever?' asked bob spangles. 'no, i _never_,' replied captain bouncey. 'he should be called spooney sponge, not soapey sponge,' observed captain seedeybuck. 'well, but to whom?' asked captain bouncey. 'ah, to whom indeed! that's the question,' rejoined her ladyship archly. 'i know,' observed bob spangles. 'no, you don't.' 'yes, i do.' 'who is it, then?' demanded her ladyship. 'lucy glitters, to be sure,' replied bob, who hadn't had his stare out of the billiard-room window for nothing. 'pity her,' observed bouncey, sprawling along the billiard-table to play for a cannon. 'why?' asked lady scattercash. 'reg'lar scamp,' replied bouncey, vexed at missing his stroke. 'dare say you know nothing about him,' snapped her ladyship. 'don't i?' replied bouncey complacently; adding, 'that's all you know.' 'he'll whop her, to a certainty,' observed seedeybuck. 'what makes you think that?' asked her ladyship. 'oh--ha--hem--haw--why, because he whopped his poor horse--whopped him over the ears. whop his horse, whop his wife; whop his wife, whop his horse. reg'lar rule-of-three sum.' 'make her a bad husband, i dare say,' observed bob spangles, who was rather smitten with lucy himself. 'never mind; a bad husband's a deal better than none, bob,' replied lady scattercash, determined not to be put out of conceit of her man. 'he, he, he!--haw, haw, haw!--ho, ho, ho! well done you!' laughed several. 'she'll have to keep him,' observed captain cutitfat, whose turn it now was to play. 'what makes you think that?' asked lady scattercash, coming again to the charge. 'he has nothing,' replied fat coolly. ''deed, but he has--a very good property, too,' replied her ladyship. 'in _air_shire, i should think,' rejoined fat. 'no, in englandshire,' retorted her ladyship: 'and great expectations from an uncle,' added she. 'ah--he looks like a man to be on good terms with his uncle,' sneered captain bouncey. 'make no doubt he pays him many a visit,' observed seedeybuck. 'indeed! that's all you know,' snapped lady scattercash. 'it's not all i know,' replied seedeybuck. 'well, then, what else do you know?' asked she. 'i know he has nothing,' replied seedey. 'how do you know it?' 'i _know_,' said seedey, with an emphasis, now settling to his stroke. 'well, never mind,' retorted her ladyship; 'if he has nothing, she has nothing, and nothing can be nicer.' so saying, she hurried out of the room. chapter lxvi mr. sponge at home [illustration] sponge was most warmly congratulated by sir harry and all the assembled captains, who inwardly hoped his marriage would have the effect of 'snuffing him out,' as they said, and they had a most glorious jollification on the strength of it. they drank lucy's and his health nine times over, with nine times nine each time. the consequence was, that the footmen and shutter were in earlier requisition than usual to carry them to their respective apartments. sponge's head throbbed a good deal the next morning; nor was the pulsation abated by the recollection of his matrimonial engagement, and his total inability to keep the angel who had ridden herself into his affections. however, like all untried men, he was strong in the confidence of his own ability, and the sight of his smiling charmer chased away all prudential considerations as quickly as they arose. he made no doubt there would something turn up. meanwhile, he was in good quarters, and lady scattercash having warmly espoused his cause, he assumed a considerable standing in the establishment. old beardey having ventured to complain of his interference in the kennel, my lady curtly told him he might 'make himself scarce if he liked'; a step that beardey was quite ready to take, having heard of a desirable public-house at newington butts, provided sir harry paid him his wages. this not being quite convenient, sir harry gave him an order on 'cabbage and co.' for three suits of clothes, and acquiesced in his taking a massive silver soup-tureen, on which, beneath the many quartered scattercash arms, mr. watchorn placed an inscription, stating that it was presented to him by sir harry scattercash, baronet, and the noblemen and gentlemen of his hunt, in admiration of his talents as a huntsman and his character as a man. mr. sponge then became still more at home. it was very soon 'my hounds,' and 'my horses,' and 'my whips'; and he wrote to jawleyford, and puffington, and guano, and lumpleg, and washball, and spraggon, offering to make meets to suit their convenience, and even to mount them if required. his _mogg_ was quite neglected in favour of lucy; and it says much for the influence of female charms that, before they had been engaged a fortnight, he, who had been a perfect oracle in cab fares, would have been puzzled to tell the most ordinary fare on the most frequented route. he had forgotten all about them. nevertheless, lucy and he went out hunting as often as they could raise hounds, and when they had a good run and killed, he saluted her; and when they didn't kill, why--he just did the same. he headed and tailed the stringing pack, drafted the skirters and babblers (which he sent to lord scamperdale, with his compliments), and presently had the uneven kennel in something like shape. [illustration] nor was this the only way in which he made himself useful, for nonsuch house being now supported almost entirely by voluntary contributions--that is to say, by the gullibility of tradesmen--his street and shop knowledge was valuable in determining who to 'do.' with the post office directory and mr. sponge at his elbow, mr. bottleends, the butler--'delirius tremendous,' as bottleends called it, having quite incapacitated sir harry--wrote off for champagne from this man, sherry from that, turtle from a third, turbot from a fourth, tea from a fifth, truffles from a sixth, wax-lights from one, sperm from another; and down came the things with such alacrity, such thanks for the past and hopes for the future, as we poor devils of the untitled world are quite unacquainted with. nay, not content with giving him the goods, many of the poor demented creatures actually paraded their folly at their doors in new deal packing-cases, flourishingly directed 'to sir harry scattercash, bart., nonsuch house, &c. _by express train_.' in some cases they even paid the carriage. and here, in the midst of love, luxury, and fox-hunting, let us for a time leave our enterprising friend, mr. sponge, while we take a look at a species of cruelty that some people call 'sport.' for this purpose we will begin a fresh chapter. chapter lxvii how they got up the 'grand aristocratic steeple-chase' there is no saying what advantages railway communication may confer upon a country. but for the granddiddle junction, ----shire never would have had a steeple-chase--an 'aristocratic,' at least--for it is observable that the more snobbish a thing is, the more certain they are to call it aristocratic. when it is too bad for anything, they call it 'grand.' well, as we said before, but for the granddiddle junction, ----shire would never have had a 'grand aristocratic steeple-chase.' a few friends or farmers might have got up a quiet thing among themselves, but it would never have seen a regular trade transaction, with its swell mob, sham captains, and all the paraphernalia of odd laying, 'secret tips,' and market rigging. who will deny the benefit that must accrue to any locality by the infusion of all the loose fish of the kingdom? formerly the prize-fights were the perquisite of the publicans. they it was who arranged for shaggy tom to pound harry billy's nob upon so-and-so's land, the preference being given to the locality that subscribed the most money to the fight. since the decline of 'the ring,' steeple-chasing, and that still smaller grade of gambling--coursing, have come to their aid. nine-tenths of the steeple-chasing and coursing-matches are got up by inn-keepers, for the good of their houses. some of the town publicans, indeed, seem to think that the country was just made for their matches to come off in, and scarcely condescend to ask the leave of the landowners. we saw an advertisement the other day, where a low publican, in a manufacturing town, assured the subscribers to his coursing-club that he would take care to select open ground, with 'plenty of stout hares,' as if all the estates in the neighbourhood were at his command. another advertised a steeple-chase in the centre of a good hunting country--'amateur and gentleman riders'--with a half-crown ordinary at the end! fancy the respectability of a steeple-chase, with a half-crown ordinary at the end! our 'aristocratic' was got up on the good-of-the-house principle. whatever benefit the granddiddle junction conferred upon the country at large, it had a very prejudicial effect upon the old duke of cumberland hotel and posting house, which it left, high and dry, at an angle sufficiently near to be tantalized by the whirr and the whistle of the trains, and yet too far off to be benefited by the parties they brought. this once well-accustomed hostelry was kept by one mr. viney, a former butler in the scattercash family, and who still retained the usual 'old and faithful servant' _entrée_ of nonsuch house, having his beefsteak and bottle of wine in the steward's room whenever he chose to call. viney had done good at the old duke of cumberland; and no one, seeing him 'full fig,' would recognize, in the solemn grandeur of his stately person, the dirty knife-boy who had filled the place now occupied by the still dirtier slarkey. but the days of road travelling departed, and viney, who, beneath the grecian-columned portico of his country-house-looking hotel, modulated the ovations of his cauliflower head to every description of traveller--from the lordly occupant of the barouche-and-four, down to the humble sitter in a gig--was cut off by one fell swoop from all further traffic. he was extinguished like a gaslight, and the pipe was laid on a fresh line. fortunately mr. viney was pretty warm; he had done pretty well; and having enjoyed the intimacy of the great 'jeames' of railway times, had got a hint not to engage the hotel beyond the opening of the line. consequently, he now had the great house for a mere nothing until such times as the owner could convert it into that last refuge for deserted houses--an academy, or a 'young ladies' seminary.' mr. viney now, having plenty of leisure, frequently drove his 'missis' (once a lady's maid in a quality family) up to nonsuch house, as well for the sake of the airing--for the road was pleasant and picturesque--as to see if he could get the 'little trifle' sir harry owed him for post-horses, bottles of soda-water, and such trifles as country gentlemen run up scores for at their posting-houses--scores that seldom get smaller by standing. in these excursions mr. viney made the acquaintance of mr. watchorn; and a huntsman being a character with whom even the landlord of an inn--we beg pardon, hotel and posting-house--may associate without degradation, viney and watchorn became intimate. watchorn sympathized with viney, and never failed to take a glass in passing, either at exercise or out hunting, to deplore that such a nice-looking house, so 'near the station, too,' should be ruined as an inn. it was after a more than usual libation that watchorn, trotting merrily along with the hounds, having accomplished three blank days in succession, asked himself, as he looked upon the surrounding vale from the rising ground of hammercock hill, with the cream-coloured station and the rose-coloured hotel peeping through the trees, whether something might not be done to give the latter a lift. at first he thought of a pigeon match--a sweepstake open to all england--fifty members say, at two pound ten each, seven pigeons, seven sparrows, twenty-one yards rise, two ounces of shot, and so on. but then, again, he thought there would be a difficulty in getting guns. a coursing match--how would that do? answer: 'no hares.' the farmers had made such an outcry about the game, that the landowners had shot them all off, and now the farmers were grumbling that they couldn't get a course. 'dash my buttons!' exclaimed watchorn; 'it would be the very thing for a steeple-chase! there's old puff's hounds, and old scamp's hounds, and these hounds,' looking down on the ill-sorted lot around him; 'and the deuce is in it if we couldn't give the thing such a start as would bring down the lads of the "village," and a vast amount of good business might be done. i'm dashed if it isn't the very country for a steeple-chase!' continued watchorn, casting his eye over cloverly park, round the enclosure of langworth grange, and up the rising ground of lark lodge. the more watchorn thought of it, the more he was satisfied of its feasibility, and he trotted over, the next day, to the old duke of cumberland, to see his friend on the subject. viney, like most victuallers, was more given to games of skill--billiards, shuttlecock, skittles, dominoes, and so on--than to the rude out-of-door chances of flood and field, and at first he doubted his ability to grapple with the details; but on mr. watchorn's assurance that he would keep him straight, he gave mrs. viney a key, desiring her to go into the inner cellar, and bring out a bottle of the green seal. this was ninety-shilling sherry--very good stuff to take; and, by the time they got into the second bottle, they had got into the middle of the scheme too. viney was cautious and thoughtful. he had a high opinion of watchorn's sagacity, and so long as watchorn confined himself to weights, and stakes, and forfeits, and so on, he was content to leave himself in the hands of the huntsman; but when watchorn came to talk of 'stewards,' putting this person and that together, viney's experience came in aid. viney knew a good deal. he had not stood twisting a napkin negligently before a plate-loaded sideboard without picking up a good many waifs and strays in the shape of those ins and outs, those likings and dislikings, those hatreds and jealousies, that foolish people let fall so freely before servants, as if for all the world the servants were sideboards themselves; and he had kept up his stock of service-gained knowledge by a liberal, though not a dignity-compromising intercourse--for there is no greater aristocrat than your out-of-livery servant--among the upper servants of all the families in the neighbourhood, so that he knew to a nicety who would pull together, and who wouldn't, whose name it would not do to mention to this person, and who it would not do to apply to before that. neither watchorn nor viney being sportsmen, they thought they had nothing to do but apply to two friends who were; and after thinking over who hunted in couples, they were unfortunate enough to select our flat hat friends, fyle and fossick. fyle was indignant beyond measure at being asked to be steward to a steeple-chase, and thrust the application into the fire; while fossick just wrote below, 'i'll see you hanged first,' and sent it back without putting even a fresh head on the envelope. nothing daunted, however, they returned to the charge, and without troubling the reader with unnecessary detail, we think it will be generally admitted that they at length made an excellent selection in mr. puffington, guano, and tom washball. [illustration: mr. viney and mr. watchorn getting up 'the grand aristocratic'] fortune favoured them also in getting a locality to run in, for timothy scourgefield, of broom hill, whose farm commanded a good circular three miles of country, with every variety of obstacle, having thrown up his lease for a thirty-per-cent reduction--a giving up that had been most unhandsomely accepted by his landlord--timothy was most anxious to pay him off by doing every conceivable injury to the farm, than which nothing can be more promising than having a steeple-chase run over it. scourgefield, therefore, readily agreed to let viney and watchorn do whatever they liked, on condition that he received entrance-money at the gate. the name occupied their attention some time, for it did not begin as the 'aristocratic.' the 'great national,' the 'grand naval and military,' the 'sports-man,' the 'talli-ho,' the 'out-and-outer,' the 'swell,' were all considered and canvassed, and its being called the 'aristocratic' at length turned upon whether they got lord scamperdale to subscribe or not. this was accomplished by a deferential call by mr. viney upon mr. spraggon, with a little bill for three pound odd, which he presented, with the most urgent request that jack wouldn't think of it then--any time that was most convenient to mr. spraggon--and then the introduction of the neatly-headed sheet-list. it was lucky that viney was so easily satisfied, for poor jack had only thirty shillings, of which he owed his washerwoman eight, and he was very glad to stuff viney's bill into his stunner jacket-pocket, and apply himself exclusively to the contemplated steeple-chase. like most of us, jack had no objection to make a little money; and as he squinted his frightful eyes inside out at the paper, he thought over what horses they had in the stable that were like the thing; and then he sounded viney as to whether he would put him one up for nothing, if he could induce his lordship to send. this, of course, viney readily assented to, and again requesting jack not to _think_ of his little bill till it was _perfectly_ convenient to him--a favour that jack was pretty sure to accord him--mr. viney took his departure, jack undertaking to write him the result. the next day's post brought viney the document--unpaid, of course--with a great 'scamperdale' scrawled across the top; and forthwith it was decided that the steeple-chase should be called the 'grand aristocratic.' other names quickly followed, and it soon assumed an importance. advertisements appeared in all the sporting and would-be sporting papers, headed with the imposing names of the stewards, secretary, and clerk of the course, mr. viney. the 'grand aristocratic stakes,' of sovs. each, half-forfeit, and £ only if declared, &c. the winner to give two dozen of champagne to the ordinary, and the second horse to save his stake. gentlemen riders (titled ones to be allowed lb.). over about three miles of fine hunting country, under the usual steeple-chase conditions. then the game of the 'peeping toms,' and 'sly sams,' and 'infallible joes,' and 'wideawake jems,' with their tips and distribution of prints began; tom counselling his numerous and daily increasing clients to get well on to no. , sardanapalus (the bart., as watchorn called him), while 'infallible joe' recommended his friends and patrons to be sweet on no. (hercules), and 'wide-awake jem' was all for something else. a gentleman who took the trouble of getting tips from half a dozen of them, found that no two of them agreed in any particular. what information to make books upon! 'but what good,' as our excellent friend thackeray eloquently asks, 'ever came out of, or went into, a betting book? if i could be caliph omar for a week,' says he, 'i would pitch every one of those despicable manuscripts into the flames; from my-lord's, who is "in" with jack snaffle's stable, and is overreaching worse-informed rogues, and swindling greenhorns, down to sam's, the butcher's boy, who books eighteen-penny odds in the tap-room, and stands to win five-and-twenty bob.' we say ditto to that, and are not sure that we wouldn't hang a 'leg' or a 'list' man or two into the bargain. watchorn had a prophet of his own, one enoch wriggle, who, having tried his hand unsuccessfully first at tailoring, next as an accountant, then in the watercress, afterwards in the buy ''at-box, bonnet-box,' and lastly in the stale lobster and periwinkle line, had set up as an oracle on turf matters, forwarding the most accurate and infallible information to flats in exchange for half-crowns, heading his advertisements, 'if it be a sin to covet honour, i am the most offending soul alive!' enoch did a considerable stroke of business, and couched his advice in such dubious terms, as generally to be able to claim a victory whichever way the thing went. so the 'offending soul' prospered; and from scarcely having shoes to his feet, he very soon set up a gig. chapter lxviii how the 'grand aristocratic' came off steeple-chases are generally crude, ill-arranged things. few sportsmen will act as stewards a second time; while the victim to the popular delusion of patronizing our 'national sports' considers--like gentlemen who have served the office of sheriff, or church-warden--that once in a lifetime is enough; hence, there is always the air of amateur actorship about them. there is always something wanting or forgotten. either they forget the ropes, or they forget the scales, or they forget the weights, or they forget the bell, or--more commonly still--some of the parties forget themselves. farmers, too, are easily satisfied with the benefits of an irresponsible mob careering over their farms, even though some of them are attired in the miscellaneous garb of hunting and racing costume. indeed, it is just this mixture of two sports that spoils both; steeple-chasing being neither hunting nor racing. it has not the wild excitement of the one, nor the accurate calculating qualities of the other. the very horses have a peculiar air about them--neither hunters nor hacks, nor yet exactly race-horses. some of them, doubtless, are fine, good-looking, well-conditioned animals; but the majority are lean, lathy, sunken-eyed, woe-begone, iron-marked, desperately-abused brutes, lacking all the lively energy that characterizes the movements of the up-to-the-mark hunter. in the early days of steeple-chasing a popular fiction existed that the horses were hunters; and grooms and fellows used to come nicking and grinning up to masters of hounds at checks and critical times, requesting them to note that they were out, in order to ask for certificates of the horses having been 'regularly hunted'--a species of regularity than which nothing could be more irregular. that nuisance, thank goodness, is abated. a steeple-chaser now generally stands on his own merits; a change for which sportsmen may be thankful. but to our story. the whole country was in a commotion about this 'aristocratic'. the unsophisticated looked upon it as a grand _réunion_ of the aristocracy; and smart bonnets and cloaks, and jackets and parasols were ordered with the liberality incident to a distant view of christmas. as viney sipped his sherry-cobler of an evening, he laughed at the idea of a son-of-a-day-labourer like himself raising such a dust. letters came pouring in to the clerk of the course from all quarters; some asking about beds; some about breakfasts; some about stakes; some about stables; some about this thing, some about that. every room in the old duke of cumberland was speedily bespoke. post-horses rose in price, and dobbin and smiler, and jumper and cappy, and jessy and tumbler were jobbed from the neighbouring farmers, and converted for the occasion into posters. at last came the great and important day--day big with the fate of thousands of pounds; for the betting-list vermin had been plying their trade briskly throughout the kingdom, and all sorts of rumours had been raised relative to the qualities and conditions of the horses. who doesn't know the chilling feel of an english spring, or rather of a day at the turn of the year before there is any spring? our gala-day was a perfect specimen of the order--a white frost succeeded by a bright sun, with an east wind, warming one side of the face and starving the other. it was neither a day for fishing, nor hunting, nor coursing, nor anything but farming. the country, save where there were a few lingering patches of turnips, was all one dingy drab, with abundant scalds on the undrained fallows. the grass was more like hemp than anything else. the very rushes were yellow and sickly. long before midday the whole country was in commotion. the same sort of people commingled that one would expect to see if there was a balloon to go up, and a man to go down, or be hung at the same place. fine ladies in all the colours of the rainbow; and swarthy, beady-eyed dames, with their stalwart, big-calved, basket-carrying comrades; gentle young people from behind the counter; dandy candy merchants from behind the hedge; rough-coated dandies with their silver-mounted whips; and shaggyford roughs, in their baggy, poacher-like coats, and formidable clubs; carriages and four, and carriages and pairs; and gigs and dog-carts, and whitechapels, and newport pagnels, and long carts, and short carts, and donkey carts, converged from all quarters upon the point of attraction at broom hill. if farmer scourgefield had made a mob, he could not have got one that would be more likely to do damage to his farm than this steeple-chase one. nor was the assemblage confined to the people of the country, for the granddiddle junction, by its connection with the great network of railways, enabled all patrons of this truly national sport to sweep down upon the spot like flocks of wolves; and train after train disgorged a generous mixture of sharps and flats, commingling with coatless, baggy-breeched vagabonds, the emissaries most likely of the peeping toms and infallible joes, if not the worthies themselves. 'dear, but it's a noble sight!' exclaimed viney to watchorn as they sat on their horses, below a rickety green-baize-covered scaffold, labelled, 'grand stand; admission, two-and-sixpence,' raised against scourgefield's stack-yard wall, eyeing the population pouring in from all parts. 'dear, but it's a noble sight!' said he, shading the sun from his eyes, and endeavouring to identify the different vehicles in the distance. 'yonder's the 'bus comin' again,' said he, looking towards the station, 'loaded like a market-gardener's turnip-waggon. that'll pay,' added he, with a knowing leer at the landlord of the hen angel, newington butts. 'and who have we here, with the four horses and sky-blue flunkeys? jawleyford, as i live!' added he, answering himself; adding, 'the beggar had better pay me what he owes.' how great mr. viney was! some people, who have never had anything to do with horses, think it incumbent upon them, when they have, to sport top-boots, and accordingly, for the first time in his life, viney appears in a pair of remarkably hard, tight, country-made boots, above which are a pair of baggy white cords, with the dirty finger-marks of the tailor still upon them. he sports a single-breasted green cutaway coat, with basket-buttons, a black satin roll-collared waistcoat, and a new white silk hat, that shines in the bright sun like a fish-kettle. his blue-striped kerchief is secured by a butterfly brooch. who ever saw an innkeeper that could resist a brooch? he is riding a miserable rat of a badly clipped, mouse-coloured pony that looks like a velocipede under him. his companion, mr. watchorn, is very great, and hardly condescends to know the country people who claim his acquaintance as a huntsman. he is a hotel keeper--master of the hen angel, newington butts. enoch wriggle stands beside them, dressed in the imposing style of a cockney sportsman. he has been puffing 'sir danapalus (the bart.)' in public, and taking all the odds he can get against him in private. watchorn knows that it is easier to make a horse lose than win. the restless-looking, lynx-eyed caitiff, in the dirty green shawl, with his hands stuffed into the front pockets of the brown tarriar coat, is their jockey, the renowned captain hangallows; he answers to the name of sam slick in mr. spavin the horse-dealer's yard in oxford street, when not in the country on similar excursions to the present. and now in the throng on the principal line are two conspicuous horses--a piebald and a white--carrying mr. sponge and lucy glitters. lucy appears as she did on the frosty-day hunt, glowing with health and beauty, and rather straining the seams of lady scattercash's habit with the additional _embonpoint_ she has acquired by early hours in the country. she has made mr. sponge a white silk jacket to ride in, which he has on under his grey tarriar coat, and a cap of the same colour is in his hard hat. he has discarded the gosling-green cords for cream-coloured leathers, and, to please lucy, has actually substituted a pair of rose-tinted tops for the 'hogany bouts'. altogether he is a great swell, and very like the bridegroom. but hark--what a crash! the leaders of sir harry scattercash's drag start at a blind fiddler's dog stationed at the gate leading into the fields, a wheel catches the post, and in an instant the sham captains are scattered about the road: bouncey on his head, seedeyhuck across the wheelers, quod on his back, and sir harry astride the gate. meanwhile, the old fiddler, regardless of the shouts of the men and the shrieks of the ladies, scrapes away with the appropriate tune of 'the devil among the tailors!' a rush to the horses' heads arrests further mischief, the dislodged captains are at length righted, the nerves of the ladies composed, and sir harry once more essays to drive them up the hill to the stand. that feat being accomplished, then came the unloading, and consternation, and huddling of the tight-laced occupants at the idea of these female _women_ coming amongst them, and the usual peeping and spying, and eyeing of the '_creatures_.' 'what impudence!' 'well, i think!' ''pon my word!' 'what next!'--exclamations that were pretty well lost upon the fair objects of them amid the noise and flutter and confusion of the scene. but hark again! what's up now? [illustration] 'hooray!' 'hooray!' 'h-o-o-o-ray!' 'three cheers for the squire! h-o-o-o-ray!' old puff as we live! the 'amazin' instance of a pop'lar man' greeted by the swillingford snobs. the old frost-bitten dandy is flattered by the cheers, and bows condescendingly ere he alights from the well-appointed mail phaeton. see how graciously the ladies receive him, as, having ascended the stairs, he appears among them. 'a man is never too old to marry' is their maxim. the cry is still, 'they come! they come!' see at a hand-gallop, with his bay pony in a white lather, rides pacey, grinning from ear to ear, with his red-backed betting-book peeping out of the breast pocket of his brown cutaway. he is staring and gaping to see who is looking at him. pacey has made such a book as none but a wooden-headed boy like himself could make. he has been surfeited with tips. peeping tom had advised him to back daddy longlegs; and, _nullus error_, sneaking joe has counselled him that the 'baronet' will be 'california without cholera, and gold without danger'; while jemmy something, the jockey, who advertises that his 'tongue is not for falsehood framed,' though we should think it was framed for nothing else, has urged him to back parvo to half the amount of the national debt. altogether, pacey has made such a mess that he cannot possibly win, and may lose almost any sum from a thousand pounds down to a hundred and eighty. mr. sponge has got well on with him, through the medium of jack spraggon. pacey is now going to what he calls 'compare'--see that he has got his bets booked right; and, throwing his right leg over his cob's neck, he blobs on to the ground; and, leaving the pony to take care of itself, disappears in the crowd. what a hubbub! what roarings, and shoutings, and recognizings! 'bless my heart! who'd have thought of seeing you?' and, 'by jingo! what's sent _you_ here?' 'my dear waffles,' cries jawleyford, rushing up to our laverick wells friend (who is looking very debauched), 'i'm overjoyed to see you. do come upstairs and see mrs. jawleyford and the dear girls. it was only last night we were talking about you.' and so jawleyford hurries mr. waffles off, just as waffles is _in extremis_ about his horse. looking around the scene there seems to be everybody that we have had the pleasure of introducing to the reader in the course of mr. sponge's tour. mr. and mrs. springwheat in their dog-cart, mrs. springey's figure looking as though 'wheat had got above forty, my lord'; old jog and his handsome wife in the ugly old phaeton, well garnished with children, and a couple of sticks in the rough peeping out of the apron, gustavus james held up in his mother's arms, with the curly blue feather nodding over his nose. there is also farmer peastraw, and faces that a patient inspection enables us to appropriate to dribble, and hook, and capon, and calcot, and lumpleg, and crane of crane hall, and charley slapp of red-coat times--people look so different in plain clothes to what they do in hunting ones. here, too, is george cheek, running down with perspiration, having run over from dr. latherington's, for which he will most likely 'catch it' when he gets back; and oh, wonder of wonders, here's robert foozle himself! 'well, robert, you've come to the steeple-chase?' 'yes, i've come to the steeple-chase.' 'are you fond of steeple-chases?' 'yes, i'm fond of steeple-chases.' 'i dare say you never were at one before,' observes his mother. 'no, i never was at one before,' replies robert. and though last not least, here's facey romford, with his arm in a sling, on mr. hobler, come to look after that sivin-p'und-ten, which we wish he may get. hark! there's a row below the stand, and viney is seen in a state of excitement inquiring for mr. washball. pacey has objected to a gentleman rider, and guano and puffington have differed on the point. a nice, slim, well-put-on lad (buckram's rough rider) has come to the scales and claimed to be allowed lb. as the honourable captain boville. finding the point questioned, he abandons the 'handle', and sinks into plain captain boville. pacey now objects to him altogether. 's-c-e-u-s-e me, sir; s-c-e-u-s-e me, sir,' simpers our friend dick bragg, sidling up to the objector with a sort of tendency of his turn-back-wristed hand to his hat. 's-c-e-u-s-e me, sir; s-c-e-u-s-e me,' repeats he, 'but i think you was wrong, sir, in objecting to captain boville, sir, as a gen'l'man rider, sir.' 'why?' demands pacey, in the full flush of victory. 'oh, sir--because, sir--in fact, sir--he _is_ a gen'l'man, sir.' '_is_ a gentleman! how do _you_ know?' demands pacey, in the same tone as before. 'oh, sir, he's a gen'l'man--an undoubted gen'l'man. everything about him shows that. does nothing--breeches by anderson--boots by bartley; besides which, he drinks wine every day, and has a whole box of cigars in his bedroom. but don't take my word for it, pray,' continued bragg, seeing pacey was wavering; 'don't take my word for it, pray. there's a gen'l'man, a countryman of his, somewhere about,' added he, looking anxiously into the surrounding crowd--there's a gen'l'man, a countryman of his, somewhere about, if we could but find him,' bragg standing on his tiptoes, and exclaiming, 'mr. buckram! mr. buckram! has anybody seen anything of mr. buckram!' 'here!' replied a meek voice from behind; upon which there was an elbowing through the crowd, and presently a most respectable, rosy-gilled, grey-haired, hawbuck-looking man, attired in a new brown cutaway, with bright buttons and a velvet collar, with a buff waistcoat, came twirling an ash-stick in one hand, and fumbling the silver in his drab trousers' pocket with the other, in front of the bystanders. 'oh! 'ere he is!' exclaimed bragg, appealing to the stranger with a hasty '_you_ know captain boville, don't you?' 'why, now, as to the matter of that,' replied the gentleman, gathering all the loose silver up into his hand and speaking very slowly, just as a country gentleman, who has all the live-long day to do nothing in, may be supposed to speak--' why, now, as to the matter of that,' said he, eyeing pacey intently, and beginning to drop the silver slowly as he spoke, 'i can't say that i've any very 'ticklar 'quaintance with the captin. i knows him, in course, just as one knows a neighbour's son. the captin's a good deal younger nor me,' continued he, raising his new eight-and-sixpenny parisian, as if to show his sandy grey hair. 'i'm a'most sixty; and he, i dare say, is little more nor twenty,' dropping a half-crown as he said it. 'but the captin's a nice young gent--a nice young gent, without any blandishment, i should say; and that's more nor one can say of all young gents nowadays,' said buckram, looking at pacey as he spoke, and dropping two consecutive half-crowns. 'why, but you live near him, don't you?' interrupted bragg. 'near him,' repeated buckram, feeling his well-shaven chin thoughtfully. 'why, yes--that's to say, near his dad. the fact is,' continued he, 'i've a little independence of my own,' dropping a heavy five-shilling piece as he said it,' and his father--old bo, as i call him--adjoins me; and if either of us 'appen to have a _battue_, or a 'aunch of wenzun, and a few friends, we inwite each other, and wicey wersey, you know,' letting off a lot of shillings and sixpences. and just at the moment the blind fiddler struck up 'the devil among the tailors,' when the shouts and laughter of the mob closed the scene. and now gentlemen, who heretofore have shown no more of the jockey than cinderella's feet in the early part of the pantomime disclose of her ball attire, suddenly cast off the pea-jackets and bearskin wraps, and shawls and overcoats of winter, and shine forth in all the silken flutter of summer heat. we know of no more humiliating sight than misshapen gentlemen playing at jockeys. playing at soldiers is bad enough, but playing at jockeys is infinitely worse--above all, playing at steeple-chase jockeys, combining, as they generally do, all the worst features of the hunting-field and racecourse--unsympathizing boots and breeches, dirty jackets that never fit, and caps that won't keep on. what a farce to see the great bulky fellows go to scale with their saddles strapped to their backs, as if to illustrate the impossibility of putting a round of beef upon a pudding plate! but the weighed-in ones are mounting. see, there's jack spraggon getting a hoist on to daddy longlegs! did ever mortal see such a man for a jockey? he has cut off the laps of a stunner tartan jacket, and looks like a great backgammon-board. he has got his head into an old gold-banded military foraging-cap, which comes down almost on to the rims of his great tortoise-shell spectacles. lord scamperdale stands with his hand on the horse's mane, talking earnestly to jack, doubtless giving him his final instructions. other jockeys emerge from various parts of the farm-buildings; some out of stables; some out of cow-houses; others from beneath cart-sheds. the scene becomes enlivened with the varied colours of the riders--red, yellow, green, blue, violet, and stripes without end. then comes the usual difficulty of identifying the parties, many of whose mothers wouldn't know them. 'that's captain tongs,' observes miss simperley, 'in the blue. i remember dancing with him at bath, and he did nothing but talk about steeple-chasing.' 'and who's that in yellow?' asks miss hardy. 'that's captain gander,' replies the gentleman on her left. 'well, i think he'll win,' replies the lady. 'i'll bet you a pair of gloves he doesn't,' snaps miss moore, who fancies captain pusher, in the pink. 'what a squat little jockey!' exclaims miss hamilton, as a little dumpling of a man in lincoln green is led past the stand on a fine bay horse, some one recognizing the rider as our old friend caingey thornton. 'and look who comes here?' whispers miss jawleyford to her sister, as mr. sponge, having accomplished a mount without derangement of temper, rides hercules quietly past the stand, his whip-hand resting on his thigh, and his head turned to his fair companion on the white. 'oh, the wretch!' sneers miss amelia; and the fair sisters look at lucy and then at him with the utmost disgust. mr. sponge may now be doubled up by half a dozen falls ere either of them would suggest the propriety of having him bled. lucy's cheeks are rather blanched with the 'pale cast of thought,' for she is not sufficiently initiated in the mysteries of steeple-chasing to know that it is often quite as good for a man to lose as to win, which it had just been quietly arranged between sponge and buckram should be the case on this occasion, buckram having got uncommonly 'well on' to the losing tune. perhaps, however, lucy was thinking of the peril, not the profit of the thing. the young ladies on the stand eye her with mingled feelings of pity and disdain, while the elderly ones shake their heads, call her a bold hussy--declare she's not so pretty--adding that they 'wouldn't have come if they'd known,' &c. &c. but it is half-past two (an hour and a half after time), and there is at last a disposition evinced by some of the parties to go to the post. broad-backed parti-coloured jockeys are seen converging that way, and the betting-men close in, getting more and more clamorous for odds. what a hubbub! how they bellow! how they roar! a universal deafness seems to have come over the whole of them. 'seven to one 'gain the bart.!' screams one--'i'll take eight!' roars another. 'five to one agen herc'les!' cries a third--'done!' roars a fourth. 'twice over!' rejoins the other--'done!' replies the taker. 'ar'll take five to one agin the daddy!'--'i'll lay six!' 'what'll any one lay 'gin parvo?' and so they raise such an uproar that the squeak, squeak, squeak of the 'devil among the tailors' is hardly heard. then, in a partial lull, the voice of lord scamperdale rises, exclaiming, 'oh, you hideous hobgoblin, bull-and-mouth of a boy! you think, because i'm a lord, and can't swear, or use coarse language--' and again the hubbub, led on by the 'devil among the tailors,' drowns the exclamations of the speaker. it's that pacey again; he's accusing the virtuous mr. spraggon of handing his extra weight to lord scamperdale; and jack, in the full consciousness of injured guilt, intimates that the blood of the spraggons won't stand that--that there's 'only _one_ way of settling it, and he'll be ready for pacey half an hour after the race.' at length the horses are all out--one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen--fifteen of them, moving about in all directions: some taking an up-gallop, others a down; some a spicy trot, others walking to and fro; while one has still his muzzle on, lest he should unship his rider and eat him; and another's groom follows, imploring the mob to keep off his heels if they don't want their heads in their hands. the noisy bell at length summons the scattered forces to the post, and the variegated riders form into as good a line as circumstances will allow. just as mr. sponge turns his horse's head lucy hands him her little silver sherry-flask, which our friend drains to the dregs. as he returns it, with a warm pressure of her soft hand, a pent-up flood of tears burst their bounds, and suffuse her lustrous eyes. she turns away to hide her emotion; at the same instant a wild shout rends the air--'w-h-i-r-r! they're off!' thirteen get away, one turns tail, and our friend in the lincoln green is left performing a _pas seul_, asking the rearing horse, with an oath, if he thinks 'he stole him'? while the mob shout and roar; and one wicked wag, in coaching parlance, advises him to pay the difference, and get inside. but what a display of horsemanship is exhibited by the flyers! tongs comes off at the first fence, the horse making straight for a pond, while the rest rattle on in a mass. the second fence is small, but there's a ditch on the far side, and pusher and gander severally measure their lengths on the rushy pasture beyond. still there are ten left, and nobody ever reckoned upon these getting to the far end. 'master wins, for a 'undr'd!' exclaims leather, as, getting into the third field, mr. sponge takes a decided lead; and lucy, encouraged by the sound, looks up, and sees her 'white jacket' throwing the dry fallow in the faces of the field. 'oh, how i hope he will!' exclaims she, clasping her hands, with upturned eyes; but when she ventures on another look, she sees old spraggon drawing upon him, hangallows's flaming red jacket not far off, and several others nearer than she liked. still the tail was beginning to form. another fence, and that a big one, draws it out. a striped jacket is down, and the horse, after a vain effort to rise, sinks lifeless on the ground. on they go all the same! loud yells of exciting betting burst from the spectators, and buckram gets well on for the cross. there are now five in front--sponge, spraggon, hangallows, boville, and another; and already the pace begins to tell. it wasn't possible to run it at the rate they started. spraggon makes a desperate effort to get the lead; and sponge, seeing boville handy, pulls his horse, and lets the light-weight make play over a rough, heavy fallow with the chestnut. jack spurs and flogs, and grins and foams at the mouth. thus they get half round the oval course. they are now directly in front of the hill, and the spectators gaze with intense anxiety;--now vociferating the name of this horse, now of that; now shouting 'red jacket!' now 'white!' while the blind fiddler perseveres with the old melody of--'the devil among the tailors.' 'now they come to the brook!' exclaims leather, who has been over the ground; and as he speaks, lucy distinctly sees mr. sponge's gather an effort to clear it; and--oh, horror!--the horse falls--he's down--no, he's up!--and her lover's in his seat again; and she flatters herself it was her sherry that saved him. splash!--a horse and rider duck under; three get over; two go in; now another clears it, and the rest turn tail. what splashing and screaming, and whipping and spurring, and how hopeless the chance of any of them to recover their lost ground. the race is now clearly between five. now for the wall! it's five feet high, built of heavy blocks, and strong in the staked-out part. as he nears it, jack sits well back, getting daddy longlegs well by the head, and giving him a refresher with the whip. it is jack's last move! his horse comes, neck and croup over, rolling jack up like a ball of worsted on the far side. at the same moment, multum in parvo goes at it full tilt; and, not rising an inch, sends captain boville flying one way, his saddle another, himself a third, and the stones all ways. mr. sponge then slips through, closely followed by hangallows and a jockey in yellow, with a tail of three after them. they then put on all the steam they can raise over the twenty-acre pasture that follows. the white!--the red!--the yaller! the red!--the white!--the yaller! and anybody's race! a sheet would cover them!--crack! whack! crack! how they flog! hercules springs at the sound. many of the excited spectators begin hallooing, and straddling, and working their arms as if their gestures and vociferations would assist the race. lord scamperdale stands transfixed. he is staring through his silver spectacles at the awkwardly lying ball that represents poor spraggon. 'by heavens!' exclaims he, in an undertone to himself, 'i believe he's killed!' and thereupon he swung down the stand-stairs, rushed to his horse, and, clapping spurs to his sides, struck across the country to the spot. long before he got there the increased uproar of the spectators announced the final struggle; and looking over his shoulder, he saw white jacket hugging his horse home, closely followed by red, and shooting past the winning-post. 'dash that mr. sponge!' growled his lordship, as the cheers of the winners closed the scene. 'the brute's won, in spite of him!' gasped buckram, turning deadly pale at the sight. chapter lxix how other things came off 'twere hard to say whether lucy's joy at sponge's safety, or lord scamperdale's grief at poor spraggon's death, was most overpowering. each found relief in a copious flood of tears. lucy sobbed and laughed, and sobbed and laughed again; and seemed as if her little heart would burst its bounds. the mob, ever open to sentiment--especially the sentiment of beauty--cheered and shouted as she rode with her lover from the winning to the weighing-post. 'a', she's a bonny un!' exclaimed a countryman, looking intently up in her face. 'she is that!' cried another, doing the same. 'three cheers for the lady!' shouted a tall shaggyford rough, taking off his woolly cap, and waving it. 'hoo-ray! hoo-ray! hoo-ray!' shouted a group of flannel-clad navvies. 'three for white jacket!' then roared a blue-coated butcher, who had won as many half-crowns on the race.--three cheers were given for the unwilling winner. 'oh, my poor dear jack!' exclaimed his lordship, throwing himself off his horse, and wringing his hands in despair, as a select party of thimble-riggers, who had gone to jack's assistance, raised him up, and turned his ghastly face, with his eyes squinting inside out, and the foam still on his mouth, full upon him. 'oh, my poor dear jack!' repeated his lordship, sinking on his knees beside him, and grasping his stiffening hand as he spoke. his lordship sank overpowered upon the body. the thimble-riggers then availed themselves of the opportunity to ease his lordship and jack of their watches and the few shillings they had about them, and departed. when a lord is in distress, consolation is never long in coming; and lord scamperdale had hardly got over the first paroxysms of grief, and gathered up jack's cap, and the fragments of his spectacles, ere jawleyford, who had noticed his abrupt departure from the stand and scurry across the country, arrived at the spot. his lordship was still in the full agony of woe; still grasping and bedewing jack's cold hand with his tears. 'oh, my dear jack! oh, my dear jawleyford! oh, my dear jack! 'sobbed he, as he mopped the fast-chasing tears from his grizzly cheeks with a red cotton kerchief. 'oh, my dear jack! oh, my dear jawleyford! oh, my dear jack! 'repeated he, as a fresh flood spread o'er the rugged surface. 'oh, what a tr-reasure, what a tr--tr--trump he was. shall never get such another. nobody could s--s--lang a fi--fi--field as he could; no hu--hu--humbug 'bout him--never was su--su--such a fine natural bl--bl--blackguard'; and then his feelings wholly choked his utterance as he recollected how easily jack was satisfied; how he could dine off tripe and cow-heel, mop up fat porridge for breakfast, and never grumbled at being put on a bad horse. the news of a man being killed soon reached the hill, and drew the attention of the mob from our hero and heroine, causing such a spread of population over the farm as must have been highly gratifying to scourgefield, who stood watching the crashing of the fences and the demolition of the gates, thinking how he was paying his landlord off. seeing the rude, unmannerly character of the mob, jawleyford got his lordship by the arm, and led him away towards the hill, his lordship reeling, rather than walking, and indulging in all sorts of wild, incoherent cries and lamentations. 'sing out, jack! sing out!' he would exclaim, as if in the agony of having his hounds ridden over; then, checking himself, he would shake his head and say, 'ah, poor jack, poor jack! shall never look upon his like again--shall never get such a man to read the riot act, and keep all square.' and then a fresh gush of tears suffused his grizzly face. the minor casualties of those few butchering spasmodic moments may be briefly dismissed, though they were more numerous than most sportsmen see out hunting in a lifetime. one horse broke his back, another was drowned, multum in parvo was cut all to pieces, his rider had two ribs and a thumb broken, while farmer slyfield's stackyard was fired by some of the itinerant tribe, and all its uninsured contents destroyed--so that his landlord was not the only person who suffered by the grand occasion. nor was this all, for mr. numboy, the coroner, hearing of jack's death, held an inquest on the body; and, having empanelled a matter-of-fact jury--men who did not see the advantage of steeple-chasing, either in a political, commercial, agricultural, or national point of view, and who, having surveyed the line, and found nearly every fence dangerous, and the wall and brook doubly so, returned a verdict of manslaughter against mr. viney for setting it out, who was forthwith committed to the county gaol of limbo castle for trial at the ensuing assizes, from whence let us join the benevolent clerk of arraigns in wishing him a good deliverance. many of the hardy 'tips' sounded the loud trump of victory, proclaiming that their innumerable friends had feathered their nests through their agency; but peeping tom and infallible joe, and enoch wriggle, 'the offending soul,' &c, found it convenient to bolt from their respective establishments, carrying with them their large fire-screens, camp-stools, and boards for posting up their lists, and setting up in new names in other quarters; while the hen angel was shortly afterwards closed, and the presentation-tureen made into 'white soup.' so much for the 'small deer.' we will now devote a concluding chapter to the 'great guns' of our story. chapter lxx how lord scamperdale and co. came off our noble master's nerves were so dreadfully shattered by the lamentable catastrophe to poor jack, that he stepped, or rather was pushed, into jawleyford's carriage almost insensibly, and driven from the course to jawleyford court. there he remained sufficiently long for mrs. jawleyford to persuade him that he would be far better married, and that either of her amiable daughters would make him a most excellent wife. his lordship, after very mature consideration, and many most scrutinizing stares at both of them through his formidable spectacles, wondering which would be the least likely to ruin him--at length decided upon taking miss emily, the youngest, though for a long time the victory was doubtful, and amelia practised her 'scamperdale' singing with unabated ardour and confidence up to the last. we believe, if the truth were known, it was a slight touch of rouge, that amelia thought would clench the matter, that decided his lordship against her. emily, we are happy to say, makes him an excellent wife, and has not got her head turned by becoming a countess. she has improved his lordship amazingly, got him smart new clothes, and persuaded him to grow bushy whiskers right down under his chin, and is now feeling her way to a pair of moustaches. woodmansterne is quite another place. she has marshalled a proper establishment, and got him coaxed into the long put-a-way company rooms. though he still indulges in his former cow-heel and other delicacies, they do not appear upon table; while he sports his silver-mounted specs on all occasions. the fruit and venison are freely distributed, and we have come in for a haunch in return for our attentions. best of all, lady scamperdale has got his lordship to erect a handsome marble monument to poor jack, instead of the cheap country stone he intended. the inscription states that it was erected by samuel, eighth earl of scamperdale, and viscount hardup, in the peerage of ireland, to the memory of john spraggon, esquire, the best of sportsmen, and the firmest of friends. who or what jack was, nobody ever knew, and as he only left a hat and eighteen pence behind him, no next of kin has as yet cast up. jawleyford has not stood the honour of the scamperdale alliance quite so well as his daughter; and when our 'amaazin' instance of a pop'lar man,' instigated perhaps by the desire to have old scamp for a brother-in-law, offered to amelia, jaw got throaty and consequential, hemmed and hawed, and pretended to be stiff about it. puff, however, produced such weighty testimonials, as soon exercised their wonted influence. in due time puff very magnanimously proposed uniting his pack with lord scamperdale's, dividing the expense of one establishment between them, to which his lordship readily assented, advising puff to get rid of bragg by giving him the hounds, which he did; and that great sporting luminary may be seen 's-c-e-u-s-e'-ing himself, and offering his service to masters of hounds any monday at tattersall's--though he still prefers a 'quality place.' benjamin buckram, the gentleman with the small independence of his own, we are sorry to say has gone to the 'bad.' aggravated by the loss he sustained by his horse winning the steeple-chase, he made an ill-advised onslaught on the cash-box of the london and westminster bank; and at three score years and ten this distinguished 'turfite,' who had participated with impunity in nearly all the great robberies of the last forty years, was doomed to transportation. and yet we have seen this cracksman captain--for he, too, was a captain at times--jostling and bellowing for odds among some of the highest and noblest of the land! leather has descended to the cab-stand, of which he promises to be a distinguished ornament. he haunts the piccadilly stands, and has what he calls ''stablish'd a raw' on mr. sponge to the extent of three-and-six-pence a week, under threats of exposing the robbery sponge committed on our friend mr. waffles. that volatile genius, we are happy to add, is quite well, and open to the attentions of any young lady who thinks she can tame a wild young man. his financial affairs are not irretrievable. and now for the hero and heroine of our tale. the sponges--for our friend married lucy shortly after the steeple-chase--stayed at nonsuch house until the bailiffs walked in. sir harry then bolted to boulogne, where he shortly afterwards died, and bugles very properly married my lady. they are now living at wandsworth; mr. bugles and lady scattercash, very 'much thought of'--as bugles says. although mr. sponge did not gain as much by winning the steeple-chase as he would have done had hercules allowed him to lose it, he still did pretty well; and being at length starved out of nonsuch house, he arrived at his old quarters, the bantam, in bond street, where he turned his attention very seriously to providing for lucy and the little sponge, who had now issued its prospectus. he thought over all the ways and means of making money without capital, rejecting australia and california as unfit for sportsmen and men fond of their _moggs_. professional steeple-chasing lucy decried, declaring she would rather return to her flag-exercises at astley's, as soon as she was able, than have her dear sponge risking his neck that way. our friend at length began to fear fortune-making was not so easy as he thought--indeed, he was soon sure of it. one day as he was staring vacantly out of the bantam coffee-room window, between the gilt labels, 'hot soups' and 'dinners,' he was suddenly seized with a fit of virtuous indignation at the disreputable frauds practised by unprincipled adventurers on the unwary public, in the way of betting offices, and resolved that he would be the st. george to slay this great dragon of abuse. accordingly, after due consultation with lucy, he invested his all in fitting up and decorating the splendid establishment in jermyn street, st. james's, now known as the sponge and cigar betting rooms, whose richness neither pen nor pencil can do justice to. we must, therefore, entreat our readers to visit this emporium of honesty, where, in addition to finding lists posted on all the great events of the day, they can have the use of a _mogg_ while they indulge in one of lucy's unrivalled cigars; and noblemen, gentlemen, and officers in the household troops may be accommodated with loans on their personal security to any amount. we see by mr. sponge's last advertisements that he has £ , to lend at three and a half per cent.! 'what a farce,' we fancy we hear some enterprising youngster exclaim--'what a farce, to suppose that such a needy scamp as mr. sponge, who has been cheating everybody, has any money to lend, or to pay bets with if he loses!' right, young gentleman, right; but not a bit greater farce than to suppose that any of the plausible money-lenders, or infallible 'tips' with whom you, perhaps, have had connection have any either, in case it's called for. nay, bad as he is, we'll back old soapey to be better than any of them,--with which encomium we most heartily bid him adieu. [illustration] footnotes: [ ] query, 'snob'?--printer's devil. [ ] the poetical recorder of the doings of the dublin garrison dogs, in _bell's life_. [ ] _vide_ 'barnwell and alderson's reports.' [ ] 's,' for scamperdale, showing they were his lordship's. proofreading team. jorrocks' jaunts and jollities robert surtees contents i. the swell and the surrey ii. the yorkshireman and the surrey iii. surrey shooting: mr. jorrocks in trouble iv. mr. jorrocks and the surrey staghounds v. the turf: mr. jorrocks at newmarket vi. a week at cheltenham: the cheltenham dandy vii. aquatics: mr. jorrocks at margate viii. the road: english and french ix. mr. jorrocks in paris x. sporting in france xi. a ride to brighton on "the age" xii. mr. jorrocks's dinner party xiii. the day after the feast: an episode by the yorkshireman i. the swell and the surrey what true-bred city sportsman has not in his day put off the most urgent business--perhaps his marriage, or even the interment of his rib--that he might "brave the morn" with that renowned pack, the surrey subscription foxhounds? lives there, we would ask, a thoroughbred, prime, bang-up, slap-dash, break-neck, out-and-out artist, within three miles of the monument, who has not occasionally "gone a good 'un" with this celebrated pack? and shall we, the bard of eastcheap, born all deeds of daring to record, shall we, who so oft have witnessed--nay, shared--the hardy exploits of our fellow-cits, shall we sit still, and never cease the eternal twirl of our dexter around our sinister thumb, while other scribes hand down to future ages the paltry feats of beardless meltonians, and try to shame old father thames himself with muddy whissendine's foul stream? away! thou vampire, indolence, that suckest the marrow of imagination, and fattenest on the cream of idea ere yet it float on the milk of reflection. hence! slug-begotten hag, thy power is gone--the murky veil thou'st drawn o'er memory's sweetest page is rent! harp of eastcheap, awake! our thoughts hark back to the cover-side, and our heart o'erflows with recollections of the past, when life rode the pace through our veins, and the bark of the veriest mongrel, or the bray of the sorriest costermonger's sorriest "jerusalem," were far more musical sounds than paganini's pizzicatos or catalani's clamorous caterwaulings. and, thou, goddess of the silver bow--chaste diana--deign to become the leading star of our lucubrations; come perch upon our grey goose quill; shout in our ear the maddening tally-ho! and ever and anon give a salutary "refresher" to our memory with thy heaven-wrought spurs--those spurs old vulcan forged when in his maddest mood--whilst we relate such feats of town-born youths and city squires, as shall "harrow up the souls" of milk-sop melton's choicest sons, and "fright their grass-galloping garrons from their propriety." but gently, pegasus!--here again, boys, and "let's to business," as they say on 'change. 'twere almost needless to inform our readers, that such portion of a county as is hunted by any one pack of hounds is technically denominated their country; and of all countries under the sun, that of the surrey subscription foxhounds undoubtedly bears the bell. this superiority arises from the peculiar nature of the soil--wretched starvation stuff most profusely studded with huge sharp flints--the abundance of large woods, particularly on the kent side, and the range of mountainous hills that run directly through the centre, which afford accommodation to the timid, and are unknown in most counties and unequalled in any. one of the most striking features in the aspect of this chosen region of fox-hunting, is the quiet easy manner in which the sportsmen take the thing. on they go--now trotting gently over the flints--now softly ambling along the grassy ridge of some stupendous hill--now quietly following each other in long-drawn files, like geese, through some close and deep ravine, or interminable wood, which re-echoes to their never-ceasing holloas--every man shouting in proportion to the amount of his subscription, until day is made horrible with their yelling. there is no pushing, jostling, rushing, cramming, or riding over one another; no jealousy, discord, or daring; no ridiculous foolhardy feats; but each man cranes and rides, and rides and cranes in a style that would gladden the eye of a director of an insurance office. the members of the surrey are the people that combine business with pleasure, and even in the severest run can find time for sweet discourse, and talk about the price of stocks or stockings. "yooi wind him there, good dog, yooi wind him."--"cottons is fell."--"hark to cottager! hark!"--"take your bill at three months, or give you three and a half discount for cash." "eu in there, eu in, cheapside, good dog."--"don't be in a hurry, sir, pray. he may be in the empty casks behind the cooper's. yooi, try for him, good bitch. yooi, push him out."--"you're not going down that bank, surely sir? why, it's almost perpendicular! for god's sake, sir, take care--remember you are not insured. ah! you had better get off--here, let me hold your nag, and when you're down you can catch mine;--that's your sort but mind he doesn't break the bridle. he won't run away, for he knows i've got some sliced carrots in my pocket to reward him if he does well.--thank you, sir, and now for a leg up--there we are--that's your sort--i'll wait till you are up also, and we'll be off together." it is this union of the elegant courtesies and business of life with the energetic sports of the field, that constitutes the charm of surrey hunting; and who can wonder that smoke-dried cits, pent up all the week, should gladly fly from their shops to enjoy a day's sport on a saturday? we must not, however, omit to express a hope that young men, who have their way to make in the world, may not be led astray by its allurements. it is all very well for old-established shopkeepers "to do a bit of pleasure" occasionally, but the apprentice or journeyman, who understands his duties and the tricks of his trade, will never be found capering in the hunting field. he will feel that his proper place is behind the counter; and while his master is away enjoying the pleasures of the chase, he can prig as much "pewter" from the till as will take both himself and his lass to sadler's wells theatre, or any other place she may choose to appoint. but to return to the surrey. the town of croydon, nine miles from the standard in cornhill, is the general rendezvous of the gallant sportsmen. it is the principal market town in the eastern division of the county of surrey; and the chaw-bacons who carry the produce of their acres to it, instead of to the neighbouring village of london, retain much of their pristine barbarity. the town furnishes an interesting scene on a hunting morning, particularly on a saturday. at an early hour, groups of grinning cits may be seen pouring in from the london side, some on the top of cloud's coaches,[ ] some in taxed carts, but the greater number mounted on good serviceable-looking nags, of the invaluable species, calculated for sport or business, "warranted free from vice, and quiet both to ride and in harness"; some few there are, who, with that kindness and considerate attention which peculiarly mark this class of sportsmen, have tacked a buggy to their hunter, and given a seat to a friend, who leaning over the back of the gig, his jocund phiz turned towards his fidus achates, leads his own horse behind, listening to the discourse of "his ancient," or regaling him "with sweet converse"; and thus they onward jog, until the sign of the "greyhound," stretching quite across the main street, greets their expectant optics, and seems to forbid their passing the open portal below. in they wend then, and having seen their horses "sorted," and the collar marks (as much as may be) carefully effaced by the shrewd application of a due quantity of grease and lamp-black, speed in to "mine host" and order a sound repast of the good things of this world; the which to discuss, they presently apply themselves with a vigour that indicates as much a determination to recruit fatigue endured, as to lay in stock against the effects of future exertion. meanwhile the bustle increases; sportsmen arrive by the score, fresh tables are laid out, covered with "no end" of vivers; and towards the hour of nine, may be heard to perfection, that pleasing assemblage of sounds issuing from the masticatory organs of a number of men steadfastly and studiously employed in the delightful occupation of preparing their mouthfuls for deglutition. "o noctes coenæque deûm," said friend flaccus. oh, hunting breakfasts! say we. where are now the jocund laugh, the repartee, the oft-repeated tale, the last debate? as our sporting contemporary, the _quarterly_, said, when describing the noiseless pursuit of old reynard by the quorn: "reader, there is no crash now, and not much music." it is the tinker that makes a great noise over a little work, but, at the pace these men are eating, there is no time for babbling. so, gentle lector, there is now no leisure for bandying compliments, 'tis your small eater alone who chatters o'er his meals; your true-born sportsman is ever a silent and, consequently, an assiduous grubber. true it is that occasionally space is found between mouthfuls to vociferate "waiter!" in a tone that requires not repetition; and most sonorously do the throats of the assembled eaters re-echo the sound; but this is all--no useless exuberance of speech--no, the knife or fork is directed towards what is wanted, nor needs there any more expressive intimation of the applicant's wants. [footnote : the date of this description, it must be remembered, is put many years back.] at length the hour of ten approaches; bills are paid, pocket-pistols filled, sandwiches stowed away, horses accoutred, and our bevy straddle forth into the town, to the infinite gratification of troops of dirty-nosed urchins, who, for the last hour, have been peeping in at the windows, impatiently watching for the _exeunt_ of our worthies.--they mount, and away--trot, trot--bump, bump--trot, trot--bump, bump--over addington heath, through the village, and up the hill to hayes common, which having gained, spurs are applied, and any slight degree of pursiness that the good steeds may have acquired by standing at livery in cripplegate, or elsewhere, is speedily pumped out of them by a smart brush over the turf, to the "fox," at keston, where a numerous assemblage of true sportsmen patiently await the usual hour for throwing off. at length time being called, say twenty minutes to eleven, and mr. jorrocks, nodding homer, and the principal subscribers having cast up, the hounds approach the cover. "yooi in there!" shouts tom hills, who has long hunted this crack pack; and crack! crack! crack! go the whips of some scores of sportsmen. "yelp, yelp, yelp," howl the hounds; and in about a quarter of an hour tom has not above four or five couple at his heels. this number being a trifle, tom runs his prad at a gap in the fence by the wood-side; the old nag goes well at it, but stops short at the critical moment, and, instead of taking the ditch, bolts and wheels round. tom, however, who is "large in the boiling pieces," as they say at whitechapel, is prevented by his weight from being shaken out of his saddle; and, being resolved to take no denial, he lays the crop of his hunting-whip about the head of his beast, and runs him at the same spot a second time, with an _obligato_ accompaniment of his spur-rowels, backed by a "curm along then!" issued in such a tone as plainly informs his quadruped he is in no joking humour. these incentives succeed in landing tom and his nag in the wished-for spot, when, immediately, the wood begins to resound with shouts of "yoicks true-bo-y, yoicks true-bo-y, yoicks push him up, yoicks wind him!" and the whole pack begin to work like good 'uns. occasionally may be heard the howl of some unfortunate hound that has been caught in a fox trap, or taken in a hare snare; and not unfrequently the discordant growls of some three or four more, vociferously quarrelling over the venerable remains of some defunct rabbit. "oh, you rogues!" cries mr. jorrocks, a cit rapturously fond of the sport. after the lapse of half an hour the noise in the wood for a time increases audibly. 'tis tom chastising the gourmands. another quarter of an hour, and a hound that has finished his coney bone slips out of the wood, and takes a roll upon the greensward, opining, no doubt, that such pastime is preferable to scratching his hide among brambles in the covers. "hounds have no right to opine," opines the head whipper-in; so clapping spurs into his prad, he begins to pursue the delinquent round the common, with "markis, markis! what are you at, markis? get into cover, markis!" but "it's no go"; marquis creeps through a hedge, and "grins horribly a ghastly smile" at his ruthless tormentor, who wends back, well pleased at having had an excuse for taking "a bit gallop"! half an hour more slips away, and some of the least hasty of our cits begin to wax impatient, in spite of the oft-repeated admonition, "don't be in a hurry!" at length a yokel pops out of the cover, and as soon as he has recovered breath, informs the field that he has been "a-hollorin' to 'em for half an hour," and that the fox had "gone away for tatsfield, 'most as soon as ever the 'oounds went into 'ood." all is now hurry-scurry--girths are tightened--reins gathered up--half-munched sandwiches thrust into the mouth--pocket-pistols applied to--coats comfortably buttoned up to the throat; and, these preparations made, away goes the whole field, "coolly and fairly," along the road to leaves green and crown ash hill--from which latter spot, the operations of the pack in the bottom may be comfortably and securely viewed--leaving the whips to flog as many hounds out of cover as they can, and tom to entice as many more as are willing to follow the "twang, twang, twang" of his horn. and now, a sufficient number of hounds having been seduced from the wood, forth sallies "tummas," and making straight for the spot where our yokel's "mate" stands leaning on his plough-stilts, obtains from him the exact latitude and longitude of the spot where reynard broke through the hedge. to this identical place is the pack forthwith led; and, no sooner have they reached it, than the wagging of their sterns clearly shows how genuine is their breed. old strumpet, at length, first looking up in tom's face for applause, ventures to send forth a long-drawn howl, which, coupled with tom's screech, setting the rest agog, away they all go, like beans; and the wind, fortunately setting towards westerham, bears the melodious sound to the delighted ears of our "roadsters," who, forthwith catching the infection, respond with deafening shouts and joyous yells, set to every key, and disdaining the laws of harmony. thus, what with tom's horn, the holloaing of the whips, and the shouts of the riders, a very pretty notion may be formed of what virgil calls: "clamorque virûm, clangorque tubarum." a terrible noise is the result! at the end of nine minutes or so, the hounds come to fault in the bottom, below the blacksmith's, at crown ash hill, and the fox has a capital chance; in fact, they have changed for the blacksmith's tom cat, which rushed out before them, and finding their mistake, return at their leisure. this gives the most daring of the field, on the eminence, an opportunity of descending to view the sport more closely; and being assembled in the bottom, each congratulates his neighbour on the excellent condition and stanchness of the hounds, and the admirable view that has been afforded them of their peculiar style of hunting. at this interesting period, a "regular swell" from melton mowbray, unknown to everyone except his tailor, to whom he owes a long tick, makes his appearance and affords abundance of merriment for our sportsmen. he is just turned out of the hands of his valet, and presents the very beau-ideal of his caste--"quite the lady," in fact. his hat is stuck on one side, displaying a profusion of well-waxed ringlets; a corresponding infinity of whisker, terminating at the chin, there joins an enormous pair of moustaches, which give him the appearance of having caught the fox himself and stuck its brush below his nose. his neck is very stiff; and the exact jackson-like fit of his coat, which almost nips him in two at the waist, and his superlatively well-cleaned leather andersons,[ ] together with the perfume and the general puppyism of his appearance, proclaim that he is a "swell" of the very first water, and one that a surrey sportsman would like to buy at his own price and sell at the other's. in addition to this, his boots, which his "fellow" has just denuded from a pair of wash-leather covers, are of the finest, brightest, blackest patent leather imaginable; the left one being the identical boot by which warren's monkey shaved himself, while the right is the one at which the game-cock pecked, mistaking its own shadow for an opponent, the mark of its bill being still visible above the instep; and the tops--whose pampered appetites have been fed on champagne--are of the most delicate cream-colour, the whole devoid of mud or speck. the animal he bestrides is no less calculated than himself to excite the risible faculties of the field, being a sort of mouse colour, with dun mane and tail, got by nicolo, out of a flibbertigibbet mare, and he stands seventeen hands and an inch. his head is small and blood-like, his girth a mere trifle, and his legs, very long and spidery, of course without any hair at the pasterns to protect them from the flints; his whole appearance bespeaking him fitter to run for half-mile hunters' stakes at croxton park or leicester, than contend for foxes' brushes in such a splendid country as the surrey. there he stands, with his tail stuck tight between his legs, shivering and shaking for all the world as if troubled with a fit of ague. and well he may, poor beast, for--oh, men of surrey, london, kent, and middlesex, hearken to my word--on closer inspection he proves to have been shaved!!![ ] [footnote : anderson, of south audley street, is, or was, a famous breeches-maker.] [footnote : shaving was in great vogue at melton some seasons back. it was succeeded by clipping, and clipping by singeing.] after a considerable time spent in casting to the right, the left, and the rear, "true-bouy" chances to take a fling in advance, and hitting upon the scent, proclaims it with his wonted energy, which drawing all his brethren to the spot, they pick it slowly over some brick-fields and flint-beds, to an old lady's flower-garden, through which they carry it with a surprising head into the fields beyond, when they begin to fall into line, and the sportsmen doing the same--"one at a time and it will last the longer"--"tummas" tootles his horn, the hunt is up, and away they all rattle at "parliament pace," as the hackney-coachmen say. our swell, who flatters himself he can "ride a few," according to the fashion of his country, takes up a line of his own, abreast of the leading hounds, notwithstanding the oft vociferated cry of "hold hard, sir!" "pray, hold hard, sir!" "for god's sake, hold hard, sir!" "g--d d--n you, hold hard, sir!" "where the h--ll are you going to, sir?" and other familiar inquiries and benedictions, with which a stranger is sometimes greeted, who ventures to take a look at a strange pack of hounds. in the meantime the fox, who has often had a game at romps with his pursuers, being resolved this time to give them a tickler, bears straight away for westerham, to the infinite satisfaction of the "hill folks," who thus have an excellent opportunity of seeing the run without putting their horses to the trouble of "rejoicing in their strength, or pawing in the valley." but who is so fortunate as to be near the scene of action in this second scurry, almost as fast as the first? our fancy supplies us, and there not being many, we will just initialise them all, and let he whom the cap fits put it on. if we look to the left, nearly abreast of the three couple of hounds that are leading by some half mile or so, we shall see "swell"--like a monkey on a giraffe--striding away in the true leicestershire style; the animal contracting its stride after every exertion in pulling its long legs out of the deep and clayey soil, until the bromley barber, who has been quilting his mule along at a fearful rate, and in high dudgeon at anyone presuming to exercise his profession upon a dumb brute, overtakes him, and in the endeavour to pass, lays it into his mule in a style that would insure him rotatory occupation at brixton for his spindles, should any member of the society for the prevention of cruelty to animals witness his proceedings; while his friend and neighbour old b----, the tinker, plies his little mare with the brummagems, to be ready to ride over "swell" the instant the barber gets him down. on the right of the leading hounds are three crack members of the surrey, messrs. b--e, s--bs, and b--l, all lads who can go; while a long way in the rear of the body of the pack are some dozen, who, while they sat on the hills, thought they could also, but who now find out their mistake. down windy lane, a glimpse of a few red coats may be caught passing the gaps and weak parts of the fence, among whom we distinctly recognise the worthy master of the pack, followed by jorrocks, with his long coat-laps floating in the breeze, who thinking that "catching-time" must be near at hand, and being dearly fond of blood, has descended from his high station to witness the close of the scene. "vot a pace! and vot a country!" cries the grocer, standing high in his stirrups, and bending over the neck of his chestnut as though he were meditating a plunge over his head; "how they stick to him! vot a pack! by jove they are at fault again. yooi, pilgrim! yooi, warbler, ma load! (lad). tom, try down the hedge-row." "hold your jaw, mr. j----," cries tom, "you are always throwing that red rag of yours. i wish you would keep your potato-trap shut. see! you've made every hound throw up, and it's ten to one that ne'er a one among 'em will stoop again." "yonder he goes," cries a cock of the old school, who used to hunt with colonel jolliffe's hounds, and still sports the long blue surtout lined with orange, yellow-ochre unmentionables, and mahogany-coloured knee-caps, with mother-of-pearl buttons. "yonder he goes among the ship (sheep), for a thousand! see how the skulking waggabone makes them scamper." at this particular moment a shrill scream is heard at the far end of a long shaw, and every man pushes on to the best of his endeavour. "holloo o-o-u, h'loo o-o-u, h'loo--o-o-u, gone away! gone away! forward! forrard! hark back! hark forrard! hark forrard! hark back!" resounds from every mouth. "he's making for the 'oods beyond addington, and we shall have a rare teaser up these hills," cries jorrocks, throwing his arms round his horse's neck as he reaches the foot of them.--"d--n your hills," cries "swell," as he suddenly finds himself sitting on the hindquarters of his horse, his saddle having slipped back for want of a breastplate,--"i wish the hills had been piled on your back, and the flints thrust down your confounded throat, before i came into such a cursed provincial." "haw, haw, haw!" roars a croydon butcher. "what don't 'e like it, sir, eh? too sharp to be pleasant, eh?--your nag should have put on his boots before he showed among us." "he's making straight for fuller's farm," exclaims a thirsty veteran on reaching the top, "and i'll pull up and have a nip of ale, please god." "hang your ale," cries a certain sporting cheesemonger, "you had better come out with a barrel of it tacked to your horse's tail."--"or 'unt on a steam-engine," adds his friend the omnibus proprietor, "and then you can brew as you go." "we shall have the croydon canal," cries mr. h----n, of tottenham, who knows every flint in the country, "and how will you like that, my hearties?" "curse the croydon canal," bawls the little bromley barber, "my mule can swim like a soap-bladder, and my toggery can't spoil, thank god!" the prophecy turns up. having skirted fuller's farm, the villain finds no place to hide; and in two minutes, or less, the canal appears in view. it is full of craft, and the locks are open, but there is a bridge about half a mile to the right. "if my horse can do nothing else he can jump this," cries "swell," as he gathers him together, and prepares for the effort. he hardens his heart and goes at it full tilt, and the leggy animal lands him three yards on the other side. "curse this fellow," cries jorrocks, grinning with rage as he sees "swell" skimming through the air like a swallow on a summer's eve, "he'll have a laugh at the surrey, for ever and ever, amen. oh, dear! oh, dear! i wish i durst leap it. what shall i do? here bargee," cries he to a bargeman, "lend us a help over and i'll give you ninepence." the bargeman takes him at his word, and getting the vessel close to the water's edge, jorrocks has nothing to do but ride in, and, the opposite bank being accommodating, he lands without difficulty. ramming his spurs into his nag, he now starts after "swell," who is sailing away with a few couple of hounds that took the canal; the body of the pack and all the rest of the field--except the bromley barber, who is now floundering in the water--having gone round to the bridge. the country is open, the line being across commons and along roads, so that jorrocks, who is not afraid of "the pace" so long as there is no leaping, has a pretty good chance with "swell." the scene now shifts. on turning out of a lane, along which they have just rattled, a fence of this description appears: the bottom part is made of flints, and the upper part of mud, with gorse stuck along the top, and there is a gutter on each side. jorrocks, seeing that a leap is likely, hangs astern, and "swell," thinking to shake off his only opponent, and to have a rare laugh at the surrey when he gets back to melton, puts his nag at it most manfully, who, though somewhat blown, manages to get his long carcass over, but, unfortunately alighting on a bed of flints on the far side, cuts a back sinew, and "swell" measures his length on the headland. jorrocks then pulls up. the tragedy of george barnwell ends with a death, and we are happy in being able to gratify our readers with a similar entertainment. already have the best-mounted men in the field attained the summit of one of the mont blancs of the country, when on looking down the other side of the "mountain's brow," they, to their infinite astonishment, espy at some distance our "swell" dismounted and playing at "pull devil, pull baker" with the hounds, whose discordant bickerings rend the skies. "whoo-hoop!" cries one; "whoo-hoop!" responds another; "whoo-hoop!" screams a third; and the contagion spreading, and each man dismounting, they descend the hill with due caution, whoo-hooping, hallooing, and congratulating each other on the splendour of the run, interspersed with divers surmises as to what mighty magic had aided the hounds in getting on such good terms with the warmint, and exclamations at the good fortune of the stranger, in being able (by nicking,[ ] and the fox changing his line) to get in at the finish. [footnote : a stranger never rides straight if he beats the members of the hunt.] and now some dozens of sportsmen quietly ambling up to the scene of action, view with delight (alone equalled by their wonder at so unusual and unexpected an event) the quarrels of the hounds, as they dispute with each other the possession of their victim's remains, when suddenly a gentleman, clad in a bright green silk-velvet shooting-coat, with white leathers, and hessian boots with large tassels, carrying his joe manton on his shoulder, issues from an adjoining coppice, and commences a loud complaint of the "unhandsome conduct of the gentlemen's 'ounds in devouring the 'are (hare) which he had taken so much pains to shoot." scarcely are these words out of his mouth than the whole hunt, from jorrocks downwards, let drive such a rich torrent of abuse at our unfortunate _chasseur_, that he is fain to betake himself to his heels, leaving them undisputed masters of the field. the visages of our sportsmen become dismally lengthened on finding that their fox has been "gathered unto his fathers" by means of hot lead and that villainous saltpetre "digged out of the bowels of the harmless earth"; some few, indeed, there are who are bold enough to declare that the pack has actually made a meal of a hare, and that their fox is snugly earthed in the neighbouring cover. however, as there are no "reliquias danaum," to prove or disprove this assertion, tom hills, having an eye to the cap-money, ventures to give it as his opinion, that pug has fairly yielded to his invincible pursuers, without having "dropped to shot." this appearing to give very general satisfaction, the first whip makes no scruple of swearing that he saw the hounds pull him down fairly; and peckham, drawing his mouth up on one side, with his usual intellectual grin, takes a similar affidavit. the bromley barber too, anxious to have it to say that he has for once been in at the death of a fox, vows by his beard that he saw the "varmint" lathered in style; and these protestations being received with clamorous applause, and everyone being pleased to have so unusual an event to record to his admiring spouse, agrees that a fox has not only been killed, but killed in a most sportsmanlike, workmanlike, businesslike manner; and long and loud are the congratulations, great is the increased importance of each man's physiognomy, and thereupon they all lug out their half-crowns for tom hills. in the meantime our "swell" lays hold of his nag--who is sorely damaged with the flints, and whose wind has been pretty well pumped out of him by the hills--and proceeds to lead him back to croydon, inwardly promising himself for the future most studiously to avoid the renowned county of surrey, its woods, its barbers, its mountains, and its flints, and to leave more daring spirits to overcome the difficulties it presents; most religiously resolving, at the same time, to return as speedily as possible to his dear leicestershire, there to amble o'er the turf, and fancy himself an "angel on horseback." the story of the country mouse, who must needs see the town, occurs forcibly to his recollection, and he exclaims aloud: "me sylva, cavusque tutus ab insidiis tenui solabitur ervo." on overhearing which, mr. jorrocks hurries back to his brother subscribers, and informs them, very gravely, that the stranger is no less a personage than "prince matuchevitz, the russian ambassador and minister plenipotentiary extraordinary," whereupon the whole field join in wishing him safe back in russia--or anywhere else--and wonder at his incredible assurance in supposing that he could cope with the surrey hunt. ii. the yorkshireman and the surrey it is an axiom among fox-hunters that the hounds they individually hunt with are the best--compared with them all others are "slow." of this species of pardonable egotism, mr. jorrocks--who in addition to the conspicuous place he holds in the surrey hunt, as shown in the preceding chapter, we should introduce to our readers as a substantial grocer in st. botolph's lane, with an elegant residence in great coram street, russell square--has his full, if not rather more than his fair share. vanity, however, is never satisfied without display, and mr. jorrocks longed for a customer before whom he could exhibit the prowess of his[ ] pack. [footnote : subscribers, speaking to strangers, always talk of the hounds as their own.] chance threw in his way a young yorkshireman, who frequently appearing in subsequent pages, we may introduce as a loosish sort of hand, up to anything in the way of a lark, but rather deficient in cash--a character so common in london, as to render further description needless. now it is well known that a yorkshireman, like a dragoon, is nothing without his horse, and if he does understand anything better than racing--it is hunting. our readers will therefore readily conceive that a yorkshireman is more likely to be astonished at the possibility of fox-hunting from london, than captivated by the country, or style of turn-out; and in truth, looking at it calmly and dispassionately, in our easy-chair drawn to a window which overlooks the cream of the grazing grounds in the vale of white horse, it does strike us with astonishment, that such a thing as a fox should be found within a day's ride of the suburbs. the very idea seems preposterous, for one cannot but associate the charms of a "find" with the horrors of "going to ground" in an omnibus, or the fox being headed by a great dr. eady placard, or some such monstrosity. mr. mayne,[ ] to be sure, has brought racing home to every man's door, but fox-hunting is not quite so tractable a sport. but to our story. [footnote : the promoter of the hippodrome, near bayswater--a speculation that soon came to grief.] it was on a nasty, cold, foggy, dark, drizzling morning in the month of february, that the yorkshireman, having been offered a "mount" by mr. jorrocks, found himself shivering under the piazza in covent garden about seven o'clock, surrounded by cabs, cabbages, carrots, ducks, dollys, and drabs of all sorts, waiting for his horse and the appearance of the friend who had seduced him into the extraordinary predicament of attiring himself in top-boots and breeches in london. after pacing up and down some minutes, the sound of a horse's hoofs were heard turning down from long acre, and reaching the lamp-post at the corner of james street, his astonished eyes were struck with the sight of a man in a capacious, long, full-tailed, red frock coat reaching nearly to his spurs, with mother-of-pearl buttons, with sporting devices--which afterwards proved to be foxes, done in black--brown shag breeches, that would have been spurned by the late worthy master of the hurworth,[ ] and boots, that looked for all the world as if they were made to tear up the very land and soil, tied round the knees with pieces of white tape, the flowing ends of which dangled over the mahogany-coloured tops. mr. jorrocks--whose dark collar, green to his coat, and _tout ensemble_, might have caused him to be mistaken for a mounted general postman--was on a most becoming steed--a great raking, raw-boned chestnut, with a twisted snaffle in his mouth, decorated with a faded yellow silk front, a nose-band, and an ivory ring under his jaws, for the double purpose of keeping the reins together and jorrocks's teeth in his head--the nag having flattened the noses and otherwise damaged the countenances of his two previous owners, who had not the knack of preventing him tossing his head in their faces. the saddle--large and capacious--made on the principle of the impossibility of putting a round of beef upon a pudding plate--was "spick and span new," as was an enormous hunting-whip, whose iron-headed hammer he clenched in a way that would make the blood curdle in one's veins, to see such an instrument in the hands of a misguided man. [footnote : the late mr. wilkinson, commonly called "matty wilkinson," master of the hurworth foxhounds, was a rigid adherent of the "d----n-all-dandy" school of sportsmen.] "punctuality is the politeness of princes," said mr. jorrocks, raising a broad-brimmed, lowish-crowned hat, as high as a green hunting-cord which tackled it to his yellow waistcoat by a fox's tooth would allow, as he came upon the yorkshireman at the corner. "my soul's on fire and eager for the chase! by heavens, i declare i've dreamt of nothing else all night, and the worst of it is, that in a par-ox-ism of delight, when i thought i saw the darlings running into the warmint, i brought mrs. j---- such a dig in the side as knocked her out of bed, and she swears she'll go to jenner, and the court for the protection of injured ribs! but come--jump up--where's your nag? binjimin, you blackguard, where are you? the fog is blinding me, i declare! binjimin, i say! binjimin! you willain, where are you?" "here, sir! coming!" responded a voice from the bottom of one of the long mugs at a street breakfast stall, which the fog almost concealed from their view, and presently an urchin in a drab coat and blue collar came towing a wretched, ewe-necked, hungry-looking, roan rosinante along from where he had been regaling himself with a mug of undeniable bohea, sweetened with a composition of brown sugar and sand. "now be after getting up," said jorrocks, "for time and the surrey 'ounds wait for no man. that's not a werry elegant tit, but still it'll carry you to croydon well enough, where i'll put you on a most undeniable bit of 'orse-flesh--a reg'lar clipper. that's a hack--what they calls three-and-sixpence a side, but i only pays half a crown. now, binjimin, cut away home, and tell batsay to have dinner ready at half-past five to a minute, and to be most particular in doing the lamb to a turn." the yorkshireman having adjusted himself in the old flat-flapped hack saddle, and got his stirrups let out from "binjimin's" length to his own, gathered up the stiff, weather-beaten reins, gave the animal a touch with his spurs, and fell into the rear of mr. jorrocks. the morning appeared to be getting worse. instead of the grey day-dawn of the country, when the thin transparent mist gradually rises from the hills, revealing an unclouded landscape, a dense, thick, yellow fog came rolling in masses along the streets, obscuring the gas lights, and rendering every step one of peril. it could be both eat and felt, and the damp struck through their clothes in the most summary manner. "this is bad," said mr. jorrocks, coughing as he turned the corner by drury lane, making for catherine street, and upset an early breakfast and periwinkle stall, by catching one corner of the fragile fabric with his toe, having ridden too near to the pavement. "where are you for now? and bad luck to ye, ye boiled lobster!" roared a stout irish wench, emerging from a neighbouring gin-palace on seeing the dainty viands rolling in the street. "cut away!" cried jorrocks to his friend, running his horse between one of george stapleton's dust-carts and a hackney-coach, "or the philistines will be upon us." the fog and crowd concealed them, but "holloa! mind where you're going, you great haw-buck!" from a buy-a-hearth-stone boy, whose stock-in-trade jorrocks nearly demolished, as he crossed the corner of catherine street before him, again roused his vigilance. "the deuce be in the fog," said he, "i declare i can't see across the strand. it's as dark as a wolf's mouth.--now where are you going to with that meazly-looking cab of yours?--you've nearly run your shafts into my 'oss's ribs!" cried he to a cabman who nearly upset him. the strand was kept alive by a few slip-shod housemaids, on their marrow-bones, washing the doorsteps, or ogling the neighbouring pot-boy on his morning errand for the pewters. now and then a crazy jarvey passed slowly by, while a hurrying mail, with a drowsy driver and sleeping guard, rattled by to deliver their cargo at the post office. here and there appeared one of those beings, who like the owl hide themselves by day, and are visible only in the dusk. many of them appeared to belong to the other world. poor, puny, ragged, sickly-looking creatures, that seemed as though they had been suckled and reared with gin. "how different," thought the yorkshireman to himself, "to the fine, stout, active labourer one meets at an early hour on a hunting morning in the country!" his reverie was interrupted on arriving opposite the _morning chronicle_ office, by the most discordant yells that ever issued from human beings, and on examining the quarter from whence they proceeded, a group of fifty or a hundred boys, or rather little old men, were seen with newspapers in their hands and under their arms, in all the activity of speculation and exchange. "a clean _post_ for tuesday's _times_!" bellowed one. "i want the _hurl_! (herald) for the _satirist_!" shouted another. "bell's _life_ for the _bull_! _the spectator_ for the _sunday times_!" the approach of our sportsmen was the signal for a change of the chorus, and immediately jorrocks was assailed with "a hunter! a hunter! crikey, a hunter! my eyes! there's a gamecock for you! vot a beauty! vere do you turn out to-day? vere's the stag? don't tumble off, old boy! 'ave you got ever a rope in your pocket? take bell's _life in london_, vot contains all the sporting news of the country! vot a vip the gemman's got! vot a precious basternadering he could give us--my eyes, vot a swell!--vot a shocking bad hat!_[ ]--vot shocking bad breeches!" [footnote : "vot a shocking bad hat!"--a slang cockney phrase of .] the fog, which became denser at every step, by the time they reached st. clement's danes rendered their further progress almost impossible.--"oh, dear! oh, dear! how unlucky," exclaimed jorrocks, "i would have given twenty pounds of best twankay for a fine day--and see what a thing we've got! hold my 'oss," said he to the yorkshireman, "while i run into the 'angel,' and borrow an argand burner, or we shall be endorsed[ ] to a dead certainty." off he got, and ran to the inn. presently he emerged from the yard--followed by horse-keepers, coach-washers, porters, cads, waiters and others, amid loud cries of "flare up, flare up, old cock! talliho fox-hunter!"--with a bright mail-coach footboard lamp, strapped to his middle, which, lighting up the whole of his broad back now cased in scarlet, gave him the appearance of a gigantic red-and-gold insurance office badge, or an elderly cherub without wings. [footnote : city--for having a pole run into one's rear.] the hackney-coach-and cab-men, along whose lines they passed, could not make him out at all. some thought he was a mail-coach guard riding post with the bags; but as the light was pretty strong he trotted on regardless of observation. the fog, however, abated none of its denseness even on the "surrey side," and before they reached the "elephant and castle," jorrocks had run against two trucks, three watercress women, one pies-all-ot!-all-ot! man, dispersed a whole covey of welsh milkmaids, and rode slap over one end of a buy 'at (hat) box! bonnet-box! man's pole, damaging a dozen paste-boards, and finally upsetting balham hill joe's barcelona "come crack 'em and try 'em" stall at the door of the inn, for all whose benedictions, the yorkshireman, as this great fox-hunting knight-errant's "esquire," came in. here the yorkshireman would fain have persuaded mr. jorrocks to desist from his quixotic undertaking, but he turned a deaf ear to his entreaties. "we are getting fast into the country, and i hold it to be utterly impossible for this fog to extend beyond kennington common--'twill ewaporate, you'll see, as we approach the open. indeed, if i mistake not, i begin to sniff the morning air already, and hark! there's a lark a-carrolling before us!" "now, spooney! where are you for?" bellowed a carter, breaking off in the middle of his whistle, as jorrocks rode slap against his leader, the concussion at once dispelling the pleasing pastoral delusion, and nearly knocking jorrocks off his horse. as they approached brixton hill, a large red ball of lurid light appeared in the firmament, and just at the moment up rode another member of the surrey hunt in uniform, whom jorrocks hailed as mr. crane. "by jove, 'ow beautiful the moon is," said the latter, after the usual salutations. "moon!" said mr. jorrocks, "that's not never no moon--i reckon it's mrs. graham's balloon." "come, that's a good 'un," said crane, "perhaps you'll lay me an 'at about it". "done!" said mr. jorrocks, "a guinea one--and we'll ax my friend here.--now, what's that?" "why, judging from its position and the hour, i should say it is the sun!" was the reply. we have omitted to mention that this memorable day was a saturday, one on which civic sportsmen exhibit. we may also premise, that the particular hunt we are about to describe, took place when there were very many packs of hounds within reach of the metropolis, all of which boasted their respective admiring subscribers. as our party proceeded they overtook a gentleman perusing a long bill of the meets for the next week, of at least half a dozen packs, the top of the list being decorated with a cut of a stag-hunt, and the bottom containing a notification that hunters were "carefully attended to by charles morton,[ ] at the 'derby arms,' croydon," a snug rural _auberge_ near the barrack. on the hunting bill-of-fare, were mr. jolliffe's foxhounds, mr. meager's harriers, the derby staghounds, the sanderstead harriers, the union foxhounds, the surrey foxhounds, rabbit beagles on epsom downs, and dwarf foxhounds on woolwich common. what a list to bewilder a stranger! the yorkshireman left it all to mr. jorrocks. [footnote : where the carrion is, there will be the crow, and on the demise of the "surrey staggers," charley brushed off to the west, to valet the gentlemen's hunters that attend the royal stag hunt.--_vide_ sir f. grant's picture of the meet of the royal staghounds.] "you're for jolliffe, i suppose," said the gentleman with the bill, to another with a blue coat and buff lining. "he's at chipstead church--only six miles from croydon, a sure find and good country." "what are you for, mr. jorrocks?" inquired another in green, with black velvet breeches, hessian boots, and a red waistcoat, who just rode up. "my own, to be sure," said jorrocks, taking hold of the green collar of his coat, as much as to say, "how can you ask such a question?" "oh, no," said the gentleman in green, "come to the stag--much better sport--sure of a gallop--open country--get it over soon--back in town before the post goes out." before mr. jorrocks had time to make a reply to this last interrogatory, they were overtaken by another horseman, who came hopping along at a sort of a butcher's shuffle, on a worn-out, three-legged, four-cornered hack, with one eye, a rat-tail, and a head as large as a fiddle-case.--"who's for the blue mottles?" said he, casting a glance at their respective coats, and at length fixing it on the yorkshireman. "why, dickens, you're not going thistle-whipping with that nice 'orse of yours," said the gentleman in the velvets; "come and see the stag turned out--sure of a gallop--no hedges--soft country--plenty of publics--far better sport, man, than pottering about looking for your foxes and hares, and wasting your time; take my advice, and come with me." "but," says dickens, "my 'orse won't stand it; i had him in the shay till eleven last night, and he came forty-three mile with our traveller the day before, else he's a 'good 'un to go,' as you know. do you remember the owdacious leap he took over the tinker's tent, at epping 'unt, last easter? how he astonished the natives within!" "yes; but then, you know, you fell head-foremost through the canvas, and no wonder your ugly mug frightened them," replied he of the velvets. "ay; but that was in consequence of my riding by balance instead of gripping with my legs," replied dickens; "you see, i had taken seven lessons in riding at the school in bidborough street, burton crescent, and they always told me to balance myself equally on the saddle, and harden my heart, and ride at whatever came in the way; and the tinker's tent coming first, why, naturally enough, i went at it. but i have had some practice since then, and, of course, can stick on better. i have 'unted regularly ever since, and can 'do the trick' now." "what, summer and winter?" said jorrocks. "no," replied he, "but i have 'unted regularly every fifth saturday since the 'unting began." after numerous discourses similar to the foregoing, they arrived at the end of the first stage on the road to the hunt, namely, the small town of croydon, the rendezvous of london sportsmen. the whole place was alive with red coats, green coats, blue coats, black coats, brown coats, in short, coats of all the colours of the rainbow. horsemen were mounting, horsemen were dismounting, one-horse "shays" and two-horse chaises were discharging their burdens, grooms were buckling on their masters' spurs, and others were pulling off their overalls. eschewing the "greyhound," they turn short to the right, and make for the "derby arms" hunting stables. charley morton, a fine old boy of his age, was buckling on his armour for the fight, for his soul, too, was "on fire, and eager for the chase." he was for the "venison"; and having mounted his "deer-stalker," was speedily joined by divers perfect "swells," in beautiful leathers, beautiful coats, beautiful tops, beautiful everything, except horses, and off they rode to cut in for the first course--a stag-hunt on a saturday being usually divided into three. the ride down had somewhat sharpened jorrocks's appetite; and feeling, as he said, quite ready for his dinner, he repaired to mr. morton's house--a kind of sporting snuggery, everything in apple-pie order, and very good--where he baited himself on sausages and salt herrings, a basin of new milk, with some "sticking powder" as he called it, _alias_ rum, infused into it; and having deposited a half-quartern loaf in one pocket, as a sort of balance against a huge bunch of keys which rattled in the other, he pulled out his watch, and finding they had a quarter of an hour to spare, proposed to chaperon the yorkshireman on a tour of the hunting stables. jorrocks summoned the ostler, and with great dignity led the way. "humph," said he, evidently disappointed at seeing half the stalls empty, "no great show this morning--pity--gentleman come from a distance--should like to have shown him some good nags.--what sort of a devil's this?" "oh, sir, he's a good 'un, and nothing but a good 'un!--leap! lord love ye, he'll leap anything. a railway cut, a windmill with the sails going, a navigable river with ships--anything in short. this is the 'orse wot took the line of houses down at beddington the day they had the tremendious run from reigate hill." "and wot's the grey in the far stall?" "oh, that's mr. pepper's old nag--pepper-caster as we call him, since he threw the old gemman, the morning they met at the 'leg-of-mutton' at ashtead. but he's good for nothing. bless ye! his tail shakes for all the world like a pepper-box afore he's gone half a mile. those be yours in the far stalls, and since they were turned round i've won a bob of a gemman who i bet i'd show him two 'osses with their heads vere their tails should be.[ ] i always says," added he with a leer, "that you rides the best 'osses of any gemman vot comes to our governor's." this flattered jorrocks, and sidling up, he slipped a shilling into his hand, saying, "well--bring them out, and let's see how they look this morning." the stall reins are slipped, and out they step with their hoods on their quarters. one was a large, fat, full-sized chestnut, with a white ratch down the full extent of his face, a long square tail, bushy mane, with untrimmed heels. the other was a brown, about fifteen two, coarse-headed, with a rat-tail, and collar-marked. the tackle was the same as they came down with. "you'll do the trick on that, i reckon," said jorrocks, throwing his leg over the chestnut, and looking askew at the yorkshireman as he mounted. "tatt., and old tatt., and tatt. sen. before him, all agree that they never knew a bad 'oss with a rat-tail." [footnote : a favourite joke among grooms when a horse is turned round in his stall.] "but, let me tell you, you must be werry lively, if you mean to live with our 'ounds. they go like the wind. but come! touch him with the spur, and let's do a trot." the yorkshireman obeyed, and getting into the main street, onwards they jogged, right through croydon, and struck into a line of villas of all sorts, shapes, and sizes, which extend for several miles along the road, exhibiting all sorts of architecture, gothic, corinthian, doric, ionic, dutch, and chinese. these gradually diminished in number, and at length they found themselves on an open heath, within a few miles of the meet of the "surrey foxhounds". "now", says mr. jorrocks, clawing up his smalls, "you will see the werry finest pack of hounds in all england; i don't care where the next best are; and you will see as good a turn-out as ever you saw in your life, and as nice a country to ride over as ever you were in". they reach the meet--a wayside public-house on a common, before which the hounds with their attendants and some fifty or sixty horsemen, many of them in scarlet, were assembled. jorrocks was received with the greatest cordiality, amid whoops and holloas, and cries of "now twankay!--now sugar!--now figs!" waving his hand in token of recognition, he passed on and made straight for tom hill, with a face full of importance, and nearly rode over a hound in his hurry. "now, tom," said he, with the greatest energy, "do, my good fellow, strain every nerve to show sport to-day.--a gentleman has come all the way from the north-east side of the town of boroughbridge, in the county of york, to see our excellent 'ounds, and i would fain have him galvanised.--do show us a run, and let it end with blood, so that he may have something to tell the natives when he gets back to his own parts. that's him, see, sitting under the yew-tree, in a bottle-green coat with basket buttons, just striking a light on the pommel of his saddle to indulge in a fumigation.--keep your eye on him all day, and if you can lead him over an awkward place, and get him a purl, so much the better.--if he'll risk his neck i'll risk my 'oss's." the yorkshireman, having lighted his cigar and tightened his girths, rode leisurely among the horsemen, many of whom were in eager council, and a gentle breeze wafted divers scraps of conversation to his ear. what is that hound got by? no. how is that horse bred? no. what sport had you on wednesday? no. is it a likely find to-day? no, no, no; it was not where the hounds, but what the consols, left off at; what the four per cents, and not the four horses, were up to; what the condition of the money, not the horse, market. "anything doing in danish bonds, sir?" said one. "you must do it by lease and release, and levy a fine," replied another. scott _v._ brown, crim. con. to be heard on or before wednesday next.--barley thirty-two to forty-two.--fine upland meadow and rye grass hay, seventy to eighty.--the last pocket of hops i sold brought seven pounds fifteen shillings. sussex bags six pounds ten shillings.--there were only twenty-eight and a quarter ships at market, "and coals are coals." "glad to hear it, sir, for half the last you sent me were slates."--"best qualities of beef four shillings and eightpence a stone--mutton three shillings and eightpence, to four shillings and sixpence.--he was exceedingly ill when i paid my last visit--i gave him nearly a stone of epsom-salts, and bled him twice.--this horse would suit you to a t, sir, but my skip-jack is coming out on one at two o'clock that can carry a house.--see what a bosom this one's got.--well, gunter, old boy, have you iced your horse to-day?--have you heard that brown and co. are in the _gazette_? no, which brown--not john brown? no, william brown. what, brown of goodman's fields? no, brown of---- street--brown_e_ with an _e_; you know the man i mean.--oh, lord, ay, the man wot used to be called nosey browne." a general move ensued, and they left "the meet." "vere be you going to turn out pray, sir, may i inquire?" said a gentleman in green to the huntsman, as he turned into a field. "turn out," said he, "why, ye don't suppose we be come calf-hunting, do ye? we throws off some two stones'-throw from here, if so be you mean what cover we are going to draw." "no," said green-coat, "i mean where do you turn out the stag?"--"d--n the stag, we know nothing about such matters," replied the huntsman. "ware wheat! ware wheat! ware wheat!" was now the general cry, as a gentleman in nankeen pantaloons and hessian boots with long brass spurs, commenced a navigation across a sprouting crop. "ware wheat, ware wheat!" replied he, considering it part of the ceremony of hunting, and continued his forward course. "come to my side," said mr.----, to the whipper-in, "and meet that gentleman as he arrives at yonder gate; and keep by him while i scold you."--"now, sir, most particularly d--n you, for riding slap-dash over the young wheat, you most confounded insensible ignorant tinker, isn't the headland wide enough both for you and your horse, even if your spurs were as long again as they are?" shouts of "yooi over, over, over hounds--try for him--yoicks--wind him! good dogs--yoicks! stir him up--have at him there!"--here interrupted the jawbation, and the whip rode off shaking his sides with laughter. "your horse has got a stone in each forefoot, and a thorn in his near hock," observed a dentist to a wholesale haberdasher from ludgate hill, "allow me to extract them for you--no pain, i assure--over before you know it." "come away, hounds! come away!" was heard, and presently the huntsman, with some of the pack at his horse's heels, issued from the wood playing _rule, britannia!_ on a key-bugle, while the cracks of heavy-thonged whips warned the stragglers and loiterers to follow. "music hath charms to soothe the savage beast," observed jorrocks, as he tucked the laps of his frock over his thighs, "and i hope we shall find before long, else that quarter of house-lamb will be utterly ruined. oh, dear, they are going below hill i do believe! why we shall never get home to-day, and i told mrs. jorrocks half-past five to a minute, and i invited old fleecy, who is a most punctual man." jorrocks was right in his surmise. they arrived on the summit of a range of steep hills commanding an extensive view over the neighbouring country--almost, he said, as far as the sea-coast. the huntsman and hounds went down, but many of the field held a council of war on the top. "well! who's going down?" said one. "i shall wait for the next turn," said jorrocks, "for my horse does not like collar work." "i shall go this time," said another, "and the rest next." "and so will i," said a third, "for mayhap there will be no second turn." "ay," added a fourth, "and he may go the other way, and then where-shall we all be?" "poh!" said jorrocks, "did you ever know a surrey fox not take to the hills?--if he does not, i'll eat him without mint sauce," again harping on the quarter of lamb. facilis descensus averni--two-thirds of the field went down, leaving jorrocks, two horse-dealers in scarlet, three chicken-butchers, half a dozen swells in leathers, a whip, and the yorkshireman on the summit. "why don't you go with the hounds?" inquired the latter of the whip. "oh, i wait here, sir," said he, "to meet tom hills as he comes up, and to give him a fresh horse." "and who is tom hills?" inquired the yorkshireman. "oh, he's our huntsman," replied he; "you know tom, don't you?" "why, i can't say i do, exactly," said he; "but tell me, is he called hills because he rides up and down these hills, or is that his real name?" "hought! you know as well as i do," said he, quite indignantly, "that tom hills is his name." the hounds, with the majority of the field, having effected the descent of the hills, were now trotting on in the valley below, sufficiently near, however, to allow our hill party full view of their proceedings. after drawing a couple of osier-beds blank, they assumed a line parallel to the hills, and moved on to a wood of about ten acres, the west end of which terminated in a natural gorse. "they'll find there to a certainty," said mr. jorrocks, pulling a telescope out of his breeches' pocket, and adjusting the sight. "never saw it blank but once, and that was the werry day the commercial panic of twenty-five commenced.--i remember making an entry in my ledger when i got home to that effect. humph!" continued he, looking through the glass, "they are through the wood, though, without a challenge.--now, my booys, push him out of the gorse! let's see vot you're made of.--there goes the first 'ound in.--it's galloper, i believe.--i can almost see the bag of shot round his neck.--now they all follow.--one--two--three--four--five--all together, my beauties! oh, vot a sight! peckham's cap's in the air, and it's a find, by heavens!" mr. jorrocks is right.--the southerly wind wafts up the fading notes of the "huntsman's chorus" in _der frieschutz_ and confirms the fact.--jorrocks is in ecstasies.--"now," said he, clawing up his breeches (for he dispenses with the article of braces when out hunting), "that's what i calls fine. oh, beautiful! beautiful!--now, follow me if you please, and if yon gentleman in drab does not shoot the fox, he will be on the hills before long." away they scampered along the top of the ridge, with a complete view of the operations below. at length jorrocks stopped, and pulling the telescope out, began making an observation. "there he is, at last," cried he, "just crossed the corner of yon green field--now he creeps through the hedge by the fir-tree, and is in the fallow one. yet, stay--that's no fox--it's a hare: and yet tom hills makes straight for the spot--and did you hear that loud tally-ho? oh! gentlemen, gentlemen, we shall be laughed to scorn--what can they be doing--see, they take up the scent, and the whole pack have joined in chorus. great heavens, it's no more a fox than i am!--no more brush than a badger! oh, dear! oh, dear! that i should live to see my old friends, the surrey fox'ounds, 'unt hare, and that too in the presence of a stranger." the animal made direct for the hills--whatever it was, the hounds were on good terms with it, and got away in good form. the sight was splendid--all the field got well off, nor between the cover and the hills was there sufficient space for tailing. a little elderly gentleman, in a pepper-and-salt coat, led the way gallantly--then came the scarlets--then the darks--and then the fustian-clad countrymen. jorrocks was in a shocking state, and rolled along the hill-tops, almost frantic. the field reached the bottom, and the foremost commenced the steep ascent. "oh, tom hills!--tom hills!--'what are you at? what are you after?'" demanded jorrocks, as he landed on the top. "here's a gentleman come all the way from the north-east side of the town of boroughbridge, in the county of york, to see our excellent 'ounds, and here you are running a hare. oh, tom hills! tom hills! ride forward, ride forward, and whip them off, ere we eternally disgrace ourselves." "oh," says tom, laughing, "he's a fox! but he's so tarnation frightened of our hounds, that his brush dropped off through very fear, as soon as ever he heard us go into the wood; if you go back, you'll find it somewhere, mr. jorrocks; haw, haw, haw! no fox indeed!" said he.--"forrard, hounds, forrard!" and away he went--caught the old whipper-in, dismounted him in a twinkling, and was on a fresh horse with his hounds in full cry. the line of flight was still along the hill-tops, and all eagerly pressed on, making a goodly rattle over the beds of flints. a check ensued. "the guard on yonder nasty brighton coach has frightened him with his horn," said tom; "now we must make a cast up to yonder garden, and see if he's taken shelter among the geraniums in the green-house. as little damage as possible, gentlemen, if you please, in riding through the nursery grounds. now, hold hard, sir--pray do--there's no occasion for you to break the kale pots; he can't be under them. ah, yonder he goes, the tailless beggar; did you see him as he stole past the corner out of the early-cabbage bed? now bring on the hounds, and let us press him towards london." "see the conquering hero comes", sounded through the avenue of elms as tom dashed forward with the merry, merry pack. "i shall stay on the hills", said one, "and be ready for him as he comes back; i took a good deal of the shine out of my horse in coming up this time". "i think i will do the same", said two or three more. "let's be doing", said jorrocks, ramming his spurs into his nag to seduce him into a gallop, who after sending his heels in the air a few times in token of his disapprobation of such treatment, at last put himself into a round-rolling sort of canter, which jorrocks kept up by dint of spurring and dropping his great bastinaderer of a whip every now and then across his shoulders. away they go pounding together! the line lies over flint fallows occasionally diversified with a turnip-field or market-garden, and every now and then a "willa" appears, from which emerge footmen in jackets, and in yellow, red and green plush breeches, with no end of admiring housemaids, governesses, and nurses with children in their arms. great was the emulation when any of these were approached, and the rasping sportsmen rushed eagerly to the "fore." at last they approach "miss birchwell's finishing and polishing seminary for young ladies," whose great flaring blue-and-gold sign, reflecting the noonday rays of the sun, had frightened the fox and caused him to alter his line and take away to the west. a momentary check ensued, but all the amateur huntsmen being blown, tom, who is well up with his hounds, makes a quick cast round the house, and hits off the scent like a workman. a private road and a line of gates through fields now greet the eyes of our m'adamisers. a young gentleman on a hired hunter very nattily attired, here singles himself out and takes place next to tom, throwing the pebbles and dirt back in the eyes of the field. tom crams away, throwing the gates open as he goes, and our young gentleman very coolly passes through, without a touch, letting them bang-to behind him. the yorkshireman, who had been gradually creeping up, until he has got the third place, having opened two or three, and seeing another likely to close for want of a push, cries out to our friend as he approaches, "put out your hand, sir!" the gentleman obediently extends his limb like the arm of a telegraph, and rides over half the next field with his hand in the air! the gate, of course, falls to. a stopper appears--a gate locked and spiked, with a downward hinge to prevent its being lifted. to the right is a rail, and a ha-ha beyond it--to the left a quick fence. tom glances at both, but turns short, and backing his horse, rides at the rail. the yorkshireman follows, but jorrocks, who espies a weak place in the fence a few yards from the gate, turns short, and jumping off, prepares to lead over. it is an old gap, and the farmer has placed a sheep hurdle on the far side. just as jorrocks has pulled that out, his horse, who is a bit of a rusher, and has got his "monkey" completely up, pushes forward while his master is yet stooping--and hitting him in the rear, knocks him clean through the fence, head foremost into a squire-trap beyond!--"non redolet sed olet!" exclaims the yorkshireman, who dismounts in a twinkling, lending his friend a hand out of the unsavoury cesspool.--"that's what comes of hunting in a new[ ] saddle, you see," added he, holding his nose. jorrocks scrambles upon "terra firma" and exhibits such a spectacle as provokes the shouts of the field. he has lost his wig, his hat hangs to his back, and one side of his person and face is completely japanned with black odoriferous mixture. "my vig!" exclaims he, spitting and spluttering, "but that's the nastiest hole i ever was in--fleet ditch is lavender-water compared to it! hooi yonder!" hailing a lad, "catch my 'oss, boouy!" tom hills has him; and jorrocks, pocketing his wig, remounts, rams his spurs into the nag, and again tackles with the pack, which had come to a momentary check on the eden bridge road. the fox has been headed by a party of gipsies, and, changing his point, bends southward and again reaches the hills, along which some score of horsemen have planted themselves in the likeliest places to head him. reynard, however, is too deep for them, and has stolen down unperceived. poor jorrocks, what with the violent exertion of riding, his fall, and the souvenir of the cesspool that he still bears about him, pulls up fairly exhausted. "oh, dear," says he, scraping the thick of the filth off his coat with his whip, "i'm reglarly blown, i earn't go down with the 'ounds this turn; but, my good fellow," turning to the yorkshireman, who was helping to purify him, "don't let me stop you, go down by all means, but mind, bear in mind the quarter of house-lamb--at half-past five to a minute." [footnote : there is a superstition among sportsmen that they are sure to get a fall the first day they appear in anything new.] many of the cits now gladly avail themselves of the excuse of assisting mr. jorrocks to clean himself for pulling up, but as soon as ever those that are going below hill are out of sight and they have given him two or three wipes, they advise him to let it "dry on," and immediately commence a different sort of amusement--each man dives into his pocket and produces the eatables. part of jorrocks's half-quartern loaf was bartered with the captain of an east indiaman for a slice of buffalo-beef. the dentist exchanged some veal sandwiches with a jew for ham ones; a lawyer from the borough offered two slices of toast for a hard-boiled egg; in fact there was a petty market "ouvert" held. "now, tomkins, where's the bottle?" demanded jenkins. "vy, i thought you would bring it out to-day," replied he; "i brought it last time, you know." "take a little of mine, sir," said a gentleman, presenting a leather-covered flask--"real thomson and fearon, i assure you." "i wish someone would fetch an ocean of porter from the nearest public," said another. "take a cigar, sir?" "no; i feel werry much obliged, but they always make me womit." "is there any gentleman here going to halifax, who would like to make a third in a new yellow barouche, with lavender-coloured wheels, and pink lining?" inquired mr.----, the coach-maker. "look at the hounds, gentlemen sportsmen, my noble sportsmen!" bellowed out an epsom dorling's correct--cardseller--and turning their eyes in the direction in which he was looking, our sportsmen saw them again making for the hills. pepper-and-salt first, and oh, what a goodly tail was there!--three quarters of a mile in length, at the least. now up they come--the "corps de reserve" again join, and again a party halt upon the hills. again tom hills exchanges horses; and again the hounds go on in full cry. "i must be off," said a gentleman in balloon-like leathers to another tiger; "we have just time to get back to town, and ride round by the park before it is dark--much better than seeing the end of this brute. let us go"; and away they went to canter through hyde park in their red coats. "i must go and all," said another gentleman; "my dinner will be ready at five, and it is now three." jorrocks was game; and forgetting the quarter of house-lamb, again tackled with the pack. a smaller sweep sufficed this time, and the hills were once more descended, jorrocks the first to lead the way. he well knew the fox was sinking, and was determined to be in at the death. short running ensued--a check--the fox had lain down, and they had overrun the scent. now they were on him, and tom hills's who-whoop confirmed the whole. "ah! tom hills, tom hills!" exclaimed jorrocks, as the former took up the fox, "'ow splendid, 'ow truly brilliant--by jove, you deserve to be lord hill--oh, had he but a brush that we might present it to this gentleman from the north-east side of the town of boroughbridge, in the county of york, to show the gallant doings of the men of surrey!" "ay," said tom, "but squire----'s keeper has been before us for it." "now," said a gentleman in a cap, to another in a hat, "if you will ride up the hill and collect the money there, i will do so below--half-a-crown, if you please, sir--half-a-crown, if you please, sir.--have i got your half-a-crown, sir?"--"here's three shillings if you will give me sixpence." "certainly, sir--certainly." "we have no time to spare," said jorrocks, looking at his watch. "good afternoon, gentlemen, good afternoon," muttering as he went, "a quarter of house-lamb at half-past five--mrs. jorrocks werry punctual--old fleecy werry particular." they cut across country to croydon, and as they approached the town, innumerable sportsmen came flocking in from all quarters. "what sport have you had?" inquired jorrocks of a gentleman in scarlet; "have you been with jolliffe?" "no, with the staghounds; three beautiful runs; took him once in a millpond, once in a barn, and once in a brickfield--altogether the finest day's sport i ever saw in my life." "what have you done, mr. j----?" "oh, we have had a most gallant thing; a brilliant run indeed--three hours and twenty minutes without a check--over the finest country imaginable." "and who got the brush?" inquired the stag-man. "oh, it was a gallant run," said jorrocks, "by far the finest i ever remember." "but did you kill?" demanded his friend. "kill! to be sure we did. when don't the surrey kill, i should like to know?" "and who got his brush, did you say?" "i can't tell," said he--"didn't hear the gentleman's name." "what sport has mr. meager had to-day?" inquired he of a gentleman in trousers, who issued from a side lane into the high road. "i have been with the sanderstead, sir--a very capital day's sport--run five hares and killed three. we should have killed four--only--we didn't." "i don't think mr. meager has done anything to-day." "yes, he has," said a gentleman, who just joined with a hare buckled on in front of his saddle, and his white cords all stained with blood; "we killed this chap after an hour and forty-five minutes' gallop; and accounted for another by losing her after running upwards of-three-quarters of an hour." "well, then, we have all had sport," said jorrocks, as he spurred his horse into a trot, and made for morton's stables--"and if the quarter of house-lamb is but right, then indeed am i a happy man." iii. surrey shooting: mr. jorrocks in trouble our readers are now becoming pretty familiar with our principal hero, mr. jorrocks, and we hope he improves on acquaintance. our fox-hunting friends, we are sure, will allow him to be an enthusiastic member of the brotherhood, and though we do not profess to put him in competition with musters, osbaldeston, or any of those sort of men, we yet mean to say that had his lot been cast in the country instead of behind a counter, his keenness would have rendered him as conspicuous--if not as scientific--as the best of them. for a cockney sportsman, however, he is a very excellent fellow--frank, hearty, open, generous, and hospitable, and with the exception of riding up fleet street one saturday afternoon, with a cock-pheasant's tail sticking out of his red coat pocket, no one ever saw him do a cock tail action in his life. the circumstances attending that exhibition are rather curious.--he had gone out as usual on a saturday to have a day with the surrey, but on mounting his hunter at croydon, he felt the nag rather queer under him, and thinking he might have been pricked in the shoeing, he pulled up at the smith's at addington to have his feet examined. this lost him five minutes, and unfortunately when he got to the meet, he found that a "travelling[ ] fox" had been tallied at the precise moment of throwing off, with which the hounds had gone away in their usual brilliant style, to the tune of "blue bonnets are over the border." as may be supposed, he was in a deuce of a rage; and his first impulse prompted him to withdraw his subscription and be done with the hunt altogether, and he trotted forward "on the line," in the hopes of catching them up to tell them so. in this he was foiled, for after riding some distance, he overtook a string of smithfield horses journeying "foreign for evans," whose imprints he had been taking for the hoof-marks of the hunters. about noon he found himself dull, melancholy, and disconsolate, before the sign of the "pig and whistle," on the westerham road, where, after wetting his own whistle with a pint of half-and-half, he again journeyed onward, ruminating on the uncertainty and mutability of all earthly affairs, the comparative merits of stag-, fox-, and hare-hunting, and the necessity of getting rid of the day somehow or other in the country. [footnote : he might well be called a "travelling fox," for it was said he had just travelled down from herring's, in the new road, by the bromley stage.] suddenly his reverie was interrupted by the discharge of a gun in the field adjoining the hedge along which he was passing, and the boisterous whirring of a great cock-pheasant over his head, which caused his horse to start and stop short, and to nearly pitch jorrocks over his head. the bird was missed, but the sportsman's dog dashed after it, with all the eagerness of expectation, regardless of the cracks of the whip--the "comes to heel," and "downs to charge" of the master. jorrocks pulled out his hunting telescope, and having marked the bird down with the precision of a billiard-table keeper, rode to the gate to acquaint the shooter with the fact, when to his infinite amazement he discovered his friend, nosey browne (late of "the surrey"), who, since his affairs had taken the unfortunate turn mentioned in the last paper, had given up hunting and determined to confine himself to shooting only. nosey, however, was no great performer, as may be inferred, when we state that he had been in pursuit of the above-mentioned cock-pheasant ever since daybreak, and after firing thirteen shots at him had not yet touched a feather. his dog was of the right sort--for nosey at least--and hope deferred had not made his heart sick; on the contrary, he dashed after his bird for the thirteenth time with all the eagerness he displayed on the first. "let me have a crack at him," said jorrocks to nosey, after their mutual salutations were over. "i know where he is, and i think i can floor him." browne handed the gun to jorrocks, who, giving up his hunter in exchange, strode off, and having marked his bird accurately, he kicked him up out of a bit of furze, and knocked him down as "dead as a door-nail." by that pheasant's tail hangs the present one. now nosey browne and jorrocks were old friends, and nosey's affairs having gone crooked, why of course, like most men in a similar situation, he was all the better for it; and while his creditors were taking twopence-halfpenny in the pound, he was taking his diversion on his wife's property, which a sagacious old father-in-law had secured to the family in the event of such a contingency as a failure happening; so knowing jorrock's propensity for sports, and being desirous of chatting over all his gallant doings with "the surrey," shortly after the above-mentioned day he dispatched a "twopenny," offering him a day's shooting on his property in surrey, adding, that he hoped he would dine with him after. jorrocks being invited himself, with a freedom peculiar to fox-hunters, invited his friend the yorkshireman, and visiting his armoury, selected him a regular shot-scatterer of a gun, capable of carrying ten yards on every side. at the appointed hour on the appointed morning, the yorkshireman appeared in great coram street, where he found mr. jorrocks in the parlour in the act of settling himself into a new spruce green cut-away gambroon butler's pantry-jacket, with pockets equal to holding a powder-flask each, his lower man being attired in tight drab stocking-net pantaloons, and hessian boots with large tassels--a striking contrast to the fustian pocket-and-all-pocket jackets marked with game-bag strap, and shot-belt, and the weather-beaten many-coloured breeches and gaiters, and hob-nail shoes, that compose the equipment of a shooter in yorkshire. mr. jorrocks not keeping any "sporting dogs," as the tax-papers call them, had borrowed a fat house-dog--a cross between a setter and a dalmatian--of his friend mr. evergreen the greengrocer, which he had seen make a most undeniable point one morning in the copenhagen fields at a flock of pigeons in a beetroot garden. this valuable animal was now attached by a trash-cord through a ring in his brass collar to a leg of the sideboard, while a clean licked dish at his side, showed that jorrocks had been trying to attach him to himself, by feeding him before starting. "we'll take a coach to the castle", said jorrocks, "and then get a go-cart or a cast somehow or other to streatham, for we shall have walking enough when we get there. browne is an excellent fellow, and will make us range every acre of his estate over half a dozen times before we give in". a coach was speedily summoned, into which jorrocks, the dog pompey, the yorkshireman, and the guns were speedily placed, and away they drove to the "elephant and castle." there were short stages about for every possible place except streatham. greenwich, deptford, blackheath, eltham, bromley, footscray, beckenham, lewisham--all places but the right. however, there were abundance of "go-carts," a species of vehicle that ply in the outskirts of the metropolis, and which, like the watering-place "fly," take their name from the contrary--in fact, a sort of _lucus a non lucendo_. they are carts on springs, drawn by one horse (with curtains to protect the company from the weather), the drivers of which, partly by cheating, and partly by picking pockets, eke out a comfortable existence, and are the most lawless set of rascals under the sun. their arrival at the "elephant and castle" was a signal for a general muster of the fraternity, who, seeing the guns, were convinced that their journey was only what they call "a few miles down the road," and they were speedily surrounded by twenty or thirty of them, all with "excellent 'osses, vot vould take their honours fourteen miles an hour." all men of business are aware of the advantages of competition, and no one more so than jorrocks, who stood listening to their offers with the utmost sang-froid, until he closed with one to take them to streatham church for two shillings, and deliver them within the half-hour, which was a signal for all the rest to set-to and abuse them, their coachman, and his horse, which they swore had been carrying "stiff-uns" [ ] all night, and "could not go not none at all". nor were they far wrong; for the horse, after scrambling a hundred yards or two, gradually relaxed into something between a walk and a trot, while the driver kept soliciting every passer-by to "ride," much to our sportsmen's chagrin, who conceived they were to have the "go" all to themselves. remonstrance was vain, and he crammed in a master chimney-sweep, major ballenger the licensed dealer in tea, coffee, tobacco, and snuff, of streatham (a customer of jorrocks), and a wet-nurse; and took up an italian organ-grinder to ride beside himself on the front, before they had accomplished brixton hill. jorrocks swore most lustily that he would fine him, and at every fresh assurance, the driver offered a passer-by a seat; but having enlisted major ballenger into their cause, they at length made a stand, which, unfortunately for them, was more than the horse could do, for just as he was showing off, as he thought, with a bit of a trot, down they all soused in the mud. great was the scramble; guns, barrel-organ, pompey, jorrocks, driver, master chimney-sweep, major ballenger, were all down together, while the wet-nurse, who sat at the end nearest the door, was chucked clean over the hedge into a dry ditch. this was a signal to quit the vessel, and having extricated themselves the best way they could, they all set off on foot, and left the driver to right himself at his leisure. [footnote : doing a bit of resurrection work.] ballenger looked rather queer when he heard they were going to nosey browne's, for it so happened that nosey had managed to walk into his books for groceries and kitchen-stuff to the tune of fourteen pounds, a large sum to a man in a small way of business; and to be entertaining friends so soon after his composition, seemed curious to ballenger's uninitiated suburban mind. crossing streatham common, a short turn to the left by some yew-trees leads, by a near cut across the fields, to browne's house; a fiery-red brick castellated cottage, standing on the slope of a gentle eminence, and combining almost every absurdity a cockney imagination can be capable of. nosey, who was his own "nash," set out with the intention of making it a castle and nothing but a castle, and accordingly the windows were made in the loophole fashion, and the door occupied a third of the whole frontage. the inconveniences of the arrangements were soon felt, for while the light was almost excluded from the rooms, "rude boreas" had the complete run of the castle whenever the door was opened. to remedy this, nosey increased the one and curtailed the other, and the gothic oak-painted windows and door flew from their positions to make way for modern plate-glass in rich pea-green casements, and a door of similar hue. the battlements, however, remained, and two wooden guns guarded a brace of chimney-pots and commanded the wings of the castle, one whereof was formed into a green-, the other into a gig-house. the peals of a bright brass-handled bell at a garden-gate, surmounted by a holly-bush with the top cut into the shape of a fox, announced their arrival to the inhabitants of "rosalinda castle," and on entering they discovered young nosey in the act of bobbing for goldfish, in a pond about the size of a soup-basin; while nosey senior, a fat, stupid-looking fellow, with a large corporation and a bottle nose, attired in a single-breasted green cloth coat, buff waistcoat, with drab shorts and continuations, was reposing, _sub tegmine fagi_, in a sort of tea-garden arbour, overlooking a dung-heap, waiting their arrival to commence an attack upon the sparrows which were regaling thereon. at one end of the garden was a sort of temple, composed of oyster-shells, containing a couple of carrier-pigeons, with which nosey had intended making his fortune, by the early information to be acquired by them: but "there is many a slip," as jorrocks would say. greetings being over, and jorrocks having paid a visit to the larder, and made up a stock of provisions equal to a journey through the wilderness, they adjourned to the yard to get the other dog, and the man to carry the game--or rather, the prog, for the former was but problematical. he was a character, a sort of chap of all work, one, in short, "who has no objection to make himself generally useful"; but if his genius had any decided bent, it was, perhaps, an inclination towards sporting. having to act the part of groom and gamekeeper during the morning, and butler and footman in the afternoon, he was attired in a sort of composition dress, savouring of the different characters performed. he had on an old white hat, a groom's fustian stable-coat cut down into a shooting-jacket, with a whistle at the button-hole, red plush smalls, and top-boots. there is nothing a cockney delights in more than aping a country gentleman, and browne fancied himself no bad hand at it; indeed, since his london occupation was gone, he looked upon himself as a country gentleman in fact. "vell, joe," said he, striddling and sticking his thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat, to this invaluable man of all work, "we must show the gemmem some sport to-day; vich do you think the best line to start upon--shall we go to the ten hacre field, or the plantation, or thompson's stubble, or timms's turnips, or my meadow, or vere?" "vy, i doesn't know," said joe; "there's that old hen-pheasant as we calls drab bess, vot has haunted the plantin' these two seasons, and none of us ever could 'it (hit), and i hears that jack, and tom, and bob, are still left out of thompson's covey; but, my eyes! they're 'special vild!" "vot, only three left? where is old tom, and the old ramping hen?" inquired browne. "oh, mr. smith, and a party of them 'ere bankside chaps, com'd down last saturday's gone a week, and rattled nine-and-twenty shots at the covey, and got the two old 'uns; at least it's supposed they were both killed, though the seven on 'em only bagged one bird; but i heard they got a goose or two as they vent home. they had a shot at old tom, the hare, too, but he is still alive; at least i pricked him yesterday morn across the path into the turnip-field. suppose we goes at him first?" the estate, like the game, was rather deficient in quantity, but browne was a wise man and made the most of what he had, and when he used to talk about his "manor" on 'change, people thought he had at least a thousand acres--the extent a cockney generally advertises for, when he wants to take a shooting-place. the following is a sketch of what he had: the east, as far as the eye could reach, was bounded by norwood, a name dear to cockneys, and the scene of many a furtive kiss; the hereditaments and premises belonging to isaac cheatum, esq. ran parallel with it on the west, containing sixty-three acres, "be the same more or less," separated from which, by a small brook or runner of water, came the estate of mr. timms, consisting of sixty acres, three roods, and twenty-four perches, commonly called or known by the name of fordham; next to it were two allotments in right of common, for all manner of cattle, except cows, upon streatham common, from whence up to rosalinda castle, on the west, lay the estate of mr. browne, consisting of fifty acres and two perches. now it so happened that browne had formerly the permission to sport all the way up to norwood, a distance of a mile and a half, and consequently he might have been said to have the right of shooting in norwood itself, for the keepers only direct their attention to the preservation of the timber and the morals of the visitors; but since his composition with his creditors, mr. cheatum, who had "gone to the wall" himself in former years, was so scandalised at browne doing the same, that no sooner did his name appear in the _gazette_, than cheatum withdrew his permission, thereby cutting him off from norwood and stopping him in pursuit of his game. joe's proposition being duly seconded, mr. jorrocks, in the most orthodox manner, flushed off his old flint and steel fire-engine, and proceeded to give it an uncommon good loading. the yorkshireman, with a look of disgust, mingled with despair, and a glance at joe's plush breeches and top-boots, did the same, while nosey, in the most considerate sportsmanlike manner, merely shouldered a stick, in order that there might be no delicacy with his visitors, as to who should shoot first--a piece of etiquette that aids the escape of many a bird in the neighbourhood of london. old tom--a most unfortunate old hare, that what with the harriers, the shooters, the snarers, and one thing and another, never knew a moment's peace, and who must have started in the world with as many lives as a cat--being doomed to receive the first crack on this occasion, our sportsmen stole gently down the fallow, at the bottom of which were the turnips, wherein he was said to repose; but scarcely had they reached the hurdles which divided the field, before he was seen legging it away clean out of shot. jorrocks, who had brought his gun to bear upon him, could scarcely refrain from letting drive, but thinking to come upon him again by stealth, as he made his circuit for norwood, he strode away across the allotments and fordham estate, and took up a position behind a shed which stood on the confines of mr. timms's and mr. cheatum's properties. here, having procured a rest for his gun, he waited until old tom, who had tarried to nip a few blades of green grass that came in his way, made his appearance. presently he came cantering along the outside of the wood, at a careless, easy sort of pace, betokening either perfect indifference for the world's mischief, or utter contempt of cockney sportsmen altogether. he was a melancholy, woe-begone-looking animal, long and lean, with a slight inclination to grey on his dingy old coat, one that looked as though he had survived his kindred and had already lived beyond his day. jorrocks, however, saw him differently, and his eyes glistened as he came within range of his gun. a well-timed shot ends poor tom's miseries! he springs into the air, and with a melancholy scream rolls neck over heels. knowing that pompey would infallibly spoil him if he got up first, jorrocks, without waiting to load, was in the act of starting off to pick him up, when, at the first step, he found himself in the grasp of a herculean monster, something between a coal-heaver and a gamekeeper, who had been secreted behind the shed. nosey browne, who had been watching his movements, holloaed out to jorrocks to "hold hard," who stood motionless, on the spot from whence he fired, and browne was speedily alongside of him. "you are on squire cheatum's estate," said the man; "and i have authority to take up all poachers and persons found unlawfully trespassing; what's your name?" "he's not on cheatum's estate," said browne. "he is," said the man. "you're a liar," said browne. "you're another," said the man. and so they went on; for when such gentlemen meet, compliments pass current. at length the keeper pulled out a foot-rule, and keeping jorrocks in the same position he caught him, he set-to to measure the distance of his foot from the boundary, taking off in a line from the shed; when it certainly did appear that the length of a big toe was across the mark, and putting up his measure again, he insisted upon taking jorrocks before a magistrate for the trespass. of course, no objection could be made, and they all adjourned to mr. boreem's, when the whole case was laid before him. to cut a long matter short--after hearing the pros and cons, and referring to the act of parliament, his worship decided that a trespass had been committed; and though, he said, it went against the grain to do so, he fined jorrocks in the mitigated penalty of one pound one. this was a sad damper to our heroes, who returned to the castle with their prog untouched and no great appetite for dinner. being only a family party, when mrs. b---- retired, the subject naturally turned upon the morning's mishap, and at every glass of port jorrocks waxed more valiant, until he swore he would appeal against the "conwiction"; and remaining in the same mind when he awoke the next morning, he took the temple in his way to st. botolph lane and had six-and-eightpence worth with mr. capias the attorney, who very judiciously argued each side of the question without venturing an opinion, and proposed stating a case for counsel to advise upon. as usual, he gave one that would cut either way, though if it had any tendency whatever it was to induce jorrocks to go on; and he not wanting much persuasion, it will not surprise our readers to hear that jorrocks, capias, and the yorkshireman were seen a few days after crossing waterloo bridge in a yellow post-chaise, on their way to croydon sessions. after a "guinea" consultation at the "greyhound," they adjourned to the court, which was excessively crowded, jorrocks being as popular with the farmers and people as cheatum was the reverse. party feeling, too, running rather high at the time, there had been a strong "whip" among the magistrates to get a full attendance to reverse boreem's conviction, who had made himself rather obnoxious on the blue interest at the election. of course they all came in new hats,[ ] and sat on the bench looking as wise as gentlemen judges generally do. [footnote : magistrates always buy their hats about session times, as they have the privilege of keeping their hats on their blocks in court.] one hundred and twenty-two affiliation cases (for this was in the old poor law time) having been disposed of, about one o'clock in the afternoon, the chairman, mr. tomkins of tomkins, moved the order of the day. he was a perfect prototype of a county magistrate--with a bald powdered head covered by a low-crowned, broad-brimmed hat, hair terminating behind in a _queue_, resting on the ample collar of a snuff-brown coat, with a large bay-window of a corporation, with difficulty retained by the joint efforts of a buff waistcoat, and the waistband of a pair of yellow leather breeches. his countenance, which was solemn and grave in the extreme, might either be indicative of sense or what often serves in the place of wisdom--when parties can only hold their tongues--great natural stupidity. from the judge's seat, which he occupied in the centre of the bench, he observed, with immense dignity, "there is an appeal of jorrocks against cheatum, which we, the bench of magistrates of our lord the king, will take if the parties are ready," and immediately the court rang with "jorrocks and cheatum! jorrocks and cheatum! mr. capias, attorney-at-law! mr. capias answer to his name! mr. sharp attorney-at-law! mr. sharp's in the jury-room.--then go fetch him directly," from the ushers and bailiffs of the court; for though tomkins of tomkins was slow himself, he insisted upon others being quick, and was a great hand at prating about saving the time of the suitors. at length the bustle of counsel crossing the table, parties coming in and others leaving court, bailiffs shouting, and ushers responding, gradually subsided into a whisper of, "that's jorrocks! that's cheatum!" as the belligerent parties took their places by their respective counsel. silence having been called and procured, mr. smirk, a goodish-looking man for a lawyer, having deliberately unfolded his brief, which his clerk had scored plentifully in the margin, to make the attorney believe he had read it very attentively, rose to address the court--a signal for half the magistrates to pull their newspapers out of their pockets, and the other half to settle themselves down for a nap, all the sport being considered over when the affiliation cases closed. "i have the honour to appear on behalf of mr. jorrocks," said mr. smirk, "a gentleman of the very highest consideration--a fox-hunter--a shooter--and a grocer. in ordinary cases it might be necessary to prove the party's claim to respectability, but, in this instance, i feel myself relieved from any such obligation, knowing, as i do, that there is no one in this court, no one in these realms--i might almost add, no one in this world--to whom the fame of my most respectable, my most distinguished, and much injured client is unknown. not to know jorrocks is indeed to argue oneself unknown." "this is a case of no ordinary interest, and i approach it with a deep sense of its importance, conscious of my inability to do justice to the subject, and lamenting that it has not been entrusted to abler hands. it is a case involving the commercial and the sporting character of a gentleman against whom the breath of calumny has never yet been drawn--of a gentleman who in all the relations of life, whether as a husband, a fox-hunter, a shooter, or a grocer, has invariably preserved that character and reputation, so valuable in commercial life, so necessary in the sporting world, and so indispensable to a man moving in general society. were i to look round london town in search of a bright specimen of a man combining the upright, sterling integrity of the honourable british merchant of former days with the ardour of the english fox-hunter of modern times, i would select my most respectable client, mr. jorrocks. he is a man for youth to imitate and revere! conceive, then, the horror of a man of his delicate sensibility--of his nervous dread of depreciation--being compelled to appear here this day to vindicate his character, nay more, his honour, from one of the foulest attempts at conspiracy that was ever directed against any individual. i say that a grosser attack was never made upon the character of any grocer, and i look confidently to the reversion of this unjust, unprecedented conviction, and to the triumphant victory of my most respectable and public-spirited client. it is not for the sake of the few paltry shillings that he appeals to this court--it is not for the sake of calling in question the power of the constituted authorities of this county--but it is for the vindication and preservation of a character dear to all men, but doubly dear to a grocer, and which once lost can never be regained. look, i say, upon my client as he sits below the witness-box, and say, if in that countenance there appears any indication of a lawless or rebellious spirit; look, i say, if the milk of human kindness is not strikingly portrayed in every feature, and truly may i exclaim in the words of the poet:" if to his share some trifling errors fall, look in his face, and you'll forget them all.' "i regret to be compelled to trespass upon the valuable time of the court; but, sir, this appeal is based on a trespass, and one good trespass deserves another." the learned gentleman then proceeded to detail the proceedings of the day's shooting, and afterwards to analyse the enactments of the new game bill, which he denounced as arbitrary, oppressive, and ridiculous, and concluded a long and energetic speech, by calling upon the court to reverse the decision of the magistrate, and not support the preposterous position of fining a man for a trespass committed by his toe. after a few minutes had elapsed, mr. sergeant bumptious, a stiff, bull-headed little man, desperately pitted with the smallpox, rose to reply, and looking round the court, thus commenced: "five-and-thirty years have i passed in courts of justice, but never, during a long and extensive practice, have i witnessed so gross a perversion of that sublimest gift, called eloquence, as within the last hour"--here he banged his brief against the table, and looked at mr. smirk, who smiled.--"i lament, sir, that it has not been employed in a better cause--(bang again--and another look). my learned friend has, indeed, laboured to make the worse appear the better cause--to convert into a trifle one of the most outrageous acts that ever disgraced a human being or a civilised country. well did he describe the importance of this case!--important as regards his client's character--important as regards this great and populous county--important as regards those social ties by which society is held together--important as regards a legislative enactment, and important as regards the well-being and prosperity of the whole nation--(bang, bang, bang). i admire the bombastic eloquence with which my learned friend introduced his most distinguished client--his most delicate minded--sensitive client!--truly, to hear him speaking i should have thought he had been describing a lovely, blushing young lady, but when he comes to exhibit his paragon of perfection, and points out that great, red-faced, coarse, vulgar-looking, lubberly lump of humanity--(here bumptious looked at jorrocks as he would eat him)--sitting below the witness-box, and seeks to enlist the sympathies of your worships on the bench--of you, gentlemen, the high-minded, shrewd, penetrating judges of this important cause--(and bumptious smiled and bowed along the bench upon all whose eyes he could catch)--on behalf of such a monster of iniquity, it does make one blush for the degradation of the british bar--(bang--bang--bang--jorrocks here looked unutterable things). does my learned friend think by displaying his hero as a fox-hunter, and extolling his prowess in the field, to gain over the sporting magistrates on the bench? he knows little of the upright integrity--the uncompromising honesty--the undeviating, inflexible impartiality that pervades the breast of every member of this tribunal, if he thinks for the sake of gain, fear, favour, hope, or reward, to influence the opinion, much less turn the judgment, of any one of them." (here bumptious bowed very low to them all and laid his hand upon his heart. tomkins nodded approbation.) "far, far be it from me to dwell with unbecoming asperity on the conduct of anyone--we are all mortals--and alike liable to err; but when i see a man who has been guilty of an act which has brought him all but within the verge of the prisoners' dock; i say, when i see a man who has been guilty of such an outrage on society as this ruffian jorrocks, come forward with the daring effrontery that he has this day done, and claim redress where he himself is the offender, it does create a feeling in my mind divided between disgust and amazement"--(bang). here jorrock's cauldron boiled over, and rising from his seat with an outstretched shoulder-of-mutton fist, he bawled out, "d--n you, sir, what do you mean?" the court was thrown into amazement, and even bumptious quailed before the fist of the mighty jorrocks. "i claim the protection of the court," he exclaimed. mr. tomkins interposed, and said he should certainly order mr. jorrocks into custody if he repeated his conduct, adding that it was "most disrespectful to the justices of our lord the king." bumptious paused a little to gather breath and a fresh volume of venom wherewith to annihilate jorrocks, and catching his eye, he transfixed him like a rattlesnake, and again resumed. "how stands the case?" said he. "this cockney grocer--for after all he is nothing else--who i dare say scarcely knows a hawk from a hand-saw--leaves his figs and raisins, and sets out on a marauding excursion into the county of surrey, and regardless of property--of boundaries--of laws--of liberties--of life itself--strides over every man's land, letting drive at whatever comes in his way! the hare he shot on this occasion was a pet hare!--for three successive summers had miss cheatum watched and fed it with all the interest and anxiety of a parent. i leave it to you, gentlemen, who have daughters of your own, with pets also, to picture to yourselves the agony of her mind in finding that her favourite had found its way down the throat of that great guzzling, gormandising, cockney cormorant; and then, forsooth, because he is fined for the outrageous trespass, he comes here as the injured party, and instructs his counsel to indulge in billingsgate abuse that would disgrace the mouth of an old bailey practitioner! i regret that instead of the insignificant fine imposed upon him, the law did not empower the worthy magistrate to send him to the treadmill, there to recreate himself for six or eight months, as a warning to the whole fraternity of lawless vagabonds." here he nodded his head at jorrocks as much as to say, "i'll trounce you, my boy!" he then produced maps and plans of the different estates, and a model of the shed, to show how it had all happened, and after going through the case in such a strain as would induce one to believe it was a trial for murder or high treason, concluded as follows: "the eyes of england are upon us--reverse this conviction, and you let loose a rebel band upon the country, ripe for treason, stratagem, or spoil--you overturn the finest order of society in the world; henceforth no man's property will be safe, the laws will be disregarded, and even the upright, talented, and independent magistracy of england brought into contempt. but i feel convinced that your decision will be far otherwise--that by it you will teach these hot-headed--rebellious--radical grocers that they cannot offend with impunity, and show them that there is a law which reaches even the lowest and meanest inhabitant of these realms, that amid these days of anarchy and innovation you will support the laws and aristocracy of this country, that you will preserve to our children, and our children's children, those rights and blessings which a great and enlightened administration have conferred upon ourselves, and raise for tomkins of tomkins and the magistracy of the proud county of surrey, a name resplendent in modern times and venerated to all eternity." here bumptious cast a parting frown at jorrocks, and banging down his brief, tucked his gown under his arm, turned on his heel and left the court, to indulge in a glass of pale sherry and a sandwich, regardless which way the verdict went, so long as he had given him a good quilting. the silence that followed had the effect of rousing some of the dozing justices, who nudging those who had fallen asleep, they all began to stir themselves, and having laid their heads together, during which time they settled the dinner-hour for that day, and the meets of the staghounds for the next fortnight, they began to talk of the matter before the court. "i vote for reversing," said squire jolthead; "jorrocks is such a capital fellow." "i must support boreem," said squire hicks: "he gave me a turn when i made the mistaken commitment of gipsy jack." "what do you say, mr. giles?" inquired mr. tomkins. "oh, anything you like, mr. tomkins." "and you, mr. hopper?" who had been asleep all the time. "oh! guilty, i should say--three months at the treadmill--privately whipped, if you like," was the reply. mr. petty always voted on whichever side bumptious was counsel--the learned serjeant having married his sister--and four others always followed the chair. tomkins then turned round, the magistrates resumed their seats along the bench, and coming forward he stood before the judge's chair, and taking off his hat with solemn dignity and precision, laid it down exactly in the centre of the desk, amid cries from the bailiffs and ushers for "silence, while the justices of the peace of our sovereign lord the king, deliver the judgment of the court." "the appellant in this case," said mr. tomkins, very slowly, "seeks to set aside a conviction for trespass, on the ground, as i understand, of his not having committed one. the principal points of the case are admitted, as also the fact of mr. jorrocks's toe, or a part of his toe, having intruded upon the respondent's estate. now, so far as that point is concerned, it seems clear to myself and to my brother magistrates, that it mattereth not how much or how little of the toe was upon the land, so long as any part thereof was there. 'de minimis non curat lex'--the english of which is 'the law taketh no cognisance of fractions'--is a maxim among the salaried judges of the inferior courts in westminster hall, which we the unpaid, the in-cor-rup-ti-ble magistrates of the proud county of surrey, have adopted in the very deep and mature deliberation that preceded the formation of our most solemn judgment. in the present great and important case, we, the unpaid magistrates of our sovereign lord the king, do not consider it necessary that there should be 'a toe, a whole toe, and nothing but a toe,' to constitute a trespass, any more than it would be necessary in the case of an assault to prove that the kick was given by the foot, the whole foot, and nothing but the foot. if any part of the toe was there, the law considers that it was there _in toto_. upon this doctrine, it is clear that mr. jorrocks was guilty of a trespass, and the conviction must be affirmed. before i dismiss the case i must say a few words on the statute under which this decision takes place. "this is the first conviction that has taken place since the passing of the act, and will serve as a precedent throughout all england. i congratulate the country upon the efficacy of the tribunal to which it has been submitted. the court has listened with great and becoming attention to the arguments of the counsel on both sides: and though one gentleman with a flippant ignorance has denounced this new law as inferior to the pre-existing system, and a curse to the country, we, the magistrates of the proud county of surrey, must enter our protest against such a doctrine being promulgated. peradventure, you are all acquainted with my prowess as a shooter; i won two silver tankards at the red house, anno domini . i mention this to show that i am a practical sportsman, and as to the theory of the game laws, i derive my information from the same source that you may all derive yours--from the bright refulgent pages of the _new sporting magazine_!" iv. mr. jorrocks and the surrey staghounds the surrey foxhounds had closed their season--a most brilliant one--but ere mr. jorrocks consigned his boots and breeches to their summer slumber, he bethought of having a look at the surrey staghounds, a pack now numbered among the things that were. of course he required a companion, were it only to have some one to criticise the hounds with, so the evening before the appointed day, as the yorkshireman was sitting in his old corner at the far end of the piazza coffee-room in covent garden, having just finished his second marrowbone and glass of white brandy, george--the only waiter in the room with a name--came smirking up with a card in his hand, saying, that the gentleman was waiting outside to speak with him. it was a printed one, but the large round hand in which the address had been filled up, encroaching upon the letters, had made the name somewhat difficult to decipher. at length he puzzled out "mr. john jorrocks--coram street"; the name of the city house or shop in the corner (no.--, st. botolph's lane) being struck through with a pen. "oh, ask him to walk in directly," said the yorkshireman to george, who trotted off, and presently the flapping of the doors in the passage announced his approach, and honest jorrocks came rolling up the room--not like a fox-hunter, or any other sort of hunter, but like an honest wholesale grocer, fresh from the city. "my dear fellow, i'm so glad to see you, you can't think," said he, advancing with both hands out, and hugging the yorkshireman after the manner of a polar bear. "i have not time to stay one moment; i have to meet mr. wiggins at the corner of bloomsbury square at a quarter to six, and it wants now only seven minutes to," casting his eye up at the clock over the sideboard.--"i have just called to say that as you are fond of hunting, and all that sort of thing, if you have a mind for a day with the staghounds to-morrow, i will mount you same as before, and all that sort of thing--you understand, eh?" "thank you, my good friend," said the yorkshireman; "i have nothing to do to-morrow, and am your man for a stag-hunt." "that's right, my good fellow," said jorrocks, "then i'll tell you what do--come and breakfast with me in great coram street, at half-past seven to a minute. i've got one of the first 'ams (hams) you ever clapt eyes on in the whole course of your memorable existence.--saw the hog alive myself--sixteen score within a pound; must come--know you like a fork breakfast--dejeune à la fauchette, as we say in france, eh? like my lord mayor's fool i guess, love what's good; well, all right too--so come without any ceremony--us fox-hunters hates ceremony--where there's ceremony there's no friendship.--stay--i had almost forgotten," added he, checking himself as he was on the point of departure. "when you come, ring the area bell, and then mrs. j---- won't hear; know you don't like mrs. j---- no more than myself." at the appointed hour the yorkshireman reached great coram street, just as old jorrocks had opened the door to look down the street for him. he was dressed in a fine flowing, olive-green frock (made like a dressing-gown), with a black velvet collar, having a gold embroidered stag on each side, gilt stag-buttons, with rich embossed edges; an acre of buff waistcoat, and a most antediluvian pair of bright yellow-ochre buckskins, made by white, of tarporley, in the twenty-first year of the reign of george the third; they were double-lashed, back-stiched, front-stiched, middle-stiched, and patched at both knees, with a slit up behind. the coat he had won in a bet, and the breeches in a raffle, the latter being then second or third hand. his boots were airing before the fire, consequently he displayed an amplitude of calf in grey worsted stockings, while his feet were thrust into green slippers. "so glad to see you"! said he; "here's a charming morning, indeed--regular southerly wind and a cloudy sky--rare scenting it will be--think i could almost run a stag myself. come in--never mind your hat, hang it anywhere, but don't make a noise. i stole away and left mrs. j---- snoring, so won't do to wake her, you know. by the way, you should see my hat;--batsey, fatch my hat out of the back parlour. i've set up a new green silk cord, with a gold frog to fasten it to my button-hole--werry illigant, i think, and werry suitable to the dress--quite my own idea--have a notion all the surrey chaps will get them; for, between you and me, i set the fashions, and what is more, i sometimes set them at a leap too. but now tell me, have you any objection to breakfasting in the kitchen?--more retired, you know, besides which you get everything hot and hot, which is what i call doing a bit of plisure." "not at all," said the yorkshireman, "so lead the way"; and down they walked to the lower regions. it was a nice comfortable-looking place, with a blazing fire, half the floor covered with an old oil-cloth, and the rest exhibiting the cheerless aspect of the naked flags. about a yard and a half from the fire was placed the breakfast table; in the centre stood a magnificent uncut ham, with a great quartern loaf on one side and a huge bologna sausage on the other; besides these there were nine eggs, two pyramids of muffins, a great deal of toast, a dozen ship-biscuits, and half a pork-pie, while a dozen kidneys were spluttering on a spit before the fire, and betsy held a gridiron covered with mutton-chops on the top; altogether there was as much as would have served ten people. "now, sit down," said jorrocks, "and let us be doing, for i am as hungry as a hunter. hope you are peckish too; what shall i give you? tea or coffee?--but take both--coffee first and tea after a bit. if i can't give you them good, don't know who can. you must pay your devours, as we say in france, to the 'am, for it is an especial fine one, and do take a few eggs with it; there, i've not given you above a pound of 'am, but you can come again, you know--waste not want not. now take some muffins, do, pray. batsey, bring some more cream, and set the kidneys on the table, the yorkshireman is getting nothing to eat. have a chop with your kidney, werry luxterous--i could eat an elephant stuffed with grenadiers, and wash them down with a ocean of tea; but pray lay in to the breakfast, or i shall think you don't like it. there, now take some tea and toast or one of those biscuits, or whatever you like; would a little more 'am be agreeable? batsey, run into the larder and see if your missis left any of that cold chine of pork last night--and hear, bring the cold goose, and any cold flesh you can lay hands on, there are really no wittles on the table. i am quite ashamed to set you down to such a scanty fork breakfast; but this is what comes of not being master of your own house. hope your hat may long cover your family: rely upon it, it is cheaper to buy your bacon than to keep a pig". just as jorrocks uttered these last words the side door opened, and without either "with your leave or by your leave", in bounced mrs. jorrocks in an elegant dishabille (or "dish-of-veal", as jorrocks pronounced it), with her hair tucked up in papers, and a pair of worsted slippers on her feet, worked with roses and blue lilies. "pray, mister j----," said she, taking no more notice of the yorkshireman than if he had been enveloped in jack the giant-killer's coat of darkness, "what is the meaning of this card? i found it in your best coat pocket, which you had on last night, and i do desire, sir, that you will tell me how it came there. good morning, sir (spying the yorkshireman at last), perhaps you know where mr. jorrocks was last night, and perhaps you can tell me who this person is whose card i have found in the corner of mr. jorrocks's best coat pocket?" "indeed, madam", replied the yorkshireman, "mr. jorrocks's movements of yesterday evening are quite a secret to me. it is the night that he usually spends at the magpie and stump, but whether he was there or not i cannot pretend to say, not being a member of the free and easy club. as for the card, madam..." "there, then, take it and read it," interrupted mrs. j----; and he took the card accordingly--a delicate pale pink, with blue borders and gilt edge--and read--we would fain put it all in dashes and asterisks--"miss juliana granville, john street, waterloo road." this digression giving mr. jorrocks a moment or two to recollect himself, he pretended to get into a thundering passion, and seizing the card out of the yorkshireman's hand, he thrust it into the fire, swearing it was an application for admission into the deaf and dumb institution, where he wished he had mrs. j----. the yorkshireman, seeing the probability of a breeze, pretended to have forgotten something at the piazza, and stole away, begging jorrocks to pick him up as he passed. peace had soon been restored; for the yorkshireman had not taken above three or four turns up and down the coffee-room, ere george the waiter came to say that a gentleman waited outside. putting on his hat and taking a coat over his arm, he turned out; when just before the door he saw a man muffled up in a great military cloak, and a glazed hat, endeavouring to back a nondescript double-bodied carriage (with lofty mail box-seats and red wheels), close to the pavement. "who-ay, who-ay," said he, "who-ay, who-ay, horse!" at the same time jerking at his mouth. as the yorkshireman made his exit, a pair eyes of gleamed through the small aperture between the high cloak collar and the flipe of the glazed hat, which he instantly recognised to belong to jorrocks. "why, what the deuce is this you are in?" said he, looking at the vehicle. "jump up," said jorrocks, "and i'll tell you all about it," which having done, and the machine being set in motion he proceeded to relate the manner in which he had exchanged his cruelty-van for it--by the way, as arrant a bone-setter as ever unfortunate got into, but which he, with the predilection all men have for their own, pronounced to be a "monstrous nice carriage." on their turning off the rough pavement on to the quiet smooth macadamised road leading to waterloo bridge, his dissertation was interrupted by a loud horse-laugh raised by two or three toll-takers and boys lounging about the gate. "i say, tom, twig this 'ere machine," said one. "dash my buttons, i never seed such a thing in all my life." "what's to pay?" inquired jorrocks, pulling up with great dignity, their observations not having penetrated the cloak collar which encircled his ears. "to pay!" said the toll-taker--"vy, vot do ye call your consarn?" "why, a phaeton," said jorrocks. "my eyes! that's a good 'un," said another. "i say, jim--he calls this 'ere thing a phe-a-ton!" "a phe-a-ton!--vy, it's more like a fire-engine," said jim. "don't be impertinent," said jorrocks, who had pulled down his collar to hear what he had to pay--"but tell me what's to pay?" "vy, it's a phe-a-ton drawn by von or more 'orses," said the toll-taker; "and containing von or more asses," said tom. "sixpence-halfpenny, sir," "you are a saucy fellow," said jorrocks. "thank ye, master, you're another," said the toll-taker; "and now that you have had your say, vot do ye ax for your mouth?" "i say, sir, do you belong to the phenix? vy don't you show your badge?" "i say, tom, that 'ere fire-engine has been painted by some house-painter, it's never been in the hands of no coach-maker. do you shave by that 'ere glazed castor of yours?" "i'm blowed it i wouldn't get you a shilling a week to shove your face in sand, to make moulds for brass knockers." "ay, get away!--make haste, or the fire will be out," bawled out another, as jorrocks whipped on, and rattled out of hearing. "now, you see," said he, resuming the thread of his discourse, as if nothing had happened, "this back seat turns down and makes a box, so that when mrs. j---- goes to her mother's at tooting, she can take all her things with her, instead of sending half of them by the coach as she used to do; and if we are heavy, there is a pole belonging to it, so that we can have two horses; and then there is a seat draws out here (pulling a stool from between his legs) which anybody can sit on." "yes, anybody that is small enough," said the yorkshireman, "but you would cut a queer figure on it, i reckon." the truth was, that the "fire-engine" was one of those useless affairs built by some fool upon a plan of his own, with the idea of combining every possible comfort and advantage, and in reality not possessing one. friend jorrocks had seen it at a second-hand shop in fore street, and became the happy owner of it, in exchange for the cruelty-van and seventeen pounds.--their appearance on the road created no small sensation, and many were the jokes passed upon the "fire-engine." one said they were mountebanks; another that it was a horse-break; a third asked if it was one of gurney's steam-carriages, while a fourth swore it was a new convict-cart going to brixton. jorrocks either did not or would not hear their remarks, and kept expatiating upon the different purposes to which the machine might be converted, and the stoutness of the horse that was drawing it. as they approached the town of croydon, he turned his cloak over his legs in a very workman-like manner, and was instantly hailed by some brother sportsmen;--one complimented him on his looks, another on his breeches, a third praised his horse, a fourth abused the fire-engine, and a fifth inquired where he got his glazed hat. he had an answer for them all, and a nod or a wink for every pretty maid that showed at the windows; for though past the grand climacteric, he still has a spice of the devil in him--and, as he says, "there is no harm in looking." the "red lion" at smitham bottom was the rendezvous of the day. it is a small inn on the brighton road, some three or four miles below croydon. on the left of the road stands the inn, on the right is a small training-ground, and the country about is open common and down. there was an immense muster about the inn, and also on the training-ground, consisting of horsemen, gig-men, post-chaise-men, footmen,--jorrocks and the yorkshireman made the firemen. "here's old jorrocks, i do declare", exclaimed one, as jorrocks drove the fire-engine up at as quick a pace as his horse would go. "why, what a concern he's in", said another, "why, the old man's mad, surely".--"he's good for a subscription," added another, addressing him. "i say, jorrocks, old boy, you'll give us ten pound for our hounds won't you?--that's a good fellow." "oh yes, jorrocks promised us a subscription last year," observed another, "and he is a man of his word--arn't you old leather breeches?" "no, gentlemen," said jorrocks, standing up in the fire-engine, and sticking the whip into its nest, "i really cannot--i wish i could, but i really cannot afford it. times really are so bad, and i have my own pack to subscribe to, and i must be 'just before i am generous.'" "oh, but ten pounds is nothing in your way, you know, jorrocks--adulterate a chest of tea. old----here will give you all the leaves off his ash-trees." "no," said jorrocks, "i really cannot--ten pounds is ten pounds, and i must cut my coat according to my cloth." "by jove, but you must have had plenty of cloth when you cut that coat you've got on, old boy. why there's as much cloth in the laps as would make a pair of horse-sheets." "never mind," said jorrocks, "i wear it, and not you." "now," said jorrocks in an undertone to the yorkshireman, "you see what an unconscionable set of dogs these stag-'unters are. they're at every man for a subscription, and talk about guineas as if they grew upon gooseberry-bushes. besides, they are such a rubbishing set--all drafts from the fox'ounds.--now there's a chap on a piebald just by the trees--he goes into the _gazette_ reglarly once in three years, and yet to see him out, you'd fancy all the country round belonged to him. and there's a buck with his bearing-rein so tight that he can hardly move his neck," pointing to a gentleman in scarlet, with a tremendous stiff blue cravat--"he lives by keeping a mad-house and being werry high, consequential sort of a cock, they calls him the 'lord high keeper!'--i'll tell ye a joke about that fellow," said he, pointing to a man alighting from a red-wheeled buggy--"he's a werry shabby screw, and is always trying to save a penny.--well, he hires a young half-witted hawbuck for a servant, who didn't clean his boots to his liking, so he began reading the riot act one day, and concluded by saying, 'i'm blowed if i couldn't clean them better myself with a little pump-water.'--the next day, up came the boots duller than ever.--'bless my soul,' exclaimed he, 'why, they are worse than before, how's this, sir?'--'please, sir, you said you could clean them better with a little pump-water, so i tried it, and i do think they are worse!' haw! haw! haw!--yon chap in the black plush breeches and hessians, standing by the ginger-pop tray, is the only man what ever got the better of me in the 'oss-dealing line, and he certainlie did bite me uncommon 'andsomely. i gave him three and twenty pounds, a strong violin case with patent hinges, lined with superfine green baize, and an uncut copy of middleton's _cicero_, for an 'oss that the blacksmith really declared wasn't worth shoeing.--howsomever, i paid him off, for i christened the 'oss barabbas--who, you knows, was a robber--and the seller has gone by the name of barabbas ever since." "well, but tell me, gentlemen, where do we dine?" inquired jorrocks, turning to a group who had just approached the fire-engine. "we don't know yet," said a gentleman in scarlet, "the deer has not come yet; but yonder he is," pointing up the road to a covered cart, "and there are the hounds just coming over the hill at the back." the covered cart approached, and several went to meet it. the cry of "oh, it's old tunbridge," was soon heard. "well, we shall have a good dinner," said jorrocks, "if that is the case. is it tunbridge?" inquired he eagerly of one of the party who returned from the deer-cart. "yes, it's old tunbridge, and snooks has ordered dinner at the wells for sixteen at five o'clock, so the first sixteen that get there had better look out." "here, bouy," said jorrocks in an undertone to his servant, who was leading his screws about on the green, "take this 'oss out of the carriage, and give him a feed of corn, and then go on to tunbridge wells, and tell mr. pegg, at the sussex arms, that i shall be there with a friend to the dinner, and bid him write 'jorrocks' upon two plates and place them together.--nothing like making sure," said he, chuckling at his own acuteness. "now to 'orse--to 'orse!" exclaimed he, suiting the action to the word, and climbing on to his great chestnut, leaving the yorkshireman to mount the rat-tail brown. "let's have a look at the 'ounds", turning his horse in the direction in which they were coming. jonathan griffin[ ] took off his cap to jorrocks, as he approached, who waved his hand in the most patronising manner possible, adding "how are you, jonathan?" "pretty well, thank you, mister jorrocks, hope you're the same." "no, not the same, for i'm werry well, which makes all the difference--haw! haw! haw! you seem to have but a shortish pack, i think--ten, twelve, fourteen couple--'ow's that? we always take nine and twenty with the surrey". "why, you see, mister jorrocks, stag-hunting and fox-hunting are very different. the scent of the deer is very ravishing, and then we have no drawing for our game. besides, at this season, there are always bitches to put back--but we have plenty of hounds for sport.--i suppose we may be after turning out," added jonathan, looking at his watch--"it's past eleven." [footnote : poor jonathan, one of the hardest riders and drinkers of his day, exists, like his pack, but in the recollection of mankind. he was long huntsman to the late lord derby, who, when he gave up his staghounds, made jonathan a present of them, and for two or three seasons he scratched on in an indifferent sort of way, until the hounds were sold to go abroad--to hungary, we believe.] on hearing this, a gentleman off with his glove and began collecting, or capping, prior to turning out--it being the rule of the hunt to make sure of the money before starting, for fear of accidents. "half a crown, if you please, sir." "now i'll take your half a crown." "mr. jorrocks, shall i trouble you for half a crown?" "oh, surely," said jorrocks, pulling out a handful of great five-shilling pieces; "here's for this gentleman and myself," handing one of them over, "and i shan't even ask you for discount for ready money." the capping went round, and a goodly sum was collected. meanwhile the deer-cart was drawn to the far side of a thick fence, and the door being opened, a lubberly-looking animal, as big as a donkey, blobbed out, and began feeding very composedly. "that won't do," said jonathan griffin, eyeing him--"ride on, tom, and whip him away." off went the whip, followed by a score of sportsmen whose shouts, aided by the cracking of their whips, would have frightened the devil himself; and these worthies, knowing the hounds would catch them up in due time, resolved themselves into a hunt for the present, and pursued the animal themselves. ten minutes having expired and the hounds seeming likely to break away, jonathan thought it advisable to let them have their wicked will, and accordingly they rushed off in full cry to the spot where the deer had been uncarted. of course, there was no trouble in casting for the scent; indeed they were very honest, and did not pretend to any mystery; the hounds knew within an inch where it would be, and the start was pretty much like that for a hunter's plate in four-mile heats. a few dashing blades rode before the hounds at starting, but otherwise the field was tolerably quiet, and was considerably diminished after the three first leaps. the scent improved, as did the pace, and presently they got into a lane along which they rattled for five miles as hard as ever they could lay legs to the ground, throwing the mud into each other's faces, until each man looked as if he was roughcast. a kentish wagon, drawn by six oxen, taking up the whole of the lane, had obliged the dear animal to take to the fields again, where, at the first fence, most of our high-mettled racers stood still. in truth, it was rather a nasty place, a yawning ditch, with a mud bank and a rotten landing. "now, who's for it? go it, jorrocks, you're a fox-hunter," said one, who, erecting himself in his stirrups, was ogling the opposite side. "i don't like it," said jorrocks; "is never a gate near?" "oh yes, at the bottom of the field," and away they all tore for it. the hounds now had got out of sight, but were heard running in cover at the bottom of the turnip-field into which they had just passed, and also the clattering of horses' hoofs on the highway. the hounds came out several times on to the road, evidently carrying the scent, but as often threw up and returned into the cover. the huntsman was puzzled at last; and quite convinced that the deer was not in the wood, he called them out, and proceeded to make a cast, followed by the majority of the field. they trotted about at a brisk pace, first to the right, then to the left, afterwards to the north, and then to the south, over grass, fallow, turnips, potatoes, and flints, through three farmyards, round two horse-ponds, and at the back of a small village or hamlet, without a note, save those of a few babblers. everyone seemed to consider it a desperate job. they were all puzzled; at last they heard a terrible holloaing about a quarter of a mile to the south, and immediately after was espied a group of horsemen, galloping along the road at full speed, in the centre of which was jorrocks; his green coat wide open, with the tails flying a long way behind that of his horse, his right leg was thrust out, down the side of which he kept applying his ponderous hunting whip, making a most terrible clatter. as they approached, he singled himself out from the group, and was the first to reach the field. he immediately burst out into one of his usual hunting energetic strains. "oh jonathan griffin! jonathan griffin!" said he, "here's a lamentable occurrence--a terrible disaster! oh dear, oh dear--we shall never get to tunbridge--that unfortunate deer has escaped us, and we shall never see nothing more of him--rely upon it, he's killed before this." "why, how's that?" inquired griffin, evidently in a terrible perturbation. "why," said jorrocks, slapping the whip down his leg again, "there's a little girl tells me, that as she was getting water at the well just at the end of the wood, where we lost him, she saw what she took to be a donkey jump into a return post-chaise from the 'bell', at seven oaks, that was passing along the road with the door swinging wide open! and you may rely upon it, it was the deer. the landlord of the 'bell' will have cut his throat before this, for, you know, he vowed wengeance against us last year, because his wife's pony-chaise was upset, and he swore that we did it." "oh, but that's a bad job", said the huntsman; "what shall we do?" "here, tom," calling to the whipper-in, "jump on to the hastings coach" (which just came up), "and try if you can't overtake him, and bring him back, chaise and all, and i'll follow slowly with the hounds." tom was soon up, the coach bowled on, and jonathan and the hounds trotted gently forward till they came to a public-house. here, as they stopped lamenting over their unhappy fate, and consoling themselves with some cold sherry negus, the post-chaise appeared in sight, with the deer's head sticking out of the side window with all the dignity of a lord mayor. "huzza! huzza! huzza!" exclaimed jorrocks, taking off his hat, "here's old tunbridge come back again, huzza! huzza!" "but who's to pay me for the po-chay," said the driver, pulling up; "i must be paid before i let him out." "how much?" says jonathan. "why, eighteen-pence a mile, to be sure, and three-pence a mile to the driver." "no," says jorrocks, "that won't do, yours is a return chay; however, here's five shillings for you, and now, jonathan, turn him out again--he's quite fresh after his ride--and see, he's got some straw in the bottom." old tunbridge was again turned out, with his head towards the town from whence he took his name, and after a quarter of an hour's law, the pack was again laid on. he was not, however, in very good wind, and it was necessary to divide the second chase into two heats, for which purpose the hounds were whipped off about the middle, while the deer took a cold bath, after which he was again set a-going. by half-past three they had accomplished the run; and mr. pegg, of the "sussex arms," having mounted his pegasus, found them at the appointed place by the medway, where old tunbridge's carriage was waiting, into which having handed him, they repaired to the inn, and at five o'clock eighteen of them sat down to a dinner consisting of every delicacy of the season, the lord high keeper in the chair. being all "hungry as hunters," little conversation passed until after the removal of the cloth, when after the king and his majesty's ministers had been drunk, the president gave "the noble, manly sport of stag-hunting," which he eulogised as the most legitimate and exhilarating of all sports, and sketched its progress from its wild state of infancy when the unhappy sportsmen had to range the fields and forests for their uncertain game, to the present state of luxurious ease and elaborate refinement, when they not only brought their deer to the meet, but by selecting the proper animal, could insure a finish at the place they most wished to dine at--all of which was most enthusiastically applauded; and on the speaker's ending, "stag-hunting," and the "surrey staghounds," and "long life to all stag-hunters," were drank in brimming and overflowing bumpers. fox-hunting, hare-hunting, rabbit-hunting, cat-hunting, rat-catching, badger-baiting--all wild, seasonable, and legitimate sports followed; and the chairman having run through his list, and thinking jorrocks was getting rather mellow, resolved to try the soothing system on him for a subscription, the badgering of the morning not having answered. accordingly, he called on the company to charge their glasses, as he would give them a bumper toast, which he knew they would have great pleasure in drinking.--"he wished to propose the health of his excellent friend on his right--mr. jorrocks (applause), a gentleman whose name only required mentioning in any society of hunters to insure it a hearty and enthusiastic reception. he did not flatter his excellent friend when he said he was a man for the imitation of all, and he was sure that when the present company recollected the liberal support he gave to the surrey foxhounds, together with the keenness with which he followed that branch of amusement, they would duly appreciate, not only the honour he had conferred upon them by his presence in the field that morning, and at the table that day, but the disinterested generosity which had prompted him voluntarily to declare his intention of contributing to the future support of the surrey staghounds (immense cheers). he therefore thought the least they could do was to drink the health of mr. jorrocks, and success to the surrey foxhounds, with three times three," which was immediately responded to with deafening cheers. old jorrocks, after the noise had subsided, got on his legs, and with one hand rattling the five-shilling pieces in his breeches-pocket, and the thumb of the other thrust into the arm-hole of his waistcoat, thus began to address them.--"gentlemen," said he, "i'm no orator, but i'm an honest man--(hiccup)--i feels werry (hiccup) much obliged to my excellent friend the lord high keeper (shouts of laughter), i begs his pardon--my friend mr. juggins--for the werry flattering compliment he has paid me in coupling my name (hiccup) with the surrey fox'ounds--a pack, i may say, without wanity (hiccup), second to none. i'm a werry old member of the 'unt, and when i was a werry poor man (hiccup) i always did my best to support them (hiccup), and now that i'm a werry rich man (cheers) i shan't do no otherwise. about subscribing to the staggers, i doesn't recollect saying nothing whatsomever about it (hiccup), but as i'm werry friendly to sporting in all its ramifications (hiccup), i'll be werry happy to give ten pounds to your 'ounds."--immense cheers followed this declaration, which lasted for some seconds. when they had subsided, jorrocks put his finger on his nose and, with a knowing wink of his eye, added: "prowided my friend the lord high keep--i begs his pardon--juggins--will give ten pounds to ours!" v. the turf: mr. jorrocks at newmarket "a muffin--and the _post_, sir," said george to the yorkshireman,--on one of the fine fresh mornings that gently usher in the returning spring, and draw from the town-pent cits sighs for the verdure of the fields,--as he placed the above mentioned articles on his usual breakfast table in the coffee-room of the "piazza." with the calm deliberation of a man whose whole day is unoccupied, the yorkshireman sweetened his tea, drew the muffin and a select dish of prawns to his elbow, and turning sideways to the table, crossed his legs and prepared to con the contents of the paper. the first page as usual was full of advertisements.--sales by auction--favour of your vote and interest--if the next of kin--reform your tailor's bills--law--- articled clerk--an absolute reversion--pony phaeton--artificial teeth--messrs. tattersall--brace of pointers--dog lost--boy found--great sacrifice--no advance in coffee--matrimony--a single gentleman--board and lodging in an airy situation--to omnibus proprietors--steam to leith and hull--stationery--desirable investment for a small capital--the fire reviver or lighter. then turning it over, his eye ranged over a whole meadow of type, consisting of the previous night's debate, followed on by city news, police reports, fashionable arrivals and departures, dinners given, sporting intelligence, newmarket craven meeting. "that's more in my way," said the yorkshireman to himself as he laid down the paper and took a sip of his tea. "i've a great mind to go, for i may just as well be at newmarket as here, having nothing particular to do in either place. i came to stay a hundred pounds in london it's true, but if i stay ten of it at newmarket, it'll be all the same, and i can go home from there just as well as from here"; so saying, he took another turn at the tea. the race list was a tempting one, riddlesworth, craven stakes, column stakes, oatlands, port, claret, sherry, madeira, and all other sorts. a good week's racing in fact, for the saintly sinners who frequent the heath had not then discovered any greater impropriety in travelling on a sunday, then in cheating each other on the monday. the tea was good, as were the prawns and eggs, and george brought a second muffin, at the very moment that the yorkshireman had finished the last piece of the first, so that by the time he had done his breakfast and drawn on his boots, which were dryer and pleasanter than the recent damp weather had allowed of their being, he felt completely at peace with himself and all the world, and putting on his hat, sallied forth with the self-satisfied air of a man who had eat a good breakfast, and yet not too much. newmarket was still uppermost in his mind, and as he sauntered along in the direction of the strand, it occurred to him that perhaps mr. jorrocks might have no objection to accompany him. on entering that great thoroughfare of humanity, he turned to the east, and having examined the contents of all the caricature shops in the line, and paid threepence for a look at the _york herald_, in the chapter coffee-house, st. paul's churchyard, about noon he reached the corner of st. botolph lane. before jorrocks & co.'s warehouse, great bustle and symptoms of brisk trade were visible. with true city pride, the name on the door-post was in small dirty-white letters, sufficiently obscure to render it apparent that mr. jorrocks considered his house required no sign; while, as a sort of contradiction, the covered errand-cart before it, bore "jorrocks & co.'s wholesale tea warehouse," in great gilt letters on each side of the cover, so large that "he who runs might read," even though the errand-cart were running too. into this cart, which was drawn by the celebrated rat-tail hunter, they were pitching divers packages for town delivery, and a couple of light porters nearly upset the yorkshireman, as they bustled out with their loads. the warehouse itself gave evident proof of great antiquity. it was not one of your fine, light, lofty, mahogany-countered, banker-like establishments of modern times, where the stock-in-trade often consists of books and empty canisters, but a large, roomy, gloomy, dirty, dingy sort of cellar above ground, full of hogsheads, casks, flasks, sugar-loaves, jars, bags, bottles, and boxes. the floor was half an inch thick, at least, with dirt, and was sprinkled with rice, currants, and raisins, as though they had been scattered for the purpose of growing. a small corner seemed to have been cut off, like the fold of a leicestershire grazing-ground, and made into an office in the centre of which was a square or two of glass that commanded a view of the whole warehouse. "is mr. jorrocks in?" inquired the yorkshireman of a porter, who was busy digging currants with a wooden spade. "yes, sir, you'll find him in the counting-house," was the answer; but on looking in, though his hat and gloves were there, no jorrocks was visible. at the farther end of the warehouse a man in his shirt-sleeves, with a white apron round his waist and a brown paper cap on his head, was seen under a very melancholy-looking skylight, holding his head over something, as if his nose were bleeding. the yorkshireman groped his way up to him, and asking if mr. jorrocks was in, found he was addressing the grocer himself. he had been leaning over a large trayful of little white cups--with teapots to match--trying the strength, flavour, and virtue of a large purchase of tea, and the beverage was all smoking before him. "my vig," exclaimed he, holding out his hand, "who'd have thought of seeing you in the city, this is something unkimmon! however, you're werry welcome in st. botolph lane, and as this is your first wisit, why, i'll make you a present of some tea--wot do you drink?--black or green, or perhaps both--four pounds of one and two of t'other. here, joe!" summoning his foreman, "put up four pounds of that last lot of black that came in, and two pounds of superior green, and this gentleman will tell you where to leave it.--and when do you think of starting?" again addressing the yorkshireman--"egad this is fine weather for the country--have half a mind to have a jaunt myself--makes one quite young--feel as if i'd laid full fifty years aside, and were again a boy--when did you say you start?" "why, i don't know exactly," replied the yorkshireman, "the weather's so fine that i'm half tempted to go round by newmarket." "newmarket!" exclaimed jorrocks, throwing his arm in the air, while his paper cap fell from his head with the jerk--"by newmarket! why, what in the name of all that's impure, have you to do at newmarket?" "why, nothing in particular; only, when there's neither hunting nor shooting going on, what is a man to do with himself?--i'm sure you'd despise me if i were to go fishing." "true," observed mr. jorrocks somewhat subdued, and jingling the silver in his breeches-pocket. "fox-'unting is indeed the prince of sports. the image of war, without its guilt, and only half its danger. i confess that i'm a martyr to it--a perfect wictim--no one knows wot i suffer from my ardour.--if ever i'm wisited with the last infirmity of noble minds, it will be caused by my ingovernable passion for the chase. the sight of a saddle makes me sweat. an 'ound makes me perfectly wild. a red coat throws me into a scarlet fever. never throughout life have i had a good night's rest before an 'unting morning. but werry little racing does for me; sadler's wells is well enough of a fine summer evening--especially when they plump the clown over head in the new river cut, and the ponies don't misbehave in the circus,--but oh! newmarket's a dreadful place, the werry name's a sickener. i used to hear a vast about it from poor will softly of friday street. it was the ruin of him--and wot a fine business his father left him, both wholesale and retail, in the tripe and cow-heel line--all went in two years, and he had nothing to show at the end of that time for upwards of twenty thousand golden sovereigns, but a hundredweight of children's lamb's-wool socks, and warrants for thirteen hogsheads of damaged sherry in the docks. no, take my adwice, and have nothing to say to them--stay where you are, or, if you're short of swag, come to great coram street, where you shall have a bed, wear-and-tear for your teeth, and all that sort of thing found you, and, if saturday's a fine day, i'll treat you with a jaunt to margate." "you are a regular old trump," said the yorkshireman, after listening attentively until mr. jorrocks had exhausted himself, "but, you see, you've never been at newmarket, and the people have been hoaxing you about it. i can assure you from personal experience that the people there are quite as honest as those you meet every day on 'change, besides which, there is nothing more invigorating to the human frame--nothing more cheering to the spirits, than the sight and air of newmarket heath on a fine fresh spring morning like the present. the wind seems to go by you at a racing pace, and the blood canters up and down the veins with the finest and freest action imaginable. a stranger to the race-course would feel, and almost instinctively know, what turf he was treading, and the purpose for which that turf was intended". "there's a magic in the web of it." "oh, i knows you are a most persuasive cock," observed mr. jorrocks interrupting the yorkshireman, "and would conwince the devil himself that black is white, but you'll never make me believe the newmarket folks are honest, and as to the fine hair (air) you talk of, there's quite as good to get on hampstead heath, and if it doesn't make the blood canter up and down your weins, you can always amuse yourself by watching the donkeys cantering up and down with the sweet little children--haw! haw! haw!--but tell me what is there at newmarket that should take a man there?" "what is there?" rejoined the yorkshireman, "why, there's everything that makes life desirable and constitutes happiness, in this world, except hunting. first there is the beautiful, neat, clean town, with groups of booted professors, ready for the rapidest march of intellect; then there are the strings of clothed horses--the finest in the world--passing indolently at intervals to their exercise,--the flower of the english aristocracy residing in the place. you leave the town and stroll to the wide open heath, where all is brightness and space; the white rails stand forth against the dear blue sky--the brushing gallop ever and anon startles the ear and eye; crowds of stable urchins, full of silent importance, stud the heath; you feel elated and long to bound over the well groomed turf and to try the speed of the careering wind. all things at newmarket train the mind to racing. life seems on the start, and dull indeed were he who could rein in his feelings when such inspiring objects meet together to madden them!" "bravo!" exclaimed jorrocks, throwing his paper cap in the air as the yorkshireman concluded.--"bravo!--werry good indeed! you speak like ten lord mayors--never heard nothing better. dash my vig, if i won't go. by jove, you've done it. tell me one thing--is there a good place to feed at?" "capital!" replied the yorkshireman, "beef, mutton, cheese, ham, all the delicacies of the season, as the sailor said"; and thereupon the yorkshireman and jorrocks shook hands upon the bargain. sunday night arrived, and with it arrived, at the "belle sauvage," in ludgate hill, mr. jorrocks's boy "binjimin," with mr. jorrocks's carpet-bag; and shortly after mr. jorrocks, on his chestnut hunter, and the yorkshireman, in a hack cab, entered the yard. having consigned his horse to binjimin; after giving him a very instructive lesson relative to the manner in which he would chastise him if he heard of his trotting or playing any tricks with the horse on his way home, mr. jorrocks proceeded to pay the remainder of his fare in the coach office. the mail was full inside and out, indeed the book-keeper assured him he could have filled a dozen more, so anxious ware all london to see the riddlesworth run. "inside," said he, "are you and your friend, and if it wern't that the night air might give you cold, mr. jorrocks" (for all the book-keepers in london know him), "i should have liked to have got you outsides, and i tried to make an exchange with two black-legs, but they would hear of nothing less than two guineas a head, which wouldn't do, you know. here comes another of your passengers--a great foreign nobleman, they say--baron something--though he looks as much like a foreign pickpocket as anything else." "vich be de voiture?" inquired a tall, gaunt-looking foreigner, with immense moustache, a high conical hat with a bright buckle, long, loose, blueish-blackish frock-coat, very short white waistcoat, baggy brownish striped trousers, and long-footed wellington boots, with a sort of chinese turn up at the toe. "vich be de newmarket voiture?" said he, repeating the query, as he entered the office and deposited a silk umbrella, a camlet cloak, and a swiss knapsack on the counter. the porter, without any attempt at an answer, took his goods and walked off to the mail, followed closely by the baron, and after depositing the cloak inside, so that the baron might ride with his "face to the horses," as the saying is, he turned the knapsack into the hind boot, and swung himself into the office till it was time to ask for something for his exertions. meanwhile the baron made a tour of the yard, taking a lesson in english from the lettering on the various coaches, when, on the hind boot of one, he deciphered the word cheapside.--"ah, cheapside!" said he, pulling out his dictionary and turning to the letter c. "chaste, chat, chaw,--cheap, dat be it. cheap,--to be had at a low price--small value. ah! i hev (have) it," said he, stamping and knitting his brows, "sacré-e-e-e-e nom de dieu," and the first word being drawn out to its usual longitude, three strides brought him and the conclusion of the oath into the office together. he then opened out upon the book-keeper, in a tremendous volley of french, english and hanoverian oaths, for he was a cross between the first and last named countries, the purport of which was "dat he had paid de best price, and he be dem if he vod ride on de cheapside of de coach." in vain the clerks and book-keepers tried to convince him he was wrong in his interpretation. with the full conviction of a foreigner that he was about to be cheated, he had his cloak shifted to the opposite side of the coach, and the knapsack placed on the roof. the fourth inside having cast up, the outside passengers mounted, the insides took their places, three-pences and sixpences were pulled out for the porters, the guard twanged his horn, the coachman turned out his elbow, flourished his whip, caught the point, cried "all right! sit tight!" and trotted out of the yard. jorrocks and the yorkshireman sat opposite each other, the baron and old sam spring, the betting man, did likewise. who doesn't know old sam, with his curious tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles, his old drab hat turned up with green, careless neckcloth, flowing robe, and comical cut? he knew jorrocks--though--tell it not in coram street, he didn't know his name; but concluded from the disparity of age between him and his companion, that jorrocks was either a shark or a shark's jackal, and the yorkshireman a victim. with due professional delicacy, he contented himself with scrutinising the latter through his specs. the baron's choler having subsided, he was the first to break the ice of silence. "foine noight," was the observation, which was thrown out promiscuously to see who would take it up. now sam spring, though he came late, had learned from the porter that there was a baron in the coach, and being a great admirer of the nobility, for whose use he has a code of signals of his own, consisting of one finger to his hat for a baron lord as he calls them, two for a viscount, three for an earl, four for a marquis, and the whole hand for a duke, he immediately responded with "yes, my lord," with a fore-finger to his hat. there is something sweet in the word "lord" which finds its way home to the heart of an englishman. no sooner did sam pronounce it, than the baron became transformed in jorrocks's eyes into a very superior sort of person, and forthwith he commences ingratiating himself by offering him a share of a large paper of sandwiches, which the baron accepted with the greatest condescension, eating what he could and stuffing the remainder into his hat. his lordship was a better hand at eating than speaking, and the united efforts of the party could not extract from him the precise purport of his journey. sam threw out two or three feasible offers in the way of bets, but they fell still-born to the bottom of the coach, and jorrocks talked to him about hunting and had the conversation all to himself, the baron merely replying with a bow and a stare, sometimes diversified with, or "i tank you--vare good." the conversation by degrees resolved itself into a snore, in which they were all indulging, when the raw morning air rushed in among them, as a porter with a lanthorn opened the door and announced their arrival at newmarket. forthwith they turned into the street, and the outside passengers having descended, they all commenced straddling, yawning, and stretching their limbs while the guard and porters sorted their luggage. the yorkshireman having an eye to a bed, speedily had mr. jorrocks's luggage and his own on the back of a porter on its way to the "rutland arms," while that worthy citizen followed in a sort of sleepy astonishment at the smallness of the place, inquiring if they were sure they had not stopped at some village by mistake. two beds had been ordered for two gentlemen who could not get two seats by the mail, which fell to the lot of those who did, and into these our heroes trundled, having arranged to be called by the early exercising hour. whether it was from want of his usual night-cap of brandy and water, or the fatigues of travelling, or what else, remains unknown, but no sooner was mr. jorrocks left alone with his candle, than all at once he was seized with a sudden fit of trepidation, on thinking that he should have been inveigled to such a place as newmarket, and the tremor increasing as he pulled four five-pound bank-notes out of his watch-pocket, besides a vast of silver and his great gold watch, he was resolved, should an attempt be made upon his property, to defend it with his life, and having squeezed the notes into the toe of his boots, and hid the silver in the wash-hand stand, he very deliberately put his watch and the poker under the pillow, and set the heavy chest of drawers with two stout chairs and a table against the door, after all which exertions he got into bed and very soon fell sound asleep. most of the inmates of the house were up with the lark to the early exercises, and the yorkshireman was as early as any of them. having found mr. jorrocks's door, he commenced a loud battery against it without awaking the grocer; he then tried to open it, but only succeeded in getting it an inch or two from the post, and after several holloas of "jorrocks, my man! mr. jorrocks! jorrocks, old boy! holloa, jorrocks!" he succeeded in extracting the word "wot?" from the worthy gentleman as he rolled over in his bed. "jorrocks!" repeated the yorkshireman, "it's time to be up." "wot?" again was the answer. "time to get up. the morning's breaking." "let it break," replied he, adding in a mutter, as he turned over again, "it owes me nothing." entreaties being useless, and a large party being on the point of setting off, the yorkshireman joined them, and spent a couple of hours on the dew-bespangled heath, during which time they not only criticised the figure and action of every horse that was out, but got up tremendous appetites for breakfast. in the meantime mr. jorrocks had risen, and having attired himself with his usual care, in a smart blue coat with metal buttons, buff waistcoat, blue stocking-netted tights, and hessian boots, he turned into the main street of newmarket, where he was lost in astonishment at the insignificance of the place. but wiser men than mr. jorrocks have been similarly disappointed, for it enters into the philosophy of few to conceive the fame and grandeur of newmarket compressed into the limits of the petty, outlandish, icelandish place that bears the name. "dash my vig," said mr. jorrocks, as he brought himself to bear upon rogers's shop-window, "this is the werry meanest town i ever did see. pray, sir," addressing himself to a groomish-looking man in a brown cut-away coat, drab shorts and continuations, who had just emerged from the shop with a race list in his hand, "pray, sir, be this your principal street?" the man eyed him with a mixed look of incredulity and contempt. at length, putting his thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat, he replied, "i bet a crown you know as well as i do." "done," said mr. jorrocks holding out his hand. "no--i won't do that," replied the man, "but i'll tell you what i'll do with you,--i'll lay you two to one, in fives or fifties if you like, that you knew before you axed, and that thunderbolt don't win the riddlesworth." "really," said mr. jorrocks, "i'm not a betting man." "then, wot the 'ell business have you at newmarket?" was all the answer he got. disgusted with such inhospitable impertinence, mr. jorrocks turned on his heel and walked away. before the "white hart" inn was a smartish pony phaeton, in charge of a stunted stable lad. "i say, young chap," inquired jorrocks, "whose is that?" "how did you know that i was a young chap?" inquired the abortion turning round. "guessed it," replied jorrocks, chuckling at his own wit. "then guess whose it is." "pray, are your clocks here by london time?" he asked of a respectable elderly-looking man whom he saw turn out of the entry leading to the kingston rooms, and take the usual survey first up the town and then down it, and afterwards compose his hands in his breeches-pockets, there to stand to see the "world." [ ] "come now, old 'un--none o' your tricks here--you've got a match on against time, i suppose," was all the answer he could get after the man (old r--n the ex-flagellator) had surveyed him from head to foot. [footnote : newmarket or london--it's all the same--"the world" is but composed of one's own acquaintance.] we need hardly say after all these rebuffs that when mr. jorrocks met the yorkshireman, he was not in the best possible humour; indeed, to say nothing of the extreme sharpness and suspicion of the people, we know of no place where a man, not fond of racing, is so completely out of his element as at newmarket, for with the exception of a little "elbow shaking" in the evening, there is literally and truly nothing else to do. it is "heath," "ditch in," "abingdon mile," "t.y.c. stakes," "sweepstakes," "handicaps," "bet," "lay," "take," "odds," "evens," morning, noon and night. mr. jorrocks made bitter complaints during the breakfast, and some invidious comparisons between racing men and fox-hunters, which, however, became softer towards the close, as he got deeper in the delicacy of a fine cambridge brawn. nature being at length appeased, he again thought of turning out, to have a look, as he said, at the shows on the course, but the appearance of his friend the baron opposite the window, put it out of his head, and he sallied forth to join him. the baron was evidently incog.: for he had on the same short dirty-white waistcoat, chinese boots, and conical hat, that he travelled down in, and being a stranger in the land, of course he was uncommonly glad to pick up jorrocks, so after he had hugged him a little, called him a "bon garçon," and a few other endearing terms, he run his great long arm through his, and walked him down street, the whole peregrinations of newmarket being comprised in the words "up street" and "down." he then communicated in most unrepresentable language, that he was on his way to buy "an 'oss," and jorrocks informing him that he was a perfect connoisseur in the article, the baron again assured him of his distinguished consideration. they were met by joe rogers the trainer with a ring-key in his hand, who led the way to the stable, and having unlocked a box in which was a fine slapping four-year old, according to etiquette he put his hat in a corner, took a switch in one hand, laid hold of the horse's head with the other, while the lad in attendance stripped off its clothes. the baron then turned up his wrists, and making a curious noise in his throat, proceeded to pass his hand down each leg, and along its back, after which he gave it a thump in the belly and squeezed its throat, when, being as wise as he was at starting, he stuck his thumb in his side, and took a mental survey of the whole.--"ah," said he at length--"foin 'oss,--foin 'oss; vot ears he has?" "oh," said rogers, "they show breeding." "non, non, i say vot ears he has?" "well, but he carries them well," was the answer. "non, non," stamping, "i say vot ears (years) he has?" "oh, hang it, i twig--four years old." then the baron took another long look at him. at length he resumed, "i vill my wet." "what's that?" inquired rogers of jorrocks. "his wet--why, a drink to be sure," and thereupon rogers went to the pump and brought a glass of pure water, which the baron refused with becoming indignation. "non, non," said he stamping, "i vill my wet." rogers looked at jorrocks, and jorrocks looked at rogers, but neither rogers nor jorrocks understood him. "i vill my wet," repeated the baron with vehemence. "he must want some brandy in it," observed mr. jorrocks, judging of the baron by himself, and thereupon the lad was sent for three-penn'orth. when it arrived, the baron dashed it out of his hand with a prolonged sacré-e-e-e--! adding "i vill von wet-tin-nin-na-ary surgeon." the boy was dispatched for one, and on his arrival the veterinary surgeon went through the process that the baron had attempted, and not being a man of many words, he just gave the baron a nod at the end. "how moch?" inquked the baron of rogers. "five hundred," was the answer. "vot, five hundred livre?" "oh d----n it, you may take or leave him, just as you like, but you won't get him for less." the "vet" explained that the baron wished to know whether it was five hundred francs (french ten-pences), or five hundred guineas english money, and being informed that it was the latter, he gave his conical hat a thrust on his brow, and bolted out of the box. but race hour approaches, and people begin to assemble in groups before the "rooms," while tax-carts, pony-gigs, post-chaises, the usual aristocratical accompaniments of newmarket, come dribbling at intervals into the town. here is old sam spring in a spring-cart, driven by a ploughboy in fustian, there the earl of---- on a ten-pound pony, with the girths elegantly parted to prevent the saddle slipping over its head, while miss----, his jockey's daughter, dashes by him in a phaeton with a powdered footman, and the postilion in scarlet and leathers, with a badge on his arm. old crockey puts on his greatcoat, jem bland draws the yellow phaeton and greys to the gateway of the "white hart," to take up his friend crutch robinson; zac, jack and another, have just driven on in a fly. in short, it's a brilliant meeting! besides four coronetted carriages with post-horses, there are three phaetons-and-pair; a thing that would have been a phaeton if they'd have let it; general grosvenor's dog-carriage, that is to say, his carriage with a dog upon it; lady chesterfield and the hon. mrs. anson in a pony phaeton with an out-rider (miss---- will have one next meeting instead of the powdered footman); tattersall in his double carriage driving without bearing-reins; old theobald in leather breeches and a buggy; five bury butchers in a tax-cart; young dutch sam on a pony; "short-odds richards" on a long-backed crocodile-looking rosinante; and no end of pedestrians. but where is mr. jorrocks all this time? why eating brawn in the "rutland arms" with his friend the baron, perfectly unconscious that all these passers-by were not the daily visables of the place. "dash my vig," said he, as he bolted another half of the round, "i see no symptoms of a stir. come, my lord, do me the honour to take another glass of sherry." his lordship was nothing loath, so by mutual entreaties they finished the bottle, besides a considerable quantity of porter. a fine, fat, chestnut, long-tailed suffolk punch cart mare--fresh from the plough--having been considerately provided by the yorkshireman for mr. jorrocks, with a cob for himself, they proceeded to mount in the yard, when mr. jorrocks was concerned to find that the baron had nothing to carry him. his lordship, too, seemed disconcerted, but it was only momentary; for walking up to the punch mare, and resting his elbow on her hind quarter to try if she kicked, he very coolly vaulted up behind mr. jorrocks. now jorrocks, though proud of the patronage of a lord, did not exactly comprehend whether he was in earnest or not, but the baron soon let him know; for thrusting his conical hat on his brow, he put his arm round jorrocks's waist, and gave the old mare a touch in the flank with the chinese boot, crying out--"along me, brave _garçon_, along _ma cher_," and the owner of the mare living at kentford, she went off at a brisk trot in that direction, while the yorkshireman slipped down the town unperceived. the sherry had done its business on them both; the baron, and who, perhaps was the most "cut" of the two, chaunted the _marsellaise_ hymn of liberty with as much freedom as though he were sitting in the saddle. thus they proceeded laughing and singing until the bury pay-gate arrested their progress, when it occurred to the steersman to ask if they were going right. "be this the vay to newmarket races?" inquired jorrocks of the pike-keeper. the man dived into the small pocket of his white apron for a ticket and very coolly replied, "shell out, old 'un." "how much?" said jorrocks. "tuppence," which having got, he said, "now, then, you may turn, for the heath be over yonder," pointing back, "at least it was there this morning, i know." after a volley of abuse for his impudence, mr. jorrocks, with some difficulty got the old mare pulled round, for she had a deuced hard mouth of her own, and only a plain snaffle in it; at last, however, with the aid of a boy to beat her with a furze-bush, they got her set a-going again, and, retracing their steps, they trotted "down street," rose the hill, and entered the spacious wide-extending flat of newmarket heath. the races were going forward on one of the distant courses, and a slight, insignificant, black streak, swelling into a sort of oblong (for all the world like an overgrown tadpole), was all that denoted the spot, or interrupted the verdant aspect of the quiet extensive plain. jorrocks was horrified, having through life pictured epsom as a mere drop in the ocean compared with the countless multitude of newmarket, while the baron, who was wholly indifferent to the matter, nearly had old jorrocks pitched over the mare's head by applying the furze-bush (which he had got from the boy) to her tail while mr. jorrocks was sitting loosely, contemplating the barrenness of the prospect. the sherry was still alive, and being all for fun, he shuffled back into the saddle as soon as the old mare gave over kicking; and giving a loud tally-ho, with some minor "hunting noises," which were responded to by the baron in notes not capable of being set to music, and aided by an equally indescribable accompaniment from the old mare at every application of the bush, she went off at score over the springy turf, and bore them triumphantly to the betting-post just as the ring was in course of formation, a fact which she announced by a loud neigh on viewing her companion of the plough, as well as by unpsetting some half-dozen black-legs as she rushed through the crowd to greet her. great was the hubbub, shouting, swearing, and laughing,--for though the newmarketites are familiar with most conveyances, from a pair of horses down to a pair of shoes, it had not then fallen to their lot to see two men ride into the ring on the same horse,--certainly not with such a hat between them as the baron's. the gravest and weightiest matters will not long distract the attention of a black-leg, and the laughter having subsided without jorrocks or the baron being in the slightest degree disconcerted, the ring was again formed; horses' heads again turn towards the post, while carriages, gigs, and carts form an outer circle. a solemn silence ensues. the legs are scanning the list. at length one gives tongue. "what starts? does lord eldon start?" "no, he don't," replies the owner. "does trick, by catton?" "yes, and conolly rides--but mind, three pounds over." "does john bull?" "no john's struck out." "polly hopkins does, so does talleyrand, also o, fy! out of penitence; beagle and paradox also--and perhaps pickpocket." another pause, and the pencils are pulled from the betting-books. the legs and lords look at each other, but no one likes to lead off. at length a voice is heard offering to take nine to one he names the winner. "it's short odds, doing it cautiously. i'll take eight then," he adds--"sivin!" but no one bites. "what will anyone lay about trick, by catton?" inquires jem bland. "i'll lay three to two again him. i'll take two to one--two ponies to one, and give you a suv. for laying it." "carn't" is the answer. "i'll do it, jem," cries a voice. "no, you won't," from bland, not liking his customer. now they are all at it, and what a hubbub there is! "i'll back the field--i'll lay--i'll take--i'll bet--ponies--fifties--hundreds--five hundred to two." "what do you want, my lord?" "three to one against trick, by catton." "carn't afford it--the odds really arn't that in the ring." "take two--two hundred to one." "no." "crockford, you'll do it for me?" "yes, my lord. twice over if you like. done, done." "do it again?" "no, thank you." "trick, by catton, don't start!" cries a voice. "impossible!" exclaim his backers. "quite true, i'm just from the weighing-house, and----told me so himself." "shame! shame!" roar those who have backed him, and "honour--rascals--rogues--thieves--robbery--swindle--turf-ruined"--fly from tongue to tongue, but they are all speakers with never a speaker to cry order. meanwhile the lads have galloped by on their hacks with the horses' cloths to the rubbing-house, and the horses have actually started, and are now visible in the distance sweeping over the open heath, apparently without guide or beacon. the majority of the ring rush to the white judge's box, and have just time to range themselves along the rude stakes and ropes that guard the run in, and the course-keeper in a shooting-jacket on a rough pony to crack his whip, and cry to half a dozen stable-lads to "clear the course," before the horses come flying towards home. now all is tremor; hope and fear vacillating in each breast. silence stands breathless with expectation--all eyes are riveted--the horses come within descrying distance--"beautiful!" three close together, two behind. "clear the course! clear the course! pray clear the course!" "polly hopkins! polly hopkins!" roar a hundred voices as they near. "o, fy! o, fy!" respond an equal number. "the horse! the horse!" bellow a hundred more, as though their yells would aid his speed, as polly hopkins, o, fy! and talleyrand rush neck-and-neck along the cords and pass the judge's box. a cry of "dead heat!" is heard. the bystanders see as suits their books, and immediately rush to the judge's box, betting, bellowing, roaring, and yelling the whole way. "what's won? what's won? what's won?" is vociferated from a hundred voices. "polly hopkins! polly hopkins! polly hopkins!" replies mr. clark with judicial dignity. "by how much? by how much?" "half a head--half a head," [ ] replies the same functionary. "what's second?" "o, fy!" and so, amid the song of "pretty, pretty polly hopkins," from the winners, and curses and execrations long, loud, and deep, from the losers, the scene closes. the admiring winners follow polly to the rubbing-house, while the losing horses are left in the care of their trainers and stable-boys, who console themselves with hopes of "better luck next time." after a storm comes a calm, and the next proceeding is the wheeling of the judge's box, and removal of the old stakes and ropes to another course on a different part of the heath, which is accomplished by a few ragged rascals, as rude and uncouth as the furniture they bear. in less than half an hour the same group of anxious careworn countenances are again turned upon each other at the betting-post, as though they had never separated. but see! the noble owner of trick, by catton, is in the crowd, and jem bland eyeing him like a hawk. "i say, waggey," cries he (singling out a friend stationed by his lordship), "had you ought on trick, by catton?" "no, jem," roars wagstaff, shaking his head, "i knew my man too well." "why now, waggey, do you know i wouldn't have done such a thing for the world! no, not even to have been made a markiss!" a horse-laugh follows this denunciation, at which the newly created marquis bites his livid lips. [footnote : no judge ever gave a race as won by half a head; but we let the whole passage stand as originally written.--editor.] the baron, who appears to have no taste for walking, still sticks to the punch mare, which mr. jorrocks steers to the newly formed ring aided by the baron and the furze-bush. here they come upon sam spring, whose boy has just brought his spring-cart to bear upon the ring formed by the horsemen, and thinking it a pity a nobleman of any county should be reduced to the necessity of riding double, very politely offers to take one into his carriage. jorrocks accepts the offer, and forthwith proceeds to make himself quite at home in it. the chorus again commences, and jorrocks interrogates sam as to the names of the brawlers. "who be that?" said he, "offering to bet a thousand to a hundred." spring, after eyeing him through his spectacles, with a grin and a look of suspicion replies, "come now--come--let's have no nonsense--you know as well as i." "really," replies mr. jorrocks most earnestly, "i don't." "why, where have you lived all your life?" "first part of it with my grandmother at lisson grove, afterwards at camberwell, but now i resides in great coram street, russell square--a werry fashionable neighbourhood." "oh, i see," replies sam, "you are one of the reg'lar city coves, then--now, what brings you here?" "just to say that i have been at newmarket, for i'm blowed if ever you catch me here again." "that's a pity," replied sam, "for you look like a promising man--a handsome-bodied chap in the face--don't you sport any?" "o a vast!--'unt regularly--i'm a member of the surrey 'unt--capital one it is too--best in england by far." "what do you hunt?" inquired sam. "foxes, to be sure." "and are they good eating?" "come," replied jorrocks, "you know, as well as i do, we don't eat 'em." the dialogue was interrupted by someone calling to sam to know what he was backing. "the bedlamite colt, my lord," with a forefinger to his hat. "who's that?" inquired jorrocks. "that's my lord l----, a baron-lord--and a very nice one--best baron-lord i know--always bets with me--that's another baron-lord next him, and the man next him is a baron-knight, a stage below a baron-lord--something between a nobleman and a gentleman." "and who be that stout, good-looking man in a blue coat and velvet collar next him, just rubbing his chin with the race card--he'll be a lord too, i suppose?" "no,--that's mr. gully, as honest a man as ever came here,--that's crockford before him. the man on the right is mr. c----, who they call the 'cracksman,' because formerly he was a professional housebreaker, but he has given up that trade, and turned gentleman, bets, and keeps a gaming-table. this little ugly black-faced chap, that looks for all the world like a bilious scotch terrier, has lately come among us. he was a tramping pedlar--sold worsted stockings--attended country courses, and occasionally bet a pair. now he bets thousands of pounds, and keeps racehorses. the chaps about him all covered with chains and rings and brooches, were in the duffing line--sold brimstoned sparrows for canary-birds, norwich shawls for real cashmere, and dried cabbage-leaves for cigars. now each has a first-rate house, horses and carriages, and a play-actress among them. yon chap, with the extravagantly big mouth, is a cabinet-maker at cambridge. he'll bet you a thousand pounds as soon as look at you." "the chap on the right of the post with the red tie, is the son of an ostler. he commenced betting thousands with a farthing capital. the man next him, all teeth and hair, like a rat-catcher's dog, is an honourable by birth, but not very honourable in his nature." "but see," cried mr. jorrocks, "lord---- is talking to the cracksman." "to be sure," replies sam, "that's the beauty of the turf. the lord and the leg are reduced to an equality. take my word for it, if you have a turn for good society, you should come upon the turf.--i say, my lord duke!" with all five fingers up to his hat, "i'll lay you three to two on the bedlamite colt." "done, mr. spring," replies his grace, "three ponies to two." "there!" cried mr. spring, turning to jorrocks, "didn't i tell you so?" the riot around the post increases. it is near the moment of starting, and the legs again become clamorous for what they want. their vehemence increases. each man is _in extremis_. "they are off!" cries one. "no, they are not," replies another. "false start," roars a third. "now they come!" "no, they don't!" "back again." they are off at last, however, and away they speed over the flat. the horses come within descrying distance. it's a beautiful race--run at score the whole way, and only two tailed off within the cords. now they set to--whips and spurs go, legs leap, lords shout, and amid the same scene of confusion, betting, galloping, cursing, swearing, and bellowing, the horses rush past the judge's box. but we have run our race, and will not fatigue our readers with repetition. let us, however, spend the evening, and then the "day at newmarket" will be done. mr. spring, with his usual attention to strangers, persuades mr. jorrocks to make one of a most agreeable dinner-party at the "white hart" on the assurance of spending a delightful evening. covers are laid for sixteen in the front room downstairs, and about six o'clock that number are ready to sit down. mr. badchild, the accomplished keeper of an oyster-room and minor hell in pickering place, is prevailed upon to take the chair, supported on his right by mr. jorrocks, and on his left by mr. tom rhodes, of thames street, while the stout, jolly, portly jerry hawthorn fills--in the fullest sense of the word--the vice-chair. just as the waiters are removing the covers, in stalks the baron, in his conical hat, and reconnoitres the viands. sam, all politeness, invites him to join the party. "i tank you," replies the baron, "but i have my wet in de next room." "but bring your wet with you," rejoins sam, "we'll all have our wet together after dinner," thinking the baron meant his wine. the usual inn grace--"for what we are going to receive, the host expects to be paid",--having been said with great feeling and earnestness, they all set to at the victuals, and little conversation passed until the removal of the cloth, when mr. badchild, calling upon his vice, observed that as in all probability there were gentlemen of different political and other opinions present, perhaps the best way would be to give a comprehensive toast, and so get over any debatable ground,--he therefore proposed to drink in a bumper "the king, the queen, and all the royal family, the ministry, particularly the master of the horse, the army, the navy, the church, the state, and after the excellent dinner they had eaten, he would include the name of the landlord of the white hart" (great applause). song from jerry hawthorn--"the king of the cannibal islands".--the chairman then called upon the company to fill their glasses to a toast upon which there could be no difference of opinion. "it was a sport which they all enjoyed, one that was delightful to the old and to the young, to the peer and to the peasant, and open to all. whatever might be the merits of other amusements, he had never yet met any man with the hardihood to deny that racing was at once the noblest and the most legitimate" (loud cheers, and thumps on the table, that set all the glasses dancing), "not only was it the noblest and most legitimate, but it was the most profitable; and where was the man of high and honourable principle who did not feel when breathing the pure atmosphere of that heath, a lofty self-satisfaction at the thought, that though he might have left those who were near and dear to him in a less genial atmosphere, still he was not selfishly enjoying himself, without a thought for their welfare; for racing, while it brought health and vigour to the father, also brought what was dearer to the mind of a parent--the means of promoting the happiness and prosperity of his family--(immense cheers). with these few observations he should simply propose 'the turf,' and may we long be above it"--(applause and, on the motion of mr. spring, three cheers for mrs. badchild and all the little badchildren were called for and given). when the noise had subsided. mr. jorrocks very deliberately got up, amid whispers and inquiries as to who he was. "gentlemen," said he, with an indignant stare, and a thump on the table, "gentlemen, i say, in much of what has fallen from our worthy chairman, i go-in-sides, save in what he says about racing--i insists that 'unting is the sport of sports" (immense laughter, and cries of "wot an old fool!") "gentlemen may laugh, but i say it's a fact, and though i doesn't wish to create no displeasancy whatsomever, yet i should despise myself most confoundedly--should consider myself unworthy of the great and distinguished 'unt to which i have the honour to belong, if i sat quietly down without sticking up for the chase (laughter).--i say, it's one of the balances of the constitution (laughter).--i say, it's the sport of kings! the image of war without its guilt (hisses and immense laughter). he would fearlessly propose a bumper toast--he would give them 'fox-hunting.'" there was some demur about drinking it, but on the interposition of sam spring, who assured the company that jorrocks was one of the right sort, and with an addition proposed by jerry hawthorn, which made the toast more comprehensible, they swallowed it, and the chairman followed it up with "the sod",--which was drunk with great applause. mr. cox of blue hammerton returned thanks. "he considered cock-fighting the finest of all fine amusements. nothing could equal the rush between two prime grey-hackles--that was his colour. the chairman had said a vast for racing, and to cut the matter short, he might observe that cock-fighting combined all the advantages of making money, with the additional benefit of not being interfered with by the weather. he begged to return his best thanks for himself and brother sods, and only regretted he had not been taught speaking in his youth, or he would certainly have convinced them all, that 'cocking' was the sport." "coursing" was the next toast--for which arthur pavis, the jockey, returned thanks. "he was very fond of the 'long dogs,' and thought, after racing, coursing was the true thing. he was no orator, and so he drank off his wine to the health of the company." "steeplechasing" followed, for which mr. coalman of st. albans returned thanks, assuring the company that it answered his purpose remarkably well. then the vice gave the "chair," and the chair gave the "vice"; and by way of a finale, mr. badchild proposed the game of "chicken-hazard," observing in a whisper to mr. jorrocks, that perhaps he would like to subscribe to a joint-stock purse for the purpose of going to hell. to which mr. jorrocks, with great gravity, replied; "sir, i'm d----d if i do." vi. a week at cheltenham: the cheltenham dandy mr. jorrocks had been very poorly indeed of indigestion, as he calls it, produced by tucking in too much roast beef and plum pudding at christmas, and prolonging the period of his festivities a little beyond the season allowed by moore's _almanack_, and having in vain applied the usual remedies prescribed on such occasions, he at length consented to try the cheltenham waters, though altogether opposed to the element, he not having "astonished his stomach," as he says, for the last fifteen years with a glass of water. having established himself and the yorkshireman in a small private lodging in high street, consisting of two bedrooms and a sitting-room, he commenced his visits to the royal spa, and after a few good drenches, picked up so rapidly, that to whatever inn they went to dine, the landlords and waiters were astounded at the consumption of prog, and in a very short time he was known from the "royal hotel" down to hurlston's commercial inn, as the great london cormorant. at first, however, he was extremely depressed in spirits, and did nothing the whole day after his arrival, but talk about the arrangement of his temporal affairs; and the first symptom he gave of returning health was one day at dinner at the "plough," by astonishing two or three scarlet-coated swells, who as usual were disporting themselves in the coffee-room, by bellowing to the waiter for some talli-ho "sarce" to his fish. before this he had never once spoken of his favourite diversion, and the sportsmen cantered by the window to cover in the morning, and back in the afternoon, without eliciting a single observation from him. the morning after this change for the better, he addressed his companion at breakfast as follows: "blow me tight, mr. york, if i arn't regularly renowated. i'm as fresh as an old hat after a shower of rain. i really thinks i shall get over this terrible illness, for i dreamt of 'unting last night, and, if you've a mind, we'll go and see my lord segrave's reynard dog, and then start from this 'ere corrupt place, for, you see, it's nothing but a town, and what's the use of sticking oneself in a little pokey lodging like this 'ere, where there really is not room to swing a cat, and paying the deuce knows how much tin, too, when one has a splendid house in great coram street going on all the time, with a rigler establishment of servants and all that sort of thing. now, you knows, i doesn't grudge a wisit to margate, though that's a town too, but then, you see, one has the sea to look at, whereas here, it's nothing but a long street with shops, not so good as those in red lion street, with a few small streets branching off from it, and as to the prommenard, as they calls it, aside the spa, with its trees and garden stuff, why, i'm sure, to my mind, the clarence gardens up by the regent's park, are quite as fine. it's true the doctor says i must remain another fortnight to perfect the cure, but then them 'ere m.d.'s, or whatever you calls them, are such rum jockeys, and i always thinks they say one word for the patient and two for themselves. now, my chap said, i must only take half a bottle o' black strap a day at the werry most, whereas i have never had less than a whole one--his half first, as i say, and my own after--and because i tells him i take a pint, he flatters himself his treatment is capital, and that he is a wonderful m.d.; but as a man can't be better than well, i think we'll just see what there's to be seen in the neighbourhood, and then cut our sticks, and, as i said before, i should like werry much to see my lord segrave's hounds, in order that i may judge whether there is anything in the wide world to be compared to the surrey, for if i remember right, mr. nimrod described them as werry, werry fine, indeed." having formed this resolution, jorrocks stamped on the floor (for the bell was broken) for the little boy who did the odd jobs of the house, to bring up his hessian boots, into which having thrust his great calves, and replaced the old brown great-coat which he uses for a dressing-gown by a superfine saxony blue, with metal buttons and pockets outside, he pulled his wig straight, stuck his white hat with the green flaps knowingly on his head, and sallied forth for execution as stout a man as ever. knowing that the kennel is near the winchcourt road, they proceeded in that direction, but after walking about a mile, came upon a groom on a chestnut horse, who, returning from the chase, was wetting his whistle at the appropriate sign of the "fox and hounds," and who informed them that they had passed the turning for the kennel, but that the hounds were out, and then in a wood which he pointed out on the hillside about two miles off, into which they had just brought their fox. looking in that direction, they presently saw the summit of one of the highest of the range of hills that encircle the town of cheltenham, covered with horsemen and pedestrians, who kept moving backwards and forwards on the "mountain's brow," looking in the distance more like a flock of sheep than anything else. jorrocks, being all right again and up to anything, proposed a start to the wood, and though he thought they should hardly reach it before the hounds either killed their fox or he broke away again, they agreed to take the chance, and away they went, "best leg first" as the saying is. the cover (queen wood by name, and, as jorrocks found out from somebody, the property of lord ellenborough) being much larger than it at first appeared and the fox but a bad one, they were in lots of time, and having toiled to the top of the wood, jorrocks swaggered in among the horsemen with all the importance of an alderman. for full an hour after they got there the hounds kept running in cover, the fox being repeatedly viewed and the pack continually pressing him. once or twice he came out, but after skirting the cover's edge a few yards turned in again. indeed, there were two foxes on foot, one being a three-legged one, and it was extraordinary how he went and stood before hounds, going apparently very cautiously and stopping every now and then to listen. at last a thundering old grey-backed fellow went away before the whole field, making for the steep declivities that lead into the downs, and though the brow of the hill was covered with foot-people who holloa'd and shouted enough to turn a lion, he would make his point, and only altering his course so as to avoid running right among the mob, he gained the summit of the hill and disappeared. this hill, being uncommonly steep, was a breather for hounds that had been running so long as they had, in a thick cover too, and neither they nor the horses went at it with any great dash. the fox was not a fellow to be caught very easily, and nothing but a good start could have given them any chance, but the hounds never got well settled to the scent, and after a fruitless cast his lordship gave it up, and jorrocks and co. trudged back to cheltenham, j---- highly delighted at so favourable an opportunity of seeing the hounds. indeed, so pleased was he with the turn-out and the whole thing, that finding from skinner, one of the whippers-in, that they met on the following morning at purge down-turnpike, in their best country, forgetting all about his indigestion and the royal spa, he went to newman and longridge, the horse dealers and livery stable keepers and engaged a couple of nags "to look at the hounds upon," as he impressed upon their minds, which he ordered to be ready at nine o'clock. this day he proposed to give the landlord of the "george inn," in the high street, the benefit of his rapacious appetite, and about five o'clock (his latest london hour) they sat down to dinner. the "george" is neither exactly a swell house like the "royal hotel" or the "plough," nor yet a commercial one, but something betwixt and between. the coffee-room is very small, consequently all the frequenters are drawn together, and if a conversation is started a man must be deuced unsociable that does not join in the cry. as three or four were sitting round the fire chatting over their tipple, and jorrocks was telling some of his best bouncers, the door opened and a waiter bowed a fresh animal into the cage, who, after eyeing the party, took off his hat and forthwith proceeded to pull off divers neckcloths, cloaks, great-coats, muffitees, until he reduced himself to about half the size he was on entering. he was a little square-built old man, with white hair and plenty of it, a long stupid red face with little pig eyes, a very long awkward body, and very short legs. he was dressed in a blue coat, buff waistcoat, a sort of baggy grey or thunder-and-lightning trousers, over which he had buttoned a pair of long black gaiters. having "peeled," he rubbed his hands and blew upon them, as much as to say, "now, gentlemen, won't you let me have a smell of the fire?" and, accordingly, by a sort of military revolution, they made a place for him right in the centre. "coldish night i reckon, sir," said jorrocks, looking him over. "very cold indeed, very cold indeed," answered he, rubbing his elbows against his ribs, and stamping with his feet. "i've just got off the top of the liverpool coach, and, i can assure you, it's very cold riding outside a coach all day long--however, i always say that it's better than being inside, though, indeed, it's very little that i trouble coaches at all in the course of the year--generally travel in my own carriage, only my family have it with them in bristol now, where i'm going to join them; but i'm well used to the elements, hunting, shooting, and fishing, as i do constantly." this later announcement made jorrocks rouse up, and finding himself in the company of a sportsman and one, too, who travelled in his own carriage, he assumed a different tone and commenced on a fresh tack--"and pray, may i make bold to inquire what country you hunts in, sir?" said he. "oh! i live in cheshire--mainwaring's country, but melton's the place i chiefly hunt at,--know all the fellows there; rare set of dogs, to be sure,--only country worth hunting in, to my mind." _jorrocks_. rigler swells, though, the chaps, arn't they? recollect one swell of a fellow coming with his upper lip all over fur into our country, thinking to astonish our weak minds, but i reckon we told him out. _stranger_. what! you hunt, do you? _jorrocks_. a few--you've perhaps heard tell of the surrey 'unt? _stranger_. cocktail affair, isn't it? _jorrocks_. no such thing, i assure you. cocktail indeed! i likes that. _stranger_. well, but it's not what we calls a fast-coach. _jorrocks_. i doesn't know wot you calls a fast-coach, but if you've a mind to make a match, i'll bet you a hat, ay, or half a dozen hats, that i'll find a fellow to take the conceit out o' any your meltonians. _stranger_. oh! i don't doubt but you have some good men among you; i'm sure i didn't mean anything offensive, by asking if it was a cocktail affair, but we meltonians certainly have a trick, i must confess, of running every other country down; come, sir, i'll drink the surrey hunt with all my heart, said he, swigging off the remains of a glass of brandy-and-water which the waiter had brought him shortly after entering. _jorrocks_. thank you, sir, kindly. waiter, bring me a bottom o' brandy, cold, without--and don't stint for quantity, if you please. doesn't you think these inns werry expensive places, sir? i doesn't mean this in particular, but inns in general. _stranger_. oh! i don't know, sir. we must expect to pay. "live and let live," is my motto. i always pay my inn bills without looking them over. just cast my eyes at the bottom to see the amount, then call for pen and ink, add so much for waiter, so much for chambermaid, so much for boots, and if i'm travelling in my own carriage so much for the ostler for greasing. that's the way i do business, sir. _jorrocks_. well, sir, a werry pleasant plan too, especially for the innkeeper--and all werry right for a gentleman of fortune like you. my motto, however, is "waste not, want not," and my wife's father's motto was "wilful waste brings woeful want," and i likes to have my money's worth.--now, said he, pulling out a handful of bills, at some places that i go to they charges me six shillings a day for my dinner, and when i was ill and couldn't digest nothing but the lightest and plainest of breakfasts, when a fork breakfast in fact would have made a stiff 'un of me, and my muffin mill was almost stopped, they charged me two shillings for one cake, and sixpence for two eggs.--now i'm in the tea trade myself, you must know, and i contend that as things go, or at least as things went before the barbarian eye, as they call napier, kicked up a row with the hong merchants, it's altogether a shameful imposition, and i wonder people put up with it. _stranger_. oh, sir, i don't know. i think that it is the charge all over the country. besides, it doesn't do to look too closely at these things, and you must allow something for keeping up the coffee-room, you know--fire, candles, and so on. _jorrocks_. but blow me tight, you surely don't want a candle to breakfast by? however, i contends that innkeepers are great fools for making these sort of charges, for it makes people get out of their houses as quick as ever they can, whereas they might be inclined to stay if they could get things moderate.--for my part i likes a coffee-room, but having been used to commercial houses when i travelled, i knows what the charges ought to be. now, this room is snug enough though small, and won't require no great keeping up. _stranger_. no--but this room is smaller than the generality of them, you know. they frequently have two fires in them, besides no end of oil burning.--i know the expense of these things, for i have a very large house in the country, and rely upon it, innkeepers have not such immense profits as many people imagines--but, as i said before, "live and let live." _jorrocks_. so says i, "live and let live"--but wot i complains of is, that some innkeepers charge so much that they won't let people live. no man is fonder of eating than myself, but i don't like to pay by the mouthful, or yet to drink tea at so much a thimbleful. by the way, sar, if you are not previously engaged, i should be werry happy to supply you with red mocho or best twankay at a very reasonable figure indeed for cash? _stranger._ thank you, sir, thank you. those are things i never interfere with--leave all these things to my people. my housekeeper sends me in her book every quarter day, with an account of what she pays. i just look at the amount--add so much for wages, and write a cheque--"live and let live!" say i. however, added he, pulling out his watch, and ringing the bell for the chambermaid, "i hate to get up very early, so i think it is time to go to bed, and i wish you a very good night, gentlemen all." jorrocks gets up, advances half-way to the door, makes him one of his most obsequious bows, and wishes him a werry good night. having heard him tramp upstairs and safely deposited in his bedroom, they pulled their chairs together again, and making a smaller circle round the fire, proceeded to canvass their departed friend. jorrocks began--"i say, wot a regular swell the chap is--a meltonian, too.--i wonders who the deuce he is. wish mr. nimrod was among us, he could tell us all about him, i dare say. i'm blowed if i didn't take him for a commercial gentleman at first, until he spoke about his carriages. i likes to see gentlemen of fortune making themselves sociable by coming into the coffee-room, instead of sticking themselves up in private sitting-rooms, as if nobody was good enough for them. you know melton, mr. york; did you ever see the gentleman out?" "i can't say that i ever did," said his friend, "but people look so different in their red coats to what they do in mufti, that there's no such thing as recognising them unless you had a previous acquaintance with them. the fields in leicestershire are sometimes so large that it requires a residence to get anything like a general knowledge of the hunt, and, you know, northamptonshire's the country for my money, after surrey, of course." "i don't think he is a gentleman," observed a thin sallow-complexioned young man, who, sitting on one side of the fire, had watched the stranger very narrowly without joining in the conversation. "he gives me more the idea of a gentleman's servant, acting the part of master, than anything else." _jorrocks._ oh! he is a gentleman, i'm sure--besides, a servant wouldn't travel in a carriage you know, and he talked about greasing the wheels and all that sort of thing, which showed he was familiar with the thing. "that's very true," replied the youth--"but a servant may travel in the rumble and pay for greasing the wheels all the same, or perhaps have to grease them himself." "well, i should say he's a foolish purse-proud sort of fellow," observed another, "who has come into money unexpectedly, and who likes to be the cock of his party, and show off a little." _jorrocks._ i'll be bound to say you're all wrong--you are not fox-hunters, you see, or you would know that that is a way the sportsmen have--we always make ourselves at home and agreeable--have a word for everybody in fact, and no reserve; besides, you see, there was nothing gammonacious, as i calls it, about his toggery, no round-cut coats with sporting buttons, or coaches and four, or foxes for pins in his shirt. "i don't care for that," replied the sallow youth, "dress him as you will, court suit, bag wig, and sword, you'll make nothing better of him--he's a snob." jorrocks, getting up, runs to the table on which the hats were standing, saying, "i wonder if he's left his castor behind him? i've always found a man's hat will tell a good deal. this is yours, mr. york, with the loop to it, and here's mine--i always writes golgotha in mine, which being interpreted, you know, means the place of a skull. these are yours, i presume, gentlemen?" said he, taking up two others. "confound him, he's taken his tile with him--however, i'm quite positive he's a gentleman--lay you a hat apiece all round he is, if you like!" "but how are we to prove it?" inquired the youth. _jorrocks._ call in the waiter. _youth._ he may know nothing about him, and a waiter's gentleman is always the man who pays him most. _jorrocks._ trust the waiter for knowing something about him, and if he doesn't, why, it's only to send a purlite message upstairs, saying that two gentlemen in the coffee-room have bet a trifle that he is some nobleman--lord maryborough, for instance,--he's a little chap--but we must make haste, or the gentleman will be asleep. "well, then, i'll take your bet of a hat," replied the youth, "that he is not what i call a gentleman." _jorrocks._ i don't know what you calls a gentleman. i'll lay you a hat, a guinea one, either white or black, whichever you like, but none o' your dog hairs or gossamers, mind--that he's a man of dibs, and doesn't follow no trade or calling, and if that isn't a gentleman, i don't know wot is. what say you, mr. york? "suppose we put it thus--you bet this gentleman a hat that he's a meltonian, which will comprise all the rest." _jorrocks._ werry well put. do you take me, sir? a guinea hat against a guinea hat. "i do," said the youth. _jorrocks._ then done--now ring the bell for the waiter--i'll pump him. _enter waiter._ _jorrocks._ snuff them candles, if you please, and bring me another bottom o' brandy-cold, without--and, waiter! here, pray who is that gentleman that came in by the liverpool coach to-night? the little gentleman in long black gaiters who sat in this chair, you know, and had some brandy-and-water. _waiter._ i know who you mean, sir, quite well, the gentleman who's gone to bed. let me see, what's his name? he keeps that large hotel in---- street, liverpool--what's the--here an immense burst of laughter drowned the remainder of the sentence. jorrocks rose in a rage. "no! you double-distilled blockhead," said he, "no such thing--you're thinking of someone else. the gentleman hunts at melton mowbray, and travels in his own carriage." _waiter_. i don't know nothing about melton mowbray, sir, but the last time he came through here on his road to bristol, he was in one of his own rattle-trap yellows, and had such a load--his wife, a nurse, and eight children inside; himself, his son, and an apple-tree on the dickey--that the horses knocked up half-way and... _jorrocks_. say no more--say no more--d----n his teeth and toe-nails--and that's swearing--a thing i never do but on the most outrageous occasions. confounded humbug, i'll be upsides with him, however. waiter, bring the bill and no more brandy. never was so done in all my life--a gammonacious fellow! "there, sir, there's your one pound one," said he, handing a sovereign and a shilling to the winner of the hat. "give me my tile, and let's mizzle.--waiter, i can't wait; must bring the bill up to my lodgings in the morning if it isn't ready.--come away, come away--i shall never get over this as long as ever i live. 'live and let live,' indeed! no wonder he stuck up for the innkeepers--a publican and a sinner as he is. good night, gentlemen, good night." _exit jorrocks_. vii. aquatics: mr. jorrocks at margate the shady side of cheapside had become a luxury, and footmen in red plush breeches objects of real commiseration, when mr. jorrocks, tired of the heat and "ungrateful hurry of the town," resolved upon undertaking an aquatic excursion. he was sitting, as is "his custom always in the afternoon," in the arbour at the farther end of his gravel walk, which he dignifies by the name of "garden," and had just finished a rough mental calculation, as to whether he could eat more bread spread with jam or honey, when the idea of the jaunt entered his imagination. being a man of great decision, he speedily winnowed the project over in his mind, and producing a five-pound note from the fob of his small clothes, passed it in review between his fingers, rubbed out the creases, held it up to the light, refolded and restored it to his fob. "batsay," cried he, "bring my castor--the white one as hangs next the blue cloak;" and forthwith a rough-napped, unshorn-looking, white hat was transferred from the peg to mr. jorrocks's head. this done, he proceeded to the "piazza," where he found the yorkshireman exercising himself up and down the spacious coffee-room, and, grasping his hand with the firmness of a vice, he forthwith began unburthening himself of the object of his mission. "'ow are you?" said he, shaking his arm like the handle of a pump. "'ow are you, i say?--i'm so delighted to see you, ye carn't think--isn't this charming weather! it makes me feel like a butterfly--really think the 'air is sprouting under my vig." here he took off his wig and rubbed his hand over his bald head, as though he were feeling for the shoots. "now to business--mrs. j---- is away at tooting, as you perhaps knows, and i'm all alone in great coram street, with the key of the cellar, larder, and all that sort of thing, and i've a werry great mind to be off on a jaunt--what say you?" "not the slightest objection," replied the yorkshireman, "on the old principle of you finding cash, and me finding company." "why, now i'll tell you, werry honestly, that i should greatly prefer your paying your own shot; but, however, if you've a mind to do as i do, i'll let you stand in the half of a five-pound note and whatever silver i have in my pocket," pulling out a great handful as he spoke, and counting up thirty-two and sixpence. "very good," replied the yorkshireman when he had finished, "i'm your man;--and not to be behindhand in point of liberality, i've got threepence that i received in change at the cigar divan just now, which i will add to the common stock, so that we shall have six pounds twelve and ninepence between us." "between us!" exclaimed mr. jorrocks, "now that's so like a yorkshireman. i declare you northerns seem to think all the world are asleep except yourselves;--howsomever, i von't quarrel with you--you're a goodish sort of chap in your way, and so long as i keep the swag, we carn't get far wrong. well, then, to-morrow at two we'll start for margate--the most delightful place in all the world, where we will have a rare jollification, and can stay just as long as the money holds out. so now good-bye--i'm off home again to see about wittles for the woyage." it were almost superfluous to mention that the following day was a saturday--for no discreet citizen would think of leaving town on any other. it dawned with uncommon splendour, and the cocks of coram street and adjacent parts seemed to hail the morn with more than their wonted energy. never, save on a hunting morning, did mr. jorrocks tumble about in bed with such restless anxiety as cock after cock took up the crow in every gradation of noise from the shrill note of the free street-scouring chanticleer before the door, to the faint response of the cooped and prisoned victims of the neighbouring poulterer's, their efforts being aided by the flutterings and impertinent chirruping of swarms of town-bred sparrows. at length the boy, binjimin, tapped at his master's door, and, depositing his can of shaving-water on his dressing-table, took away his coat and waistcoat, under pretence of brushing them, but in reality to feel if he had left any pence in the pockets. with pleasure mr. jorrocks threw aside the bed-clothes, and bounded upon the floor with a bump that shook his own and adjoining houses. on this day a few extra minutes were devoted to his toilet, one or two of which were expended in adjusting a gold foxhead pin in a conspicuous part of his white tie, and in drawing on a pair of new dark blue stocking-net pantaloons, made so excessively tight, that at starting, any of his newmarket friends would have laid three to two against his ever getting into them at all. when on, however, they fully developed the substantial proportions of his well-rounded limbs, while his large tasselled hessians showed that the bootmaker had been instructed to make a pair for a "great calf." a blue coat, with metal buttons, ample laps, and pockets outside, with a handsome buff kerseymere waistcoat, formed his costume on this occasion. breakfast being over, he repaired to st. botolph lane, there to see his letters and look after his commercial affairs; in which the reader not being interested, we will allow the yorkshireman to figure a little. about half-past one this enterprising young man placed himself in tommy sly's wherry at the foot of the savoy stairs, and not agreeing in opinion with mr. jorrocks that it is of "no use keeping a dog and barking oneself," he took an oar and helped to row himself down to london bridge. at the wharf below the bridge there lay a magnificent steamer, painted pea-green and white, with flags flying from her masts, and the deck swarming with smart bonnets and bodices. her name was the _royal adelaide_, from which the sagacious reader will infer that this excursion was made during the late reign. the yorkshireman and tommy sly having wormed their way among the boats, were at length brought up within one of the vessels, and after lying on their oars a few seconds, they were attracted by, "now, sir, are you going to sleep there?" addressed to a rival nautical whose boat obstructed the way, and on looking up on deck what a sight burst upon the yorkshireman's astonished vision!--mr. jorrocks, with his coat off, and a fine green velvet cap or turban, with a broad gold band and tassel, on his head, hoisting a great hamper out of the wherry, rejecting all offers of assistance, and treating the laughter and jeers of the porters and bystanders with ineffable contempt. at length he placed the load to his liking, and putting on his coat, adjusted his hunting telescope, and advanced to the side, as the yorkshireman mounted the step-ladder and came upon deck. "werry near being over late," said he, pulling out his watch, just at which moment the last bell rang, and a few strokes of the paddles sent the vessel away from the quay. "a miss is as good as a mile," replied the yorkshireman; "but pray what have you got in the hamper?" "in the 'amper! why, wittles to be sure. you seem to forget we are going a woyage, and 'ow keen the sea hair is. i've brought a knuckle of weal, half a ham, beef, sarsingers, chickens, sherry white, and all that sort of thing, and werry acceptable they'll be by the time we get to the nore, or may be before." "ease her! stop her!" cried the captain through his trumpet, just as the vessel was getting into her stride in mid-stream, and, with true curiosity, the passengers flocked to the side, to see who was coming, though they could not possibly have examined half they had on board. mr. jorrocks, of course, was not behindhand in inquisitiveness, and proceeded to adjust his telescope. a wherry was seen rowing among the craft, containing the boatman, and a gentleman in a woolly white hat, with a bright pea-green coat, and a basket on his knee. "by jingo, here's jemmy green!" exclaimed mr. jorrocks, taking his telescope from his eye, and giving his thigh a hearty slap. "how unkimmon lucky! the werry man of all others i should most like to see. you know james green, don't you?" addressing the yorkshireman--"young james green, junior, of tooley street--everybody knows him--most agreeable young man in christendom--fine warbler--beautiful dancer--everything that a young man should be." "how are you james?" cried jorrocks, seizing him by the hand as his friend stepped upon deck; but whether it was the nervousness occasioned by the rocking of the wherry, or the shaking of the step-ladder up the side of the steamer, or mr. jorrocks's new turban cap, but mr. green, with an old-maidish reserve, drew back from the proffered embrace of his friend. "you have the adwantage of me, sir," said he, fidgeting back as he spoke, and eyeing mr. jorrocks with unmeasured surprise--"yet stay--if i'm not deceived it's mr. jorrocks--so it is!" and thereupon they joined hands most cordially, amid exclamations of, "'ow are you, j----?" '"ow are you, g----?" "'ow are you, j----?" "so glad to see you, j----" "so glad to see you, g----" "so glad to see you, j----" "and pray what may you have in your basket?" inquired mr. jorrocks, putting his hand to the bottom of a neat little green-and-white willow woman's basket, apparently for the purpose of ascertaining its weight. "only my clothes, and a little prowision for the woyage. a baked pigeon, some cold maccaroni, and a few pectoral lozenges. at the bottom are my margate shoes, with a comb in one, and a razor in t'other; then comes the prog, and at the top, i've a dickey and a clean front for to-morrow. i abominates travelling with much luggage. where, i ax, is the use of carrying nightcaps, when the innkeepers always prowide them, without extra charge? the same with regard to soap. shave, i say, with what you find in your tray. a wet towel makes an excellent tooth-brush, and a pen-knife both cuts and cleans your nails. perhaps you'll present your friend to me," added he in the same breath, with a glance at the yorkshireman, upon whose arm mr. jorrocks was resting his telescope hand. "much pleasure," replied mr. jorrocks, with his usual urbanity. "allow me to introduce mr. stubbs, mr. green, mr. green, mr. stubbs: now pray shake hands," added he, "for i'm sure you'll be werry fond of each other"; and thereupon jemmy, in the most patronising manner, extended his two forefingers to the yorkshireman, who presented him with one in return. for the information of such of our readers as may never have seen mr. james green, senior junior, either in tooley street, southwark, where the patronymic name abounds, or at messrs. tattersall's, where he generally exhibits on a monday afternoon, we may premise, that though a little man in stature, he is a great man in mind and a great swell in costume. on the present occasion, as already stated, he had on a woolly white hat, his usual pea-green coat, with a fine, false, four-frilled front to his shirt, embroidered, plaited, and puckered, like a lady's habit-shirt. down the front were three or four different sorts of studs, and a butterfly brooch, made of various coloured glasses, sat in the centre. his cravat was of a yellow silk with a flowered border, confining gills sharp and pointed that looked up his nostrils; his double-breasted waistcoat was of red and yellow tartan with blue glass post-boy buttons; and his trousers, which were very wide and cut out over the foot of rusty-black chamois-leather opera-boots, were of a broad blue stripe upon a white ground. a curly, bushy, sandy-coloured wig protruded from the sides of his woolly white hat, and shaded a vacant countenance, which formed the frontispiece of a great chuckle head. sky-blue gloves and a stout cane, with large tassels, completed the rigging of this borough dandy. altogether he was as fine as any peacock, and as vain as the proudest. "and 'ow is mrs. j----?" inquired green with the utmost affability--"i hopes she's uncommon well--pray, is she of your party?" looking round. "why, no," replied mr. jorrocks, "she's off at tooting at her mother's, and i'm just away, on the sly, to stay a five-pound at margate this delightful weather. 'ow long do you remain?" "oh, only till monday morning--i goes every saturday; in fact," added he in an undertone, "i've a season ticket, so i may just as well use it, as stay poking in tooley street with the old folks, who really are so uncommon glumpy, that it's quite refreshing to get away from them." "that's a pity," replied mr. jorrocks, with one of his benevolent looks. "but 'ow comes it, james, you are not married? you are not a bouy now, and should be looking out for a home of your own." "true, my dear j----, true," replied mr. green; "and i'll tell you wot, our principal book-keeper and i have made many calculations on the subject, and being a man of literature like yourself, he gave it as his opinion the last time we talked the matter over, that it would only be avoiding silly and running into crab-beds; which i presume means quod or the bench. unless he can have a wife 'made to order,' he says he'll never wed. besides, the women are such a bothersome encroaching set. i declare i'm so pestered with them that i don't know vich vay to turn. they are always tormenting of me. only last week one sent me a specification of what she'd marry me for, and i declare her dress, alone, came to more than i have to find myself in clothes, ball-and concert-tickets, keep an 'oss, go to theatres, buy lozenges, letter-paper, and everything else with. there were bumbazeens, and challies, and merinos, and crape, and gauze, and dimity, and caps, bonnets, stockings, shoes, boots, rigids, stays, ringlets; and, would you believe it, she had the unspeakable audacity to include a bustle! it was the most monstrous specification and proposal i ever read, and i returned it by the twopenny post, axing her if she hadn't forgotten to include a set of false teeth. still, i confess, i'm tired of tooley street. i feel that i have a soul above hemp, and was intended for a brighter sphere; but vot can one do, cooped up at home without men of henergy for companions? no prospect of improvement either; for i left our old gentleman alarmingly well just now, pulling about the flax and tow, as though his dinner depended upon his exertions. i think if the women would let me alone, i might have some chance, but it worries a man of sensibility and refinement to have them always tormenting of one.--i've no objection to be led, but, dash my buttons, i von't be driven." "certainly not," replied mr. jorrocks, with great gravity, jingling the silver in his breeches-pocket. "it's an old saying, james, and times proves it true, that you may take an 'oss to the water but you carn't make him drink--and talking of 'osses, pray, how are you off in that line?" "oh, werry well--uncommon, i may say--a thoroughbred, bang tail down to the hocks, by phantom, out of baron munchausen's dam--gave a hatful of money for him at tatts'.--five fives--a deal of tin as times go. but he's a perfect 'oss, i assure you--bright bay with four black legs, and never a white hair upon him. he's touched in the vind, but that's nothing--i'm not a fox-hunter, you know, mr. jorrocks; besides, i find the music he makes werry useful in the streets, as a warning to the old happle women to get out of the way. pray, sir," turning to the yorkshireman with a jerk, "do you dance?"--as the boat band, consisting of a harp, a flute, a lute, a long horn, and a short horn, struck up a quadrille,--and, without waiting for a reply, our hero sidled past, and glided among the crowd that covered the deck. "a fine young man, james," observed mr. jorrocks, eyeing jemmy as he elbowed his way down the boat--"fine young man--wants a little of his father's ballast, but there's no putting old heads on young shoulders. he's a beautiful dancer," added mr. jorrocks, putting his arm through the yorkshireman's, "let's go and see him foot it." having worked their way down, they at length got near the dancers, and mounting a ballast box had a fine view of the quadrille. there were eight or ten couple at work, and jemmy had chosen a fat, dumpy, red-faced girl, in a bright orange-coloured muslin gown, with black velvet vandyked flounces, and green boots--a sort of walking sunflower, with whom he was pointing his toe, kicking out behind, and pirouetting with great energy and agility. his male _vis-à-vis_ was a waistcoatless young daniel lambert, in white ducks, and a blue dress-coat, with a carnation in his mouth, who with a damsel in ten colours, reel'd to and fro in humble imitation. "green for ever!" cried mr. jorrocks, taking off his velvet cap and waving it encouragingly over his head: "green for ever! go it green!" and, accordingly, green went it with redoubled vigour. "wiggins for ever!" responded a female voice opposite, "i say, wiggins!" which was followed by a loud clapping of hands, as the fat gentleman made an astonishing step. each had his admiring applauders, though wiggins "had the call" among the ladies--the opposition voice that put him in nomination proceeding from the mother of his partner, who, like her daughter, was a sort of walking pattern book. the spirit of emulation lasted throughout the quadrille, after which, sunflower in hand, green traversed the deck to receive the compliments of the company. "you must be 'ungry," observed mr. jorrocks, with great politeness to the lady, "after all your exertions," as the latter stood mopping herself with a coarse linen handkerchief--"pray, james, bring your partner to our 'amper, and let me offer her some refreshment," which was one word for the sunflower and two for himself, the sea breeze having made mr. jorrocks what he called "unkimmon peckish." the hamper was speedily opened, the knuckle of veal, the half ham, the aitch bone of beef, the dorking sausages (made in drury lane), the chickens, and some dozen or two of plovers' eggs were exhibited, while green, with disinterested generosity, added his baked pigeon and cold maccaroni to the common stock. a vigorous attack was speedily commenced, and was kept up, with occasional interruptions by green running away to dance, until they hove in sight of herne bay, which caused an interruption to a very interesting lecture on wines, that mr. jorrocks was in the act of delivering, which went to prove that port and sherry were the parents of all wines, port the father, and sherry the mother; and that bluecellas, hock, burgundy, claret, teneriffe, madeira, were made by the addition of water, vinegar, and a few chemical ingredients, and that of all "humbugs," pale sherry was the greatest, being neither more nor less than brown sherry watered. mr. jorrocks then set to work to pack up the leavings in the hamper, observing as he proceeded, that wilful waste brought woeful want, and that "waste not, want not," had ever been the motto of the jorrocks family. it was nearly eight o'clock ere the _royal adelaide_ touched the point of the far-famed margate jetty, a fact that was announced as well by the usual bump, and scuttle to the side to get out first, as by the band striking up _god save the king_, and the mate demanding the tickets of the passengers. the sun had just dropped beneath the horizon, and the gas-lights of the town had been considerately lighted to show him to bed, for the day was yet in the full vigour of life and light. two or three other cargoes of cockneys having arrived before, the whole place was in commotion, and the beach swarmed with spectators as anxious to watch this last disembarkation as they had been to see the first. by a salutary regulation of the sages who watch over the interests of the town, "all manner of persons," are prohibited from walking upon the jetty during this ceremony, but the platform of which it is composed being very low, those who stand on the beach outside the rails, are just about on a right level to shoot their impudence cleverly into the ears of the new-comers who are paraded along two lines of gaping, quizzing, laughing, joking, jeering citizens, who fire volleys of wit and satire upon them as they pass. "there's leetle jemmy green again!" exclaimed a nursery-maid with two fat, ruddy children in her arms, "he's a beauty without paint!" "hallo, jorrocks, my hearty! lend us your hand," cried a brother member of the surrey hunt. then there was a pointing of fingers and cries of "that's jorrocks! that's green!" "that's green! that's jorrocks!" and a murmuring titter, and exclamations of "there's simpkins! how pretty he is!" "but there's wiggins, who's much nicer." "my eye, what a cauliflower hat mrs. thompson's got!" "what a buck young snooks is!" "what gummy legs that girl in green has!" "miss trotter's bustle's on crooked!" from the young ladies at miss trimmer's seminary who were drawn up to show the numerical strength of the academy, and act the part of walking advertisements. these observations were speedily drowned by the lusty lungs of a flyman bellowing out, as green passed, "hallo! my young brockley-sprout, are you here again?--now then for the tizzy you owe me,--i have been waiting here for it ever since last monday morning." this salute produced an irate look and a shake of his cane from green, with a mutter of something about "imperance," and a wish that he had his big fighting foreman there to thrash him. when they got to the gate at the end, the tide of fashion became obstructed by the kissings of husbands and wives, the greetings of fathers and sons, the officiousness of porters, the cries of flymen, the importunities of innkeepers, the cards of bathing-women, the salutations of donkey drivers, the programmes of librarians, and the rush and push of the inquisitive; and the waters of "comers" and "stayers" mingled in one common flood of indescribable confusion. mr. jorrocks, who, hamper in hand, had elbowed his way with persevering resignation, here found himself so beset with friends all anxious to wring his digits, that, fearful of losing either his bed or his friends, he besought green to step on to the "white hart" and see about accommodation. accordingly green ran his fingers through the bushy sides of his yellow wig, jerked up his gills, and with a _négligé_ air strutted up to that inn, which, as all frequenters of margate know, stands near the landing-place, and commands a fine view of the harbour. mr. creed, the landlord, was airing himself at the door, or, as shakespeare has it, "taking his ease at his inn," and knowing green of old to be a most unprofitable customer, he did not trouble to move his position farther than just to draw up one leg so as not wholly to obstruct the passage, and looked at him as much as to say "i prefer your room to your company." "quite full here, sir," said he, anticipating green's question. "full, indeed?" replied jemmy, pulling up his gills--"that's werry awkward, mr. jorrocks has come down with myself and a friend, and we want accommodation." "mr. jorrocks, indeed!" replied mr. creed, altering his tone and manner; "i'm sure i shall be delighted to receive mr. jorrocks--he's one of the oldest customers i have--and one of the best--none of your 'glass of water and toothpick' gentleman--real downright, black-strap man, likes it hot and strong from the wood--always pays like a gentleman--never fights about three-pences, like some people i know," looking at jemmy. "pray, what rooms may you require?" "vy, there's myself, mr. jorrocks, and mr. jorrocks's other friend--three in all, and we shall want three good, hairy bedrooms." "well, i don't know," replied mr. creed, laughing, "about their hairiness, but i can rub them with bear's grease for you." jemmy pulled up his gills and was about to reply, when mr. jorrocks's appearance interrupted the dialogue. mr. creed advanced to receive him, blowing up his porters for not having been down to carry up the hamper, which he took himself and bore to the coffee-room, amid protestations of his delight at seeing his worthy visitor. having talked over the changes of margate, of those that were there, those that were not, and those that were coming, and adverted to the important topic of supper, mr. jorrocks took out his yellow and white spotted handkerchief and proceeded to flop his hessian boots, while mr. creed, with his own hands, rubbed him over with a long billiard-table brush. green, too, put himself in form by the aid of the looking-glass, and these preliminaries being adjusted, the trio sallied forth arm-in-arm, mr. jorrocks occupying the centre. it was a fine, balmy summer evening, the beetles and moths still buzzed and flickered in the air, and the sea rippled against the shingly shore, with a low indistinct murmur that scarcely sounded among the busy hum of men. the shades of night were drawing on--a slight mist hung about the hills, and a silvery moon shed a broad brilliant ray upon the quivering waters "of the dark blue sea," and an equal light over the wide expanse of the troubled town. how strange that man should leave the quiet scenes of nature, to mix in myriads of those they profess to quit cities to avoid! one turn to the shore, and the gas-lights of the town drew back the party like moths to the streets, which were literally swarming with the population. "cheapside, at three o'clock in the afternoon," as mr. jorrocks observed, was never fuller than margate streets that evening. all was lighted up--all brilliant and all gay--care seemed banished from every countenance, and pretty faces and smart gowns reigned in its stead. mr. jorrocks met with friends and acquaintances at every turn, most of whom asked "when he came?" and "when he was going away?" having perambulated the streets, the sound of music attracted jemmy green's attention, and our party turned into a long, crowded and brilliantly lighted bazaar, just as the last notes of a barrel-organ at the far end faded away, and a young woman in a hat and feathers, with a swan's-down muff and tippet, was handed by a very smart young man in dirty white berlin gloves, and an equally soiled white waistcoat, into a sort of orchestra above where, after the plaudits of the company had subsided, she struck-up: "if i had a donkey vot vouldn't go." at the conclusion of the song, and before the company had time to disperse, the same smart young gentleman,--having rehanded the young lady from the orchestra and pocketed his gloves,--ran his fingers through his hair, and announced from that eminence, that the spirited proprietors of the bazaar were then going to offer for public competition in the enterprising shape of a raffle, in tickets, at one shilling each, a most magnificently genteel, rosewood, general perfume box fitted up with cedar and lined with red silk velvet, adorned with cut-steel clasps at the sides, and a solid, massive, silver name-plate at the top, with a best patent bramah lock and six chaste and beautifully rich cut-glass bottles, and a plate-glass mirror at the top--a box so splendidly perfect, so beautifully unique, as alike to defy the powers of praise and the critiques of the envious; and thereupon he produced a flashy sort of thing that might be worth three and sixpence, for which he modestly required ten subscribers, at a shilling each, adding, "that even with that number the proprietors would incur a werry heavy loss, for which nothing but a boundless sense of gratitude for favours past could possibly recompense them." the youth's eloquence and the glitter of the box reflecting, as it did at every turn, the gas-lights both in its steel and glass, had the desired effect--shillings went down, and tickets went off rapidly, until only three remained. "four, five, and ten, are the only numbers now remaining," observed the youth, running his eye up the list and wetting his pencil in his mouth. "four, five and ten! ten, four, five! five, four, ten! are the only numbers now vacant for this werry genteel and magnificent rosewood perfume-box, lined with red velvet, cut-steel clasps, a silver plate for the name, best patent bramah lock, and six beautiful rich cut-glass bottles, with a plate glass mirror in the lid--and only four, five, and ten now vacant!" "i'll take ten," said green, laying down a shilling. "thank you, sir--only four and five now wanting, ladies and gentlemen--pray, be in time--pray, be in time! this is without exception the most brilliant prize ever offered for public competition. there were only two of these werry elegant boxes made,--the unfortunate mechanic who executed them being carried off by that terrible malady, the cholera morbus,--and the other is now in the possession of his most christian majesty the king of the french. only four and five wanting to commence throwing for this really perfect specimen of human ingenuity--only four and five!" "i'll take them," cried green, throwing down two shillings more--and then the table was cleared--the dice box produced, and the crowd drew round. "number one!--who holds number one?" inquired the keeper, arranging the paper, and sucking the end of his pencil. a young gentleman in a blue jacket and white trousers owned the lot, and, accordingly, led off the game. the lottery-keeper handed the box, and put in the dice--rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, plop, and lift up--"seven and four are eleven"--"now again, if you please, sir," putting the dice into the box--rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, plop, and lift up--a loud laugh--"one and two make three"--the youth bit his lips;--rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, rattle, plop--a pause--and lift up--"threes!"--"six, three, and eleven, are twenty." "now who holds number two?--what lady or gentleman holds number two? pray, step forward!" the sunflower drew near--green looked confused--she fixed her eye upon him, half in fear, half in entreaty--would he offer to throw for her? no, by jove, green was not so green as all that came to, and he let her shake herself. she threw twenty-two, thereby putting an extinguisher on the boy, and raising jemmy's chance considerably. "three" was held by a youngster in nankeen petticoats, who would throw for himself, and shook the box violently enough to be heard at broadstairs. he scored nineteen, and, beginning to cry immediately, was taken home. green was next, and all eyes turned upon him, for he was a noted hand. he advanced to the table with great sangfroid, and, turning back the wrists of his coat, exhibited his beautiful sparkling paste shirt buttons, and the elegant turn of his taper hand, the middle finger of which was covered with massive rings. he took the box in a _négligé_ manner, and without condescending to shake it, slid the dice out upon the table by a gentle sideway motion--"sixes!" cried all, and down the marker put twelve. at the second throw, he adopted another mode. as soon as the dice were in, he just chucked them up in the air like as many halfpence, and down they came five and six--"eleven," said the marker. with a look of triumph green held the box for the third time, which he just turned upside down, and lo, on uncovering, there stood two--"ones!" a loud laugh burst forth, and green looked confused. "i'm so glad!" whispered a young lady, who had made an unsuccessful "set" at jemmy the previous season, in a tone loud enough for him to hear. "i hope he'll lose," rejoined a female friend, rather louder. "that jemmy green is my absolute abhorrence," observed a third. "'orrible man, with his nasty vig," observed the mamma of the first speaker--"shouldn't have my darter not at no price." green, however, headed the poll, having beat the sunflower, and had still two lots in reserve. for number five, he threw twenty-five, and was immediately outstripped, amid much laughter and clapping of hands from the ladies, by number six, who in his turn fell a prey to number seven. between eight and nine there was a very interesting contest who should be lowest, and hopes and fears were at their altitude, when jemmy green again turned back his coat-wrist to throw for number ten. his confidence had forsaken him a little, as indicated by a slight quivering of the under-lip, but he managed to conceal it from all except the ladies, who kept too scrutinising an eye upon him. his first throw brought sixes, which raised his spirits amazingly; but on their appearance a second time, he could scarcely contain himself, backed as he was by the plaudits of his friend mr. jorrocks. then came the deciding throw--every eye was fixed on jemmy, he shook the box, turned it down, and lo! there came seven. "mr. james green is the fortunate winner of this magnificent prize!" exclaimed the youth, holding up the box in mid-air, and thereupon all the ladies crowded round green, some to congratulate him, others to compliment him on his looks, while one or two of the least knowing tried to coax him out of his box. jemmy, however, was too old a stager, and pocketed the box and other compliments at the same time. another grind of the organ, and another song followed from the same young lady, during which operation green sent for the manager, and, after a little beating about the bush, proposed singing a song or two, if he would give him lottery-tickets gratis. he asked three shilling-tickets for each song, and finally closed for five tickets for two songs, on the understanding that he was to be announced as a distinguished amateur, who had come forward by most particular desire. accordingly the manager--a roundabout, red-faced, consequential little cockney--mounted the rostrum, and begged to announce to the company that that "celebrated wocalist, mr. james green, so well known as a distinguished amateur and conwivialist, both at bagnigge wells, and vite conduit house, london, had werry kindly consented, in order to promote the hilarity of the evening, to favour the company with a song immediately after the drawing of the next lottery," and after a few high-flown compliments, which elicited a laugh from those who were up to jemmy's mode of doing business, he concluded by offering a _papier-maché_ tea-caddy for public competition, in shilling lots as before. as soon as the drawing was over, they gave the organ a grind, and jemmy popped up with a hop, step, and a jump, with his woolly white hat under his arm, and presented himself with a scrape and a bow to the company. after a few preparatory "hems and haws," he pulled up his gills and spoke as follows: "ladies and gentlemen! hem"--another pull at his gills--"ladies and gentlemen--my walued friend, mr. kitey graves, has announced that i will entertain the company with a song; though nothing, i assure you--hem--could be farther from my idea--hem--when my excellent friend asked me,"--"hookey walker!" exclaimed someone who had heard jemmy declare the same thing half a dozen times--"and, indeed, ladies and gentlemen--hem--nothing but the werry great regard i have for mr. kitey graves, who i have known and loved ever since he was the height of sixpennorth of coppers" a loud laugh followed this allusion, seeing that eighteenpenny-worth would almost measure out the speaker. on giving another "hem," and again pulling up his gills, an old kentish farmer, in a brown coat and mahogany-coloured tops, holloaed out, "i say, sir! i'm afear'd you'll be catching cold!" "i 'opes not," replied jemmy in a fluster, "is it raining? i've no umbrella, and my werry best coat on!" "no! raining, no!" replied the farmer, "only you've pulled at your shirt so long that i think you must be bare behind! haw! haw! haw!" at which all the males roared with laughter, and the females hid their faces in their handkerchiefs, and tittered and giggled, and tried to be shocked. "order! order!" cried mr. jorrocks, in a loud and sonorous voice, which had the effect of quelling the riot and drawing all eyes upon himself. "ladies and gentlemen," said he, taking off his cap with great gravity, and extending his right arm, immodest words admit of no defence, for want of decency is want of sense; a couplet so apropos, and so well delivered, as to have the immediate effect of restoring order and making the farmer look foolish. encouraged by the voice of his great patron, green once more essayed to finish his speech, which he did by a fresh assurance of the surprise by which he had been taken by the request of his friend, kitey graves, and an exhortation for the company to make allowance for any deficiency of "woice," inasmuch as how as labouring under "a wiolent 'orseness," for which he had long been taking pectoral lozenges. he then gave his gills another pull, felt if they were even, and struck up: "bid me discourse," in notes, compared to which the screaming of a peacock would be perfect melody. mr. jorrocks having taken a conspicuous position, applauded long, loudly, and warmly, at every pause--approbation the more deserved and disinterested, inasmuch as the worthy gentleman suffers considerably from music, and only knows two tunes, one of which, he says, "is _god save the king_, and the other isn't." having seen his protégé fairly under way, mr. jorrocks gave him a hint that he would return to the "white hart," and have supper ready by the time he was done; accordingly the yorkshireman and he withdrew along an avenue politely formed by the separation of the company, who applauded as they passed. an imperial quart and a half of mr. creed's stoutest draft port, with the orthodox proportion of lemon, cloves, sugar, and cinnamon, had almost boiled itself to perfection under the skilful superintendence of mr. jorrocks, on the coffee-room fire, and a table had been handsomely decorated with shrimps, lobsters, broiled bones, fried ham, poached eggs, when just as the clock had finished striking eleven, the coffee-room door opened with a rush, and in tripped jemmy green with his hands crammed full of packages, and his trousers' pockets sticking out like a dutch burgomaster's. "vell, i've done 'em brown to-night, i think," said he, depositing his hat and half a dozen packages on the sideboard, and running his fingers through his curls to make them stand up. "i've won nine lotteries, and left one undrawn when i came away, because it did not seem likely to fill. let me see," said he, emptying his pockets,--"there is the beautiful rosewood box that i won, ven you was there; the next was a set of crimping-irons, vich i von also; the third was a jockey-vip, which i did not want and only stood one ticket for and lost; the fourth was this elegant box, with a view of margate on the lid; then came these six sherry labels with silver rims; a snuff-box with an inwisible mouse; a coral rattle with silver bells; a silk yard measure in a walnut-shell; a couple of west india beetles; a humming-bird in a glass case, which i lost; and then these dozen bodkins with silver eyes--so that altogether i have made a pretty good night's work of it. kitey graves wasn't in great force, so after i had sung _bid me discourse_, and _i'd be a butterfly_, i cut my stick and went to the hopposition shop, where they used me much more genteelly; giving me three tickets for a song, and introducing me in more flattering terms to the company--don't like being considered one of the nasty 'reglars,' and they should make a point of explaining that one isn't. besides, what business had kitey to say anything about bagnigge vells? a hass!--now, perhaps, you'll favour me with some supper." "certainly," replied mr. jorrocks, patting jemmy approvingly on the head--"you deserve some. it's only no song, no supper, and you've been singing like a nightingale;" thereupon they set to with vigorous determination. a bright sunday dawned, and the beach at an early hour was crowded with men in dressing-gowns of every shape, hue, and material, with buff slippers--the "regulation margate shoeing," both for men and women. as the hour of eleven approached, and the church bells began to ring, the town seemed to awaken suddenly from a trance, and bonnets the most superb, and dresses the most extravagant, poured forth from lodgings the most miserable. having shaved and dressed himself with more than ordinary care and attention, mr. jorrocks walked his friends off to church, assuring them that no one need hope to prosper throughout the week who did not attend it on the sunday, and he marked his own devotion throughout the service by drowning the clerk's voice with his responses. after this spiritual ablution mr. jorrocks bethought himself of having a bodily one in the sea; and the day being excessively hot, and the tide about the proper mark, he pocketed a couple of towels out of his bedroom and went away to bathe, leaving green and the yorkshireman to amuse themselves at the "white hart." this house, as we have already stated, faces the harbour, and is a corner one, running a considerable way up the next street, with a side door communicating, as well as the front one, with the coffee-room. this room differs from the generality of coffee-rooms, inasmuch as the windows range the whole length of the room, and being very low they afford every facility for the children and passers-by to inspect the interior. whether this is done to show the turkey carpet, the pea-green cornices, the bright mahogany slips of tables, the gay trellised geranium-papered room, or the aristocratic visitors who frequent it, is immaterial--the description is as accurate as if george robins had drawn it himself. in this room then, as the yorkshireman and green were lying dozing on three chairs apiece, each having fallen asleep to avoid the trouble of talking to the other, they were suddenly roused by loud yells and hootings at the side door, and the bursting into the coffee-room of what at first brush they thought must be a bull. the yorkshireman jumped up, rubbed his eyes, and lo! before him stood mr. jorrocks, puffing like a stranded grampus, with a bunch of sea-weed under his arm and the dress in which he had started, with the exception of the dark blue stocking-net pantaloons, the place of which were supplied by a flowing white linen kilt, commonly called a shirt, in the four corners of which were knotted a few small pebbles--producing, with the hessian boots and one thing and another, the most laughable figure imaginable. the blood of the jorrockses was up, however, and throwing his hands in the air, he thus delivered himself. "oh gentlemen! gentlemen!--here's a lamentable occurrence--a terrible disaster--oh dear! oh dear!--i never thought i should come to this. you know, james green," appealing to jemmy, "that i never was the man to raise a blush on the cheek of modesty; i have always said that 'want of decency is want of sense,' and see how i am rewarded! oh dear! oh dear! that i should ever have trusted my pantaloons out of my sight." while all this, which was the work of a moment, was going forward, the mob, which had been shut out at the side door on jorrocks's entry, had got round to the coffee-room window, and were all wedging their faces in to have a sight of him. it was principally composed of children, who kept up the most discordant yells, mingled with shouts of "there's old cutty shirt!"--"who's got your breeches, old cock?"--"make a scramble!"--"turn him out for another hunt!"--"turn him again!"--until, fearing for the respectability of his house, the landlord persuaded mr. jorrocks to retire into the bar to state his grievances. it then appeared that having travelled along the coast, as far as the first preventive stationhouse on the ramsgate side of margate, the grocer had thought it a convenient place for performing his intended ablutions, and, accordingly, proceeded to do what all people of either sex agree upon in such cases--namely to divest himself of his garments; but before he completed the ceremony, observing some females on the cliffs above, and not being (as he said) a man "to raise a blush on the cheek of modesty," he advanced to the water's edge in his aforesaid unmentionables, and forgetting that it was not yet high tide, he left them there, when they were speedily covered, and the pockets being full of silver and copper, of course they were "swamped." after dabbling about in the water and amusing himself with picking up sea-weed for about ten minutes, mr. jorrocks was horrified, on returning to the spot where he thought he had left his stocking-net pantaloons, to find that they had disappeared; and after a long fruitless search, the unfortunate gentleman was compelled to abandon the pursuit, and render himself an object of chase to all the little boys and girls who chose to follow him into margate on his return without them. jorrocks, as might be expected, was very bad about his loss, and could not get over it--it stuck in his gizzard, he said--and there it seemed likely to remain. in vain mr. creed offered him a pair of trousers--he never had worn a pair. in vain he asked for the loan of a pair of white cords and top-boots, or even drab shorts and continuations. mr. creed was no sportsman, and did not keep any. the bellman could not cry the lost unmentionables because it was sunday, and even if they should be found on the ebbing of the tide, they would take no end of time to dry. mr. jorrocks declared his pleasure at an end, and forthwith began making inquiries as to the best mode of getting home. the coaches were all gone, steamboats there were none, save for every place but london, and posting, he said, was "cruelly expensive." in the midst of his dilemma, "boots," who is always the most intelligent man about an inn, popped in his curly head, and informed mr. jorrocks that the unity hoy, a most commodious vessel, neat, trim, and water-tight, manned by his own maternal uncle, was going to cut away to london at three o'clock, and would land him before he could say "jack robinson." mr. jorrocks jumped at the offer, and forthwith attiring himself in a pair of mr. creed's loose inexpressibles, over which he drew his hessian boots, he tucked the hamper containing the knuckle of veal and other etceteras under one arm, and the bunch of sea-weed he had been busy collecting, instead of watching his clothes, under the other, and, followed by his friends, made direct for the vessel. everybody knows, or ought to know, what a hoy is--it is a large sailing-boat, sometimes with one deck, sometimes with none; and the unity, trading in bulky goods, was of the latter description, though there was a sort of dog-hole at the stern, which the master dignified by the name of a "state cabin," into which he purposed putting mr. jorrocks, if the weather should turn cold before they arrived. the wind, however, he said, was so favourable, and his cargo--"timber and fruit," as he described it, that is to say, broomsticks and potatoes--so light, that he warranted landing him at blackwall at least by ten o'clock, where he could either sleep, or get a short stage or an omnibus on to leadenhall street. the vessel looked anything but tempting, neither was the captain's appearance prepossessing, still mr. jorrocks, all things considered, thought he would chance it; and depositing his hamper and sea-weed, and giving special instructions about having his pantaloons cried in the morning--recounting that besides the silver, and eighteen-pence in copper, there was a steel pencil-case with "j.j." on the seal at the top, an anonymous letter, and two keys--he took an affectionate leave of his friends, and stepped on board, the vessel was shoved off and stood out to sea. monday morning drew the cockneys from their roosts betimes, to take their farewell splash and dive in the sea. as the day advanced, the bustle and confusion on the shore and in the town increased, and everyone seemed on the move. the ladies paid their last visits to the bazaars and shell shops, and children extracted the last ounce of exertion from the exhausted leg-weary donkeys. meanwhile the lords of the creation strutted about, some in dressing-gowns, others, "full puff," with bags and boxes under their arms--while sturdy porters were wheeling barrows full of luggage to the jetty. the bell-man went round dressed in a blue and red cloak, with a gold hatband. ring-a-ding, ring-a-ding, ring-a-ding, dong, went the bell, and the gaping cockneys congregated around. he commenced--"to be sould in the market-place a quantity of fresh ling." ring-a-ding, ring-a-ding, dong: "the _royal adelaide_, fast and splendid steam-packet, capt. whittingham, will leave the pier this morning at nine o'clock precisely, and land the passengers at london bridge steam-packet wharf--fore cabin fares and children four shillings--saloon five shillings." ring-a-ding, ring-a-ding, dong: "the superb and splendid steam-packet, the _magnet_, will leave the pier this morning at nine o'clock precisely, and land the passengers at the st. catherine docks--fore-cabin fares and children four shillings--saloon five shillings." ring-a-ding, ring-a-ding, dong: "lost at the back of james street--a lady's black silk--black lace wale--whoever has found the same, and will bring it to the cryer, shall receive one shilling reward." ring-a-ding, ring-a-ding, dong: "lost, last night, between the jetty and the york hotel, a little boy, as answers to the name of spot, whoever has found the same, and will bring him to the cryer, shall receive a reward of half-a-crown." ring-a-ding, ring-a-ding, dong: "lost, stolen, or strayed, or otherwise conveyed, a brown-and-white king charles's setter as answers to the name of jacob jones. whoever has found the same, or will give such information as shall lead to the detection and conversion of the offender or offenders shall be handsomely rewarded." ring-a-ding, ring-a-ding, dong: "lost below the prewentive sarvice station by a gentleman of great respectability--a pair of blue knit pantaloons, containing eighteen penny-worth of copper--a steel pencil-case--a werry anonymous letter, and two keys. whoever will bring the same to the cryer shall receive a reward.--_god save the king!"_ then, as the hour of nine approached, what a concourse appeared! there were fat and lean, and short and tall, and middling, going away, and fat and lean, and short and tall, and middling, waiting to see them off; green, as usual, making himself conspicuous, and canvassing everyone he could lay hold of for the _magnet_ steamer. at the end of the jetty, on each side, lay the _royal adelaide_ and the _magnet_, with as fierce a contest for patronage as ever was witnessed. both decks were crowded with anxious faces--for the monday's steamboat race is as great an event as a derby, and a cockney would as lieve lay on an outside horse as patronise a boat that was likely to let another pass her. nay, so high is the enthusiasm carried, that books are regularly made on the occasion, and there is as much clamour for bets as in the ring at epsom or newmarket. "tomkins, i'll lay you a dinner--for three--_royal adelaide_ against the _magnet_," bawled jenkins from the former boat. "done," cries tomkins. "the _magnet_ for a bottle of port," bawled out another. "a whitebait dinner for two, the _magnet_ reaches greenwich first." "what should you know about the _magnet_?" inquires the mate of the _royal adelaide_. "vy, i think i should know something about nauticals too, for lord st. wincent was my godfather." "i'll bet five shillings on the _royal adelaide."_ "i'll take you," says another. "i'll bet a bottom of brandy on the _magnet_," roars out the mate. "two goes of hollands', the _magnet's_ off herne bay before the _royal adelaide."_ "i'll lay a pair of crimping-irons against five shillings, the _magnet_ beats the _royal adelaide_," bellowed out green, who having come on board, had mounted the paddle-box. "i say, green, i'll lay you an even five if you like." "well, five pounds," cries green. "no, shillings," says his friend. "never bet in shillings," replies green, pulling up his shirt collar. "i'll bet fifty pounds," he adds,-getting valiant. "i'll bet a hundred ponds--a thousand pounds--a million pounds--half the national debt, if you like." precisely as the jetty clock finishes striking nine, the ropes are slipped, and the rival steamers stand out to sea with beautiful precision, amid the crying, the kissing of hands, the raising of hats, the waving of handkerchiefs, from those who are left for the week, while the passengers are cheered by adverse tunes from the respective bands on board. the _magnet_, having the outside, gets the breeze first hand, but the _royal adelaide_ keeps well alongside, and both firemen being deeply interested in the event, they boil up a tremendous gallop, without either being able to claim the slightest advantage for upwards of an hour and a half, when the _royal adelaide_ manages to shoot ahead for a few minutes, amid the cheers and exclamations of her crew. the _magnet's_ fireman, however, is on the alert, and a few extra pokes of the fire presently bring the boats together again, in which state they continue, nose and nose, until the stiller water of the side of the thames favours the _magnet_, and she shoots ahead amid the cheers and vociferations of her party, and is not neared again during the voyage. this excitement over, the respective crews sink into a sort of melancholy sedateness, and green in vain endeavours to kick up a quadrille. the men were exhausted and the women dispirited, and altogether they were a very different set of beings to what they were on the saturday. dull faces and dirty-white ducks were the order of the day. the only incident of the voyage was, that on approaching the mouth of the medway, the _royal adelaide_ was hailed by a vessel, and the yorkshireman, on looking overboard, was shocked to behold mr. jorrocks sitting in the stern of his hoy in the identical position he had taken up the previous day, with his bunch of sea-weed under his elbow, and the remains of the knuckle of veal, ham, and chicken, spread on the hamper before him. "stop her?" cried the yorkshireman, and then hailing mr. jorrocks he holloaed out, "in the name of the prophet, figs, what are you doing there?" "oh, gentlemen! gentlemen!" exclaimed mr. jorrocks, brightening up as he recognised the boat, "take compassion on a most misfortunate indiwidual--here have i been in this 'orrid 'oy, ever since three o'clock yesterday afternoon and here i seem likely to end my days--for blow me tight if i couldn't swim as fast as it goes." "look sharp, then," cried the mate of the steamer, "and chuck us up your luggage." up went the sea-weed, the hamper, and mr. jorrocks; and before the hoyman awoke out of a nap, into which he had composed himself on resigning the rudder to his lad, our worthy citizen was steaming away a mile before his vessel, bilking him of his fare. who does not recognise in this last disaster, the truth of the old adage? "most haste, least speed." viii. the road: english and french. "jorrocks's france, in three wolumes, would sound werry well," observed our worthy citizen, one afternoon, to his confidential companion the yorkshireman, as they sat in the veranda in coram street, eating red currants and sipping cold whiskey punch; "and i thinks i could make something of it. they tells me that at the 'west end' the booksellers will give forty pounds for anything that will run into three wolumes, and one might soon pick up as much matter as would stretch into that quantity." the above observation was introduced in a long conversation between mr. jorrocks and his friend, relative to an indignity that had been offered him by the rejection by the editor of a sporting periodical of a long treatise on eels, which, independently of the singularity of diction, had become so attenuated in the handling, as to have every appearance of filling three whole numbers of the work; and mr. jorrocks had determined to avenge the insult by turning author on his own account. the yorkshireman, ever ready for amusement, cordially supported mr. jorrocks in his views, and a bargain was soon struck between them, the main stipulations of which were, that mr. jorrocks should find cash, and the yorkshireman should procure information. accordingly, on the saturday after, the nine o'clock dover heavy drew up at the "bricklayers' arms," with mr. jorrocks on the box seat, and the yorkshireman imbedded among the usual heterogeneous assembly--soldiers, sailors, frenchmen, fishermen, ladies' maids, and footmen--that compose the cargo of these coaches. here they were assailed with the usual persecution from the tribe of israel, in the shape of a hundred merchants, proclaiming the virtues of their wares; one with black-lead pencils, twelve a shilling, with an invitation to "cut 'em and try 'em"; another with a good pocket-knife, "twelve blades and saw, sir"; a third, with a tame squirrel and a piping bullfinch, that could whistle _god save the king_ and the _white cockade_--to be given for an old coat. "buy a silver guard-chain for your vatch, sir!" cried a dark eyed urchin, mounting the fore-wheel, and holding a bunch of them in mr. jorrocks's face; "buy pocket-book, memorandum-book!" whined another. "keepsake--forget-me-not--all the last year's annuals at half-price!" "sponge cheap, sponge! take a piece, sir--take a piece." "patent leather straps." "barcelona nuts. slippers. _morning hurl (herald)._ rhubarb. 'andsome dog-collar, sir, cheap!--do to fasten your wife up with!" "stand clear, ye warmints!" cries the coachman, elbowing his way among them--and, remounting the box, he takes the whip and reins out of mr. jorrocks's hands, cries "all right behind? sit tight!" and off they go. the day was fine, and the hearts of all seemed light and gay. the coach, though slow, was clean and smart, the harness bright and well-polished, while the sleek brown horses poked their heads about at ease, without the torture of the bearing-rein. the coachman, like his vehicle, was heavy, and had he been set on all fours, a party of six might have eat off his back. thus they proceeded at a good steady substantial sort of pace; trotting on level ground, walking up hills, and dragging down inclines. nor among the whole party was there a murmur of discontent at the pace. most of the passengers seemed careless which way they went, so long as they did but move, and they rolled through the garden of england with the most stoical indifference. we know not whether it has ever struck the reader, but the travellers by dover coaches are less captious about pace than those on most others. and now let us fancy our friends up, and down, shooter's hill, through dartford, northfleet, and gravesend--at which latter place, the first foreign symptom appears, in words, "poste aux chevaux," on the door-post of the inn; and let us imagine them bowling down rochester hill at a somewhat amended pace, with the old castle, by the river medway, the towns of chatham, strood and rochester full before them, and the finely wooded country extending round in pleasing variety of hill and dale. as they reach the foot of the hill, the guard commences a solo on his bugle, to give notice to the innkeeper to have the coach dinner on the table. all huddled together, inside and out, long passengers and short ones, they cut across the bridge, rattle along the narrow street, sparking the mud from the newly-watered streets on the shop windows and passengers on each side, and pull up at the "pig and crossbow," with a jerk and a dash as though they had been travelling at the rate of twelve miles an hour. two other coaches are "dining," while some few passengers, whose "hour is not yet come," sit patiently on the roof, or pace up and down the street with short and hurried turns, anxious to see the horses brought out that are to forward them on their journey. and what a commotion this new arrival creates! from the arched doorway of the inn issue two chamber-maids, one in curls the other in a cap; boots, with both curls and a cap, and a ladder in his hand; a knock-kneed waiter, with a dirty duster, to count noses, while the neat landlady, in a spruce black silk gown and clean white apron, stands smirking, smiling, and rubbing her hands down her sides, inveigling the passengers into the house, where she will turn them over to the waiters to take their chance the instant she gets them in. about the door the usual idlers are assembled.--a coachman out of place, a beggar out at the elbows, a sergeant in uniform, and three recruits with ribbons in their hats; a captain with his boots cut for corns, the coachman that is to drive to dover, a youth in a straw hat and a rowing shirt, the little inquisitive old man of the place--who sees all the midday coaches change horses, speculates on the passengers and sees who the parcels are for--and, though last but not least, mr. bangup, the "varmint" man, the height of whose ambition is to be taken for a coachman. as the coach pulled up, he was in the bar taking a glass of cold sherry "without" and a cigar, which latter he brings out lighted in his mouth, with his shaved white hat stuck knowingly on one side, and the thumbs of his brown hands thrust into the arm-holes of his waistcoat, throwing back his single breasted fancy buttoned green coat, and showing a cream coloured cravat, fastened with a gold coach-and-four pin, which, with a buff waistcoat and tight drab trousers buttoning over the boot, complete his "toggery," as he would call it. his whiskers are large and riotous in the extreme, while his hair is clipped as close as a charity schoolboy's. the coachman and he are on the best of terms, as the outward twist of their elbows and jerks of the head on meeting testify. his conversation is short and slangy, accompanied with the correct nasal twang. after standing and blowing a few puffs, during which time the passengers have all alighted, and the coachman has got through the thick of his business, he takes the cigar out of his mouth, and, spitting on the flags, addresses his friend with, "y've got the old near-side leader back from joe, i see." "yes, mr. bangup, yes," replies his friend, "but i had some work first--our gov'rnor was all for the change--at last, says i to our 'osskeeper, says i, it arn't no use your harnessing that 'ere roan for me any more, for as how i von't drive him, so it's not to no use harnessing of him, for i von't be gammon'd out of my team not by none on them, therefore it arn't to never no use harnessing of him again for me." "so you did 'em," observes mr. bangup. "lord bless ye, yes! it warn't to no use aggravising about it, for says i, i von't stand it, so it warn't to no manner of use harnessing of him again for me." "come, smith, what are you chaffing there about?" inquires the landlord, coming out with the wide-spread way-bill in his hands, "have you two insides?" "no, gov'rnor, i has but von, and that's precious empty, haw! haw! haw!" "well, but now get brown to blow his horn early, and you help to hurry the passengers away from my grub, and may be i'll give you your dinner for your trouble," replies the landlord, reckoning he would save both his meat and his horses by the experiment. "ay, there goes the dinner!" added he, just as mr. jorrocks's voice was heard inside the "pig and crossbow," giving a most tremendous roar for his food.--"pork at the top, and pork at the bottom," the host observes to the waiter in passing, "and mind, put the joints before the women--they are slow carvers." while the foregoing scene was enacting outside, our travellers had been driven through the passage into a little, dark, dingy room at the back of the house, with a dirty, rain-bespattered window, looking against a whitewashed blank wall. the table, which was covered with a thrice-used cloth, was set out with lumps of bread, knives, and two and three pronged forks laid alternately. altogether it was anything but inviting, but coach passengers are very complacent; and on the dover road it matters little if they are not. the bustle of preparation was soon over. coats no. , no. , and no. , are taken off in succession, for some people wear top-coats to keep out the "heat"; chins are released from their silken jeopardy, hats are hid in corners, and fur caps thrust into pockets of the owners. inside passengers eye outside ones with suspicion, while a deaf gentleman, who has left his trumpet in the coach, meets an acquaintance whom he has not seen for seven years, and can only shake hands and grin to the movements of the lips of the speaker. "you find it very warm inside, i should think, sir?" "thank ye, thank ye, my good friend; i'm rayther deaf, but i presume you're inquiring after my wife and daughters--they are very well, i thank ye." "where will you sit at dinner?" rejoins the first speaker, in hopes of a more successful hit. "it is two years since i saw him." "no; where will you sit, sir? i said." "oh, john? i beg your pardon--i'm rayther deaf--he's in jamaica with his regiment." "come, waiter, bring dinner!" roared mr. jorrocks, at the top of his voice, being the identical shout that was heard outside, and presently the two dishes of pork, a couple of ducks, and a lump of half-raw, sadly mangled, cold roast beef, with waxy potatoes and overgrown cabbages, were scattered along the table. "what a beastly dinner!" exclaims an inside dandy, in a sable-collared frock-coat--"the whole place reeks with onions and vulgarity. waiter, bring me a silver fork!" "allow me to duck you, ma'am?" inquires an outside passenger, in a facetious tone, of a female in a green silk cloak, as he turns the duck over in the dish. "thank you, sir, but i've some pork coming." "will you take some of this thingumbob?" turning a questionable-looking pig's countenance over in its pewter bed. "you are in considerable danger, my friend--you are in considerable danger," drawls forth the superfine insider to an outsider opposite. "how's that?" inquires the former in alarm. "why, you are eating with your knife, and you are in considerable danger of cutting your mouth".--what is the matter at the far end of the table?--a lady in russet brown, with a black velvet bonnet and a feather, in convulsions. "she's choking by jove! hit her on the back--gently, gently--she's swallowed a fish-bone." "i'll lay five to two she dies," cries mr. bolus, the sporting doctor of sittingbourne. she coughs--up comes a couple of tooth-picks, she having drunk off a green glass of them in mistake. "now hark'e, waiter! there's the guard blowing his horn, and we have scarcely had a bite apiece," cries mr. jorrocks, as that functionary sounded his instrument most energetically in the passage; "blow me tight, if i stir before the full half-hour's up, so he may blow till he's black in the face." "take some cheese, sir?" inquires the waiter. "no, surely not, some more pork, and then some tarts". "sorry, sir, we have no tarts we can recommend. cheese is partiklar good." [enter coachman, peeled down to a more moderate-sized man.] "leaves ye here, if you please, sur." "with all my heart, my good friend." "please to remember the coachman--driv ye thirty miles." "yes, but you'll recollect how saucy you were about my wife's bonnet-box there's sixpence between us for you." "oh, sur! i'm sure i didn't mean no unpurliteness. i 'opes you'll forget it; it was werry aggravising, certainly, but driv ye thirty miles. 'opes you'll give a trifle more, thirty miles." "no, no, no more; so be off." "please to remember the coachman, ma'am, thirty miles!" "leaves ye here, sir, if you please; goes no further, sir; thirty miles, ma'am; all the vay from lunnun, sir." a loud flourish on the bugle caused the remainder of the gathering to be made in dumb show, and having exhausted his wind, the guard squeezed through the door, and, with an extremely red face, assured the company that "time was hup" and the "coach quite ready." then out came the purses, brown, green, and blue, with the usual inquiry, "what's dinner, waiter?" "two and six, dinner, beer, three,--two and nine yours," replied the knock-kneed caitiff to the first inquirer, pushing a blue-and-white plate under his nose; "yours is three and six, ma'am;--two glasses of brandy-and-water, four shillings, if you please sir--a bottle of real devonshire cider."--"you must change me a sovereign," handing one out. "certainly, sir," upon which the waiter, giving it a loud ring upon the table, ran out of the room. "now, gentlemen and ladies! pray, come, time's hup--carn't wait--must go"--roars the guard, as the passengers shuffle themselves into their coats, cloaks, and cravats, and joe "boots" runs up the passage with the ladder for the lady. "now, my dear mrs. sprat, good-bye.--god bless you, and remember me most kindly to your husband and dear little ones --and pray, write soon," says an elderly lady, as she hugs and kisses a youngish one at the door, who has been staying with her for a week, during which time they have quarrelled regularly every night. "have you all your things, dearest? three boxes, five parcels, an umbrella, a parasol, the cage for tommy's canary, and the bundle in the red silk handkerchief--then good-bye, my beloved, step up--and now, mr. guard, you know where to set her down." "good-bye, dearest mrs. jackson, all right, thank you," replies mrs. sprat, stepping up the ladder, and adjusting herself in the gammon board opposite the guard, the seat the last comer generally gets.--"but stay! i've forgot my reticule--it's on the drawers in the bedroom--stop, coachman! i say, guard!" "carn't wait, ma'am--time's hup"--and just at this moment a two-horse coach is heard stealing up the street, upon which the coachman calls to the horse-keepers to "stand clear with their cloths, and take care no one pays them twice over," gives a whistling hiss to his leaders, the double thong to his wheelers, and starts off at a trot, muttering something about, "cuss'd pair-'oss coach,--convict-looking passengers," observing confidentially to mr. jorrocks, as he turned the angle of the street, "that he would rather be hung off a long stage, than die a natural death on a short one," while the guard drowns the voices of the lady who has left her reticule, and of the gentleman who has got no change for his sovereign, in a hearty puff of: rule britannia,--britannia rule the waves. britons, never, never, never, shall be slaves! blithely and merrily, like all coach passengers after feeding, our party rolled steadily along, with occasional gibes at those they met or passed, such as telling waggoners their linch-pins were out; carters' mates, there were nice pocket-knives lying on the road; making urchins follow the coach for miles by holding up shillings and mock parcels; or simple equestrians dismount in a jiffy on telling them their horses' shoes were not all on "before." [ ] towards the decline of the day, dover heights appeared in view, with the stately castle guarding the channel, which seen through the clear atmosphere of an autumnal evening, with the french coast conspicuous in the distance, had more the appearance of a wide river than a branch of the sea. [footnote : this is more of a hunting-field joke than a road one. "have i all my shoes on?" "they are not all on before."] the coachman mended his pace a little, as he bowled along the gentle descents or rounded the base of some lofty hill, and pulling up at lydden took a glass of soda-water and brandy, while four strapping greys, with highly-polished, richly-plated harness, and hollyhocks at their heads, were put to, to trot the last few miles into dover. paying-time being near, the guard began to do the amiable--hoped mrs. sprat had ridden comfortable; and the coachman turned to the gentleman whose sovereign was left behind to assure him he would bring his change the next day, and was much comforted by the assurance that he was on his way to italy for the winter. as the coach approached charlton gate, the guard flourished his bugle and again struck up _rule britannia_, which lasted the whole breadth of the market-place, and length of snargate street, drawing from mr. muddle's shop the few loiterers who yet remained, and causing mr. le plastrier, the patriotic moth-impaler, to suspend the examination of the bowels of a watch, as they rattled past his window. at the door of the "ship hotel" the canary-coloured coach of mr. wright, the landlord, with four piebald horses, was in waiting for him to take his evening drive, and mrs. wright's pony phaeton, with a neat tiger in a blue frock-coat and leathers, was also stationed behind to convey her a few miles on the london road. of course the equipages of such important personages could not be expected to move for a common stage-coach, consequently it pulled up a few yards from the door. it is melancholy to think that so much spirit should have gone unrewarded, or in other words, that mr. wright should have gone wrong in his affairs.--mrs. ramsbottom said she never understood the meaning of the term, "the crown, and bill of rights (wright's)," until she went to rochester. many people, we doubt not, retain a lively recollection of the "bill of wright's of dover." but to our travellers. "now, sir! this be dover, that be the ship, i be the coachman, and we goes no further," observed the amphibious-looking coachman, in a pea-jacket and top-boots, to mr. jorrocks, who still kept his seat on the box, as if he expected, that because they booked people "through to paris," at the coach office in london, that the vehicle crossed the channel and conveyed them on the other side. at this intimation, mr. jorrocks clambered down, and was speedily surrounded by touts and captains of vessels soliciting his custom. "_bonjour,_ me lor'," said a gaunt french sailor in ear-rings, and a blue-and-white jersey shirt, taking off a red nightcap with mock politeness, "you shall be cross." "what's that about?" inquires mr. jorrocks--"cross! what does the chap mean?" "ten shillin', just, me lor'," replied the man. "cross for ten shillings," muttered mr. jorrocks, "vot does the mouncheer mean? hope he hasn't picked my pocket." "i--you--vill," said the sailor slowly, using his fingers to enforce his meaning, "take to france," pointing south, "for ten shillin' in my _bateau_, me lor," continued the sailor, with a grin of satisfaction as he saw mr. jorrocks began to comprehend him. "ah! i twig--you'll take me across the water." said our citizen chuckling at the idea of understanding french and being called a lord--"for ten shillings--half-sovereign in fact." "don't go with him, sir," interrupted a dutch-built english tar; "he's got nothing but a lousy lugger that will be all to-morrow in getting over, if it ever gets at all; and the _royal george_, superb steamer, sails with a king's messenger and dispatches for all the foreign courts at half-past ten, and must be across by twelve, whether it can or not." "please take a card for the _brocklebank_--quickest steamer out of dover--wind's made expressly to suit her, and she can beat the _royal george_ like winking. passengers never sick in the most uproarious weather," cried another tout, running the corner of his card into mr. jorrocks's eye to engage his attention. then came the captain of the french mail-packet, who was dressed much like a new policeman, with an embroidered collar to his coat, and a broad red band round a forage cap which he raised with great politeness, as he entreated mr. jorrocks's patronage of his high-pressure engine, "vich had beat a balloon, and vod take him for half less than noting." a crowd collected, in the centre of which stood mr. jorrocks perfectly unmoved, with his wig awry and his carpet-bag under his arm. "gentlemen," said he, extending his right hand, "you seem to me to be desperately civil--your purliteness appears to know no bounds--but, to be candid with you, i beg to say that whoever will carry me across the herring pond cheapest shall have my custom, so now begin and bid downwards." "nine shillings," said an englishman directly--"eight" replied a frenchman--"seven and sixpence"--"seven shillings"--"six and sixpence"--"six shillings"--"five and sixpence"; at last it came down to five shillings, at which there were two bidders, the french captain and the tout of the _royal george_,--and mr. jorrocks, like a true born briton, promised his patronage to the latter, at which the frenchmen shrugged up their shoulders, and burst out a-laughing, one calling him, "my lor' ros-bif," and the other "monsieur god-dem," as they walked off in search of other victims. none but the natives of dover can tell what the weather is, unless the wind comes directly off the sea, and it was not until mr. jorrocks proceeded to embark after breakfast the next morning, that he ascertained there was a heavy swell on, so quiet had the heights kept the gambols of boreas. three steamers were simmering into action on the london-hotel side of the harbour, in one of which--the _royal george_--two britzkas and a barouche were lashed ready for sea, while the custom-house porters were trundling barrows full of luggage under the personal superintendence of a little shock-headed french commissionnaire of mr. wright's in a gold-laced cap, and the other gentry of the same profession from the different inns. as the _royal george_ lay nearly level with the quay, mr. jorrocks stepped on board without troubling himself to risk his shins among the steps of a ladder that was considerately thrust into the place of embarkation; and as soon as he set foot upon deck, of course he was besieged by the usual myriad of land sharks. first came monsieur the commissionnaire with his book, out of which he enumerated two portmanteaus and two carpet-bags, for each of which he made a specific charge leaving his own gratuity optional with his employer; then came mr. boots to ask for something for showing them the way; after him the porter of the inn for carrying their cloaks and great-coats, all of which mr. jorrocks submitted to, most philosophically, but when the interpreter of the deaf and dumb ladder man demanded something for the use of the ladder, his indignation got the better of him and he exclaimed loud enough to be heard by all on deck, "surely you wouldn't charge a man for what he has not enjoyed!" a voyage is to many people like taking an emetic--they look at the medicine and wish it well over, and look at the sea and wish themselves well over. everything looked bright and gay at dover--the cliffs seemed whiter than ever--the sailors had on clean trousers, and the few people that appeared in the streets were dressed in their sunday best. the cart-horses were seen feeding leisurely on the hills, and there was a placid calmness about everything on shore, which the travellers would fain have had extended to the sea. they came slowly and solemnly upon deck, muffled up in cloaks and coats, some with their passage money in their hands, and took their places apparently with the full expectation of being sick. the french packet-boat first gave symptoms of animation, in the shape of a few vigorous puffs from the boiler, which were responded to by the _royal george_, whose rope was slipped without the usual tinkle of the bell, and she shot out to sea, closely followed by the frenchman, who was succeeded by the other english boat. three or four tremendous long protracted dives, each followed by a majestic rise on the bosom of the waves, denoted the crossing of the bar; and just as the creaking of the cordage, the flapping of the sails, and the nervous quivering of the paddles, as they lost their hold of the water, were in full vigour, the mate crossed the deck with a large white basin in his hand, the sight of which turned the stomachs of half the passengers. who shall describe the misery that ensued? the groans and moans of the sufferers, increasing every minute, as the vessel heaved and dived, and rolled and creaked, while hand-basins multiplied as half-sick passengers caught the green countenance and fixed eye of some prostrate sufferer and were overcome themselves. mr. jorrocks, what with his margate trips, and a most substantial breakfast of beef-steaks and porter, tea, eggs, muffins, prawns, and fried ham, held out as long as anybody--indeed, at one time the odds were that he would not be sick at all; and he kept walking up and down deck like a true british tar. in one of his turns he was observed to make a full stop.--immediately before the boiler his eye caught a cadaverous-looking countenance that rose between the top of a blue camlet cloak, and the bottom of a green travelling-cap, with a large patent-leather peak; he was certain that he knew it, and, somehow or other, he thought, not favourably. the passenger was in that happy mood just debating whether he should hold out against sickness any longer, or resign himself unreservedly to its horrors, when mr. jorrocks's eye encountered his, and the meeting did not appear to contribute to his happiness. mr. jorrocks paused and looked at him steadily for some seconds, during which time his thoughts made a rapid cast over his memory. "sergeant bumptious, by gum!" exclaimed he, giving his thigh a hearty slap, as the deeply indented pock-marks on the learned gentleman's face betrayed his identity. "sergeant," said he, going up to him, "i'm werry 'appy to see ye--may be in the course of your practice at croydon you've heard that there are more times than one to catch a thief." "who are you?" inquired the sergeant with a growl, just at which moment the boat gave a roll, and he wound up the inquiry by a donation to the fishes. "who am i?" replied mr. jorrocks, as soon as he was done, "i'll soon tell ye that--i'm mr. jorrocks! jorrocks wersus cheatum, in fact--now that you have got your bullying toggery off, i'll be 'appy to fight ye either by land or sea." "oh-h-h-h!" groaned the sergeant at the mention of the latter word, and thereupon he put his head over the boat and paid his second subscription. mr. jorrocks stood eyeing him, and when the sergeant recovered, he observed with apparent mildness and compassion, "now, my dear sergeant, to show ye that i can return good for evil, allow me to fatch you a nice 'ot mutton chop!" "oh-h-h-h-h!" groaned the sergeant, as though he would die. "or perhaps you'd prefer a cut of boiled beef with yellow fat, and a dab of cabbage?" an alternative which was too powerful for the worthy citizen himself--for, like sterne with his captive, he had drawn a picture that his own imagination could not sustain--and, in attempting to reach the side of the boat, he cascaded over the sergeant, and they rolled over each other, senseless and helpless upon deck. "mew, mew," screamed the seagulls;--"creak, creak," went the cordage;--"flop, flop," went the sails; round went the white basins, and the steward with the mop; and few passengers would have cared to have gone overboard, when, at the end of three hours' misery, the captain proclaimed that they were running into still water off boulogne. this intimation was followed by the collection of the passage money by the mate, and the jingling of a tin box by the steward, under the noses of the party, for perquisites for the crew. jorrocks and the sergeant lay together like babes in the wood until they were roused by this operation, when, with a parting growl at his companion, mr. jorrocks got up; and though he had an idea in his own mind that a man had better live abroad all his life than encounter such misery as he had undergone, for the purpose of returning to england, he recollected his intended work upon france, and began to make his observations upon the town of boulogne, towards which the vessel was rapidly steaming. "not half so fine as margate," said he; "the houses seem all afraid of the sea, and turn their ends to it instead of fronting it, except yon great white place, which i suppose is the baths"; and, taking his hunting telescope out of his pocket, he stuck out his legs and prepared to make an observation. "how the people are swarming down to see us!" he exclaimed. "i see such a load of petticoats--glad mrs. j---- ain't with us; may have some fun here, i guess. dear me, wot lovely women! wot ankles! beat the english, hollow--would give something to be a single man!" while he made these remarks, the boat ran up the harbour in good style, to the evident gratification of the multitude who lined the pier from end to end, and followed her in her passage. "ease her! stop her!" at last cried the captain, as she got opposite a low wooden guard-house, midway down the port. a few strokes of the paddles sent her up to the quay, some ropes were run from each end of the guard-house down to the boat, within which space no one was admitted except about a dozen soldiers or custom-house officers--in green coats, white trousers, black sugar-loaf "caps," and having swords by their sides--and some thick-legged fisherwomen, with long gold ear-rings, to lower the ladder for disembarkation. the idlers, that is to say, all the inhabitants of boulogne, range themselves outside the ropes on foot, horseback, in carriages, or anyhow, to take the chance of seeing someone they know, to laugh at the melancholy looks of those who have been sick, and to criticise the company, who are turned into the guarded space like a flock of sheep before them. mr. jorrocks, having scaled the ladder, gave himself a hearty and congratulatory shake on again finding himself on terra firma, and sticking his hat jauntily on one side, as though he didn't know what sea-sickness was, proceeded to run his eye along the spectators on one side of the ropes; when presently he was heard to exclaim, "my vig, there's thompson! he owes us a hundred pounds, and has been doing these three years." and thereupon he bolted up to a fine looking young fellow--with mustachios, in a hussar foraging cap stuck on one side of his head, dressed in a black velvet shooting-jacket, and with half a jeweller's shop about him in the way of chains, brooches, rings and buttons--who had brought a good-looking bay horse to bear with his chest against the cords. "thompson," said mr. jorrocks, in a firm tone of voice, "how are you?" "how do ye do, mister jorrocks," drawled out the latter, taking a cigar from his mouth, and puffing a cloud of smoke over the grocer's head. "well, i'm werry well, but i should like to have a few moments' conversation with you." "would ye?" said thompson, blowing another cloud. "yes, i would; you remember that 'ere little bill you got simpkins to discount for you one day when i was absent; we have had it by us a long time now, and it is about time you were taking it up." "you think so, do you, mister jorrocks; can't you renew it? i'll give you a draft on aldgate pump for the amount." "come, none of your funning with me, i've had enough of your nonsense: give me my pewter, or i'll have that horse from under you; for though it has got the hair rubbed off its near knee, it will do werry well to carry me with the surrey occasionally." "you old fool," said thompson, "you forget where you are; if i could pay you your little bill, do you suppose i would be here? you can't squeeze blood out of a turnip, can ye? but i'll tell you what, my covey, if i can't give you satisfaction in money, you shall give me the satisfaction of a gentleman, if you don't take care what you are about, you old tinker. by jove, i'll order pistols and coffee for two to-morrow morning at napoleon's column, and let the daylight through your carcass if you utter another syllable about the bill. why, now, you stare as balaam did at his ass, when he found it capable of holding an argument with him!" and true enough, jorrocks was dumbfounded at this sort of reply from a creditor, it not being at all in accordance with the _lex mercatoria_, or law of merchants, and quite unknown on 'change. before, however, he had time to recover his surprise, all the passengers having entered the roped area, one of the green-coated gentry gave him a polite twist by the coat-tail, and with a wave of the hand and bend of his body, beckoned him to proceed with the crowd into the guard-house. after passing an outer room, they entered the bureau by a door in the middle of a wooden partition, where two men were sitting with pens ready to enter the names of the arrivers in ledgers. "votre nom et designation?" said one of them to mr. jorrocks--who, with a bad start, had managed to squeeze in first--to which mr. jorrocks shook his head. "sare, what's your name, sare?" inquired the same personage. "jorrocks," was the answer, delivered with great emphasis, and thereupon the secretary wrote "shorrock." "--monsieur shorrock," said he, looking up, "votre profession, monsieur? vot you are, sare?" "a grocer," replied mr. jorrocks, which caused a titter from those behind who meant to sink the shop. "marchand-epicier," wrote the bureau-keeper. "quel age avez-vous, monsieur? how old you are, sare?" "two pound twelve," replied mr. jorrocks, surprised at his inquisitiveness. "no, sare, not vot monnay you have, sare, hot old you are, sare." "well, two pound twelve, fifty-two in fact." mr. jorrocks was then passed out, to take his chance among the touts and commissionaires of the various hotels, who are enough to pull passengers to pieces in their solicitations for custom. in boulogne, however, no man with money is ever short of friends; and thompson having given the hint to two or three acquaintances as he rode up street, there were no end of broken-down sportsmen, levanters, and gentlemen who live on the interest of what they owe other people, waiting to receive mr. jorrocks. the greetings on their parts were most cordial and enthusiastic, and even some who were in his books did not hesitate to hail him; the majority of the party, however, was composed of those with whom he had at various tunes and places enjoyed the sports of the field, but whom he had never missed until they met at boulogne. their inquiries were business-like and familiar:--"are ye, jorrocks?" cried one, holding out both hands. "how are ye, my lad of wax? do you still play billiards?--give you nine, and play you for a nap." "come to my house this evening, old boy, and take a hand at whist for old acquaintance sake," urged the friend on his left; "got some rare cogniac, and a box of beautiful havannahs." "no, jorrocks,--dine with me," said a third, "and play chicken-hazard." "don't," said a fourth, confidentially, "he'll fleece ye like fun". "let me put your name down to our pigeon club; only a guinea entrance and a guinea subscription--nothing to a rich man like you." "have you any coin to lend on unexceptionable personal security, with a power of killing and selling your man if he don't pay?" inquired another. "are they going to abolish the law of arrest? 'twould be very convenient if they did." "will you discount me a bill at three months?" "is b---- out of the bench yet?" "who do they call nodding homer in your hunt?" "oh, gentlemen, gentlemen!" cried mr. jorrocks, "go it gently, go it gently! consider the day is 'ot, i'm almost out of breath, and faint for want of food. i've come all the way from angle-tear, as we say in france, and lost my breakfast on the wogaye. where is there an inn where i can recruit my famished frame? what's this?" looking up at a sign, "'done a boar in a manger,' what does this mean?--where's my french dictionary? i've heard that boar is very good to eat." "yes, but this boar is to drink," said a friend on the right; "but you must not put up at a house of that sort; come to the hôtel d'orleans, where all the best fellows and men of consequence go, a celebrated house in the days of the boulogne hunt. ah, that was the time, mr. jorrocks! we lived like fighting-cocks then; you should have been among us, such a rollicking set of dogs! could hunt all day, race maggots and drink claret all night, and take an occasional by-day with the hounds on a sunday. can't do that with the surrey, i guess. there's the hôtel d'orleans," pointing to it as they turned the corner of the street; "splendid house it is. i've no interest in taking you there, don't suppose so; but the sun of its greatness is fast setting--there's no such shaking of elbows as there used to be--the iou system knocked that up. still, you'll be very comfortable; a bit of carpet by your bedside, curtains to your windows, a pie-dish to wash in, a clean towel every third day, and as many friends to dine with you as ever you like--no want of company in boulogne, i assure you. here, mr. w----," addressing the innkeeper who appeared at the door, "this is the very celebrated mr. jorrocks, of whom we have all heard so much,--take him and use him as you would your own son; and, hark ye (aside), don't forget i brought him." "garsoon," said jorrocks, after having composed himself a little during which time he was also composing a french speech from his dictionary and madame de genlis's[ ] _manuel du voyageur_, "a che hora [ora] si pranza?" looking at the waiter, who seemed astonished. "oh, stop!" said he, looking again, "that's italian--i've got hold of the wrong column. a quelle heure dine--hang me if i know how to call this chap--dine [spelling it], t'on?" "what were you wishing to say, sir?" inquired the waiter, interrupting his display of the language. "wot, do you speak english?" asked jorrocks in amazement. "i hope so, sir," replied the man, "for i'm an englishman." "then, why the devil did you not say so, you great lout, instead of putting me into a sweat this 'ot day by speaking french to you?" "beg pardon, sir, thought you were a frenchman." "did you, indeed?" said jorrocks, delighted; "then, by jove, i do speak french! somehow or other i thought i could, as i came over. bring me a thundering beef-steak, and a pint of stout, directly!" the hôtel d'orleans being a regular roast-beef and plum-pudding sort of house, mr. jorrocks speedily had an immense stripe of tough beef and boiled potatoes placed before him, in the well-windowed _salle à manger_, and the day being fine he regaled himself at a table at an open window, whereby he saw the smart passers-by, and let them view him in return. [footnote : for the benefit of our "tarry-at-home" readers, we should premise that madame de genlis's work is arranged for the convenience of travellers who do not speak any language but their own; and it consists of dialogues on different necessary subjects, with french and italian translations opposite the english.] sunday is a gay day in france, and boulogne equals the best town in smartness. the shops are better set out, the women are better dressed, and there is a holiday brightness and air of pleasure on every countenance. then instead of seeing a sulky husband trudging behind a pouting wife with a child in her arms, an infallible sign of a sunday evening in england, they trip away to the rural _fête champêtre_, where with dancing, lemonade, and love, they pass away the night in temperate if not innocent hilarity. "happy people! that once a week, at least, lay down their cares, and dance and sing, and sport away the weights of grievance, which bow down the spirit of other nations to the earth." the voyage, though short, commenced a new era in mr. jorrocks's life, and he entirely forget all about sunday and dover dullness the moment he set foot on sprightly france, and he no more recollected it was sunday, than if such a day had ceased to exist in the calendar. having bolted his steak, he gave his hessians their usual flop with his handkerchief, combed his whiskers, pulled his wig straight, and sallied forth, dictionary in hand, to translate the signs, admire the clever little children talking french, quiz the horses, and laugh at everything he didn't understand; to spend his first afternoon, in short, as nine-tenths of the english who go "abroad" are in the habit of doing. early the next morning. mr. jorrocks and the yorkshireman, accompanied by the commissionnaire of the hôtel d'orleans, repaired to the upper town, for the purpose of obtaining passports, and as they ascended the steep street called la grand rue, which connects the two towns, they held a consultation as to what the former should be described. a "marchand-epicier" would obtain mr. jorrocks no respect, but, then, he objected to the word "rentier." "what is the french for fox-'unter?" said he, after a thoughtful pause, turning to his dictionary. there was no such word. "sportsman, then? ay, chasseur! how would that read? john jorrocks, esq., chasseur,--not bad, i think," said he. "that will do," replied the yorkshireman, "but you must sink the esquire now, and tack 'monsieur' before your name, and a very pretty euphonious sound 'monsieur jorrocks' will have; and when you hear some of the little parisian grisettes lisp it out as you turn the garters over on their counters, while they turn their dark flashing eyes over upon you, it will be enough to rejuvenate your old frame. but suppose we add to 'chasseur'--'member of the surrey hunt?'" "by all means," replied mr. jorrocks, delighted at the idea, and ascending the stairs of the consulate three steps at a time. the consul, mons. de horter, was in attendance sitting in state, with a gendarme at the door and his secretary at his elbow. "_bonjour,_ monsieur," said he, bowing, as mr. jorrocks passed through the lofty folding door; to which our traveller replied, "the top of the morning to you, sir," thinking something of that sort would be right. the consul, having scanned him through his green spectacles, drew a large sheet of thin printed paper from his portfolio, with the arms of france placed under a great petticoat at the top, and proceeded to fill up a request from his most christian majesty to all the authorities, both civil and military, of france, and also of all the allied "pays," "de laisser librement passer" monsieur john jorrocks, chasseur and member of the hont de surrey, and plusieurs other honts; and also, monsieur stubbs, native of angleterre, going from boulogne to paris, and to give them aid and protection, "en cas de besoin," all of which mr. jorrocks --like many travellers before him--construed into a most flattering compliment and mark of respect, from his most christian majesty to himself. under the word "signalement" in the margin, the consul also drew the following sketch of our hero, in order, as mr. jorrocks supposed, that the king of the mouncheers might know him when he saw him: "age de ans taille d'un mètre centimetres perruque brun front large yeux gris-sanguin nez moyen barbe grisâtre vizage ronde teint rouge." he then handed it over to mr. jorrocks for his signature, who, observing the words "signature du porteur" at the bottom, passed it on to the porter of the inn, until put right by the consul, who, on receiving his fee, bowed him out with great politeness. great as had been the grocer's astonishment at the horses and carts that he had seen stirring about the streets, his amazement knew no bounds when the first paris diligence came rolling into town with six horses, spreading over the streets as they swung about in all directions--covered with bells, sheep-skins, worsted balls, and foxes' brushes, driven by one solitary postilion on the off wheeler. "my vig," cried he, "here's wombwell's wild-beast show! what the deuce are they doing in france? i've not heard of them since last bartlemy-fair, when i took my brother joe's children to see them feed. but stop--this is full of men! my eyes, so it is! it's what young dutch sam would call a male coach, because there are no females about it. well, i declare, i am almost sorry i did not bring mrs. j----. wot would they think to see such a concern in cheapside? why, it holds half a township--a perfect willage on wheels. my eyes, wot a curiosity! well, i never thought to live to see such a sight as this!--wish it was going our way that i might have a ride in it. hope ours will be as big." shortly after theirs did arrive, and mr. jorrocks was like a perfect child with delight. it was not a male coach, however, for in the different compartments were five or six ladies. "oh, wot elegant creatures," cried he, eyeing them; "i could ride to jerusalem with them without being tired; wot a thing it is to be a bachelor!" the conducteur--with the usual frogged, tagged, embroidered jacket, and fur-bound cap--having hoisted their luggage on high, the passengers who had turned out of their respective compartments to stretch their legs after their cramping from calais, proceeded to resume their places. there were only two seats vacant in the interior, or, as mr. jorrocks called it, the "middle house," consequently the yorkshireman and he crossed legs. the other four passengers had corner-seats, things much coveted by french travellers. on mr. stubbs's right sat an immense englishman, enveloped in a dark blue camlet cloak, fastened with bronze lionhead clasps, a red neckcloth, and a shabby, napless, broad-brimmed, brown hat. his face was large, round, and red, without an atom of expression, and his little pig eyes twinkled over a sort of a mark that denoted where his nose should have been; in short, his head was more like a barber's wig block than anything else, and his outline would have formed a model of the dome of st. paul's. on the yorkshireman's left was a chattering young red-trousered dragoon, in a frock-coat and flat foraging cap with a flying tassel. mr. jorrocks was more fortunate than his friend, and rubbed sides with two women; one was english, either an upper nursery-maid or an under governess, but who might be safely trusted to travel by herself. she was dressed in a black beaver bonnet lined with scarlet silk, a nankeen pelisse with a blue ribbon, and pea-green boots, and she carried a sort of small fish-basket on her knee, with a "plain christian's prayer book" on the top. the other was french, approaching to middle age, with a nice smart plump figure, good hazel-coloured eyes, a beautiful foot and ankle, and very well dressed. indeed, her dress very materially reduced the appearance of her age, and she was what the milliners would call remarkably well "got up." her bonnet was a pink satin, with a white blonde ruche surmounted by a rich blonde veil, with a white rose placed elegantly on one side, and her glossy auburn hair pressed down the sides of a milk-white forehead, in the madonna style.--her pelisse was of "violet-des-bois" figured silk, worn with a black velvet pelerine and a handsomely embroidered collar. her boots were of a colour to match the pelisse; and a massive gold chain round her neck, and a solitary pearl ring on a middle finger, were all the jewellery she displayed. mr. jorrocks caught a glimpse of her foot and ankle as she mounted the steps to resume her place in the diligence, and pushing the yorkshireman aside, he bundled in directly after her, and took up the place we have described. the vehicle was soon in motion, and its ponderous roll enchanted the heart of the grocer. independently of the novelty, he was in a humour to be pleased, and everything with him was _couleur de rose_. not so the yorkshireman's right-hand neighbour, who lounged in the corner, muffled up in his cloak, muttering and cursing at every jolt of the diligence, as it bumped across the gutters and jolted along the streets of boulogne. at length having got off the pavement, after crushing along at a trot through the soft road that immediately succeeds, they reached the little hill near mr. gooseman's farm, and the horses gradually relaxed into a walk, when he burst forth with a tremendous oath, swearing that he had "travelled three hundred thousand miles, and never saw horses walk up such a bit of a bank before." he looked round the diligence in the expectation of someone joining him, but no one deigned a reply, so, with a growl and a jerk of his shoulders, he again threw himself into his corner. the dragoon and the french lady then began narrating the histories of their lives, as the french people always do, and mr. jorrocks and the yorkshireman sat looking at each other. at length mr. jorrocks, pulling his dictionary and _madame de genlis_ out of his pocket, observed, "i quite forgot to ask the guard at what time we dine--most important consideration, for i hold it unfair to takes one's stomach by surprise, and a man should have due notice, that he may tune his appetite accordingly. i have always thought, that there's as much dexterity required to bring an appetite to table in the full bloom of perfection, as there is in training an 'oss to run on a particular day.--let me see," added he, turning over the pages of _de genlis_--"it will be under the head of eating and drinking, i suppose.--here it is--(opens and reads)--'i have a good appetite--i am hungry--i am werry hungry--i am almost starved'--that won't do--'i have eaten enough'--that won't do either--'to breakfast'--no.--but here it is, by jingo--'dialogue before dinner'--capital book for us travellers, this mrs. de genlis--(reads) 'pray, take dinner with us to-day, i shall give you plain fare.'--that means rough and enough, i suppose," observed mr. jorrocks to the yorkshireman.--"'what time do we dine to-day? french: a quelle heure dinons-nous aujourd'hui?--italian: a che hora (ora) si prancey (pranza) oggi?'" "ah, monsieur, vous parlez français à merveille," said the french lady, smiling with the greatest good nature upon him. "a marble!" said mr. jorrocks, "wot does that mean?" preparing to look it out in the dictionary. "ah, monsieur, i shall you explain--you speak french like a natif." "indeed!" said mr. jorrocks, with a bow, "i feel werry proud of your praise; and your english is quite delightful.--by jove," said he to the yorkshireman, with a most self-satisfied grin, "you were right in what you told me about the gals calling me monsieur.--i declare she's driven right home to my 'art--transfixed me at once, in fact." everyone who has done a little "voyaging," as they call it in france, knows that a few miles to the south of samer rises a very steep hill, across which the route lies, and that diligence travellers are generally invited to walk up it. a path which strikes off near the foot of the hill, across the open, cuts off the angle, and--diligences being anything but what the name would imply,--the passengers, by availing themselves of the short cut, have ample time for striking up confabs, and inquiring into the comforts of the occupiers of the various compartments. our friends of the "interior" were all busy jabbering and talking--some with their tongues, others with their hands and tongues--with the exception of the monster in the cloak, who sat like a sack in the corner, until the horses, having reached the well-known breathing place, made a dead halt, and the conducteur proceeded to invite the party to descend and "promenade" up the hill. "what's happened now?" cried the monster, jumping up as the door opened; "surely, they don't expect us to walk up this mountain! i've travelled three hundred thousand miles, and was never asked to do such a thing in all my life before. i won't do it; i paid for riding, and ride i will. you are all a set of infamous cheats," said he to the conducteur in good plain english; but the conducteur, not understanding the language, shut the door as soon as all the rest were out, and let him roll on by himself. jorrocks stuck to his woman, who had a negro boy in the rotonde, dressed in baggy slate-coloured trousers, with a green waistcoat and a blue coat, with a coronet on the button, who came to hand her out, and was addressed by the heroic name of "agamemnon." jorrocks got a glimpse of the button, but, not understanding foreign coronets, thought it was a crest; nevertheless, he thought he might as well inquire who his friend was, so, slinking back as they reached the foot of the hill he got hold of the nigger, and asked what they called his missis. massa did not understand, and mr. jorrocks, sorely puzzled how to explain, again had recourse to the _manuel du voyageur_; but madame de genlis had not anticipated such an occurrence, and there was no dialogue adapted to his situation. there was a conversation with a lacquey, however, commencing with--"are you disposed to enter into my service?" and, in the hopes of hitting upon something that would convey his wishes, he "hark'd forward," and passing by--"are you married?" arrived at--"what is your wife's occupation?" "que fait votre femme?" said he, suiting the action to the word, and pointing to madame. agamemnon showed his ivories, as he laughed at the idea of jorrocks calling his mistress his wife, and by signs and words conveyed to him some idea of the importance of the personage to whom he alluded. this he did most completely, for before the diligence came up, jorrocks pulled the yorkshireman aside, and asked if he was aware that they were travelling with a real live countess; "madame la countess benwolio, the nigger informs me," said he; "a werry grande femme, though what that means i don't know." "oh, countesses are common enough here," replied the yorkshireman. "i dare say she's a stay-maker. i remember a paint-maker who had a german baron for a colour-grinder once." "oh," said jorrocks, "you are jealous--you always try to run down my friends; but that won't do, i'm wide awake to your tricks"; so saying, he shuffled off, and getting hold of the countess, helped agamemnon to hoist her into the diligence. he was most insinuating for the next two hours, and jabbered about love and fox-hunting, admiring the fine, flat, open country, and the absence of hedges and flints; but as neither youth nor age can subsist on love alone, his confounded appetite began to trouble him, and got quite the better of him before they reached abbeville. every mile seemed a league, and he had his head out of the window at least twenty times before they came in sight of the town. at length the diligence got its slow length dragged not only to abbeville, but to the sign of the "fidèle berger"--or "fiddle burgur," as mr. jorrocks pronounced it--where they were to dine. the door being opened, out he jumped, and with his _manuel du voyageur_ in one hand, and the countess benvolio in the other, he pushed his way through the crowd of "pauvres misérables" congregated under the gateway, who exhibited every species of disease and infirmity that poor human nature is liable or heir to, and entered the hotel. the "sally manger," as he called it, was a long brick-floored room on the basement, with a white stove at one end, and the walls plentifully decorated with a panoramic view of the grand nation wallopping the spaniards at the siege of saragossa. the diligence being a leetle behind time as usual, the soup was on the table when they entered. the passengers quickly ranged themselves round, and, with his mouth watering as the female garçon lifted the cover from the tureen, mr. jorrocks sat in the expectation of seeing the rich contents ladled into the plates. his countenance fell fifty per cent as the first spoonful passed before his eyes.--"my vig, why it's water!" exclaimed he--"water, i do declare, with worms[ ] in it--i can't eat such stuff as that--it's not man's meat--oh dear, oh dear, i fear i've made a terrible mistake in coming to france! never saw such stuff as this at bleaden's or birch's, or anywhere in the city." "i've travelled three hundred thousand miles," said the fat man, sending his plate from him in disgust, "and never tasted such a mess as this before." "i'll show them up in _the times_," cried mr. jorrocks; "and, look, what stuff is here--beef boiled to rags!--well, i never, no never, saw anything like this before. oh, i wish i was in great coram street again!--i'm sure i can't live here--i wonder if i could get a return chaise--waiter--garsoon--cuss! oh dear! i see _madame de genlis_ is of no use in a pinch--and yet what a dialogue here is! oh heavens! grant your poor jorrocks but one request, and that is the contents of a single sentence. 'i want a roasted or boiled leg of mutton, beef, hung beef, a quarter of mutton, mutton chops, veal cutlets, stuffed tongue, dried tongue, hog's pudding, white sausage, meat sausage, chicken with rice, a nice fat roast fowl, roast chicken with cressy, roast or boiled pigeon, a fricassee of chicken, sweet-bread, goose, lamb, calf's cheek, calf's head, fresh pork, salt pork, cold meat, hash.'--but where's the use of titivating one's appetite with reading of such luxteries? oh, what a wife madame de genlis would have made for me! oh dear, oh dear, i shall die of hunger, i see --i shall die of absolute famine--my stomach thinks my throat's cut already!" in the height of his distress in came two turkeys and a couple of fowls, and his countenance shone forth like an april sun after a shower. "come, this is better," said he; "i'll trouble you, sir, for a leg and a wing, and a bit of the breast, for i'm really famished--oh hang! the fellow's a frenchman, and i shall lose half the day in looking it out in my dictionary. oh dear, oh dear, where's the dinner dialogue!--well, here's something to that purpose. 'i will send you a bit of this fowl.' 'a little bit of the fowl cannot hurt you.'--no, nor a great bit either.--'which do you like best, leg or wing?' 'qu'aimez-vous le mieux, la cuisse ou l'aile?'" here the countess benvolio, who had been playing a good knife and fork herself, pricked up her ears, and guessing at jorrocks's wants, interceded with her countryman and got him a plateful of fowl. it was soon disposed of, however, and half a dish of hashed hare or cat, that was placed within reach of him shortly after, was quickly transferred into his plate. a french dinner is admirably calculated for leading the appetite on by easy stages to the grand consummation of satiety. it begins meagrely, as we have shown, and proceeds gradually through the various gradations of lights, savories, solids, and substantiate. presently there was a large dish of stewed eels put on. "what's that?" asked jorrocks of the man.--"poisson," was the reply. "poison! why, you infidel, have you no conscience?" "fishe," said the countess. "oh, ay, i smell--eels--just like what we have at the eel-pie-house at twickenham--your ladyship, i am thirsty--'ge soif,' in fact." "ah, bon!" said the countess, laughing, and giving him a tumbler of claret. "i've travelled three hundred thousand miles," said the fat man, "and never saw claret drunk in that way before." "it's not werry good, i think," said mr. jorrocks, smacking his lips; "if it was not claret i would sooner drink port." some wild ducks and fricandeau de veau which followed, were cut up and handed round, jorrocks helping himself plentifully to both, as also to pommes de terre à la maitre d'hôtel, and bread at discretion. "faith, but this is not a bad dinner, after all's said and done, when one gets fairly into it." "fear it will be very expensive," observed the fat man. just when jorrocks began to think he had satisfied nature, in came a roast leg of mutton, a beef-steak, "à la g--d-dam", [ ] and a dish of larks and snipes. [footnote : macaroni soup.] [footnote : when the giraffe mania prevailed in paris, and gloves, handkerchiefs, gowns, reticules, etc. were "à la giraffe," an englishman asked a waiter if they had any beef-steaks "à la giraffe." "no, monsieur, but we have them à la g--d-dem," was the answer.] "must have another tumbler of wine before i can grapple with these chaps," said he, eyeing them, and looking into madame de genlis's book: "'garsoon, donnez-moi un verre de vin,'" holding up the book and pointing to the sentence. he again set to and "went a good one" at both mutton and snipes, but on pulling up he appeared somewhat exhausted. he had not got through it all yet, however. just as he was taking breath, a _garçon_ entered with some custards and an enormous omelette soufflée, whose puffy brown sides bagged over the tin dish that contained it. "there's a tart!" cried mr. jorrocks; "oh, my eyes, what a swell!--well, i suppose i must have a shy at it.--'in for a penny in for a pound!' as we say at the lord mayor's feed. know i shall be sick, but, however, here goes," sending his plate across the table to the _garçon_, who was going to help it. the first dive of the spoon undeceived him as he heard it sound at the bottom of the dish. "oh lauk, what a go! all puff, by jove!--a regular humbug--a balloon pudding, in short! i won't eat such stuff--give it to mouncheer there," rejecting the offer of a piece. "i like the solids;--will trouble you for some of that cheese, sir, and don't let it taste of the knive. but what do they mean by setting the dessert on before the cloth is removed? and here comes tea and coffee--may as well have some, i suppose it will be all the same price. and what's this?" eyeing a lot of liqueur glasses full of eau de vie. "chasse-café, monsieur," said the _garçon_. "chasse calf--chasse calf--what's that? oh, i twig--what we call 'shove in the mouth' at the free-and-easy. yes, certainly, give me a glass." "you shall take some dessert," said the countess, handing him over some peaches and biscuits. "well, i'll try my hand at it, if it will oblege your ladyship, but i really have had almost enough." "and some abricot," said she, helping him to a couple of fine juicy ones. "oh, thank you, my lady, thank you, my lady, i'm nearly satisfied." "vous ne mangez pas," said she, giving him half a plate of grapes. "oh, my lady, you don't understand me--i can't eat any more--i am regularly high and dry--chock full--bursting, in fact." here she handed him a plate of sponge-cakes mixed with bon-bons and macaroons, saying, "vous êtes un pauvre mangeur--vous ne mangez rien, monsieur." "oh dear, she does not understand me, i see.--indeed, my lady, i cannot eat any more.--ge woudera, se ge could-era, mais ge can-ne-ra pas!" "well, now, i've travelled three hundred thousand miles, and never heard such a bit of french as that before," said the fat man, chuckling. ix. mr. jorrocks in paris as the grey morning mist gradually dispersed, and daylight began to penetrate the cloud that dimmed the four squares of glass composing the windows of the diligence, the yorkshireman, half-asleep and half-awake, took a mental survey of his fellow-travellers.--before him sat his worthy friend, snoring away with his mouth open, and his head, which kept bobbing over on to the shoulder of the countess, enveloped in the ample folds of a white cotton nightcap.--she, too, was asleep and, disarmed of all her daylight arts, dozed away in tranquil security. her mouth also was open, exhibiting rather a moderate set of teeth, and her madonna front having got a-twist, exposed a mixture of brown and iron-grey hairs at the parting place. her bonnet swung from the roof of the diligence, and its place was supplied by a handsome lace cap, fastened under her chin by a broad-hemmed cambric handkerchief. presently the sun rose, and a bright ray shooting into the countess's corner, awoke her with a start, and after a hurried glance at the passengers, who appeared to be all asleep, she drew a small ivory-cased looking-glass from her bag, and proceeded to examine her features. mr. jorrocks awoke shortly after, and with an awful groan exclaimed that his backbone was fairly worn out with sitting. "oh dear!" said he, "my behind aches as if i had been kicked all the way from hockleyhole to marylebone. are we near paris? for i'm sure i can't find seat any longer, indeed i can't. i'd rather ride two hundred miles in nine hours, like h'osbaldeston, than be shut up in this woiture another hour. it really is past bearing, and that's the long and short of the matter." this exclamation roused all the party, who began yawning and rubbing their eyes and looking at their watches. the windows also were lowered to take in fresh air, and on looking out they found themselves rolling along a sandy road, lined on each side with apple-trees, whose branches were "groaning" with fruit. they breakfasted at beaumont, and had a regular spread of fish, beef-steak, mutton-chops, a large joint of hot roast veal, roast chickens, several yards of sour bread, grapes, peaches, pears, and plums, with vin ordinaire, and coffee au lait; but mr. jorrocks was off his feed, and stood all the time to ease his haunches. towards three in the afternoon they caught the first glimpse of the gilded dome of the hospital of invalids, which was a signal for all the party to brush up and make themselves agreeable. even the three-hundred-thousand miler opened out, and began telling some wonderful anecdotes, while the countess and mr. jorrocks carried on a fierce flirtation, or whatever else they pleased to call it. at last, after a deal of jargon, he broke off by appealing to the yorkshireman to know what "inn" they should "put up at" in paris. "i don't know, i'm sure," said he; "it depends a good deal upon how you mean to live. as you pay my shot it does not do for beggars to be choosers; but suppose we try meurice's" "oh no," replied mr. jorrocks, "her ladyship tells me it is werry expensive, for the english always pay through the nose if they go to english houses in paris; and, as we talk french, we can put up at a french one, you know." "well, then, we can try one of the french ones in the rue de la paix." "rue de la pay! no, by jove, that won't do for me--the werry name is enough--no rue de la pay for me, at least if i have to pay the shot." "well, then, you must get your friend there to tell you of some place, for i don't care twopence, as long as i have a bed, where it is." the countess and he then laid their heads together again, and when the diligence stopped to change horses at st. denis, mr. jorrocks asked the yorkshireman to alight, and taking him aside, announced with great glee that her ladyship, finding they were strangers in the land, had most kindly invited them to stay with her, and that she had a most splendid house in the rue des mauvais-garçons, ornamented with mirrors, musical clocks, and he didn't know what, and kept the best company in all france, marquesses, barons, viscounts, authors, etc. before the yorkshireman had time to reply, the conducteur came and hurried them back into the diligence, and closed the door with a bang, to be sure of having his passengers there while he and the postilion shuffled the cards and cut for a glass of _eau-de-vie_ apiece. the countess, suspecting what they had been after, resumed the conversation as soon as mr. jorrocks was seated.--"you shall manger cinque fois every day," said she; "cinque fois," she repeated.--"humph!" said mr. jorrocks to himself, "what can that mean?--cank four--four times five's twenty--eat twenty times a day--not possible!" "oui, monsieur, cinque fois," repeated the countess, telling the number off on her fingers--"café at nine of the matin, déjeuner à la fourchette at onze o'clock, diner at cinque heure, café at six hour, and souper at neuf hour." "upon my word," replied mr. jorrocks, his eyes sparkling with pleasure, "your offer is werry inwiting. my lady," said he, bowing before her, "je suis--i am much flattered." "and, monsieur?" said she, looking at the yorkshireman. he, too, assured her that he was very much flattered, and was beginning to excuse himself, when the countess interrupted him somewhat abruptly by turning to mr. jorrocks and saying, "he sall be your son--n'est ce pas?" "no, my lady, i've no children," replied he, and the countess's eyes in their turn underwent a momentary illumination. the parisian barrier was soon reached, and the man taken up to kick about the jaded travellers' luggage at the journey's end. while this operation was going on in the diligence yard, the countess stuck close to mr. jorrocks, and having dispatched agamemnon for a fiacre, bundled him in, luggage and all, and desiring her worthy domestic to mount the box, and direct the driver, she kissed her hand to the yorkshireman, assuring him she would be most happy to see him, in proof of which, she drove away without telling him her number, or where the rue des mauvais-garçons was. paris is a charming place after the heat of the summer has passed away, and the fine, clear, autumnal days arrive. then is the time to see the tuileries gardens to perfection, when the parisians have returned from their châteaus, and emigrating english and those homeward bound halt to renovate on the road; then is the time that the gayest plants put forth their brightest hues, and drooping orange flowers scent the air which silvery fountains lend their aid to cool. on a sunday afternoon, such as we have described, our friend mr. stubbs (who since his arrival had been living very comfortably at the hôtel d'hollande, in expectation of mr. jorrocks paying his bill) indulged in six sous' worth of chairs--one to sit upon and one for each leg--and, john bull-like, stretched himself out in the shade beneath the lofty trees, to view the gay groups who promenaded the alleys before him. first, there came a helmeted cuirassier, with his wife in blue satin, and a little boy in his hand in uniform, with a wooden sword, a perfect miniature of the father; then a group of short-petticoated, shuffling french women, each with an italian greyhound in slips, followed by an awkward englishman with a sister on each arm, all stepping out like grenadiers; then came a ribbon'd chevalier of the legion of honour, whose hat was oftener in his hand than on his head, followed by a nondescript looking militaire with fierce mustachios, in shining jack-boots, white leathers, and a sort of italian military cloak, with one side thrown over the shoulder, to exhibit the wearer's leg, and the bright scabbard of a large sword, while on the hero's left arm hung a splendidly dressed woman. "what a figure!" said the yorkshireman to himself, as they came before him, and he took another good stare.--"yet stay--no, impossible!--gracious heaven! it can't be--and yet it is--by jove, it's jorrocks!" "why now, you old imbecile," cried he, jumping off his chairs and running up to him, "what are you after?" bursting into a loud laugh as he looked at mr. jorrocks's mustachios (a pair of great false ones). "is there no piece of tomfoolery too great for you? what's come across you now? where the deuce did you get these things?" taking hold of the curls at one side of his mustachios. "how now?" roared mr. jorrocks with rage and astonishment. "how now! ye young scaramouch, vot do you mean by insulting a gentleman sportsman in broad daylight, in the presence of a lady of quality? by jingo," added he, his eyes sparkling with rage, "if you are not off before i can say 'dumpling' i'll run you through the gizzard and give your miserable carcass to the dogs," suiting the action to the word, and groping under his cloak for the hilt of his sword.--a crowd collected, and the yorkshireman perceiving symptoms of a scene, slunk out of the mêlée, and mr. jorrocks, after an indignant shake or two of his feathers and curl of his mustachios, pursued his course up the gardens. this was the first time they had met since their arrival, which was above a week before; indeed, it was nine days, for the landlord of the house where the yorkshireman lived had sent his "little bill" two days before this, it being an established rule of his house, and one which was conspicuously posted in all the rooms, that the bills were to be settled weekly; and mr. stubbs had that very morning observed that the hat of monsieur l'hote was not raised half so high from his head, nor his body inclined so much towards the ground as it was wont to be--a pretty significant hint that he wanted his cash.--now the yorkshireman, among his other accomplishments, had a turn for play, and unfortunately had been at the salon the night before, when, after continuous run of ill-luck, he came away twelve francs below the amount of the hotel-keeper's bill, consequently a rumpus with mr. jorrocks could not have taken place at a more unfortunate moment. thinking, however, a good night's rest or two might settle him down, and put all matters right, he let things alone until the tuesday following, when again finding monsieur's little "memoire" on one side of his coffeecup, and a framed copy of the "rules and regulations" of the house on the other, he felt constrained to take some decisive step towards its liquidation. accordingly, having breakfasted, he combed his hair straight over his face, and putting on a very penitential look, called a cab, and desired the man to drive him to the rue des mauvais-garçons.--after zigzagging, twisting, and turning about in various directions, they at last jingled to the end of a very narrow dirty-looking street, whose unswept pavement had not been cheered by a ray of sunshine since the houses were built. it was excessively narrow, and there were no flags on either side; but through the centre ran a dribbling stream, here and there obstructed by oyster-shells, or vegetable refuse, as the water had served as a plaything for children, or been stopped by servants for domestic purposes. the street being extremely old, of course the houses were very large, forming, as all houses do in paris, little squares entered by folding doors, at one side of which, in a sort of lodge, lives the porter--"parlez au portier"--who receives letters, parcels, and communications for the several occupiers, consisting sometimes of twenty or thirty different establishments in one house. from this functionary may be learned the names of the different tenants. having dismissed his cab, the yorkshireman entered the first gateway on his left, to take the chance of gaining some intelligence of the countess. the porter--a cobbler by trade--was hammering away, last on knee, at the sole of a shoe, and with a grin on his countenance, informed the yorkshireman that the countess lived next door but one. a thrill of fear came over him on finding himself so near the residence of his indignant friend, but it was of momentary duration, and he soon entered the courtyard of no. --where he was directed by an unshaved grisly-looking porter, to proceed "un troisième," and ring the bell at the door on the right-hand side. obedient to his directions, the yorkshireman proceeded to climb a wide but dirty stone staircase, with carved and gilded balusters, whose wall and steps had known no water for many years, and at length found himself on the landing opposite the very apartment which contained the redoubtable jorrocks. here he stood for a few seconds, breathing and cooling himself after his exertions, during which time he pictured to himself the worthy citizen immersed in papers deeply engaged in the preparation of his france in three volumes, and wished that the first five minutes of their interview were over. at length he mustered courage to grasp a greasy-looking red tassel, and give a gentle tinkle to the bell. the door was quickly opened by agamemnon in dirty loose trousers and slippers, and without a coat. he recognised his fellow-traveller, and in answer to his inquiry if monsieur jorrocks was at home, grinned, and answered, "oh oui, certainement, monsieur le colonel jorrockes est ici," and motioned him to come in. the yorkshireman entered the little ante-room--a sort of scullery, full of mops, pans, dirty shoes, dusters, candlesticks--and the first thing that caught his eye was jorrocks's sword, which agamemnon had been burnishing up with sandpaper and leather, lying on a table before the window. this was not very encouraging, but agamemnon gave no time for reflection, and opening half a light salmon-coloured folding door directly opposite the one by which he entered, the yorkshireman passed through, unannounced and unperceived by mr. jorrocks or the countess, who were completely absorbed in a game of dominoes, sitting on opposite sides of a common deal table, whose rose-coloured silk cover was laid over the back of a chair. jorrocks was sitting on a stool with his back to the door, and the countess being very intent on the game, mr. stubbs had time for a hasty survey of the company and apartment before she looked up. it was about one o'clock, and of course she was still _en déshabillé_, with her nightcap on, a loose _robe de chambre_ of flannel, and a flaming broad-striped red-and-black scotch shawl thrown over her shoulders, and swan's-down-lined slippers on her feet. mr. jorrocks had his leather pantaloons on, with a rich blue and yellow brocade dressing-gown, and blue morocco slippers to match. his jack-boots, to which he had added a pair of regimental heel-spurs, were airing before a stove, which contained the dying embers of a small log. the room was low, and contained the usual allowance of red figured velvet-cushioned chairs, with brass nails; the window curtains were red-and-white on rings and gilded rods; a secretaire stood against one of the walls, and there was a large mirror above the marble mantelpiece, which supported a clock surmounted by a flying cupid, and two vases of artificial flowers covered with glass, on one of which was placed an elegant bonnet of the newest and most approved fashion. the floor, of highly polished oak, was strewed about with playbills, slippers, curl-papers, boxes, cards, dice, ribbons, dirty handkerchiefs, etc.; and on one side of the deal table was a plate containing five well-picked mutton-chop bones, and hard by lay mr. jorrocks's mustachios and a dirty small tooth-comb. just as the yorkshireman had got thus far in his survey, the countess gave the finishing stroke to the game, and mr. jorrocks, jumping up in a rage, gave his leathers such a slap as sent a cloud of pipe-clay flying into his face. "vous avez the devil's own luck"; exclaimed he, repeating the blow, when, to avoid the cloud, he turned short round, and encountered the yorkshireman. "how now?" roared he at the top of his voice, "who sent for you? have you come here to insult me in my own house? i'll lay my soul to an 'oss-shoe, i'll be too many for ye! where's my sword?" "now, my good mr. jorrocks," replied the yorkshireman very mildly, "pray, don't put yourself into a passion--consider the lady, and don't let us have any unpleasantness in madame la duchesse benvolio's house," making her a very low bow as he spoke, and laying his hand on his heart. "d--n your displeasancies!" roared jorrocks, "and that's swearing--a thing i've never done since my brother joe fobbed me of my bottom piece of muffin. out with you, i say! out with ye! you're a nasty dirty blackguard; i'm done with you for ever. i detest the sight of you and hate ye afresh every time i see you!" "doucement, mon cher colonel," interposed the countess, "ve sall play anoder game, and you sall had von better chance," clapping him on the back as she spoke. "i von't!" bellowed jorrocks. "turn this chap out first. i'll do it myself. h'agamemnon! h'agamemnon! happortez my sword! bring my sword! tout suite, directly!" "police! police! police!" screamed the countess out of the window; "police! police! police!" bellowed agamemnon from the next one; "police! police! police!" re-echoed the grisly porter down below; and before they had time to reflect on what had passed, a sergeant's file of the national guard had entered the hotel, mounted the stairs, and taken possession of the apartment. the sight of the soldiers with their bright bayonets, all fixed and gleaming as they were, cooled mr. jorrocks's courage in an instant, and, after standing a few seconds in petrified astonishment, he made a dart at his jack-boots and bolted out of the room. the countess benvolio then unlocked her secretaire, in which was a plated liqueur-stand with bottles and glasses, out of which she poured the sergeant three, and the privates two glasses each of pure _eau-de-vie,_ after which agamemnon showed them the top of the stairs. in less than ten minutes all was quiet again, and the yorkshireman was occupying mr. jorrocks's stool. the countess then began putting things a little in order, adorned the deal table with the rose-coloured cover--before doing which she swept off mr. jorrocks's mustachios, and thrust a dirty white handkerchief and the small tooth-comb under the cushion of a chair--while agamemnon carried away the plate with the bones. "ah, le pauvre colonel," said the countess, eyeing the bones as they passed, "he sall be von grand homme to eat--him eat toujours--all day long--oh, him mange beaucoup--beaucoup--beaucoup. he is von varé amiable man, bot he sall not be moch patience. i guess he sall be varé rich--n'est ce pas? have many guinea?--he say he keep beaucoup des chiens--many dogs for the hont--he sail be vot dey call rom customer (rum customer) in angleterre, i think." thus she went rattling on, telling the yorkshireman all sorts of stories about the _pauvre_ colonel, whom she seemed ready to change for a younger piece of goods with a more moderate appetite; and finding mr. stubbs more complaisant than he had been in the diligence, she concluded by proposing that he should accompany the colonel and herself to a _soirée-dansante_ that evening at a friend of hers, another countess, in the "rue des bons-enfants." being disengaged as usual, he at once assented, on condition that the countess would effect a reconciliation between mr. jorrocks and himself, for which purpose she at once repaired to his room, and presently reappeared arm-in-arm with our late outrageously indignant hero. the colonel had been occupying his time at the toilette, and was _en grand costume_--finely cleaned leathers, jack-boots and brass spurs, with a spick and span new blue military frock-coat, hooking and eyeing up to the chin, and all covered with braid, frogs, tags, and buttons. "dere be von beau garçon!" exclaimed the countess, turning him round after having led him into the middle of the room--"dat habit does fit you like vax." "yes," replied mr. jorrocks, raising his arms as though he were going to take flight, "but it is rather tight--partiklarly round the waist--shouldn't like to dine in it. what do you think of it?" turning round and addressing the yorkshireman as if nothing had happened--"suppose you get one like it?" "do," rejoined the countess, "and some of the other things--vot you call them, colonel?" "what--breeches?" "yes, breeches--but the oder name--vot you call dem?" "oh, leathers?" replied mr. jorrocks. "no, no, another name still." "i know no other. pantaloons, perhaps, you mean?" "no, no, not pantaloons." "not pantaloons?--then i know of nothing else. you don't mean these sacks of things, called trousers?" taking hold of the yorkshireman's. "no, no, not trousers." "then really, my lady, i don't know any other name." "oh, yes, colonel, you know the things i intend. vot is it you call davil in angleterre?" "oh, we have lots of names for him--old nick, for instance."--"old nick breeches," said the countess thoughtfully; "no, dat sall not be it--vot else?" "old harry?" replied mr. jorrocks.--"old harry breeches," repeated the countess in the hopes of catching the name by the ear--"no, nor dat either, encore anoder name, colonel." "old scratch, then?" "old scratch breeches," re-echoed the countess--"no, dat shall not do."--"beelzebub?" rejoined mr. jorrocks. "beelzebub breeches," repeated the countess--"nor dat." "satan, then?" said mr. jorrocks. "oh oui!" responded the countess with delight, "satan! black satan breeches--you shall von pair of black satan breeches, like the colonel." "and the colonel will pay for them, i presume?" said the yorkshireman, looking at mr. jorrocks. "i carn't," said mr. jorrocks in an undertone; "i'm nearly cleaned out, and shall be in short's gardens before i know where i am, unless i hold better cards this evening than i've done yet. somehow or other, these french are rather too sharp for me, and i've been down upon my luck ever since i came.--lose every night, in fact, and then they are so werry anxious for me to have my rewenge, as they call it, that they make parties expressly for me every evening; but, instead of getting my rewenge, i only lose more and more money.--they seem to me always to turn up the king whenever they want him.--to-night we are going to a countess's of werry great consequence, and, as you know écarté well, i'll back your play, and, perhaps, we may do something between us." this being all arranged, mr. stubbs took his departure, and mr. jorrocks having girded on his sword, and the countess having made her morning toilette, they proceed to their daily promenade in the tuileries gardens. a little before nine that evening, the yorkshireman again found himself toiling up the dirty staircase, and on reaching the third landing was received by agamemnon in a roomy uniform of a chasseur--dark green and tarnished gold, with a cocked-hat and black feather, and a couteau de chasse, slung by a shining patent-leather belt over his shoulder. the opening of the inner door displayed the worthy colonel sitting at his ease, with his toes on each side of the stove (for the evenings had begun to get cool), munching the last bit of crust of the fifth périgord pie that the countess had got him to buy.--he was extremely smart; thin black gauze-silk stockings, black satin breeches; well-washed, well-starched white waistcoat with a rolling collar, showing an amplitude of frill, a blue coat with yellow buttons and a velvet collar, while his pumps shone as bright as polished steel. the countess presently sidled into the room, all smirks and smiles as dressy ladies generally are when well "got up." rouge and the milliner had effectually reduced her age from five and forty down to five and twenty. she wore a dress of the palest pink satin, with lilies of the valley in her hair, and an exquisitely wrought gold armlet, with a most lilliputian watch in the centre. mr. jorrocks having finished his pie-crust, and stuck on his mustachios, the countess blew out her bougies, and the trio, preceeded by agamemnon with a lanthorn in his hand, descended the stairs, whose greasy, muddy steps contrasted strangely with the rich delicacy of the countess's beautifully slippered feet. having handed them into the voiture, agamemnon mounted up behind, and in less than ten minutes they rumbled into the spacious courtyard of the countess de jackson, in the rue des bons-enfants, and drew up beneath a lofty arch at the foot of a long flight of dirty black-and-white marble stairs, about the centre of which was stationed a _lacquey de place_ to show the company up to the hall. the countess de jackson (the wife of an english horse-dealer) lived in an _entresol au troisième_, but the hotel being of considerable dimensions, her apartment was much more spacious than the countess benvolio's. indeed, the countess de jackson, being a _marchande des modes_, had occasion for greater accommodation, and she had five low rooms, whereof the centre one was circular, from which four others, consisting of an ante-room, a kitchen, a bedroom, and _salle à manger_, radiated. agamemnon having opened the door of the _fiacre_, the countess benvolio took the yorkshireman's arm, and at once preceded to make the ascent, leaving the colonel to settle the fare, observing as they mounted the stairs, that he was "von exceeding excellent man, but varé slow." "madame la contesse benvolio and monsieur stoops!" cried the _lacquey de place_ as they reached the door of the low ante-room, where the countess benvolio deposited her shawl, and took a final look at herself in the glass. she again took the yorkshireman's arm and entered the round ballroom, which, though low and out of all proportion, had an exceedingly gay appearance, from the judicious arrangement of the numerous lights, reflected in costly mirrors, and the simple elegance of the crimson drapery, festooned with flowers and evergreens against the gilded walls. indeed, the hotel had been the residence of an ambassador before the first revolution, and this _entresol_ had formed the private apartment of his excellency. the door immediately opposite the one by which they entered, led into the countess de jackson's bedroom, which was also lighted up, with the best furniture exposed and her toilette-table set out with numberless scent bottles, vases, trinkets, and nick-nacks, while the _salle à manger_ was converted into a card-room. having been presented in due form to the hostess, the yorkshireman and his new friend stood surveying the gay crowd of beautiful and well-dressed women, large frilled and well-whiskered men, all chatting, and bowing, and dancing, when a half-suppressed titter that ran through the room attracted their attention, and turning round, mr. jorrocks was seen poking his way through the crowd with a number of straws sticking to his feet, giving him the appearance of a feathered mercury. the fact was, that agamemnon had cleaned his shoes with the liquid varnish (french polish), and forgetting to dry it properly, the carrying away half the straw from the bottom of the _fiacre_ was the consequence, and mr. jorrocks having paid the jehu rather short, the latter had not cared to tell him about it. the straws were, however, soon removed without interruption to the gaiety of the evening. mr. stubbs, of course, took an early opportunity of waltzing with the countess benvolio, who, as all french women are, was an admirable dancer, and jorrocks stood by fingering and curling his mustachios, admiring her movements but apparently rather jealous of the yorkshireman. "i wish," said he after the dance was over, "that you would sit down at _écarté_ and let us try to win some of these mouncheers' tin, for i'm nearly cleaned out. let us go into the cardroom, but first let us see if we can find anything in the way of nourishment, for i begin to be hungry. garsoon," said he catching a servant with a trayful of _eau sucrée_ glasses, "avez-vous kick-shaws to eat?" putting his finger in his mouth--"ge wouderay some refreshment." "oh, oui," replied the garçon taking him to an open window overlooking the courtyard, and extending his hand in the air, "voilà, monsieur, de très bon rafraîchissement." the ball proceeded with the utmost decorum, for though composed of shopkeepers and such like, there was nothing in their dress or manner to indicate anything but the best possible breeding. jorrocks, indeed, fancied himself in the very élite of french society, and, but for a little incident, would have remained of that opinion. in an unlucky moment he took it into his head he could waltz, and surprised the countess benvolio by claiming her hand for the next dance. "it seems werry easy," said he to himself as he eyed the couples gliding round the room;--"at all ewents there's nothing like trying, 'for he who never makes an effort never risks a failure.'" the couples were soon formed and ranged for a fresh dance. jorrocks took a conspicuous position in the centre of the room, buttoned his coat, and, as the music struck up, put his arm round the waist of his partner. the countess, it seems, had some misgivings as to his prowess in the dancing line, and used all her strength to get him well off, but the majority of the dancers started before him. at length, however, he began to move, and went rolling away in something between a gallop and a waltz, effecting two turns, like a great cart-wheel, which brought him bang across the room, right into the track of another couple, who were swinging down at full speed, making a cannon with his head against both theirs, and ending by all four coming down upon the hard boards with a tremendous crash--the countess benvolio undermost, then the partner of the other countess, then jorrocks, and then the other countess herself. great was the commotion, and the music stopped; jorrocks lost his wig, and split his beelzebub breeches across the knees, while the other gentleman cracked his behind--and the countess benvolio and the other countess were considerably damaged; particularly the other countess, who lost four false teeth and broke an ear-ring. this, however, was not the worst, for as soon as they were all scraped together and set right again, the other countess's partner attacked jorrocks most furiously, calling him a _sacré-nom de-dieu'd bête_ of an englishman, a mauvais sujet, a cochon, etc., then spitting on the floor--the greatest insult a frenchman can offer--he vapoured about being one of the "grand nation," "that he was brave--the world knew it," and concluded by thrusting his card--"monsieur charles adolphe eugene, confiturier, no. bis, rue poupée"--into jorrocks's face. it was now jorrocks's turn to speak, so doubling his fists, and getting close to him, he held one to his nose, exclaiming, "d--n ye, sir, je suis--jorrocks!--je suis an englishman! je vous lick within an inch of your life! --je vous kick!--je vous mill!--je vous flabbergaster!" and concluded by giving him his card, "monsieur le colonel jorrocks, no , rue des mauvais-garçons." a friend of the confectioner's interposed and got him away, and mr. stubbs persuaded mr. jorrocks to return into the cardroom, where they were speedily waited upon by the friend of the former, who announced that the colonel must make an apology or fight, for he said, although jorrocks was a "colonel anglais," still monsieur eugene was of the legion of honour, and, consequently, very brave and not to be insulted with impunity. all this the yorkshireman interpreted to mr. jorrocks, who was most anxious to fight, and wished it was light that they might go to work immediately. mr. stubbs therefore told the confectioner's friend (who was also his foreman), that the colonel would fight him with pistols at six o'clock in the bois de boulogne, but no sooner was the word "pistols" mentioned than the friend exclaimed, with a grimace and shrug of his shoulders, "oh horror, no! monsieur adolphe is brave, but he will not touch pistols--they're not weapons of his country." jorrocks then proposed to fight him with broad swords, but this the confectioner's foreman declined on behalf of his principal, and at last the colonel suggested that they could not do better than fight it out with fists. now, the confectioner was ten years younger than jorrocks, tall, long-armed, and not over-burthened with flesh, and had, moreover, taken lessons of harry harmer, when that worthy had his school in paris, so he thought the offer was a good one, and immediately closed with it. jorrocks, too, had been a patron of the prize-ring, having studied under bill richmond, the man of colour, and was reported to have exhibited in early life (incog.) with a pugilist of some pretensions at the fives-court, so, all things considered, fists seemed a very proper mode of settling the matter, and that being agreed upon, each party quitted the countess de jackson's--the confectioner putting forth all manner of high-flown ejaculations and prayers for success, as he groped about the ante-room for his hat, and descended the stairs. "oh! god of war!" said he, throwing up his hands, "who guided the victorious army of this grand nation in egypt, when, from the pyramids, forty centuries beheld our actions--oh, brilliant sun, who shone upon our armies at jaffa, at naples, montebello, marengo, austerlitz, jena, and algiers, who blessed our endeavours, who knowest that we are brave--brave as a hundred lions--look down on charles adolphe eugene, and enable him to massacre and immolate on the altar of his wrath, this sacré-nom de-dieu'd beastly hog of an englishman"--and thereupon he spit upon the flags with all the venom of a viper. jorrocks, too, indulged in a few figures of speech, as he poked his way home, though of a different description. "now blister my kidneys," said he, slapping his thigh, "but i'll sarve him out! i'll baste him as randall did ugly borrock. i'll knock him about as belcher did the big ilkey pigg. i'll damage his mug as turner did scroggins's. i'll fib him till he's as black as agamemnon--for i do feel as though i could fight a few." * * * * * the massive folding doors of the porte-cocher at the hôtel d'hollande had not received their morning opening, when a tremendous loud, long, protracted rat-tat-tat-tat-tan, sounded like thunder throughout the extensive square, and brought numerous nightcapped heads to the windows, to see whether the hotel was on fire, or another revolution had broken out. the _maître d'hotel_ screamed, the porter ran, the _chef de cuisine_ looked out of his pigeon-hole window, and the _garçons_ and male _femmes des chambres_ rushed into the yard, with fear and astonishment depicted on their countenances, when on peeping through the grating of the little door, mr. jorrocks was descried, knocker in hand, about to sound a second edition. now, nothing is more offensive to the nerves of a frenchman than a riotous knock, and the impertinence was not at all migitated by its proceeding from a stranger who appeared to have arrived through the undignified medium of a co-cou.[ ] having scanned his dimensions and satisfied himself that, notwithstanding all the noise, jorrocks was mere mortal man, the porter unbolted the door, and commenced a loud and energetic tirade of abuse against "monsieur anglais," for his audacious thumping, which he swore was enough to make every man of the national guard rush "to arms." in the midst of the torrent, very little of which mr. jorrocks understood, the yorkshireman appeared, whom he hurried into the _co-cou_, bundled in after him, cried "ally!" to the driver, and off they jolted at a miserably slow trot. a little before seven they reached the village of passy, where it was arranged they should meet and proceed from thence to the bois de boulogne, to select a convenient place for the fight; but neither the confectioner nor his second, nor any one on his behalf, was visible and they walked the length and breadth of the village, making every possible inquiry without seeing or hearing anything of them. at length, having waited a couple of hours, mr. jorrocks's appetite overpowered his desire of revenge, and caused him to retire to the "chapeau-rouge" to indulge in a "fork breakfast." nature being satisfied, he called for pen and ink, and with the aid of mr. stubbs drew up the following proclamation which to this day remains posted in the _salle à manger_ a copy whereof was transmitted by post to the confectioner at paris. [footnote : _co-cous_ are nondescript vehicles that ply in the environs of paris. they are a sort of cross between a cab and a young diligence.] proclamation! i, john jorrocks, of great coram street, in the county of middlesex, member of the surrey hunt, in england, and colonel of the army when i'm in france, having been grossly insulted by charles adolphe eugene of no. bis, rue poupée, confectioner, this day repaired to passy, with the intention of sarving him out with my fists; but, neither he nor any one for him having come to the scratch, i, john jorrocks, do hereby proclaim the said charles adolphe eugene to be a shabby fellow and no soldier, and totally unworthy the notice of a fox-hunter and a gentleman sportsman. (signed) john jorrocks. (countersigned) stubbs. this being completed, and the bill paid, they returned leisurely on foot to paris, looking first at one object, then at another, so that the countess benvolio's dinner-hour was passed ere they reached the tuileries gardens, where after resting themselves until it began to get dusk, and their appetites returned, they repaired to the café de paris to destroy them again.--the lofty well-gilded salon was just lighted up, and the numberless lamps reflected in costly mirrors in almost every partition of the wall, aided by the graceful figures and elegant dresses of the ladies, interspersed among the sombre-coated gentry, with here and there the gay uniforms of the military, imparted a fairy air to the scene, which was not a little heightened by the contrast produced by mr. jorrocks's substantial figure, stumping through the centre with his hat on his head, his hands behind his back, and the dust of the day hanging about his hessians. "garsoon," said he, hanging up his hat, and taking his place at a vacant table laid for two, "ge wouderai some wittles," and, accordingly, the spruce-jacketed, white-aproned _garçon_ brought him the usual red-backed book with gilt edges, cut and lettered at the side, like the index to a ledger, and, as mr. jorrocks said, "containing reading enough for a month." "quelle potage voulez vous, monsieur?" inquired the _garçon_ at last, tired of waiting while he studied the _carte_ and looked the words out in the dictionary. "_avez-vous_ any potted lobster?" "non," said the _garçon_, "potage au vermicelle, au riz, a la julienne, consommé, et potage aux choux." "old shoe! who the devil do you think eats old shoes here? have you any mock turtle or gravy soup?" "non, monsieur," said the _garçon_ with a shrug of the shoulders. "then avez-vous any roast beef?" "non, monsieur; nous avons boeuf au naturel--boeuf à la sauce piquante--boeuf aux cornichons--boeuf à la mode--boeuf aux choux--boeuf à la sauce tomate--bifteck aux pommes de terre." "hold hard," said jorrocks; "i've often heard that you can dress an egg a thousand ways, and i want to hear no more about it; bring me a beef-steak and pommes de terre for three." "stop!" cried mr. stubbs, with dismay--"i see you don't understand ordering a dinner in france --let me teach you. where's the _carte?_" "here," said mr. jorrocks, "is 'the bill of lading,'" handing over the book.--"garçon, apportez une douzaine des huîtres, un citron, et du beurre frais," said the yorkshireman, and while they were discussing the propriety of eating them before or after the soup, a beautiful dish of little green oysters made their appearance, which were encored before the first supply was finished. "now, colonel," said the yorkshireman, "take a bumper of chablis," lifting a pint bottle out of the cooler. "it has had one plunge in the ice-pail and no more--see what a delicate rind it leaves on the glass!" eyeing it as he spoke. "ay, but i'd rayther it should leave something in the mouth than on the side of the glass," replied mr. jorrocks; "i loves a good strong generous wine--military port, in fact--but here comes fish and soup--wot are they?" "filet de sole au gratin, et potage au macaroni avec fromage de parmesan. i'll take fish first, because the soup will keep hot longest." "so will i," said mr. jorrocks, "for i think you understand the thing--but they seem to give werry small penn'orths--it really looks like trifling with one's appetite--i likes the old joint--the cut-and-come-again system, such as we used to have at sugden's in cornhill--joint, wegitables, and cheese all for two shillings." "don't talk of your joints here," rejoined the yorkshireman--"i told you before, you don't understand the art of eating--the dexterity of the thing consists in titivating the appetite with delicate morsels so as to prolong the pleasure. a well-regulated french dinner lasts two hours, whereas you go off at score, and take the shine out of yourself before you turn the tattenham corner of your appetite. but come, take another glass of chablis, for your voice is husky as though your throat was full of dust.--will you eat some of this boulli-vert?" "no, not no bouleward for me thank ye." "well, then, we will have the 'entrée de boeuf--beef with sauce tomate--and there is a côtelette de veau en papillotte;--which will you take?" "i'll trouble the beef, i think; i don't like that 'ere pantaloon cutlet much, the skin is so tough." "oh, but you don't eat the paper, man; that is only put on to keep this nice layer of fat ham from melting; take some, if it is only that you may enjoy a glass of champagne after it. there is no meat like veal for paving the way for a glass of champagne." "well, i don't care if i do, now you have explained how to eat it, for i've really been troubled with indigestion all day from eating one wholesale yesterday; but don't you stand potatoes--pommes de terre, as we say in france?" "oh yes, fried, and à la maître d'hotel; here they come, smoking hot. now, j---- for a glass of champagne--take it out of the pail--nay, man! not with both hands round the middle, unless you like it warm--by the neck, so," showing him how to do it and pouring him a glass of still champagne. "this won't do," said jorrocks, holding it up to the candle; "garsoon! garsoon!--no good--no bon--no fizzay, no fizzay," giving the bottom of the bottle a slap with his hand to rouse it. "oh, but this is still champagne," explained the yorkshireman, "and far the best." "i don't think so," retorted mr. jorrocks, emptying the glass into his water-stand. "well, then, have a bottle of the other," rejoined the yorkshireman, ordering one. "and who's to pay for it?" inquired mr. jorrocks. "oh, never mind that--care killed the cat--give a loose to pleasure for once, for it's a poor heart that never rejoices. here it comes, and 'may you never know what it is to want,' as the beggar boys say.--now, let's see you treat it like a philosopher--the wire is off, so you've nothing to do but cut the string, and press the cork on one side with your thumb.--nay! you've cut both sides!" fizz, pop, bang, and away went the cork close past the ear of an old deaf general, and bounded against the wall.--"come, there's no mischief done, so pour out the wine.--your good health, old boy, may you live for a thousand years, and i be there to count them! --now, that's what i call good," observed the yorkshireman, holding up his glass, "see how it dulls the glass, even to the rim--champagne isn't worth a copper unless it's iced--is it, colonel?" "vy, i don't know--carn't say i like it so werry cold; it makes my teeth chatter, and cools my courage as it gets below--champagne certainly gives one werry gentlemanly ideas, but for a continuance, i don't know but i should prefer mild hale." "you're right, old boy, it does give one very gentlemanly ideas, so take another glass, and you'll fancy yourself an emperor.--your good health again." "the same to you, sir. and now wot do you call this chap?" "that is a quail, the other a snipe--which will you take?" "vy, a bit of both, i think; and do you eat these chaps with them?" "yes, nothing nicer--artichokes á la sauce blanche; you get the real eating part, you see, by having them sent up this way, instead of like haystacks, as they come in england, diving and burning your fingers amid an infinity of leaves." "they are werry pretty eating, i must confess; and this upper binjamin of ham the birds are cooked in is delicious. i'll trouble you for another plateful." "that's right, colonel, you are yourself again. i always thought you would come back into the right course; and now you are good for a glass of claret of light hermitage. come, buck up, and give a loose to pleasure for once." "for once, ay, that's what you always say; but your once comes so werry often." "say no more.--garçon! un demi-bouteille de st. julien; and here, j----, is a dish upon which i will stake my credit as an experienced caterer--a charlotte de pommes--upon my reputation it is a fine one, the crust is browned to a turn, and the rich apricot sweet-meat lies ensconced in the middle, like a sleeping babe in its cradle. if ever man deserved a peerage and a pension it is this cook." "it's werry delicious--order another." "oh, your eyes are bigger than your stomach, mr. j----. according to all mathematical calculations, this will more than suffice. ay, i thought so--you are regularly at a stand-still. take a glass of whatever you like. good--i'll drink chablis to your champagne. and now, that there may be no mistake as to our country, we will have some cheese--fromage de roquefort, gruyère, neufchatel, or whatever you like--and a beaker of burgundy after, and then remove the cloth, for i hate dabbling in dowlas after dinner is done." "rum beggars these french," said mr. jorrocks to himself, laying down the newspaper, and taking a sip of churchman's chocolate, as on the sunday morning he sat with the countess benvolio, discussing rolls and butter, with _galignani's messenger_, for breakfast. "rum beggars, indeed," said he, resuming the paper, and reading the programme of the amusements for the day, commencing with the hour of protestant service at the ambassador's chapel, followed on by palace and gallery of pictures of the palais royal--review with military music in the place du carousel--horse-races in the champs de mars--fête in the park of st. cloud--combat d'animaux, that is to say, dog-fighting and bull-baiting, at the barrière du combat, tivoli, etc., etc., "it's not werry right, but i suppose at rome we must do as romans do," with which comfortable reflection mr. jorrocks proposed that the countess and he should go to the races. madame was not partial to animals of any description, but having got a new hat and feathers she consented to show them, on condition that they adjoined to the fête at st. cloud in the evening. accordingly, about noon, the ostler's man of a neighbouring english livery-stable drew up a dark-coloured job cab, with a red-and-white striped calico lining, drawn by a venerable long-backed white horse, at the countess's gateway in the rue des mauvais-garçons, into which mr. jorrocks having handed her ladyship, and agamemnon, who was attired in his chasseur uniform, having climbed up behind, the old horse, after two or three flourishes of his dirty white tail, as a sort of acknowledgment of the whip on his sides, got himself into motion, and proceeded on his way to the races. the countess being resolved to cut a dash, had persuaded our hero to add a smart second-hand cocked-hat, with a flowing red-and-white feather, to the rest of his military attire; and the end of a scarlet handkerchief, peeping out at the breast of his embroidered frock-coat, gave him the appearance of wearing a decoration, and procured him the usual salute from the soldiers and veterans of the hospital of invalids, who were lounging about the ramparts and walks of the edifice. the countess's costume was simple and elegant; a sky-blue satin pelisse with boots to match, and a white satin bonnet with white feathers, tipped with blue, and delicate primrose-coloured gloves. of course the head of the cab was well thrown back to exhibit the elegant inmates to the world. great respect is paid to the military in france, as mr. jorrocks found by all the hack, cab, and _fiacre _ drivers pulling up and making way for him to pass, as the old crocodile-backed white horse slowly dragged its long length to the gateway of the champ de mars. here the guard, both horse and foot, saluted him, which he politely acknowledged, under direction of the countess, by raising his _chapeau bras_, and a subaltern was dispatched by the officer in command to conduct him to the place appointed for the carriages to stand. but for this piece of attention mr. jorrocks would certainly have drawn up at the splendid building of the École militaire, standing as it does like a grand stand in the centre of the gravelly dusty plain of the champ de mars. the officer, having speared his way through the crowd with the usual courtesy of a frenchman, at length drew up the cab in a long line of anonymous vehicles under the rows of stunted elms by the stone-lined ditch, on the southern side of the plain when, turning his charger round, he saluted mr. jorrocks, and bumped off at a trot. mr. jorrocks then stuck the pig-driving whip into the socket, and throwing forward the apron, handed out the countess, and installed agamemnon in the cab. a fine day and a crowd make the french people thoroughly happy, and on this afternoon the sun shone brightly and warmly on the land;--still there was no apparently settled purpose for the assembling of the multitude, who formed themselves in groups upon the plain, or lined the grass-burnt mounds at the sides, in most independent parties. the champ de mars forms a regular parallelogram of feet by , and the course, which is of an oblong form, comprises a circuit of the whole, and is marked out with strong posts and ropes. within the course, equestrians--or more properly speaking, "men on horseback"--are admitted under the surveillance of a regiment of cavalry, while infantry and cavalry are placed in all directions with drawn swords and fixed bayonets to preserve order. being a gravelly sandy soil, in almost daily requisition for the exercise and training of troops, no symptoms of vegetation can be expected, and the course is as hard as the ride in rotten row or up to kensington gardens. about the centre of the south side, near where the carriages were drawn up, a few temporary stands were erected for the royal family and visitors, the stand for the former being in the centre, and hung with scarlet and gold cloth, while the others were tastefully arranged with tri-coloured drapery. these are entered by tickets only, but there are always plenty of platforms formed by tables and "chaises à louer" (chairs to let) for those who don't mind risking their necks for a sight. some few itinerants tramped about the plain, offering alternately tooth-picks, play-bills, and race-lists for sale. mr. jorrocks, of course, purchased one of the latter, which was decorated at the top with a woodcut, representing three jockeys riding two horses, one with a whip as big as a broad sword. we append the list as a specimen of "sporting in france," which, we are sorry to see, does not run into our pages quite so cleverly as our printer could wish.[ ] [footnote : racing in france is, of course, now a very different business to the primitive sport it was when this sketch was written.--editor.] foreigners accuse the english of claiming every good-looking horse, and every well-built carriage, met on the continent, as their own, but we think that few would be ambitious of laying claim to the honour of supplying france with jockeys or racehorses. mr. jorrocks, indeed, indifferent as he is to the affairs of the turf, could not suppress his "conwiction" of the difference between the flibberty-gibberty appearance of the frenchmen, and the quiet, easy, close-sitting jockeys of newmarket. the former all legs and elbows, spurting and pushing to the front at starting, in tawdry, faded jackets, and nankeen shorts, just like the frowsy door-keepers of an epsom gambling-booth; the latter in clean, neat-fitting leathers, well-cleaned boots, spick and span new jackets, feeling their horses' mouths, quietly in the rear, with their whip hands resting on their thighs. then such riding! a hulking norman with his knees up to his chin, and a long lean half-starved looking frenchman sat astride like a pair of tongs, with a wet sponge applied to his knees before starting, followed by a runaway english stable lad, in white cords and drab gaiters, and half a dozen others equally singular, spurring and tearing round and round, throwing the gravel and sand into each other's faces, until the field was so separated as to render it difficult to say which was leading and which was tailing, for it is one of the rules of their races, that each heat must be run in a certain time, consequently, though all the horses may be distanced, the winner keeps working away. then what an absence of interest and enthusiasm on the part of the spectators! three-fourths of them did not know where the horses started, scarcely a man knew their names, and the few tenpenny bets that were made, were sported upon the colour of the jackets. a frenchman has no notion of racing, and it is on record that after a heat in which the winning horse, after making a waiting race, ran in at the finish, a parisian observed, that "although 'annette' had won at the finish, he thought the greater honour was due to 'hercule,' he having kept the lead the greater part of the distance." on someone explaining to him that the jockey on annette had purposely made a waiting race, he was totally incredulous, asserting that he was sure the jockeys had too much _amour-propre_ to remain in the rear at any part of the race, when they might be in front. x. sporting in france programme des courses de chevaux qui auront lieu au champ-de-mars le dimanche a une heure, en presence de ll. mm. le roi et la reine, et des princes de la famille royale deux prix royaux +------------+--------------+----------------+------+--------+----------------+ | noms | signalemens | noms |poids |noms | costumes | |des chevaux | et ages | des |à |des |des jockeys | | | | proprietaires |porter|jockeys | | +------------+--------------+----------------+------+--------+----------------+ |prix royal de fr. pour les chevaux et jumens de deuxième espèce.--en | | partie liée | | | | | | | | |moina |bai-clair- |haras de meudon | l.|tom |veste rouge | | | | | | hall |toque tricolore | |corisandre |bai-brun- |m. bonvié fils | |tom |veste orange, | | | | | |wilson |manches et toque| | | | | | |noires. | |flore |bai-cerise- |m. de laroque | |tony |veste noire, | | | | | |montel |manches blanches| | | | | | |toque noire. | |eleanor |alezan-brulé- |m. de royère | |bernou |veste verte, | | | | | | | toque noire. | |diomède |bai- |m. le baron de | |baptiste|veste bleue, | | | | la bastide | | |manches jaunes, | | | | | | |toque bl. et j. | |cirus |bai-brun- |lord seymour | |north |veste orange, | | | | | | | toque noire. | |aline |bai-clair- |m. noel | |tom |veste ponceau, | | | | | | |manches blanches| | | | | | | toque bleue. | |léonie |alezan-doré- |m. belhomme | |pichon |veste jaune, | | | | | | | toque verte | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |prix royal de ooo fr. pour les chevaux de première espèce.--en partie liée | | | | | | | | |young-milton|bai- |m. fasquel | l.|tom webb|veste et toque | | | | | | | noires. | |mouna |bai-clair- |m. de laroque | |tony |veste noire, | | | | | | montal |manches blanches| | | | | | |toque noire | |paméla |bai- |heras de meudon | |tom hall|veste rouge, | | | | | | |toque tricolore.| |eglé |gris-sanguin- |lord seymour | |mous |veste orange, | | | | | | | toque noire | |cédéric |bai- |m. le baron de | |baptiste|veste bleue, | | | | la bastide | | |manches jaunes, | | | | | | |toque bl. et ja.| |young-tandem|bai-cerise- |m. schickler | |webb |veste rouge, | | | | | | | toque noire. | | | | | | | | |oubiou |alezan- |mm. salvador et | |tom |veste bleue, | | | | tassinari | | johns |manches blanches| | | | | | | | | | | | | |toque rouge. | |coradin |bai- |m. moreil | |rené |veste bleue, | | | | | | |manches jaunes, | | | | | | |toque bl.&jaune.| +------------+--------------+----------------+------+--------+----------------+ |nota. les chevaux de première espèce sont ceux nés en france de pères et | |mères étrangers: ceux de la deuxième espèce sont ceux nés de pères et | |mères français ou seulement de l'un des deux.--chaque épreuve comprendra | |les deux tours du champs de mars.--les courses commenceront par la | |premiere épreuve des chevaux de deuxième espèce.--la seconde course se | |fera pour la première épreuve des chevaux de première espèce: suivie de | |la deuxième épreuve des chevaux de deuxième espèce: et elles seront | |terminées par la deuxième épreuve des chevaux de première espèce. | +-----------------------------------------------------------------------------+ ======================================================================== transcriber's note: the original document contains an additional column that could not be squeezed into the characters allowed in this format. that column shows the pedigree of the horses, as follows: moina: issu de candide et de miltonia. corisandre: issu d'holbein et de lisbeth. flore: issue de tigris et biche. eléanor: issue de moulay et de cadette. diomède: issu de prémium et de gabrielle. cirus: issu de toley et de miss. aline: issue de snail et d'une jument normande. léonie: issue de massoud et d'une fille de d-y-o. young-milton: issu de milton et de betzi. mouna: issu de rainbow et de mouna. paméla: issue de candid et géane eglé: issue de rainbow and young-urganda. cédéric: issue de candid et prestesse. young-tandem: issu de multum-in-parvo et d'oida. oubiou: issu d'oubiou et d'une fille de stradlamlad. coradin: issu de candid et de prestesse. ======================================================================= "moderate sport," said mr. jorrocks to himself, curling his mustachios and jingling a handful of five-franc pieces in the pocket of his leathers--"moderate sport indeed," and therefore he turned his back to the course and walked the countess off towards the cab. from beneath a low tenth-rate-looking booth, called "the cottage of content," supported by poles placed on the stunted trees of the avenue, and exhibiting on a blue board, "john jones, dealer in british beer," in gilt letters, there issued the sound of voices clamouring about odds, and weights and scales, and on looking in, a score of ragamuffin-looking grooms, imitation jockeys, and the usual hangers-on of the racehorses and livery-stables, were seen drinking beer, smoking, playing at cards, dice, and chuck-farthing. before the well-patched canvas curtain that flapped before the entrance, a crowd had collected round one of the horses which was in the care of five or six fellows, one to hold him, another to whistle to him, a third to whisk the flies away with a horse's tail, a fourth to scrape him, a fifth to rinse his mouth out,--while the stud-groom, a tall, gaunt, hairy-looking fellow, in his shirt sleeves, with ear-rings, a blue apron and trousers (more like a gardener than a groom), walked round and round with mystified dignity, sacréing and muttering, "ne parlez pas, ne parlez pas," as anyone approached who seemed likely to ask questions. mr. jorrocks, having well ascertained the importance of his hat and feather, pushed his way with the greatest coolness into the ring, just to cast his eye over the horse and see whether he was fit to go with the surrey, and the stud-groom immediately took off his lavender-coloured foraging cap, and made two profound salaams, one to the colonel, the other to the countess. mr. jorrocks, all politeness, took off his _chapeau_, and no sooner was it in the air, than with a wild exclamation of surprise and delight, the groom screamed, "oh, monsieur shorrock, mon ami, comment vous portez vous?" threw his arms round the colonel's neck, and kissed him on each cheek. "hold!" roared the colonel, half smothered in the embrace, and disengaging himself he drew back a few paces, putting his hand on the hilt of his sword, when in the training groom of paris he recognised his friend the baron of newmarket. the abruptness of the incident disarmed mr. jorrocks of reflection, and being a man of impulse and warm affections, he at once forgave the novelty of the embrace, and most cordially joined hands with those of his friend. they then struck up a mixture of broken english and equally broken french, in mutual inquiries after each other's healths and movements, and presuming that mr. jorrocks was following up the sporting trade in paris, the baron most considerately gave him his best recommendations which horse to back, kindly betting with him himself, but, unfortunately, at each time assigning mr. jorrocks the losing horse. at length, being completely cleaned out, he declined any further transactions, and having got the countess into the cab, was in the act of climbing in himself, when someone took him by the sword as he was hoisting himself up by the wooden apron, and drew him back to the ground. "holloa, stubbs, my boy!" cried he, "i'm werry 'appy to see ye," holding out his hand, and thereupon mr. stubbs took off his hat to the countess. "well now, the deuce be in these french," observed mr. jorrocks, confidentially, in an undertone as, resigning the reins to agamemnon, he put his arm through the yorkshireman's and drew out of hearing of the countess behind the cab--"the deuce be in them. i say. there's that beggarly baron as we met at newmarket has just diddled me out of four naps and a half, by getting me to back 'osses that he said were certain to win, and i really don't know how we are to make 'tongue and buckle' meet, as the coachmen say. somehow or other they are far too sharp for me. cards, dominoes, dice, backgammon, and racing, all one--they inwariably beat me, and i declare i haven't as much pewter as will coach me to calais." the yorkshireman, as may be supposed, was not in a condition of any great pecuniary assistance, but after a turn or two along the mound, he felt it would be a reproach on his country if he suffered his friend to be done by a frenchman, and on consideration he thought of a trick that monsieur would not be up to. accordingly, desiring mr. jorrocks to take him to the baron, and behave with great cordiality, and agree to the proposal he should make, they set off in search of that worthy, who, after some trouble, they discovered in the "cottage of content," entertaining john jones and his comrades with an account of the manner in which he had fleeced monsieur shorrock. the yorkshireman met him with the greatest delight, shook hands with him over and over again, and then began talking about racing, pigeon-shooting, and newmarket, pretended to be full of money, and very anxious for the baron's advice in laying it out. on hearing this, the baron beckoned him to retire, and joining him in the avenue, walked him up and down, while he recommended his backing a horse that was notoriously amiss. the yorkshireman consented, lost a nap with great good humour, and banteringly told the baron he thought he could beat the horse on foot. this led them to talk of foot-racing and at last the yorkshireman offered to bet that mr. jorrocks would run fifty yards with him on his back, before the baron would run a hundred. upon this the baron scratched his head and looked very knowing, pretended to make a calculation, when the yorkshireman affected fear, and professed his readiness to withdraw the offer. the baron then plucked up his courage, and after some haggling, the match was made for six naps, the yorkshireman reckoning the baron might have ten francs in addition to what he had won of mr. jorrocks and himself. the money was then deposited in the hands of the countess benvolio, and away went the trio to the "cottage of content," to get men and ropes to measure and keep the ground. the english jockeys and lads, though ready enough to pigeon a countryman themselves, have no notion of assisting a foreigner to do so, unless they share in the spoil, and the baron being a notorious screw, they all seemed heartily glad to find him in a trap. out then they all sallied, amid cheers and shouts, while john jones, with a yard-wand in his hand, proceeded to measure a hundred yards along the low side of the mound. this species of amusement being far more in accordance with the taste of the french than anything in which horses are concerned, an immense mob flocked to the scene, and the baron having explained how it was, and being considered a safe man to follow, numerous offers were made to bet against the performance of the match. the yorkshireman being a youth of discretion and accustomed to bet among strangers, got on five naps more with different parties, who to "prevent accidents" submitted to deposit the money with the countess, and all things being adjusted, and the course cleared by a picket of infantry, mr. jorrocks ungirded his sword, and depositing it with his frock-coat in the cab, walked up to the fifty yards he was to have for start. "now, colonel," said the yorkshireman, backing him to the mound, so that he might leap on without shaking him, "put your best leg first, and it's a hollow thing; if you don't fall, you must win,"--and thereupon taking mr. jorrocks's cocked hat and feather from his head, he put it sideways on his own, so that he might not be recognised, and mounted his man. mr. jorrocks then took his place as directed by john jones, and at a signal from him--the dropping of a blue cotton handkerchief--away they started amid the shouts, the clapping of hands, and applause of the spectators, who covered the mound and lined the course on either side. mr. jorrocks's action was not very capital, his jack-boots and leathers rather impeding his limbs, while the baron had as little on him as decency would allow. the yorkshireman feeling his man rather roll at the start, again cautioned him to take it easy, and after a dozen yards he got into a capital run, and though the lanky baron came tearing along like an ill-fed greyhound, mr. jorrocks had full two yards to spare, and ran past the soldier, who stood with his cap on his bayonet as a winning-post, amid the applause of his backers, the yells of his opponents, and the general acclamation of the spectators. the countess, anticipating the victory of her hero, had dispatched agamemnon early in the day for a chaplet of red-and-yellow immortelles, and having switched the old cab horse up to the winning-post, she gracefully descended, without showing more of her foot and ankle than was strictly correct, and decorated his brow with the wreath, as the yorkshireman dismounted. enthusiasm being always the order of the day in france, this act was greeted with the loudest acclamations, and, without giving him time to recover his wind, the populace bundled mr. jorrocks neck and shoulders into the cab, and seizing the old horse by the head, paraded him down the entire length of the champ de mars, mr. jorrocks bowing and kissing his hands to the assembled multitude, in return for the vivas! the clapping of hands, and the waving of ribbons and handkerchiefs that greeted him as he went. popularity is but a fickle goddess, and in no country more fickle than in france. ere the procession reached the end of the dusty plain, the mob had tailed off very considerably, and as the leader of the old white horse pulled him round to return, a fresh commotion in the distance, caused by the apprehension of a couple of pickpockets, drew away the few followers that remained, and the recently applauded and belauded mr. jorrocks was left alone in his glory. he then pulled up, and taking the chaplet of immortelles from his brow, thrust it under the driving cushion of the cab, and proceeded to reinstate himself in his tight military frock, re-gird himself with his sword, and resume the cocked hat and feather. nothing was too good for mr. stubbs at that moment, and, had a pen and ink been ready, mr. jorrocks would have endorsed him a bill for any amount. having completed his toilette he gave the yorkshireman the vacant seat in the cab, flopped the old horse well about the ears with the pig-driving whip, and trotted briskly up the line he had recently passed in triumphal procession, and wormed his way among the crowd in search of the countess. there was nothing, however, to be seen of her, and after driving about, and poking his way on foot into all the crowds he could find, bolting up to every lady in blue, he looked at his great double-cased gold repeater, and finding it was near three o'clock and recollecting the fête of st. cloud, concluded her ladyship must have gone on, and agamemnon being anxious to see it, of course was of the same opinion; so, again flopping the old horse about the ears, he cut away down the champ de mars, and by the direction of agamemnon crossed the seine by the pont des invalides, and gained the route to versailles. here the genius of the people was apparent, for the road swarmed with voitures of every description, diligences, gondoles, co-cous, cabs, fiacres, omnibuses, dame-blanches, all rolling and rumbling along, occasionally interrupted by the lilting and tilting of a light english cab or tilbury, drawn by a thoroughbred, and driven by a dandy. the spirit of the old white horse even seemed roused as he got among the carriages and heard the tramping of hoofs and the jingling of bells round the necks of other horses, and he applied himself to the shafts with a vigour his enfeebled-looking frame appeared incapable of supplying. so they trotted on, and after a mile travelling at a foot's pace after they got into close line, they reached the porte maillot, and resigning the cab to the discretion of agamemnon, mr. jorrocks got himself brushed over by one of the gentry who ply in that profession at all public places, and tucking his sword under one arm, he thrust the other through mr. stubbs's, and, john-bull-like, strutted up the long broad grass avenue, through the low part of the wood of st. cloud, as if all he saw belonged to himself. the scene was splendid, and nature, art, and the weather appeared confederated for effect. on the lofty heights arose the stately place, looking down with placid grandeur on the full foliage of the venerable trees, over the beautiful gardens, the spouting fountains, the rushing cascades, and the gay and countless myriads that swarmed the avenues, while the circling river flowed calmly on, without a ripple on its surface, as if in ridicule of the sound of trumpets, the clang of cymbals, and the beat of drums, that rent the air around. along the broad avenue were ranged shows of every description--wild beasts, giants, jugglers, tumblers, mountebanks, and monsters, while in spots sheltered from the sun by lofty trees were dancing-places, swings, roundabouts, archery-butts, pistol-ranges, ball-kicking and head-thumping places, montagnes-suisses, all the concomitants of fairs and fêtes--beating "bartlemy fair," as mr. jorrocks candidly confessed, "all to nothing." the chance of meeting the countess benvolio in such a multitude was very remote indeed, but, to tell the truth, mr. jorrocks never once thought of her, until having eat a couple of cold fowls and drank a bottle of porter, at an english booth, he felt in his pocket for his purse, and remembered it was in her keeping. mr. stubbs, however, settled the account, and in high glee mr. jorrocks resumed his peregrinations, visiting first one show, then another, shooting with pea-guns, then dancing a quadrille, until he was brought up short before a splendid green-and-gold roundabout, whose magic circle contained two lions, two swans, two black horses, a tiger, and a giraffe. "let's have a ride," said he, jumping on to one of the black horses and adjusting the stirrups to his length. the party was soon made up, and as the last comer crossed his tiger, the engine was propelled by the boys in the centre, and away they went at derby pace. in six rounds mr. jorrocks lost his head, turned completely giddy, and bellowed out to them to stop. they took no heed--all the rest were used to it--and after divers yells and ineffectual efforts to dismount, he fell to the ground like a sack. the machine was in full work at the time, and swept round three or four times before they could stop it. at last mr. stubbs got to him, and a pitiable plight he was in. he had fallen on his head, broken his feather, crushed his chapeau bras, lost off his mustachios, was as pale as death, and very sick. fortunately the accident happened near the gate leading to the town of st. cloud, and thither, with the aid of two gendarmes, mr. stubbs conveyed the fallen hero, and having put him to bed at the hôtel d'angleterre, he sent for a "médecin," who of course shook his head, looked very wise, ordered him to drink warm water--a never-failing specific in france--and keep quiet. finding he had an englishman for a patient, the "médecin" dropped in every two hours, always concluding with the order "encore l'eau chaud." a good sleep did more for mr. jorrocks than the doctor, and when the "médecin" called in the morning, and repeated the injunction "encore l'eau chaud," he bellowed out, "cuss your _l'eau chaud_, my stomach ain't a reserwoir! give me some wittles!" the return of his appetite being a most favourable symptom, mr. stubbs discharged the doctor, and forthwith ordered a _déjeuner à la fourchette_, to which mr. jorrocks did pretty fair justice, though trifling in comparison with his usual performances. they then got into a versailles diligence that stopped at the door, and rattling along at a merry pace, very soon reached paris and the rue des mauvais-garçons. "come up and see the countess," said mr. jorrocks as they arrived at the bottom of the flight of dirty stairs, and, with his hands behind his back and his sword dragging at his heels, he poked upstairs, and opening the outer door entered the apartment. he passed through the small ante-room without observing his portmanteau and carpet-bag on the table, and there being no symptoms of the countess in the next one, he walked forward into the bedroom beyond. before an english fire-place that mr. jorrocks himself had been at the expense of providing, snugly ensconced in the luxurious depths of a well-cushioned easy chair, sat a monstrous man with a green patch on his right eye, in slippers, loose hose, a dirty grey woollen dressing-gown, and black silk nightcap, puffing away at a long meerschaum pipe, with a figure of bacchus on the bowl. at a sight so unexpected mr. jorrocks started back, but the smoker seemed quite unconcerned, and casting an unmeaning grey eye at the intruder, puffed a long-drawn respiration from his mouth. "how now!" roared mr. jorrocks, boiling into a rage, which caused the monster to start upon his legs as though he were galvanised. "vot brings you here?" "sprechen sie deutsch?" responded the smoker, opening his eye a little wider, and taking the pipe from his mouth. "speak english, you fool," bawled mr. jorrocks. "sie sind sehr unverschämt" (you are very impudent), replied the dutchman with a thump on the table. "i'll run you through the gizzard!" rejoined mr. jorrocks, half drawing his sword,--"skin you alive, in fact!" when in rushed the countess and threw herself between them. now, mynheer van rosembom, a burgomaster of flushing, was an old friend of the countess's, and an exceedingly good paying one, and having cast up that morning quite unexpectedly by the early diligence from dunkirk, and the countess being enraged at mr. jorrocks for not sharing the honours of his procession in the cab on the previous day, and believing, moreover, that his treasury was pretty well exhausted, thought she could not do better than instal rosembom in his place, and retain the stakes she held for the colonel's board and lodging. this arrangement she kept to herself, simply giving rosembom, who was not a much better frenchman than col. jorrocks, to understand that the room would be ready for him shortly, and agamemnon was ordered to bundle mr. jorrocks's clothes into his portmanteau and bag, and place them in readiness in the ante-room. rosembom, fatigued with his journey, then retired to enjoy his pipe at his ease, while the countess went to the marche st. honoré to buy some sour crout, roast beef, and prunes for his dinner. "turn this great slush-bucket out of my room!" cried mr. jorrocks, as the countess rushed into his apartment. "vot's he doing here?" "doucement, mon cher colonel," said she, clapping him on the back, "he sall be my brodder." "never such a thing!" roared mr. jorrocks, eyeing him as he spoke. "never such a thing! no more than myself--out with him, i say, or i'll cut my stick--_toute suite--_directly!" "avec tout mon coeur!" replied the countess, her choler rising as she spoke. "you're another," rejoined mr. jorrocks, judging by her manner that she called him something offensive--"vous ête one mauvaise woman!" "monsieur," said the countess, her eyes flashing as she spoke, "vous êtes un polisson!--von rascal!--von dem villain!--un charlatan!--von nasty--bastely--ross bif!--dem dog!" and thereupon she curled her fingers and set her teeth on edge as though she would tear his very eyes out. rosembom, though he didn't exactly see the merits of the matter, exchanged his pipe for the poker, so what with this, the sword, and the nails, things wore a very belligerent aspect. mr. stubbs, as usual, interposed, and the countess, still keeping up the semblance of her rage, ordered them to quit her apartment directly, or she would have recourse to her old friends the police. mr. stubbs was quite agreeable to go, but he hinted that she might as well hand over the stakes that had been entrusted to her keeping on the previous day, upon which she again indulged in a torrent of abuse, swore they were a couple of thieves, and that mr. jorrocks owed her far more than the amount for board and lodging. this made the colonel stare, for on the supposition that he was a visitor, he had been firing away his money in all directions, playing at everything she proposed, buying her bonnets, perigord pies, hiring remises, and committing every species of extravagance, and now to be charged for what he thought was pure friendship, disgusted him beyond expression. the countess speedily summoned the porter, the man of letters of the establishment, and with his aid drew mr. jorrocks out a bill, which he described as "reaching down each side of his body and round his waist," commencing with francs for savon, and then proceeding in the daily routine of café, franc; déjeuner à la fourchette, francs; diner avec vin, francs; tea, franc; souper, francs; bougies, francs; appartement, francs; running him up a bill of francs; and when mr. stubbs remonstrated on the exorbitance of the charges, she replied, "it sall be, sare, as small monnaie as sail be consistent avec my dignified respectability, you to charge." there seemed no help for the matter, so mr. stubbs paid the balance, while mr. jorrocks, shocked at the duplicity of the countess, the impudence of rosembom, and the emptiness of his own pockets, bolted away without saying a word. that very night the malle-poste bore them from the capital, with two cold fowls, three-quarters of a yard of bread, and a bottle of porter, for mr. jorrocks on the journey, and ere another sun went down, the sandy suburbs of calais saw them toiling towards her ramparts, and rumbling over the drawbridges and under the portcullis, that guard the entrance to her gloomy town. calais! cold, cheerless, lifeless calais! whose soul has ever warmed as it approached thy town? but how many hearts have turned with sickening sorrow from the mirthless tinkling of thy bells! "we'll not stay here long i guess," said mr. jorrocks as the diligence pulled up at the post-office, and the conducteur requested the passengers to descend. "that's optional," said a bystander, who was waiting for his letters, looking at mr. jorrocks with an air as much as to say, what a rum-looking fellow you are, and not without reason, for the colonel was attired in a blue sailor's jacket, white leathers, and jack-boots, with the cocked hat and feather. the speaker was a middle-aged, middle-statured man, with a quick intelligent eye, dressed in a single-breasted green riding-coat, striped toilinette waistcoat, and drab trousers, with a whip in his hand. "thank you for nothing!" replied mr. jorrocks, eyeing him in return, upon which the speaker turned to the clerk and asked if there were any letters for monsieur apperley or nimrod. "nimrod!" exclaimed mr. jorrocks, dropping on his knees as though he were shot. "oh my vig what have i done? oh dear! oh dear! what a dumbfounderer--flummoxed i declare!" "hold up! old 'un," said nimrod in astonishment; "why, what's the matter now? you don't owe me anything i dare say!" "owe you anything! yes, i does," said mr. jorrocks, rising from the ground, "i owes you a debt of gratitude that i can never wipe off--you'll be in the day-book and ledger of my memory for ever and a year." "who are you?" inquired nimrod, becoming more and more puzzled, as he contrasted his dialect with his dress. "who am i? why, i'm mister jorrocks." "jorrocks, by jove! who'd have thought it! i declare i took you for a horse-marine. give us your hand, old boy. i'm proud to make your acquaintance." "ditto to you, sir, twice repeated. i considers you the werry first man of the age!"--and thereupon they shook hands with uncommon warmth. "you've been in paris, i suppose," resumed nimrod, after their respective digits were released; "were you much gratified with what you saw? what pleased you most--the tuileries, louvre, garden of plants, père la chaise, notre dame, or what?" "why now, to tell you the truth, singular as it may seem, i saw nothing but the tuileries and naughty dame.--i may say a werry naughty dame, for she fleeced me uncommonly, scarcely leaving me a dump to carry me home." "what, you've been among the ladies, have you? that's gay for a man at your time of life." "yes, i certainlie have been among the ladies,--countesses i may say--but, dash my vig, they are a rum set, and made me pay for their acquaintance. the countess benwolio certainlie is a bad 'un." "oh, the deuce!--did that old devil catch you?" inquired nimrod. "vot, do you know her?" "know her! ay--everybody here knows her with her black boy. she's always on the road, and lives now by the flats she catches between paris and the coast. she was an agent for morison's pills--but having a fractious scotch lodger that she couldn't get out, she physicked him so dreadfully that he nearly died, and the police took her licence away. but you are hungry, mr. jorrocks, come to my house and spend the evening, and tell me all about your travels." mr. stubbs objected to this proposition, having just learned that the london packet sailed in an hour, so the trio adjourned to mr. roberts's, royal hotel, where over some strong eau-de-vie they cemented their acquaintance, and mr. jorrocks, finding that nimrod was to be in england the following week, insisted upon his naming a day for dining in great coram street. "permits" to embark having been considerately granted "gratis" by the government for a franc apiece, at the hour of ten our travellers stepped on board, and mr. jorrocks, having wrapped himself up in his martial cloak, laid down in the cabin and, like ulysses in ithaca, as nimrod would say, "arrived in london asleep." xi. a ride to brighton on "the age" _(in a very "familiar letter" to nimrod)_ dear nimrod, you have favoured myself, and the sporting world at large, with a werry rich high-flavoured account of the great captain barclay, and his extonishing coach, the "defiance"; and being werry grateful to you for that and all other favours, past, present, and to come, i take up my grey goose quill to make it "obedient to my will," as mr. pope, the poet, says, in relating a werry gratifying ride i had on the celebrated "brighton age," along with sir wincent cotton, bart., and a few other swells. being, as you knows, of rather an emigrating disposition, and objecting to make a nick-stick of my life by marking down each christmas day over roast-beef and plum pudding, cheek-by-jowl with mrs. j---- at home, i said unto my lad binjimin--and there's not a bigger rogue unhung--"binjimin, be after looking out my sunday clothes, and run down to the regent circus, and book me the box-seat of the 'age,' for i'm blow'd if i'm not going to see the king at brighton (or 'london-sur-mary,' as james green calls it), and tell the pig-eyed book-keeper it's for mr. jorrocks, and you'll be sure to get it." accordingly, next day, i put in my appearance at the circus, dressed in my best blue saxony coat, with metal buttons, yellow waistcoat, tights, and best hessians, with a fine new castor on my head, and a carnation in my button-hole. lots of chaps came dropping in to go, and every one wanted the box-seat. "can i have the box-seat?" said one.--"no, sir; mr. jorrocks has it." "is the box-seat engaged?" asked another.--"yes, sir; mr. jorrocks has taken it." "book me the box," said a third with great dignity.--"it's engaged already." "who by?"--"mr. jorrocks"; and so they went on to the tune of near a dozen. presently a rattling of pole chains was heard, and a cry was raised of "here's sir wincent!" i looks out, and saw a werry neat, dark, chocolate-coloured coach, with narrow red-striped wheels, and a crest, either a heagle or a unicorn (i forgets which), on the door, and just the proprietors' names below the winder, and "the age," in large gilt letters, below the gammon board, drawn by four blood-like, switch-tailed nags, in beautiful highly polished harness with brass furniture, without bearing reins--driven by a swellish-looking young chap, in a long-backed, rough, claret-coloured benjamin, with fancy-coloured tyes, and a bunch of flowers in his button-hole--no coachman or man of fashion, as you knows, being complete without the flower. there was nothing gammonacious about the turn-out; all werry neat and 'andsome, but as plain as plain could be; and there was not even a bit of christmas at the 'orses' ears, which i observed all the other coaches had. well, down came sir wincent, off went his hat, out came the way-bill, and off he ran into the office to see what they had for him. "here, coachman," says a linen-draper's "elegant extract," waiting outside, "you've to deliver this (giving him a parcel) in the marine parade the instant you get to brighton. it's miss---- 's bustle, and she'll be waiting for it to put on to go out to dinner, so you musn't lose a moment, and you may charge what you like for your trouble." "werry well," says sir wincent, laughing, "i'll take care of her bustle. now, book-keeper, be awake. three insides here, and six out. pray, sir," touching his hat to me, "are you booked here? oh! mr. jorrocks, i see. i begs your pardon. jump up, then; be lively! what luggage have you?" "two carpet-bags, with j. j., great coram street, upon them." "there, then we'll put them in the front boot, and you'll have them under you. all right behind? sit tight!" hist! off we go by st. mertain's church into the strand, to the booking-office there. the streets were werry full, but sir wincent wormed his way among the coal-wagons, wans, busses, coaches, bottom-over-tops,--in wulgar french, "cow sur tate," as they calls the new patent busses--trucks, cabs, &c., in a marvellous workmanlike manner, which seemed the more masterly, inasmuch as the leaders, having their heads at liberty, poked them about in all directions, all a mode francey, just as they do in paris. at the marsh gate we were stopped. a black job was going through on one side, and a haw-buck had drawn a great yellow one 'oss gravesend cruelty wan into the other, and was fumbling for his coin. "now, young omnibus!" cried sir wincent, "don't be standing there all day." the man cut into his nag, but the brute was about beat. "there, don't 'it him so 'ard (hard)," said sir wincent, "or you may hurt him!" when we got near the helephant and castle, timothy odgkinson, of brixton hill, a low, underselling grocer, got his measly errand cart, with his name and address in great staring white letters, just in advance of the leaders, and kept dodging across the road to get the sound ground, for the whole line was werry "woolley" as you calls it. "come, mister independent grocer! go faster if you can," cries sir wincent, "though i think you have bought your horse where you buy your tea, for he's werry sloe." a little bit farther on a chap was shoving away at a truck full of market-baskets. "now, slavey," said he, "keep out of my way!" at the helephant and castle, and, indeed, wherever he stopped, there were lots of gapers assembled to see the baronet coachman, but sir wincent never minded them, but bustled about with his way-bill, and shoved in his parcels, fish-baskets, and oyster-barrels like a good 'un. we pulled up to grub at the feathers at merstham, and 'artily glad i was, for i was far on to famish, having ridden whole twenty-five miles in a cold, frosty air without morsel of wittles of any sort. when the bart. pulled up, he said, "now, ladies and gentlemen--twenty minutes allowed here, and let me adwise you to make the most of it." i took the 'int, and heat away like a regular bagman, who can always dispatch his ducks and green peas in ten minutes. we started again, and about one hundred yards below the pike stood a lad with a pair of leaders to clap on, for the road, as i said before, was werry woolley. "now, you see, mr. jorrocks," said sir wincent, "i do old pikey by having my 'osses on this side. the old screw drew me for four shillings one day for my leaders, two each way, so, says i, 'my covey, if you don't draw it a little milder, i'll send my 'osses from the stable through my friend sir william jolliffe's fields to the other side of your shop,' and as he wouldn't, you see here they are, and he gets nothing." the best of company, they say, must part, and baronets "form no exception to the rule," as i once heard dr. birkbeck say. about a mile below the halfway 'ouse another coach hove in sight, and each pulling up, they proved to be as like each other as two beans, and beneath a mackintosh, like a tent cover, i twigged my friend brackenbury's jolly phiz. "how are you, jorrocks?" and "how are you, brack?" flew across like billiard-balls, while sir wincent, handing me the ribbons, said, "ladies and gentlemen, i wish you all a good morning and a pleasant ride," and brack having done the same by his coach and passengers, the two heroes met on terry firmey, as we say in france, to exchange way-bills and directions about parcels. "now," said sir wincent, "you'll find miss----'s bustle under the front seat--send it off to the marine parade the instant you get in, for she wants it to make herself up to-night for a party." "by jove, that's lucky," said brackenbury, "for i'll be hanged if i haven't got old lady----'s false dinner-set of ivories in my waistcoat pocket, which i should have forgot if you hadn't mentioned t'other things, and then the old lady would have lost her blow-out this christmas. here they are," handing out a small box, "and mind you leave them yourself, for they tell me they are costly, being all fixed in coral, with gold springs, and i don't know what--warranted to eat of themselves, they say." "she has lost her modesty with her teeth, it seems," said sir wincent. "old women ought to be ashamed to be seen out of their graves after their grinders are gone. i'll pound it the old tabby carn't be under one hundred. but quick! who does that d----d parrot and the cock-a-too belong to that you've got stuck up there? and look, there's a canary and all! i'll be d----d if you don't bring me a coach loaded like wombwell's menagerie every day! well, be lively! 'twill be all the same one hundred years hence.--all right? sit tight! good night!" "well, mr. jorrocks, it's long since we met," said brackenbury, looking me over--"never, i think, since i showed you way over the weald of sussex from torrington wood, on the gallant wite with the colonel's 'ounds! ah, those were rare days, mr. jorrocks! we shall never see their like again! but you're looking fresh. time lays a light hand on your bearing-reins! i hope it will be long ere you are booked by the gravesend buss. you don't lush much, i fancy?" added he, putting a lighted cigar in his mouth. "yes, i does," said i--"a good deal; but i tells you what, brackenbury, i doesn't fumigate none--it's the fumigation that does the mischief," and thereupon we commenced a hargument on the comparitive mischief of smoking and drinking, which ended without either being able to convince the other. "well, at all events, you gets beefey, brackenbury," said i; "you must be a couple of stone heavier than when we used to talliho the 'ounds together. i think i could lead you over the weald now, at all ewents if the fences were out of the way," for i must confess that brack was always a terrible chap at the jumps, and could go where few would follow. we did the journey within the six hours--werry good work, considering the load and the state of the roads. no coach like the "age"--in my opinion. i was so werry much pleased with brack's driving, that i presented him with a four-in-hand whip. i put up at jonathan boxall's, the star and garter, one of the pleasantest and best-conducted houses in all brighton. it is close to the sea, and just by mahomed, the sham-poor's shop. i likes jonathan, for he is a sportsman, and we spin a yarn together about 'unting, and how he used to ride over the moon when he whipped in to st. john, in berkshire. but it's all talk with jonathan now, for he's more like a stranded grampus now than a fox-hunter. in course i brought down a pair of kickseys and pipe-cases, intending to have a round with the old muggers, but the snow put a stop to all that. i heard, however, that both the telscombe tye and the devil's dike dogs had been running their half-crown rounds after hares, some of which ended in "captures," others in "escapes," as the newspapers terms them. i dined at the albion on christmas day, and most misfortunately, my appetite was ready before the joints, so i had to make my dinner off mary ann cutlets, i think they call them, that is to say, chops screwed up in large curl papers, and such-like trifles. i saw some chaps drinking small glasses of stuff, so i asked the waiter what it was, and, thinking he said "elixir of girls," i banged the table, and said, "elixir of girls! that's the stuff for my money--give me a glass." the chap laughed, and said, "not girls, sir, but garus"; and thereupon he gave another great guffaw. it is a capital coffee-room, full of winders, and finely-polished tables, waiters in silk stockings, and they give spermaceti cheese, and burn parmesan candles. the chaps in it, however, were werry unsociable, and there wasn't a man there that i would borrow half a crown to get drunk with. stickey is the landlord, but he does not stick it in so deep as might be expected from the looks of the house, and the cheese and candles considered. it was a most tempestersome night, and, having eaten and drank to completion, i determined to go and see if my aunt, in cavendish street, was alive; and after having been nearly blown out to france several times, i succeeded in making my point and running to ground. the storm grew worser and worser, and when i came to open the door to go away, i found it blocked with snow, and the drifts whirling about in all directions. my aunt, who is a werry feeling woman, insisted on my staying all night, which only made the matter worse, for when i came to look out in the morning i found the drift as high as the first floor winder, and the street completely buried in snow. having breakfasted, and seeing no hopes of emancipation, i hangs out a flag of distress--a red wipe--which, after flapping about for some time, drew three or four sailors and a fly-man or two. i explained from the winder how dreadfully i was situated, prayed of them to release me, but the wretches did nothing but laugh, and ax wot i would give to be out. at last one of them, who acted as spokesman, proposed that i should put an armchair out of the winder, and pay them five shillings each for carrying me home on their shoulders. it seemed a vast of money, but the storm continuing, the crowd increasing, and i not wishing to kick up a row at my aunt's, after offering four and sixpence, agreed to their terms, and throwing out a chair, plumped up to the middle in a drift. three cheers followed the feat, which drew all the neighbours to the winders, when about half a dozen fellows, some drunk, some sober, and some half-and-half, pulled me into the chair, hoisted me on to their shoulders, and proceeded into st. james's street, bellowing out, "here's the new member for brighton! here's the boy wot sleeps in cavendish street! huzzah, the old 'un for ever! there's an elegant man for a small tea-party! who wants a fat chap to send to their friends this christmas?" the noise they made was quite tremendious, and the snow in many places being up to their middles, we made werry slow progress, but still they would keep me in the chair, and before we got to the end of the street the crowd had increased to some hundreds. here they began snow-balling, and my hat and wig soon went flying, and then there was a fresh holloa. "here's mr. wigney, the member for brighton," they cried out; "i say, old boy, are you for the ballot? you must call on the king this morning; he wants to give you a christmas-box." just then one of the front bearers tumbled, and down we all rolled into a drift, just opposite daly's backey shop. there were about twenty of us in together, but being pretty near the top, i was soon on my legs, and seeing an opening, i bolted right forward--sent three or four fellows flying--dashed down the passage behind saxby's wine vaults, across the steyne, floundering into the drifts, followed by the mob, shouting and pelting me all the way. this double made some of the beggars over-shoot the mark, and run past the statute of george the fourth, but, seeing their mistake, or hearing the other portion of the pack running in the contrary direction, they speedily joined heads and tails, and gave me a devil of a burst up the narrow lane by the wite 'orse 'otel. fortunately jonathan boxall's door was open, and jonathan himself in the passage bar, washing some decanters. "look sharp, jonathan!" said i, dashing past him as wite as a miller, "look sharp! come out of that, and be after clapping your great carcase against the door to keep the philistines out, or they'll be the death of us both." quick as thought the door was closed and bolted before ever the leaders had got up, but, finding this the case, the mob halted and proceeded to make a deuce of a kick-up before the house, bellowing and shouting like mad fellows, and threatening to pull it down if i did not show. jonathan got narvous, and begged and intreated me to address them. i recommended him to do it himself, but he said he was quite unaccustomed to public speaking, and he would stand two glasses of "cold without" if i would. "hot with," said i, "and i'll do it." "done," said he, and he knocked the snow off my coat, pulled my wig straight, and made me look decent, and took me to a bow-winder'd room on the first floor, threw up; the sash, and exhibited me to the company outside. i bowed and kissed my hand like a candidate. they cheered and shouted, and then called for silence whilst; i addressed them. "gentlemen," said i, "who are you?" "why, we be the men wot carried your honour's glory from cavendish street, and wants to be paid for it."; "gentlemen," said i, "i'm no orator, but i'm a honest man; i pays everybody twenty shillings in the pound. and no mistake (cheers). if you had done your part of the bargain, i would have done mine, but 'ow can you expect to be paid after spilling me? this is a most inclement day, and, whatever you may say to the contrary, i'm not mr. clement wigney."--"no, nor mr. faithful neither," bellowed one of the bearers.--said i, "you'll get the complaints of the season, chilblains and influhensa, if you stand dribbling there in the snow. let me advise you to mizzle, for, if you don't, i'm blowed if i don't divide a whole jug of cold water equally amongst you. go home to your wives and children, and don't be after annoying an honest, independent, amiable publican, like jonathan boxall. that's all i've got to say, and if i was to talk till i'm black in the face, i couldn't say nothing more to the purpose; so, i wishes you all 'a merry christmas and an 'appy new year.'" but i'm fatiguing you, mr. nimrod, with all this, which is only hinteresting to the parties concerned, so will pass on to other topics. i saw the king riding in his coach with his sunday coat on. he looked werry well, but his nose was rather blueish at the end, a sure sign that he is but a mortal, and feels the cold just like any other man. the queen did not show, but i saw some of her maids of honour, who made me think of the richmond cheesecakes. there were a host of pretty ladies, and the cold gave a little colour to their noses, too, which, i think, improved their appearance wastly, for i've always remarked that your ladies of quality are rather pasty, and do not generally show their high blood in their cheeks and noses. i'm werry fond of looking at pretty girls, whether maids of 'onour or maids of all work. the storm stopped all wisiting, and even the countess of winterton's ball was obliged to be put off. howsomever, that did not interfere at all with jonathan boxall and me, except that it, perhaps, made us take a bottom of brandy more than usual, particularly after jonathan had run over again one of his best runs. now, dear nimrod, adieu. whenever you comes over to england, i shall be werry 'appy to see you in great coram street, where dinner is on the table punctually at five on week days, and four on sundays; and with best regards to mrs. nimrod, and all the little nimrods, i remain, for self and co., yours to serve, john jorrocks. xii. mr. jorrocks's dinner party the general postman had given the final flourish to his bell, and the muffin-girl had just begun to tinkle hers, when a capacious yellow hackney-coach, with a faded scarlet hammer-cloth, was seen jolting down great coram street, and pulling up at mr. jorrocks's door. before jarvey had time to apply his hand to the area bell, after giving the usual three knocks and a half to the brass lion's head on the door, it was opened by the boy benjamin in a new drab coat, with a blue collar, and white sugar-loaf buttons, drab waistcoat, and black velveteen breeches, with well-darned white cotton stockings. the knock drew mr. jorrocks from his dining-room, where he had been acting the part of butler, for which purpose he had put off his coat and appeared in his shirtsleeves, dressed in nankeen shorts, white gauze silk stockings, white neckcloth, and white waistcoat, with a frill as large as a hand-saw. handing the bottle and corkscrew to betsey, he shuffled himself into a smart new blue saxony coat with velvet collar and metal buttons, and advanced into the passage to greet the arrivers. "oh! gentlemen, gentlemen," exclaimed he, "i'm so 'appy to see you--so werry 'appy you carn't think," holding out both hands to the foremost, who happened to be nimrod; "this is werry kind of you, for i declare it's six to a minute. 'ow are you, mr. nimrod? most proud to see you at my humble crib. well, stubbs, my boy, 'ow do you do? never knew you late in my life," giving him a hearty slap on the back. "mr. spiers, i'm werry 'appy to see you. you are just what a sporting publisher ought to be--punctuality itself. now, gentlemen, dispose of your tiles, and come upstairs to mrs. j----, and let's get you introduced." "i fear we are late, mr. jorrocks," observed nimrod, advancing past the staircase end to hang up his hat on a line of pegs against the wall. "not a bit of it," replied mr. jorrocks--"not a bit of it--quite the contrary--you are the first, in fact!" "indeed!" replied nimrod, eyeing a table full of hats by where he stood--"why here are as many hats as would set up a shop. i really thought i'd got into beaver (belvoir) castle by mistake!" "haw! haw! haw! werry good, mr. happerley, werry good indeed--i owes you one." "i thought it was a castor-oil mill," rejoined mr. spiers. "haw! haw! haw! werry good, mr. spiers, werry good indeed--owes you one also--but i see what you're driving at. you think these hats have a coconut apiece belonging to them upstairs. no such thing i assure you; no such thing. the fact is, they are what i've won at warious times of the members of our hunt, and as i've got you great sporting coves dining with me, i'm a-going to set them out on my sideboard, just as racing gents exhibit their gold and silver cups, you know. binjimin! i say, binjimin! you blackguard," holloaing down the kitchen stairs, "why don't you set out the castors as i told you? and see you brush them well!" "coming, sir, coming, sir!" replied benjamin, from below, who at that moment was busily engaged, taking advantage of betsey's absence, in scooping marmalade out of a pot with his thumb. "there's a good lot of them," said mr. jorrocks, resuming the conversation, "four, six, eight, ten, twelve, thirteen--all trophies of sporting prowess. real good hats. none o' your nasty gossamers, or dog-hair ones. there's a tile!" said he, balancing a nice new white one with green rims on the tip of his finger. "i won that in a most miraculous manner. a most wonderful way, in fact. i was driving to croydon one morning in my four-wheeled one-'oss chay, and just as i got to lilleywhite, the blacksmith's, below brixton hill, they had thrown up a drain--a 'gulph' i may call it--across the road for the purpose of repairing the gas-pipe--i was rayther late as it was, for our 'ounds are werry punctual, and there was nothing for me but either to go a mile and a half about, or drive slap over the gulph. well, i looked at it, and the more i looked at it the less i liked it; but just as i was thinking i had seen enough of it, and was going to turn away, up tools timothy truman in his buggy, and he, too, began to crane and look into the abyss--and a terrible place it was, i assure you--quite frightful, and he liked it no better than myself. seeing this, i takes courage, and said, 'why, tim, your 'oss will do it!' 'thank'e, mr. j----,' said he, 'i'll follow you.' 'then,' said i, 'if you'll change wehicles'--for, mind ye, i had no notion of damaging my own--'i'll bet you a hat i gets over.' 'done,' said he, and out he got; so i takes his 'oss by the head, looses the bearing-rein, and leading him quietly up to the place and letting him have a look at it, gave him a whack over the back, and over he went, gig and all, as clever as could be!" _stubbs_. well done, mr. j----, you are really a most wonderful man! you have the most extraordinary adventures of any man breathing--but what did you do with your own machine? _jorrocks_. oh! you see, i just turned round to binjimin, who was with me, and said, you may go home, and, getting into timothy's buggy, i had my ride for nothing, and the hat into the bargain. a nice hat it is too--regular beaver--a guinea's worth at least. all true what i've told you, isn't it, binjimin? "quite!" replied benjamin, putting his thumb to his nose, and spreading his fingers like a fan as he slunk behind his master. "but come, gentlemen," resumed mr. jorrocks, "let's be after going upstairs.--binjimin, announce the gentlemen as your missis taught you. open the door with your left hand, and stretch the right towards her, to let the company see the point to make up to." the party ascend the stairs one at a time, for the flight is narrow and rather abrupt, and benjamin, obeying his worthy master's injunctions, threw open the front drawing-room door, and discovered mrs. jorrocks sitting in state at a round table, with annuals and albums spread at orthodox distances around. the possession of this room had long been a bone of contention between mr. jorrocks and his spouse, but at length they had accommodated matters by mr. jorrocks gaining undivided possession of the back drawing-room (communicating by folding-doors), with the run of the front one equally with mrs. jorrocks on non-company days. a glance, however, showed which was the master's and which the mistress's room. the front one was papered with weeping willows, bending under the weight of ripe cherries on a white ground, and the chair cushions were covered with pea-green cotton velvet with yellow worsted bindings. the round table was made of rosewood, and there was a "whatnot" on the right of the fire-place of similar material, containing a handsomely-bound collection of sir walter scott's works, in wood. the carpet-pattern consisted of most dashing bouquets of many-coloured flowers, in winding french horns on a very light drab ground, so light, indeed, that mr. jorrocks was never allowed to tread upon it except in pumps or slippers. the bell-pulls were made of foxes' brushes, and in the frame of the looking-glass, above the white marble mantelpiece, were stuck visiting-cards, notes of invitation, thanks for "obliging inquiries," etc. the hearth-rug exhibited a bright yellow tiger, with pink eyes, on a blue ground, with a flossy green border; and the fender and fire-irons were of shining brass. on the wall, immediately opposite the fire-place, was a portrait of mrs. jorrocks before she was married, so unlike her present self that no one would have taken it for her. the back drawing-room, which looked out upon the gravel walk and house-backs beyond, was papered with broad scarlet and green stripes in honour of the surrey hunt uniform, and was set out with a green-covered library table in the centre, with a red morocco hunting-chair between it and the window, and several good strong hair-bottomed mahogany chairs around the walls. the table had a very literary air, being strewed with sporting magazines, odd numbers of _bell's life_, pamphlets, and papers of various descriptions, while on a sheet of foolscap on the portfolio were ten lines of an elegy on a giblet pie which had been broken in coming from the baker's, at which mr. jorrocks had been hammering for some time. on the side opposite the fire-place, on a hanging range of mahogany shelves, were ten volumes of _bell's life in london_, the _new sporting magazine_, bound gilt and lettered, the _memoirs of harriette wilson, boxiana_, taplin's _farriery_, nimrod's _life of mytton_, and a backgammon board that mr. jorrocks had bought by mistake for a history of england. mrs. jorrocks, as we said before, was sitting in state at the far side of the round table, on a worsted-worked ottoman exhibiting a cock pheasant on a white ground, and was fanning herself with a red-and-white paper fan, and turning over the leaves of an annual. how mr. jorrocks happened to marry her, no one could ever divine, for she never was pretty, had very little money, and not even a decent figure to recommend her. it was generally supposed at the time, that his brother joe and he having had a deadly feud about a bottom piece of muffin, the lady's friends had talked him into the match, in the hopes of his having a family to leave his money to, instead of bequeathing it to joe or his children. certain it is, they never were meant for each other; mr. jorrocks, as our readers have seen, being all nature and impulse, while mrs. jorrocks was all vanity and affectation. to describe her accurately is more than we can pretend to, for she looked so different in different dresses, that mr. jorrocks himself sometimes did not recognise her. her face was round, with a good strong brick-dust sort of complexion, a turn-up nose, eyes that were grey in one light and green in another, and a middling-sized mouth, with a double chin below. mr. jorrocks used to say that she was "warranted" to him as twelve years younger than himself, but many people supposed the difference of age between them was not so great. her stature was of the middle height, and she was of one breadth from the shoulders to the heels. she was dressed in a flaming scarlet satin gown, with swan's-down round the top, as also at the arms, and two flounces of the same material round the bottom. her turban was of green velvet, with a gold fringe, terminating in a bunch over the left side, while a bird-of-paradise inclined towards the right. across her forehead she wore a gold band, with a many-coloured glass butterfly (a present from james green), and her neck, arms, waist (at least what ought to have been her waist) were hung round and studded with mosaic-gold chains, brooches, rings, buttons, bracelets, etc., looking for all the world like a portable pawnbroker's shop, or the lump of beef that sinbad the sailor threw into the valley of diamonds. in the right of a gold band round her middle, was an immense gold watch, with a bunch of mosaic seals appended to a massive chain of the same material; and a large miniature of mr. jorrocks when he was a young man, with his hair stiffly curled, occupied a place on her left side. on her right arm dangled a green velvet bag with a gold cord, out of which one of mr. jorrocks's silk handkerchiefs protruded, while a crumpled, yellowish-white cambric one, with a lace fringe, lay at her side. on an hour-glass stool, a little behind mrs. jorrocks, sat her niece belinda (joe jorrocks's eldest daughter), a nice laughing pretty girl of sixteen, with languishing blue eyes, brown hair, a nose of the "turn-up" order, beautiful mouth and teeth, a very fair complexion, and a gracefully moulded figure. she had just left one of the finishing and polishing seminaries in the neighbourhood of bromley, where, for two hundred a year and upwards, all the teasing accomplishments of life are taught, and mrs. jorrocks, in her own mind, had already appropriated her to james green, while mr. jorrocks, on the other hand, had assigned her to stubbs. belinda's dress was simplicity itself; her silken hair hung in shining tresses down her smiling face, confined by a plain tortoiseshell comb behind, and a narrow pink velvet band before. round her swan-like neck was a plain white cornelian necklace; and her well-washed white muslin frock, confined by a pink sash, flowing behind in a bow, met in simple folds across her swelling bosom. black sandal shoes confined her fairy feet, and with french cotton stockings, completed her toilette. belinda, though young, was a celebrated eastern beauty, and there was not a butcher's boy in whitechapel, from michael scales downwards, but what eyed her with delight as she passed along from shoreditch on her daily walk. the presentations having been effected, and the heat of the day, the excellence of the house, the cleanliness of great coram street--the usual topics, in short, when people know nothing of each other--having been discussed, our party scattered themselves about the room to await the pleasing announcement of dinner. mr. jorrocks, of course, was in attendance upon nimrod, while mr. stubbs made love to belinda behind mrs. jorrocks. presently a loud long-protracted "rat-tat-tat-tat-tan, rat-tat-tat-tat-tan," at the street door sounded through the house, and jorrocks, with a slap on his thigh, exclaimed, "by jingo! there's green. no man knocks with such wigorous wiolence as he does. all great coram street and parts adjacent know when he comes. julius caesar himself couldn't kick up a greater row." "what green is it, green of rollestone?" inquired nimrod, thinking of his leicestershire friend. "no," said mr. jorrocks, "green of tooley street. you'll have heard of the greens in the borough, 'emp, 'op, and 'ide (hemp, hop, and hide) merchants--numerous family, numerous as the 'airs in my vig. this is james green, jun., whose father, old james green, jun., _verd antique_, as i calls him, is the son of james green, sen., who is in the 'emp line, and james is own cousin to young old james green, sen., whose father is in the 'ide line." the remainder of the pedigree was lost by benjamin throwing open the door and announcing mr. green; and jemmy, who had been exchanging his cloth boots for patent-leather pumps, came bounding upstairs like a racket-ball. "my dear mrs. jorrocks," cried he, swinging through the company to her, "i'm delighted to see you looking so well. i declare you are fifty per cent younger than you were. belinda, my love, 'ow are you? jorrocks, my friend, 'ow do ye do?" "thank ye, james," said jorrocks, shaking hands with him most cordially, "i'm werry well, indeed, and delighted to see you. now let me present you to nimrod." "ay, nimrod!" said green, in his usual flippant style, with a nod of his head, "'ow are ye, nimrod? i've heard of you, i think--nimrod brothers and co., bottle merchants, crutched friars, ain't it?" "no," said jorrocks, in an undertone with a frown--happerley nimrod, the great sporting hauthor." "true," replied green, not at all disconcerted, "i've heard of him--nimrod--the mighty 'unter before the lord. glad to see ye, nimrod. stubbs, 'ow are ye?" nodding to the yorkshireman, as he jerked himself on to a chair on the other side of belinda. as usual, green was as gay as a peacock. his curly flaxen wig projected over his forehead like the roof of a swiss cottage, and his pointed gills were supported by a stiff black mohair stock, with a broad front and black frill confined with jet studs down the centre. his coat was light green, with archery buttons, made very wide at the hips, with which he sported a white waistcoat, bright yellow ochre leather trousers, pink silk stockings, and patent-leather pumps. in his hand he carried a white silk handkerchief, which smelt most powerfully of musk; and a pair of dirty wristbands drew the eye to sundry dashing rings upon his fingers. jonathan crane, a little long-nosed old city wine-merchant, a member of the surrey hunt, being announced and presented, mrs. jorrocks declared herself faint from the heat of the room, and begged to be excused for a few minutes. nimrod, all politeness, was about to offer her his arm, but mr. jorrocks pulled him back, whispering, "let her go, let her go." "the fact is," said he in an undertone after she was out of hearing, "it's a way mrs. j---- has when she wants to see that dinner's all right. you see she's a terrible high-bred woman, being a cross between a gentleman-usher and a lady's-maid, and doesn't like to be supposed to look after these things, so when she goes, she always pretend to faint. you'll see her back presently," and, just as he spoke, in she came with a half-pint smelling-bottle at her nose. benjamin followed immediately after, and throwing open the door proclaimed, in a half-fledged voice, that "dinner was sarved," upon which the party all started on their legs. "now, mr. happerley nimrod," cried jorrocks, "you'll trot mrs. j---- down--according to the book of etiquette, you know, giving her the wall side.[ ] sorry, gentlemen, i havn't ladies apiece for you, but my sally-manger, as we say in france, is rayther small, besides which i never like to dine more than eight. stubbs, my boy, green and you must toss up for belinda--here's a halfpenny, and let be 'newmarket'[ ] if you please. wot say you? a voman! stubbs wins!" cried mr. jorrocks, as the halfpenny fell head downwards. "now, spiers, couple up with crane, and james and i will whip in to you. but stop, gentlemen!" cried mr. jorrocks, as he reached the top of the stairs, "let me make one request--that you von't eat the windmill you'll see on the centre of the table. mrs. jorrocks has hired it for the evening, of mr. farrell, the confectioner, in lamb's conduit street, and it's engaged to two or three evening parties after it leaves this." "lauk, john! how wulgar you are. what matter can it make to your friends where the windmill comes from!" exclaimed mrs. jorrocks in an audible voice from below, nimrod, with admirable skill, having piloted her down the straights and turns of the staircase. having squeezed herself between the backs of the chairs and the wall, mrs. jorrocks at length reached the head of the table, and with a bump of her body and wave of her hand motioned nimrod to take the seat on her right. green then pushed past belinda and stubbs, and took the place on mrs. jorrocks's left, so stubbs, with a dexterous manoeuvre, placed himself in the centre of the table, with belinda between himself and her uncle. crane and spiers then filled the vacant places on nimrod's side, mr. spiers facing mr. stubbs. [footnote : "in your passage from one room to another, offer the lady the wall in going downstairs," etc,--_spirit of etiquette._] [footnote : "we have repeatedly decided that newmarket is _one_ toss."--_bell's life._] the dining-room was the breadth of the passage narrower than the front drawing-room, and, as mr. jorrocks truly said, was rayther small--but the table being excessively broad, made the room appear less than it was. it was lighted up with spermaceti candles in silver holders, one at each corner of the table, and there was a lamp in the wall between the red-curtained windows, immediately below a brass nail, on which mr. jorrocks's great hunting-whip and a bunch of boot garters were hung. two more candles in the hands of bronze dianas on the marble mantelpiece, lighted up a coloured copy of barraud's picture of john warde on blue ruin; while mr. ralph lambton, on his horse undertaker, with his hounds and men, occupied a frame on the opposite wall. the old-fashioned cellaret sideboard, against the wall at the end, supported a large bright-burning brass lamp, with raised foxes round the rim, whose effulgent rays shed a brilliant halo over eight black hats and two white ones, whereof the four middle ones were decorated with evergreens and foxes' brushes. the dinner table was crowded, not covered. there was scarcely a square inch of cloth to be seen on any part. in the centre stood a magnificent finely spun barley-sugar windmill, two feet and a half high, with a spacious sugar foundation, with a cart and horses and two or three millers at the door, and a she-miller working a ball-dress flounce at a lower window. the whole dinner, first, second, third, fourth course --everything, in fact, except dessert--was on the table, as we sometimes see it at ordinaries and public dinners. before both mr. and mrs. jorrocks were two great tureens of mock-turtle soup, each capable of holding a gallon, and both full up to the brim. then there were two sorts of fish; turbot and lobster sauce, and a great salmon. a round of boiled beef and an immense piece of roast occupied the rear of these, ready to march on the disappearance of the fish and soup--and behind the walls, formed by the beef of old england, came two dishes of grouse, each dish holding three brace. the side dishes consisted of a calf's head hashed, a leg of mutton, chickens, ducks, and mountains of vegetables; and round the windmill were plum-puddings, tarts, jellies, pies, and puffs. behind mrs. jorrocks's chair stood "batsay" with a fine brass-headed comb in her hair, and stiff ringlets down her ruddy cheeks. she was dressed in a green silk gown, with a coral necklace, and one of mr. jorrocks's lavender and white coloured silk pocket-handkerchiefs made into an apron. "binjimin" stood with the door in his hand, as the saying is, with a towel twisted round his thumb, as though he had cut it. "now, gentlemen," said mr. jorrocks, casting his eye up the table, as soon as they had all got squeezed and wedged round it, and the dishes were uncovered, "you see your dinner, eat whatever you like except the windmill--hope you'll be able to satisfy nature with what's on--would have had more but mrs. j---- is so werry fine, she won't stand two joints of the same sort on the table." _mrs. j._ lauk, john, how can you be so wulgar! who ever saw two rounds of beef, as you wanted to have? besides, i'm sure the gentlemen will excuse any little defishency, considering the short notice we have had, and that this is not an elaborate dinner. _mr. spiers._ i'm sure, ma'm, there's no de_fish_ency at all. indeed, i think there's as much fish as would serve double the number--and i'm sure you look as if you had your soup "on sale or return," as we say in the magazine line. _mr. j._ haw! haw! haw! werry good, mr. spiers. i owe you one. not bad soup though--had it from birch's. let me send you some; and pray lay into it, or i shall think you don't like it. mr. happerley, let me send you some--and, gentlemen, let me observe, once for all, that there's every species of malt liquor under the side table. prime stout, from the marquess cornwallis, hard by. also ale, table, and what my friend crane there calls lamen_table_--he says, because it's so werry small--but, in truth, because i don't buy it of him. there's all sorts of drench, in fact, except water--thing i never touch--rots one's shoes, don't know what it would do with one's stomach if it was to get there. mr. crane, you're eating nothing. i'm quite shocked to see you; you don't surely live upon hair? do help yourself, or you'll faint from werry famine. belinda, my love, does the yorkshireman take care of you? who's for some salmon?--bought at luckey's, and there's both tallyho and tantivy sarce to eat with it. somehow or other i always fancies i rides harder after eating these sarces with fish. mr. happerley nimrod, you are the greatest man at table, consequently i axes you to drink wine first, according to the book of etiquette--help yourself, sir. some of crane's particklar, hot and strong, real stuff, none of your wan de bones (vin de beaume) or rot-gut french stuff--hope you like it--if you don't, pray speak your mind freely, now that we have crane among us. binjimin, get me some of that duck before mr. spiers, a leg and a wing, if you please, sir, and a bit of the breast. _mr. spiers._ certainly, sir, certainly. do you prefer a right or left wing, sir? _mr. jorrocks._ oh, either. i suppose it's all the same. _mr. spiers._ why no, sir, it's not exactly all the same; for it happens there is only one remaining, therefore it must be the _left_ one. _mr. j._ (chuckling). haw! haw! haw! mr. s----, werry good that--werry good indeed. i owes you two. "i'll trouble you for a little, mr. spiers, if you please," says crane, handing his plate round the windmill. "i'm sorry, sir, it is all gone," replies mr. spiers, who had just filled mr. jorrocks's plate; "there's nothing left but the neck," holding it up on the fork. "well, send it," rejoins mr. crane; "neck or nothing, you know, mr. jorrocks, as we say with the surrey." "haw! haw! haw!" grunts mr. jorrocks, who is busy sucking a bone; "haw! hawl haw! werry good, crane, werry good--owes you one. now, gentlemen," added he, casting his eye up the table as he spoke, "let me adwise ye, before you attack the grouse, to take the hedge (edge) off your appetites, or else there won't be enough, and, you know, it does not do to eat the farmer after the gentlemen. let's see, now--three and three are six, six brace among eight--oh dear, that's nothing like enough. i wish, mrs. j----, you had followed my adwice, and roasted them all. and now, binjimin, you're going to break the windmill with your clumsiness, you little dirty rascal! why von't you let batsay arrange the table? thank you, mr. crane, for your assistance--your politeness, sir, exceeds your beauty." [a barrel organ strikes up before the window, and jorrocks throws down his knife and fork in an agony.] "oh dear, oh dear, there's that cursed horgan again. it's a regular annihilator. binjimin, run and kick the fellow's werry soul out of him. there's no man suffers so much from music as i do. i wish i had a pocketful of sudden deaths, that i might throw one at every thief of a musicianer that comes up the street. i declare the scoundrel has set all my teeth on edge. mr. nimrod, pray take another glass of wine after your roast beef.--well, with mrs. j---- if you choose, but i'll join you--always says that you are the werry cleverest man of the day--read all your writings--anny-tommy (anatomy) of gaming, and all. am a hauthor myself, you know--once set to, to write a werry long and elaborate harticle on scent, but after cudgelling my brains, and turning the thing over and over again in my mind, all that i could brew on the subject was, that scent was a werry rum thing; nothing rummer than scent, except a woman." "pray," cried mrs. jorrocks, her eyes starting as she spoke, "don't let us have any of your low-lifed stable conversation here--you think to show off before the ladies," added she, "and flatter yourself you talk about what we don't understand. now, i'll be bound to say, with all your fine sporting hinformation, you carn't tell me whether a mule brays or neighs!" "vether a mule brays or neighs?" repeated mr. jorrocks, considering. "i'll lay i can!" "which, then?" inquired mrs. jorrocks. "vy, i should say it brayed." "mule bray!" cried mrs. jorrocks, clapping her hands with delight, "there's a cockney blockhead for you! it brays, does it?" _mr. jorrocks. _i meant to say, neighed. "ho! ho! ho!" grinned mrs. j----, "neighs, does it? you are a nice man for a fox-'unter--a mule neighs--thought i'd catch you some of these odd days with your wain conceit." "vy, what does it do then?" inquired mr. jorrocks, his choler rising as he spoke. "i hopes, at all ewents, he don't make the 'orrible noise you do." "why, it screams, you great hass!" rejoined his loving spouse. a single, but very resolute knock at the street door, sounding quite through the house, stopped all further ebullition, and benjamin, slipping out, held a short conversation with someone in the street, and returned. "what's happened now, binjimin?" inquired mr. jorrocks, with anxiety on his countenance, as the boy re-entered the room; "the 'osses arn't amiss, i 'ope?" "please, sir, mr. farrell's young man has come for the windmill--he says you've had it two hours," replied benjamin. "the deuce be with mr. farrell's young man! he does not suppose we can part with the mill before the cloth's drawn--tell him to mizzle, or i'll mill him. 'now's the day and now's the hour'; who's for some grouse? gentlemen, make your game, in fact. but first of all let's have a round robin. pass the wine, gentlemen. what wine do you take, stubbs." "why, champagne is good enough for me." _mr. jorrocks,_ i dare say; but if you wait till you get any here, you will have a long time to stop. shampain, indeed! had enough of that nonsense abroad--declare you young chaps drink shampain like hale. there's red and wite port, and sherry, in fact, and them as carn't drink, they must go without. x. was expensive and soon became poor, y. was the wise man and kept want from the door. "now for the grouse!" added he, as the two beefs disappeared, and they took their stations at the top and bottom of the table. "fine birds, to be sure! hope you havn't burked your appetites, gentlemen, so as not to be able to do justice to them--smell high--werry good--gamey, in fact. binjimin. take an 'ot plate to mr. nimrod--sarve us all round with them." the grouse being excellent, and cooked to a turn, little execution was done upon the pastry, and the jellies had all melted long before it came to their turn to be eat. at length everyone, mr. jorrocks and all, appeared satisfied, and the noise of knives and forks was succeeded by the din of tongues and the ringing of glasses, as the eaters refreshed themselves with wine or malt liquors. cheese and biscuit being handed about on plates, according to the _spirit of etiquette_. binjimin and batsay at length cleared the table, lifted off the windmill, and removed the cloth. mr. jorrocks then delivered himself of a most emphatic grace. the wine and dessert being placed on the table, the ceremony of drinking healths all round was performed. "your good health, mrs. j----.--belinda, my loove, your good health--wish you a good 'usband.--nimrod, your good health.--james green, your good health.--old _verd antique's_ good health.--your uncle's good health.--all the green family.--stubbs, your good health.--spiers, crane, etc." the bottles then pass round three times, on each of which occasions mrs. jorrocks makes them pay toll. the fourth time she let them pass; and jorrocks began to grunt, hem, and haw, and kick the leg of the table, by way of giving her a hint to depart. this caused a dead silence, which at length was broken by the yorkshireman's exclaiming "horrid pause!" "horrid paws!" vociferated mrs. j----, in a towering rage, "so would yours, let me tell you, sir, if you had helped to cook all that dinner": and gathering herself up and repeating the words "horrid paws, indeed, i like your imperence," she sailed out of the room like an exasperated turkey-cock; her face, from heat, anger, and the quantity she had drank, being as red as her gown. indeed, she looked for all the world as if she had been put into a furnace and blown red hot. jorrocks having got rid of his "worser half," as he calls her, let out a reef or two of his acre of white waistcoat, and each man made himself comfortable according to his acceptation of the term. "gentlemen," says jorrocks, "i'll trouble you to charge your glasses, 'eel-taps off--a bumper toast--no skylights, if you please. crane, pass the wine--you are a regular old stop-bottle--a turnpike gate, in fact. i think you take back hands--gentlemen, are you all charged?--then i'll give you the noble sport of fox-'unting! gentlemen, with three times three, and crane will give the 'ips--all ready--now, ip, 'ip, 'ip, 'uzza, 'uzza, 'uzza--'ip, 'ip, 'ip, 'uzza, 'uzza, 'uzza--'ip, 'ip, 'ip, 'uzza, 'uzza, 'uzza.--one cheer more, 'uzza!" after this followed "the merry harriers," then came "the staggers," after that "the trigger, and bad luck to cheatum," all bumpers; when jorrocks, having screwed his courage up to the sticking-place, called for another, which being complied with, he rose and delivered himself as follows: "gentlemen, in rising to propose the toast which i am now about to propose--i feel--i feel--(yorkshireman--'very queer?') j---- no, not verry queer, and i'll trouble you to hold your jaw (laughter). gentlemen, i say, in rising to propose the toast which i am about to give, i feel--i feel--(crane--'werry nervous?') j---- no, not werry nervous, so none of your nonsense; let me alone, i say. i say, in rising to propose the toast which i am about to give, i feel--(mr. spiers--'very foolish?' nimrod--'very funny?' crane--'werry rum?') j---- no, werry proud of the distinguished honour that has been conferred upon me--conferred upon me--conferred upon me--distinguished honour that has been conferred upon me by the presence, this day, of one of the most distinguished men--distinguished men--by the presence, this day, of one of the most distinguished men and sportsmen--of modern times (cheers.) gentlemen--this is the proudest moment of my life! the eyes of england are upon us! i give you the health of mr. happerley nimrod." (drunk with three times three.) when the cheering, and dancing of the glasses had somewhat subsided, nimrod rose and spoke as follows: "mr. jorrocks, and gentlemen", "the handsome manner in which my health has been proposed by our worthy and estimable host, and the flattering reception it has met with from you, merit my warmest acknowledgments. i should, indeed, be unworthy of the land which gave me birth, were i insensible of the honour which has just been done me by so enlightened and distinguished an assembly as the present. my friend, mr. jorrocks, has been pleased to designate me as one of the most distinguished sportsmen of the day, a title, however, to which i feel i have little claim: but this i may say, that i have portrayed our great national sports in their brightest and most glowing colours, and that on sporting subjects my pen shall yield to none (cheers). i have ever been the decided advocate of many sports and exercises, not only on account of the health and vigour they inspire, but because i feel that they are the best safeguards on a nation's energies, and the best protection against luxury, idleness, debauchery, and effeminacy (cheers). the authority of all history informs us, that the energies of countries flourished whilst manly sports have flourished, and decayed as they died away (cheers). what says juvenal, when speaking of the entry of luxury into rome?" saevior armis luxuria incubuit, victumque ulciscitur orbem. "and we need only refer to ancient history, and to the writings of xenophon, cicero, horace, or virgil, for evidence of the value they have all attached to the encouragement of manly, active, and hardy pursuits, and the evils produced by a degenerate and effeminate life on the manners and characters of a people (cheers). many of the most eminent literary characters of this and of other countries have been ardently attached to field sports; and who, that has experienced their beneficial results, can doubt that they are the best promoters of the _mens sana in corpore sano_--the body sound and the understanding clear (cheers)? gentlemen, it is with feelings of no ordinary gratification that i find myself at the social and truly hospitable board of one of the most distinguished ornaments of one of the most celebrated hunts in this great country, one whose name and fame have reached the four corners of the globe--to find myself after so long an absence from my native land--an estrangement from all that has ever been nearest and dearest to my heart--once again surrounded by these cheerful countenances which so well express the honest, healthful pursuits of their owners. let us then," added nimrod, seizing a decanter and pouring himself out a bumper, "drink, in true kentish fire, the health and prosperity of that brightest sample of civic sportsmen, the great and renowned john jorrocks!" immense applause followed the conclusion of this speech, during which time the decanters buzzed round the table, and the glasses being emptied, the company rose, and a full charge of kentish fire followed; mr. jorrocks, sitting all the while, looking as uncomfortable as men in his situation generally do. the cheering having subsided, and the parties having resumed their seats, it was his turn to rise, so getting on his legs, he essayed to speak, but finding, as many men do, that his ideas deserted him the moment the "eyes of england" were turned upon him, after two or three hitches of his nankeens, and as many hems and haws, he very coolly resumed his seat, and spoke as follows: "gentlemen, unaccustomed as i am to public speaking, i am taken quite aback by this werry unexpected compliment (cheers); never since i filled the hancient and honerable hoffice of churchwarden in the populous parish of st. botolph without, have i experienced a gratification equal to the present. i thank you from the werry bottom of my breeches-pocket (applause). gentlemen, i'm no horator, but i'm a honest man (cheers). i should indeed be undeserving the name of a sportsman--undeserving of being a member of that great and justly celebrated 'unt, of which mr. happerley nimrod has spun so handsome and flattering a yarn, if i did not feel deeply proud of the compliment you have paid it. it is unpossible for me to follow that great sporting scholar fairly over the ridge and furrow of his werry intricate and elegant horation, for there are many of those fine gentlemen's names--french, i presume--that he mentioned, that i never heard of before, and cannot recollect; but if you will allow me to run 'eel a little, i would make a few hobservations on a few of his hobservations.--mr. happerley nimrod, gentlemen, was pleased to pay a compliment to what he was pleased to call my something 'ospitality. i am extremely obliged to him for it. to be surrounded by one's friends is in my mind the 'al' of 'uman 'appiness (cheers). gentlemen, i am most proud of the honour of seeing you all here to-day, and i hope the grub has been to your likin' (cheers), if not, i'll discharge my butcher. on the score of quantity there might be a little deficiency, but i hope the quality was prime. another time this shall be all remedied (cheers). gentlemen, i understand those cheers, and i'm flattered by them--i likes 'ospitality!--i'm not the man to keep my butter in a 'pike-ticket, or my coals in a quart pot (immense cheering). gentlemen, these are my sentiments, i leaves the flowers of speech to them as is better acquainted with botany (laughter)--i likes plain english, both in eating and talking, and i'm happy to see mr. happerley nimrod has not forgot his, and can put up with our homely fare, and do without pantaloon cutlets, blankets of woe,[ ] and such-like miseries." [footnote : "blanquette de veau."] "i hates their 'orse douvers (hors-d'oeuvres), their rots, and their poisons (poissons); 'ord rot 'em, they near killed me, and right glad am i to get a glass of old british black strap. and talking of black strap, gentlemen, i call on old crane, the man what supplies it, to tip us a song. so now i'm finished--and you, crane, lap up your liquor and begin!" (applause). crane was shy--unused to sing in company--nevertheless, if it was the wish of the party, and if it would oblige his good customer, mr. jorrocks, he would try his hand at a stave or two made in honour of the immortal surrey. having emptied his glass and cleared his windpipe, crane commenced: "here's a health to them that can ride! here's a health to them that can ride! and those that don't wish good luck to the cause. may they roast by their own fireside! it's good to drown care in the chase, it's good to drown care in the bowl. it's good to support daniel haigh and his hounds, here's his health from the depth of my soul." chorus "hurrah for the loud tally-ho! hurrah for the loud tally-ho! it's good to support daniel haigh and his hounds. and echo the shrill tally-ho!" "here's a health to them that can ride! here's a health to them that ride bold! may the leaps and the dangers that each has defied, in columns of sporting be told! here's freedom to him that would walk! here's freedom to him that would ride! there's none ever feared that the horn should be heard who the joys of the chase ever tried." "hurrah for the loud tally-ho! hurrah for the loud tally-ho! it's good to support daniel haigh and his hounds, and halloo the loud tally-ho!" "beautiful! beautiful!" exclaimed jorrocks, clapping his hands and stamping as crane had ceased. "a werry good song, and it's werry well sung. jolly companions every one!" "gentlemen, pray charge your glasses--there's one toast we must drink in a bumper if we ne'er take a bumper again. mr. spiers, pray charge your glass--mr. stubbs, vy don't you fill up?--mr. nimrod, off with your 'eel taps, pray--i'll give ye the 'surrey 'unt,' with all my 'art and soul. crane, my boy, here's your werry good health, and thanks for your song!" (all drink the surrey hunt and crane's good health, with applause, which brings him on his legs with the following speech): "gentlemen, unaccustomed as i am to public speaking (laughter), i beg leave on behalf of myself and the absent members of the surrey 'unt, to return you our own most 'artfelt thanks for the flattering compliment you have just paid us, and to assure you that the esteem and approbation of our fellow-sportsmen is to us the magnum bonum of all earthly 'appiness (cheers and laughter). gentlemen, i will not trespass longer upon your valuable time, but as you seem to enjoy this wine of my friend mr. jorrocks's, i may just say that i have got some more of the same quality left, at from forty-two to forty-eight shillings a dozen, also some good stout draught port, at ten and sixpence a gallon--some ditto werry superior at fifteen; also foreign and british spirits, and dutch liqueurs, rich and rare." the conclusion of the vintner's address was drowned in shouts of laughter. mr. jorrocks then called upon the company in succession for a toast, a song, or a sentiment. nimrod gave, "the royal staghounds"; crane gave, "champagne to our real friends, and real pain to our sham friends"; green sung, "i'd be a butterfly"; mr. stubbs gave, "honest men and bonnie lasses"; and mr. spiers, like a patriotic printer, gave, "the liberty of the press," which he said was like fox-hunting--"if we have it not we die"--all of which mr. jorrocks applauded as if he had never heard them before, and drank in bumpers. it was evident that unless tea was speedily announced he would soon become; o'er the ills of life victorious, for he had pocketed his wig, and had been clipping the queen's english for some time. after a pause, during which his cheeks twice changed colour, from red to green and back to red, he again called for a bumper toast, which he prefaced with the following speech, or parts of a speech: "gentlemen--in rising--propose toast about to give--feel werry--feel werry--(yorkshireman, 'werry muzzy?') j---- feel werry--(mr. spiers, 'werry sick?') j---- werry--(crane, 'werry thirsty?') j---- feel werry --(nimrod, 'werry wise?') j---- no; but werry sensible --great compliment--eyes of england upon us--give you the health--mr. happerley nimrod--three times three!" he then attempted to rise for the purpose of marking the time, but his legs deserted his body, and after two or three lurches down he went with a tremendous thump under the table. he called first for "batsay," then for "binjimin," and, game to the last, blurted out, "lift me up!--tie me in my chair!--fill my glass!" xiii. the day after the feast: an episode by the yorkshireman on the morning after mr. jorrocks's "dinner party" i had occasion to go into the city, and took great coram street in my way. my heart misgave me when i recollected mrs. j---- and her horrid paws, but still i thought it my duty to see how the grocer was after his fall. arrived at the house i rang the area bell, and benjamin, who was cleaning knives below, popped his head up, and seeing who it was, ran upstairs and opened the door. his master was up, he said, but "werry bad," and his misses was out. leaving him to resume his knife-cleaning occupation, i slipped quietly upstairs, and hearing a noise in the bedroom, opened the door, and found jorrocks sitting in his dressing-gown in an easy chair, with betsey patting his bald head with a damp towel. "do that again, batsay! do that again!" was the first sound i heard, being an invitation to betsey to continue her occupation. "here's the yorkshireman, sir," said betsey, looking around. "ah, mr. york, how are you this morning?" said he, turning a pair of eyes upon me that looked like boiled gooseberries--his countenance indicating severe indisposition. "set down, sir; set down--i'm werry bad--werry bad indeed--bad go last night. doesn't do to go to the lush-crib this weather. how are you, eh? tell me all about it. is mr. nimrod gone?" "don't know," said i; "i have just come from lancaster street, where i have been seeing an aunt, and thought i would take great coram street in my way to the city, to ask how you do--but where's mrs. jorrocks?" _jorrocks_. oh, cuss mrs. j----; i knows nothing about her--been reading the riot act, and giving her red rag a holiday all the morning--wish to god i'd never see'd her--took her for better and worser, it's werry true; but she's a d----d deal worser than i took her for. hope your hat may long cover your family. mrs. j----'s gone to the commons to jenner--swears she'll have a diworce, a _mensa et thorax_, i think she calls it--wish she may get it--sick of hearing her talk about it--jenner's the only man wot puts up with her, and that's because he gets his fees. batsay, my dear! you may damp another towel, and then get me something to cool my coppers--all in a glow, i declare--complete fever. you whiles go to the lush-crib, mr. yorkshireman; what now do you reckon best after a regular drench? _yorkshireman._ oh, nothing like a glass of soda-water with a bottom of brandy--some people prefer a sermon, but that won't suit you or i. after your soda and brandy take a good chivy in the open air, and you'll be all right by dinner-time. _jorrocks._ right i bliss ye, i shall niver be right again. i can scarce move out of my chair, i'm so bad--my head's just fit to split in two--i'm in no state to be seen. _yorkshireman._ oh, pooh!--get your soda-water and brandy, then have some strong coffee and a red herring, and you'll be all right, and if you'll find cash, i'll find company, and we'll go and have a lark together. _jorrocks._ couldn't really be seen out---besides, cash is werry scarce. by the way, now that i come to think on it, i had a five-pounder in my breeches last night. just feel in the pocket of them 'ere nankeens, and see that mrs. j---- has not grabbed it to pay jenner's fee with. _yorkshireman_ (feels). no--all right--here it is--no. , --i promise to pay mr. thos. rippon, or bearer, on demand, five pounds! let's demand it, and go and spend the cash. _jorrocks._ no, no--put it back--or into the table-drawer, see--fives are werry scarce with me--can't afford it--must be just before i'm generous. _yorkshireman._ well, then, j----, you must just stay at home and get bullied by mrs. j----, who will be back just now, i dare say, perhaps followed by jenner and half doctors' commons. _jorrocks_. the deuce! i forgot all that--curse mrs. j---- and the commons too. well, mr. yorkshireman, i don't care if i do go with you--but where shall it be to? some place where we can be quiet, for i really am werry bad, and not up to nothing like a lark. _yorkshireman_. suppose we take a sniff of the briny--margate--ramsgate--broadstairs? _jorrocks_. no, none of them places--over-well-known at 'em all--can't be quiet--get to the lush-crib again, perhaps catch the cholera and go to gravesend by mistake. let's go to the eel pye at twickenham and live upon fish. _yorkshireman_. fish! you old flat. why, you know, you'd be the first to cry out if you had to do so. no, no--let's have no humbug--here, drink your coffee like a man, and then hustle your purse and see what it will produce. why, even betsey's laughing at the idea of your living upon fish. _jorrocks_. don't shout so, pray--your woice shoots through every nerve of my head and distracts me (drinks). this is grand mocho--quite the cordial balm of gilead--werry fine indeed. now i feel rewived and can listen to you. _yorkshireman_. well, then, pull on your boots--gird up your loins, and let's go and spend this five pounds--stay away as long as it lasts, in fact. _jorrocks_. well, but give me the coin--it's mine you know--and let me be paymaster, or i know you'll soon be into dock again. that's right; and now i have got three half-crowns besides, which i will add. _yorkshireman_. and i've got three pence, which, not to be behind-hand in point of liberality, i'll do the same with, so that we have got five pounds seven shillings and ninepence between us, according to cocker. _jorrocks_. between us, indeed! i likes that. you're a generous churchwarden. _yorkshireman_. well--we won't stand upon trifles the principle is the thing i look to--and not the amount. so now where to, your honour? after a long parley, we fixed upon herne bay. our reasons for doing so were numerous, though it would be superfluous to mention them, save that the circumstance of neither of us ever having been there, and the prospect of finding a quiet retreat for jorrocks to recover in, were the principal ones. our arrangements were soon made. "batsay," said j---- to his principessa of a cook, slut, and butler, "the yorkshireman and i are going out of town to stay five pounds seven and ninepence, so put up my traps." two shirts (one to wash the other as he said), three pairs of stockings, with other etceteras, were stamped into a carpet-bag, and taking a cab, we called at the "piazza," where i took a few things, and away we drove to temple bar. "stop here with the bags," said jorrocks, "while i go to the temple stairs and make a bargain with a jacob faithful to put us on board, for if they see the bags they'll think it's a case of necessity, and ask double; whereas i'll pretend i'm just going a-pleasuring, and when i've made a bargain, i'll whistle, and you can come." away he rolled, and after the lapse of a few minutes i heard a sort of shilling-gallery cat-call, and obeying the summons, found he had concluded a bargain for one and sixpence. we reached st. catherine's docks just as the herne bay boat--the _hero_--moored alongside, consequently were nearly the first on board. herne bay being then quite in its infancy, and this being what the cits call a "weekday," they had rather a shy cargo, nor had they any of that cockney tomfoolery that generally characterises a ramsgate or margate crew, more particularly a margate one. indeed, it was a very slow cargo, jorrocks being the only character on board, and he was as sulky as a bear with a sore head when anyone approached. the day was beautifully fine, and a thin grey mist gradually disappeared from the kentish hills as we passed down the thames. the river was gay enough. adelaide, queen of great britain and ireland, was expected on her return from germany, and all the vessels hung out their best and gayest flags and colours to do her honour. the towns of greenwich and woolwich were in commotion. charity schools were marching, and soldiers were doing the like, while steamboats went puffing down the river with cargoes to meet and escort her majesty. when we got near tilbury fort, a man at the head of the steamer announced that we should meet the queen in ten minutes, and all the passengers crowded on to the paddle-box of the side on which she was to pass, to view and greet her. jorrocks even roused himself up and joined the throng. presently a crowd of steamers were seen in the distance, proceeding up the river at a rapid pace, with a couple of lofty-masted vessels in tow, the first of which contained the royal cargo. the leading steamboat was the celebrated _magnet_--considered the fastest boat on the river, and the one in which jorrocks and myself steamed from margate, racing against and beating the _royal william._ this had the lord mayor and aldermen on board, who had gone down to the extent of the city jurisdiction to meet the queen, and have an excuse for a good dinner. the deck presented a gay scene, being covered with a military band, and the gaudy-liveried lackeys belonging to the mansion house, and sheriffs whose clothes were one continuous mass of gold lace and frippery, shining beautifully brilliant in the midday sun. the royal yacht, with its crimson and gold pennant floating on the breeze, came towering up at a rapid pace, with the queen sitting under a canopy on deck. as we neared, all hats were off, and three cheers--or at least as many as we could wedge in during the time the cortège took to sweep past us--were given, our band consisting of three brandy-faced musicians, striking up _god save the king_--a compliment which her majesty acknowledged by a little mandarining; and before the majority of the passengers had recovered from the astonishment produced by meeting a live queen on the thames, the whole fleet had shot out of sight. by the time the ripple on the water, raised by their progress, had subsided, we had all relapsed into our former state of apathy and sullenness. a duller or staider set i never saw outside a quakers' meeting. still the beggars eat, as when does a cockney not in the open air? the stewards of these steamboats must make a rare thing of their places, for they have plenty of custom at their own prices. in fact, being in a steamboat is a species of personal incarceration, and you have only the option between bringing your own prog, or taking theirs at whatever they choose to charge--unless, indeed, a person prefers going without any. jorrocks took nothing. he laid down again after the queen had passed, and never looked up until we were a mile or two off herne bay. with the reader's permission, we will suppose that we have just landed, and, bags in hand, ascended the flight of steps that conduct passengers, as it were, from the briny ocean on to the stage of life. "my eyes!" said jorrocks, as he reached the top, "wot a pier, and wot a bit of a place! why, there don't seem to be fifty houses altogether, reckoning the windmill in the centre as one. what's this thing?" said he to a ticket-porter, pointing to a sort of french diligence-looking concern which had just been pushed up to the landing end. "to carry the lumber, sir--live and dead--gentlemen and their bags, as don't like to walk." "do you charge anything for the ride?" inquired jorrocks, with his customary caution. "nothing," was the answer. "then, let's get on the roof," said j----, "and take it easy, and survey the place as we go along." so, accordingly, we clambered on to the top of the diligence, "summâ diligentiâ," and seated ourselves on a pile of luggage; being all stowed away, and as many passengers as it would hold put inside, two or three porters proceeded to propel the machine along the railroad on which it runs. "now, mr. yorkshireman," said jorrocks, "we are in a strange land, and it behoves us to proceed with caution, or we may spend our five pounds seven and sixpence before we know where we are." _yorkshireman_. seven and ninepence it is, sir. _jorrocks_. well, be it so--five pounds seven and ninepence between two, is by no means an impossible sum to spend, and the trick is to make it go as far as we can. now some men can make one guinea go as far as others can make two, and we will try what we can do. in the first place, you know i makes it a rule never to darken the door of a place wot calls itself an 'otel, for 'otel prices and inn prices are werry different. you young chaps don't consider these things, and as long as you have got a rap in the world you go swaggering about, ordering claret and waxlights, and everything wot's expensive, as though you must spend money because you are in an inn. now, that's all gammon. if a man haven't got money he can't spend it; and we all know that many poor folks are obliged at times to go to houses of public entertainment, and you don't suppose that they pay for fire and waxlights, private sitting-rooms, and all them 'ere sort of things. now, said he, adjusting his hunting telescope and raking the town of herne bay, towards which we were gently approaching on our dignified eminence, but as yet had not got near enough to descry "what was what" with the naked eye, i should say yon great staring-looking shop directly opposite us is the cock inn of the place (looks through his glass). i'm right p-i-e-r, pier 'otel i reads upon the top, and that's no shop for my money. let's see what else we have. there's nothing on the right, i think, but here on the left is something like our cut--d-o-l dol, p-h-i-n phin, dolphin inn. it's long since i went the circuit, as the commercial gentlemen (or what were called bagmen in my days) term it, but i haven't forgot the experience i gained in my travels, and i whiles turn it to werry good account now. "coach to canterbury, deal, margate, sir, going directly," interrupted him, and reminded us that we had got to the end of the pier, and ought to be descending. two or three coaches were drawn up, waiting to carry passengers on, but we had got to our journey's end. "now," said j----, "let's take our bags in hand and draw up wind, trying the 'dolphin' first." rejecting the noble portals of the pier hotel, we advanced towards jorrocks's chosen house, a plain unpretending-looking place facing the sea, which is half the battle, and being but just finished had every chance of cleanliness. "jonathan acres" appeared above the door as the name of the landlord, and a little square-built, hatless, short-haired chap, in a shooting-jacket, was leaning against the door. "mr. hacres within?" said jorrocks. "my name's acres," said he of the shooting-jacket. "humph," said j----, looking him over, "not long acre, i think." having selected a couple of good airy bedrooms, we proceeded to see about dinner. "mr. hacres," said jorrocks, "i makes it a rule never to pay more than two and sixpence for a feed, so now just give us as good a one as you possibly can for that money": and about seven o'clock we sat down to lamb-chops, ducks, french beans, pudding, etc.; shortly after which jorrocks retired to rest, to sleep off the remainder of his headache. he was up long before me the next morning, and had a dip in the sea before i came down. "upon my word," said he, as i entered the room, and found him looking as lively and fresh as a four-year-old, "it's worth while going to the lush-crib occasionally, if it's only for the pleasure of feeling so hearty and fresh as one does on the second day. i feel just as if i could jump out of my skin, but i will defer the performance until after breakfast. i have ordered a fork one, do you know, cold 'am and boiled bacon, with no end of eggs, and bread of every possible description. by the way, i've scraped acquaintance with thorp, the baker hard by, who's a right good fellow, and says he will give me some shooting, and has some werry nice beagles wot he shoots to. but here's the grub. cold 'am in abundance. but, waiter, you should put a little green garnishing to the dishes, i likes to see it, green is so werry refreshing to the eye; and tell mr. hacres to send up some more bacon and the bill, when i rings the bell. nothing like having your bill the first morning, and then you know what you've got to pay, and can cut your coat according to your cloth." the bacon soon disappeared, and the bell being sounded, produced the order. "humph," said j----, casting his eyes over the bill as it lay by the side of his plate, while he kept pegging away at the contents of the neighbouring dish--"pretty reasonable, i think--dinners, five shillings, that's half a crown each; beds, two shillings each; breakfasts, one and ninepence each, that's cheap for a fork breakfast; but, i say, you had a pint of sherry after i left you last night, and pale sherry too! how could you be such an egreggorus (egregious) ass! that's so like you young chaps, not to know that the only difference between pale and brown sherry is, that one has more of the pumpaganus aqua in it than the other. you should have made it pale yourself, man. but look there. wot a go!" our attention was attracted to a youth in spectacles, dressed in a rich plum-coloured coat, on the outside of a dingy-looking, big-headed, brown nag, which he was flogging and cramming along the public walk in front of the "dolphin," in the most original and ludicrous manner. we presently recognised him as one of our fellow-passengers of the previous day, respecting whom jorrocks and i had had a dispute as to whether he was a frenchman or a german. his equestrian performances decided the point. i never in all my life witnessed such an exhibition, nor one in which the performer evinced such self-complacency. whether he had ever been on horseback before or not i can't tell, but the way in which he went to work, using the bridle as a sort of rattle to frighten the horse forward, the way in which he shook the reins, threw his arms about, and belaboured the poor devil of an animal in order to get him into a canter (the horse of course turning away every time he saw the blow coming), and the free, unrestrained liberty he gave to his head, surpassed everything of the sort i ever saw, and considerably endangered the lives of several of his majesty's lieges that happened to be passing. instead of getting out of their way, frenchmanlike, he seemed to think everything should give way to an equestrian; and i saw him scatter a party of ladies like a covey of partridges, by riding slap amongst them, and not even making the slightest apology or obeisance for the rudeness. there he kept, cantering (or cantering as much as he could induce the poor rip to do) from one end of the town to the other, conceiving, i make not the slightest doubt, that he was looked upon with eyes of admiration by the beholders. he soon created no little sensation, and before he was done a crowd had collected near the pier hotel, to see him get his horse past (it being a pier hotel nag) each time; and i heard a primitive sort of postman, who was delivering the few letters that arrive in the place, out of a fish-basket, declare "that he would sooner kill a horse than lend it to such a chap." having fretted his hour away, the owner claimed the horse, and monsieur was dismounted. after surveying the back of the town, we found ourselves rambling in some beautiful picturesque fields in the rear. kent is a beautiful county, and the trimly kept gardens, and the clustering vines twining around the neatly thatched cottages, remind one of the rich, luxuriant soil and climate of the south. forgetting that we were in search of sea breezes, we continued to saunter on, across one field, over one stile and then over another, until after passing by the side of a snug-looking old-fashioned house, with a beautifully kept garden, the road took a sudden turn and brought us to some parkish-looking well-timbered ground in front, at one side of which jorrocks saw something that he swore was a kennel. "i knows a hawk from a hand-saw," said he, "let me alone for that. i'll swear there are hounds in it. bless your heart, don't i see a gilt fox on one end, and a gilt hare on the other?" just then came up a man in a round fustian jacket, to whom jorrocks addressed himself, and, as good luck would have it, he turned out to be the huntsman (for jorrocks was right about the kennel), and away we went to look at the hounds. they proved to be mr. collard's, the owner of the house that we had just passed, and were really a very nice pack of harriers, consisting of seventeen or eighteen couple, kept in better style (as far as kennel appearance goes) than three-fourths of the harriers in england. bird, the huntsman, our cicerone, seemed a regular keen one in hunting matters, and jorrocks and he had a long confab about the "noble art of hunting," though the former was rather mortified to find on announcing himself as the "celebrated mr. jorrocks" that bird had never heard of him before. after leaving the kennel we struck across a few fields, and soon found ourselves on the sea banks, along which we proceeded at the rate of about two miles an hour, until we came to the old church of reculvers. hard by is a public-house, the sign of the "two sisters," where, having each taken a couple of glasses of ale, we proceeded to enjoy one of the (to me at least) greatest luxuries in life--viz. that of lying on the shingle of the beach with my heels just at the water's edge. the day was intensely hot, and after occupying this position for about half an hour, and finding the "perpendicular rays of the sun" rather fiercer than agreeable, we followed the example of a flock of sheep, and availed ourselves of the shade afforded by the reculvers. here for a short distance along the beach, on both sides, are small breakwaters, and immediately below the reculvers is one formed of stake and matting, capable of holding two persons sofa fashion. into this jorrocks and i crept, the tide being at that particular point that enabled us to repose, with the water lashing our cradle on both sides, without dashing high enough to wet us. "oh, but this is fine!" said j----, dangling his arm over the side, and letting the sea wash against his hand. "i declare it comes fizzing up just like soda-water out of a bottle--reminds me of the lush-crib. by the way, mr. yorkshireman, i heard some chaps in our inn this morning talking about this werry place, and one of them said that there used to be a roman station, or something of that sort, at it. did you know anything of them 'ere ancient romans? luxterous dogs, i understand. if mr. nimrod was here now he could tell us all about them, for, if i mistake not, he was werry intimate with some of them--either he or his father, at least." a boat that had been gradually advancing towards us now run on shore, close by where we were lying, and one of the crew landed with a jug to get some beer. a large basket at the end attracted jorrocks's attention, and, doglike, he got up and began to hover about and inquire about their destination of the remaining crew, four in number. they were a cockney party of pleasure, it seemed, going to fish, for which purpose they had hired the boat, and laid in no end of bait for the fish, and prog for themselves. jorrocks, though no great fisherman (not having, as he says, patience enough), is never at a loss if there is plenty of eating; and finding that they had got a great chicken pie, two tongues, and a tart, agreed to pay for the boat if they would let us in upon equal terms with themselves as to the provender, which was agreed to without a debate. the messenger having returned with a gallon of ale, we embarked, and away we slid through the "glad waters of the dark blue sea." it was beautifully calm, scarcely a breeze appearing on the surface. after rowing for about an hour, one of the boatmen began to adjust the lines and bait the hooks; and having got into what he esteemed a favourite spot, he cast anchor and prepared for the sport. each man was prepared with a long strong cord line, with a couple of hooks fastened to the ends of about a foot of whalebone, with a small leaden plummet in the centre. the hooks were baited with sandworms, and the instructions given were, after sounding the depth, to raise the hooks a little from the bottom, so as to let them hang conveniently for the fish to swallow. great was the excitement as we dropped the lines overboard, as to who should catch the first whale. jorrocks and myself having taken the fishermen's lines from them, we all met upon pretty equal terms, much like gentlemen jockeys in a race. a dead silence ensued. "i have one!" cried the youngest of our new friends. "then pull him up," responded one of the boatmen, "gently, or you'll lose him." "and so i have, by god! he's gone." "well, never mind," said the boatmen, "let's see your bait--aye, he's got that, too. we'll put some fresh on--there you are again--all right. now drop it gently, and when you find you've hooked him, wind the line quickly, but quietly, and be sure you don't jerk the hook out of his mouth at starting." "i've got one!" cries jorrocks--"i've got one--now, my wig, if i can but land him. i have him, certainly--by jove! he's a wopper, too, judging by the way he kicks. oh, but it's no use, sir--come along--come along--here he is--doublets, by crikey--two, huzza! huzza! what fine ones!--young haddocks or codlings, i should call them--werry nice eating, i dare say--i'm blow'd if this arn't sport." "i have one," cries our young friend again. "so have i," shouts another; and just at the same moment i felt the magic touch of my bait, and in an instant i felt the thrilling stroke. the fish were absolutely voracious, and we had nothing short of a miraculous draught. as fast as we could bait they swallowed, and we frequently pulled them up two at a time. jorrocks was in ecstasies. "it was the finest sport he had ever encountered," and he kept halloaing and shouting every time he pulled them up, as though he were out with the surrey. having just hooked a second couple, he baited again and dropped his line. two of our new friends had hooked fish at the same instant, and, in their eagerness to take them, overbalanced the boat, and jorrocks, who was leaning over, went head foremost down into the deeps! * * * * * a terrible surprise came over us, and for a second or two we were so perfectly thunderstruck as to be incapable of rendering any assistance. a great splash, followed by a slight gurgling sound, as the water bubbled and subsided o'er the place where he went down, was all that denoted the exit of our friend. after a considerable dive he rose to the surface, minus his hat and wig, but speedily disappeared. the anchor was weighed, oars put out, and the boat rowed to the spot where he last appeared. he rose a third time, but out of arms' reach, apparently lifeless, and just as he was sinking, most probably for ever, one of the men contrived to slip the end of an oar under his arm, and support him on the water until he got within reach from the boat. the consternation when we got him on board was tremendous! consisting, as we did, of two parties, neither knowing where the other had come from, we remained in a state of stupefied horror, indecision, and amazement for some minutes. the poor old man lay extended in the bottom of the boat, apparently lifeless, and even if the vital spark had not fled, there seemed no chance of reaching herne bay, whose pier, just then gilded by the rich golden rays of the setting sun, appeared in the far distance of the horizon. where to row to was the question. no habitation where effective succour could be procured appeared on the shore, and to proceed without a certain destination was fruitless. how helpless such a period as this makes a man feel! "let's make for grace's," at length exclaimed one of the boatmen, and the other catching at the proposition, the head of the boat was whipped round in an instant, and away we sped through the glassy-surfaced water. not a word broke upon the sound of the splashing oars until, nearing the shore, one of the men, looking round, directed us to steer a little to the right, in the direction of a sort of dell or land-break, peculiar to the isle of thanet; and presently we ran the head of the boat upon the shingle, just where a small rivulet that, descending from the higher grounds, waters the thickly wooded ravine, and discharges itself into the sea. the entrance of this dell is formed by a lofty precipitous rock, with a few stunted overhanging trees on one side, while the other is more open and softened in its aspect, and though steep and narrow at the mouth, gently slopes away into a brushwood-covered bank, which, stretching up the little valley, becomes lost in a forest of lofty oaks that close the inland prospect of the place. here, to the left (just after one gets clear of the steeper part), commanding a view of the sea, and yet almost concealed from the eye of a careless traveller, was a lonely hut (the back wall formed by an excavation of the sandy rock) and the rest of clay, supporting a wooden roof, made of the hull of a castaway wreck, the abode of an old woman, called grace ganderne, well known throughout the whole isle of thanet as a poor harmless secluded widow, who subsisted partly on the charity of her neighbours, and partly on what she could glean from the smugglers, for the assistance she affords them in running their goods on that coast; and though she had been at work for forty years, she had never had the misfortune to be detected in the act, notwithstanding the many puncheons of spirits and many bales of goods fished out of the dark woods near her domicile. to this spot it was, just as the "setting sun's pathetic light" had been succeeded by the grey twilight of the evening, that we bore the body of our unfortunate companion. the door was closed, but grace being accustomed to nocturnal visitors, speedily answered the first summons and presented herself. she was evidently of immense age, being nearly bowed double, and her figure, with her silvery hair, confined by a blue checked cotton handkerchief, and palsied hand, as tremblingly she rested upon her staff and eyed the group, would have made a subject worthy of the pencil of a landseer. she was wrapped in an old red cloak, with a large hood, and in her ears she wore a pair of long gold-dropped earrings, similar to what one sees among the norman peasantry--the gift, as i afterwards learned, of a drowned lover. after scrutinising us for a second or two, during which time a large black cat kept walking to and fro, purring and rubbing itself against her, she held back the door and beckoned us to enter. the little place was cleanly swept up, and a faggot and some dry brushwood, which she had just lighted for the purpose of boiling her kettle, threw a gleam of light over the apartment, alike her bedchamber, parlour, and kitchen. her curtainless bed at the side, covered with a coarse brown counterpane, was speedily prepared for our friend, into which being laid, our new acquaintances were dispatched in search of doctors, while the boatman and myself, under the direction of old grace, applied ourselves to procuring such restoratives as her humble dwelling afforded. "let grace alone," said the younger of the boatmen, seeing my affliction at the lamentable catastrophe, "if there be but a spark of life in the gentleman, she'll bring him round--many's the drowning man--aye, and wounded one, too--that's been brought in here during the stormy nights, and after fights with the coast-guard--that she's recovered." hot bottles, and hot flannels, and hot bricks were all applied, but in vain; and when i saw hot brandy, too, fail of having the desired effect, i gave my friend up as lost, and left the hut to vent my grief in the open air. grace was more sanguine and persevering, and when i returned, after a half-hour's absence, i could distinctly feel a returning pulse. still, he gave no symptoms of animation, and it might only be the effect produced by the applications--as he remained in the same state for several hours. fresh wood was added to the fire, and the boatmen having returned to their vessel, grace and i proceeded to keep watch during the night, or until the arrival of a doctor. the poor old body, to whom scenes such as this were matter of frequent occurrence, seemed to think nothing of it, and proceeded to relate some of the wonderful escapes and recoveries she had witnessed, in the course of which she dropped many a sigh to the memory of some of her friends--the bold smugglers. there were no such "braw lads" now as formerly, she said, and were it not that "she was past eighty, and might as weel die in one place as anither, she wad gang back to the bonny blue hulls (hills) of her ain canny scotland." in the middle of one of her long stories i thought i perceived a movement of the bedclothes, and, going to look, i found a considerable increase in the quickness of pulsation, and also a generous sort of glow upon the skin. "an' ded i no tell ye i wad recover him?" said she, with a triumphant look. "afore twa mair hours are o'er he'll spak to ye." "i hope so, i'm sure," said i, still almost doubting her. "oh, trust to me," said she, "he'll come about--i've seen mony a chiel in a mickle worse state nor him recovered. pray, is the ould gintleman your father or your grandfather?" _yorkshireman._ why, i can't say that he's either exactly--but he's always been as good as a grandmother to me, i know. grace was right. about three o'clock in the morning a sort of revulsion of nature took place, and after having lain insensible, and to all appearance lifeless, all that time, he suddenly began to move. casting his eye wildly around, he seemed lost in amazement. he muttered something, but what it was i could not catch. "lush-crib again, by jove!" were the first words he articulated, and then, appearing to recollect himself, he added, "oh, i forgot, i'm drowned--well drowned, too--can't be help'd, however--wasn't born to be hanged--and that seems clear." thus he kept muttering and mumbling for an hour, until old grace thinking him so far recovered as to remove all danger from sudden surprise, allowed me to take her seat at the bedside. he looked at me long and intensely, but the light was not sufficiently strong to enable him to make out who i was. "jorrocks!" at length said i, taking him by the hand, "how are you, my old boy?" he started at the sound of his name. "jorrocks," said he, "who's that?" "why, the yorkshireman; you surely have not forgotten your old friend and companion in a hundred fights!" _jorrocks._ oh, mr. york, it's you, is it? much obliged by your inquiries, but i'm drowned. _yorkshireman._ aye, but you are coming round, you'll be better before long. _jorrocks._ never! don't try to gammon me. you know as well as i do that i'm drowned, and a drowned man never recovers. no, no, it's all up with me, i feel. set down, however, while i say a few words to you. you're a good fellow, and i've remembered you in my will, which you'll find in the strong port-wine-bin, along with nine pounds secret service money. i hopes you'll think the legacy a fat one. i meant it as such. if you marry belinda, i have left you a third of my fourth in the tea trade. always said you were cut out for a grocer. let tat sell my stud. an excellent man, tat--proudish perhaps--at least, he never inwites me to none of his dinners--but still a werry good man. let him sell them, i say, and mind give snapdragon a charge or two of shot before he goes to the 'ammer, to prevent his roaring. put up a plain monument to my memory--black or white marble, whichever's cheapest--but mind, no cupids or seraphums, or none of those sort of things--quite plain--with just this upon it--_hic jacet jorrocks._ and now i'll give you a bit of news. neptune has appointed me huntsman to his pack of haddocks. have two dolphins for my own riding, and a young lobster to look after them. lord farebrother whips in to me--he rides a turtle. "and now, my good friend," said he, grasping my hands with redoubled energy, "do you think you could accomplish me a rump-steak and oyster sauce?--also a pot of stout?--but, mind, blow the froth off the top, for it's bad for the kidneys!" the end the hunters' feast, by captain mayne reid. ________________________________________________________________________ the story starts in the city of st louis, towards the end of the summer of some year in the nineteenth century. reid collects together a group of six men who would pay to take part in an expedition, camping and hunting, into the prairies. they take with them a couple of paid men, professionals who would give them very necessary guidance. they all make a pact that they would each tell a round of tales around the camp fire, such stories to be amusing and instructive. reid himself is something of a naturalist, as we can learn from his many other books. we are given these tales just as they are told, in good english if told by an educated man, and in the dialect of the less educated ones. this latter arrangement makes the checking of the ocr transcriptions a little difficult, but never mind. what people may find a little tedious is reid's habit of giving the naturalists' latin names for the various animals and plants described. ________________________________________________________________________ the hunters' feast, by captain mayne reid. chapter one. a hunting party. on the western bank of the mississippi, twelve miles below the _embouchure_ of the missouri, stands the large town of saint louis, poetically known as the "mound city." although there are many other large towns throughout the mississippi valley, saint louis is the true metropolis of the "far west"--of that semi-civilised, ever-changing belt of territory known as the "frontier." saint louis is one of those american cities in the history of which there is something of peculiar interest. it is one of the oldest of north-american settlements, having been a french trading port at an early period. though not so successful as their rivals the english, there was a degree of picturesqueness about french colonisation, that, in the present day, strongly claims the attention of the american poet, novelist, and historian. their dealings with the indian aborigines--the facile manner in which they glided into the habits of the latter--meeting them more than half-way between civilisation and savage life--the handsome nomenclature which they have scattered freely, and which still holds over the trans-mississippian territories--the introduction of a new race (the half blood--peculiarly french)--the heroic and adventurous character of their earliest pioneers, de salle marquette, father hennepin, etcetera--their romantic explorations and melancholy fate--all these circumstances have rendered extremely interesting the early history of the french in america. even the quixotism of some of their attempts at colonisation cannot fail to interest us, as at gallipolis on the ohio, a colony composed of expatriated people of the french court;-- perruquiers, coachbuilders, tailors, _modistes_, and the like. here, in the face of hostile indians, before an acre of ground was cleared, before the slightest provision was made for their future subsistence, the first house erected was a large log structure, to serve as the _salon du lal_! besides its french origin, saint louis possesses many other points of interest. it has long been the _entrepot_ and _depot_ of commerce with the wild tribes of prairie-land. there the trader is supplied with his stock for the indian market--his red and green blanket--his beads and trinkets--his rifles, and powder, and lead; and there, in return, he disposes of the spoils of the prairie collected in many a far and perilous wandering. there the emigrant rests on the way to his wilderness home; and the hunter equips himself before starting forth on some new expedition. to the traveller, saint louis is a place of peculiar interest. he will hear around him the language of every nation in the civilised world. he will behold faces of every hue and variety of expression. he will meet with men of every possible calling. all this is peculiarly true in the latter part of the summer season. then the motley population of new orleans fly from the annual scourge of the yellow fever, and seek safety in the cities that lie farther north. of these, saint louis is a favourite "city of refuge,"--the creole element of its population being related to that kindred race in the south, and keeping up with it this annual correspondence. in one of these streams of migration i had found my way to saint louis, in the autumn of --. the place was at the time filled with loungers, who seemed to have nothing else to do but kill time. every hotel had its quota, and in every verandah and at the corners of the streets you might see small knots of well-dressed gentlemen trying to entertain each other, and laugh away the hours. most of them were the annual birds of passage from new orleans, who had fled from "yellow jack," and were sojourning here till the cold frosty winds of november should drive that intruder from the "crescent city;" but there were many other _flaneurs_ as well. there were travellers from europe:--men of wealth and rank who had left behind them the luxuries of civilised society to rough it for a season in the wild west--painters in search of the picturesque-- naturalists whose love of their favourite study had drawn them from their comfortable closets to search for knowledge under circumstances of extremest difficulty--and sportsmen, who, tired of chasing small game, were on their way to the great plains to take part in the noble sport of hunting the buffalo. i was myself one of the last-named fraternity. there is no country in the world so addicted to the _table d'hote_ as america, and that very custom soon makes idle people acquainted with each other. i was not very long in the place before i was upon terms of intimacy with a large number of these loungers, and i found several, like myself, desirous of making a hunting expedition to the prairies. this chimed in with my plans to a nicety, and i at once set about getting up the expedition. i found five others who were willing to join me. after several _conversaziones_, with much discussion, we succeeded at length in "fixing" our plan. each was to "equip" according to his own fancy, though it was necessary for each to provide himself with a riding horse or mule. after that, a general fund was to be "raised," to be appropriated to the purchase of a waggon and team, with tents, stores, and cooking utensils. a couple of professional hunters were to be engaged; men who knew the ground to be traversed, and who were to act as guides to the expedition. about a week was consumed in making the necessary preparations, and at the end of that time, under the sunrise of a lovely morning, a small cavalcade was seen to issue from the back suburbs of saint louis, and, climbing the undulating slopes in its rear, head for the far-stretching wilderness of the prairies. it was our hunting expedition. the cavalcade consisted of eight mounted men, and a waggon with its full team of six tough mules. these last were under the _manege_ of "jake"-- a free negro, with a shining black face, a thick full mop, and a set of the best "ivories," which were almost always uncovered in a smile. peeping from under the tilt of the waggon might be seen another face strongly contrasting with that of jake. this had been originally of a reddish hue, but sun-tan, and a thick sprinkling of freckles, had changed the red to golden-yellow. a shock of fiery hair surmounted this visage, which was partially concealed under a badly-battered hat. though the face of the black expressed good-humour, it might have been called sad when brought into comparison with that of the little red man, which peeped out beside it. upon the latter, there was an expression irresistibly comic--the expression of an actor in broad farce. one eye was continually on the wink, while the other looked knowing enough for both. a short clay-pipe, stuck jauntily between the lips, added to the comical expression of the face, which was that of mike lanty from limerick. no one ever mistook the nationality of michael. who were the eight cavaliers that accompanied the waggon? six of them were gentlemen by birth and education. at least half that number were scholars. the other two laid no claim either to gentleness or scholarship--they were rude trappers--the hunters and guides of the expedition. a word about each one of the eight, for there was not one of them without his peculiarity. first, there was an englishman--a genuine type of his countrymen--full six feet high, well proportioned, with broad chest and shoulders, and massive limbs. hair of a light brown, complexion florid, moustache and whiskers full and hay-coloured, but suiting well the complexion and features. the last were regular, and if not handsome, at least good humoured and noble in their expression. the owner was in reality a nobleman--a true nobleman--one of that class who, while travelling through the "states," have the good sense to carry their umbrella along, and leave their title behind them. to us he was known as mr thompson, and, after some time, when we had all become familiar with each other, as plain "thompson." it was only long after, and by accident, that i became acquainted with his rank and title; some of our companions do not know it to this day, but that is of no consequence. i mention the circumstance here to aid me in illustrating the character of our travelling companion, who was "close" and modest almost to a fault. his costume was characteristic. a "tweed" shooting jacket, of course, with eight pockets--a vest of the same material with four--tweed browsers, and a tweed cap. in the waggon was _the hat-box_; of strong yellow leather, with straps and padlock. this was supposed to contain the dress hat; and some of the party were merry about it. but no--mr thompson was a more experienced traveller than his companions thought him at first. the contents of the hat-case were sundry brushes-- including one for the teeth--combs, razors, and pieces of soap. the hat had been left at saint louis. but the umbrella had _not_. it was then under thompson's arm, with its full proportions of whalebone and gingham. under that umbrella he had hunted tigers in the jungles of india--under that umbrella he had chased the lion upon the plains of africa--under that umbrella he had pursued the ostrich and the vicuna over the pampas of south america; and now under that same hemisphere of blue gingham he was about to carry terror and destruction among the wild buffaloes of the prairies. besides the umbrella--strictly a weapon of defence--mr thompson carried another, a heavy double-barrelled gun, marked "bishop, of bond street," no bad weapon with a loading of buck-shot, and with this both barrels were habitually loaded. so much for mr thompson, who may pass for number of the hunting party. he was mounted on a strong bay cob, with tail cut short, and english saddle, both of which objects--the short tail and the saddle-- were curiosities to all of the party except mr thompson and myself. number was as unlike number as two animals of the same species could possibly be. he was a kentuckian, full six inches taller than thompson, or indeed than any of the party. his features were marked, prominent and irregular, and this irregularity was increased by a "cheekful" of half-chewed tobacco. his complexion was dark, almost olive, and the face quite naked, without either moustache or whisker; but long straight hair, black as an indian's, hung down to his shoulders. in fact, there was a good deal of the indian look about him, except in his figure. that was somewhat slouched, with arms and limbs of over-length, loosely hung about it. both, however, though not modelled after the apollo, were evidently full of muscle and tough strength, and looked as though their owner could return the hug of a bear with interest. there was a gravity in his look, but that was not from any gravity of spirits; it was his swarth complexion that gave him this appearance, aided, no doubt, by several lines of "ambeer" proceeding from the corners of his mouth in the direction of the chin. so far from being grave, this dark kentuckian was as gay and buoyant as any of the party. indeed, a light and boyish spirit is a characteristic of the kentuckian as well as of all the natives of the mississippi valley--at least such has been my observation. our kentuckian was costumed just as he would have been upon a cool morning riding about the "woodland" of his own plantation, for a "planter" he was. he wore a "jeans" frock, and over that a long-tailed overcoat of the best green blanket, with side pockets and flaps. his jeans pantaloons were stuck into a pair of heavy horse-leather pegged boots, sometimes known as "nigger" boots; but over these were "wrappers" of green baize, fastened with a string above the knees. his hat was a "broad-brimmed felt," costly enough, but somewhat crushed by being sat upon and slept in. he bestrode a tall raw-boned stood that possessed many of the characteristics of the rider; and in the same proportion that the latter overtopped his companions, so did the steed out-size all the other horses of the cavalcade. over the shoulders of the kentuckian were suspended, by several straps, pouch, horn, and haversack, and resting upon his toe was the butt of a heavy rifle, the muzzle of which reached to a level with his shoulder. he was a rich kentucky planter, and known in his native state as a great deer-hunter. some business or pleasure had brought him to saint louis. it was hinted that kentucky was becoming too thickly settled for him-- deer becoming scarce, and bear hardly to be found--and that his visit to saint louis had something to do with seeking a new "location" where these animals were still to be met with in greater plenty. the idea of buffalo-hunting was just to his liking. the expedition would carry him through the frontier country, where he might afterwards choose his "location"--at all events the sport would repay him, and he was one of the most enthusiastic in regard to it. he that looms up on the retrospect of my memory as number was as unlike the kentuckian, as the latter was to thompson. he was a disciple of esculapius--not thin and pale, as these usually are, but fat, red, and jolly. i think he was originally a "yankee," though his long residence in the western states had rubbed the yankee out of him to a great extent. at all events he had few of their characteristics about him. he was neither staid, sober, nor, what is usually alleged as a trait of the true bred yankee, "stingy." on the contrary, our doctor was full of talk and joviality--generous to a fault. a fault, indeed; for, although many years in practice in various parts of the united states, and having earned large sums of money, at the date of our expedition we found him in saint louis almost without a dollar, and with no great stock of patients. the truth must be told; the doctor was of a restless disposition, and liked his glass too well. he was a singer too, a fine amateur singer, with a voice equal to mario's. that may partly account for his failure in securing a fortune. he was a favourite with all--ladies included--and so fond of good company, that he preferred the edge of the jovial board to the bed-side of a patient. not from any fondness for buffalo-hunting, but rather through an attachment to some of the company, had the doctor volunteered. indeed, he was solicited by all to make one of us--partly on account of his excellent society, and partly that his professional services might be called into requisition before our return. the doctor still preserved his professional costume of black--somewhat russet by long wear--but this was modified by a close-fitting fur cap, and wrappers of brown cloth, which he wore around his short thick legs. he was not over-well mounted--a very spare little horse was all he had, as his funds would not stretch to a better. it was quite a quiet one, however, and carried the doctor and his "medical saddle-bags" steadily enough, though not without a good deal of spurring and whipping. the doctor's name was "jopper"--dr john jopper. a very elegant youth, with fine features, rolling black eyes, and luxuriant curled hair, was one of us. the hands were well formed and delicate; the complexion silky, and of nearly an olive tint; but the purplish-red broke through upon his cheeks, giving the earnest of health, as well as adding to the picturesque beauty of his face. the form was perfect, and full of manly expression, and the pretty sky-blue plaited pantaloons and close-fitting jacket of the same material, sat gracefully on his well-turned limbs and arms. these garments were of "cottonade," that beautiful and durable fabric peculiar to louisiana, and so well suited to the southern climate. a costly panama hat cast its shadow over the wavy curls and pictured cheek of this youth, and a cloak of fine broad cloth, with velvet facings, hung loosely from his shoulders. a slight moustache and imperial lent a manlier expression to his chiselled features. this young fellow was a creole of louisiana--a student of one of the jesuit colleges of that state--and although very unlike what would be expected from such a dashing personage, he was an ardent, even passionate, lover of nature. though still young, he was the most accomplished botanist in his state, and had already published several discoveries in the _flora_ of the south. of course the expedition was to him a delightful anticipation. it would afford the finest opportunity for prosecuting his favourite study in a new field; one as yet almost unvisited by the scientific traveller. the young creole was known as jules besancon. he was not the only naturalist of the party. another was with us; one who had already acquired a world-wide fame; whose name was as familiar to the _savans_ of europe as to his own countrymen. he was already an old man, almost venerable in his aspect, but his tread was firm, and his arm still strong enough to steady his long, heavy, double-barrelled rifle. an ample coat of dark blue covered his body; his limbs were enveloped in long buttoned leggings of drab cloth, and a cap of sable surmounted his high, broad forehead. under this his blueish grey eye glanced with a calm but clear intelligence, and a single look from it satisfied you that you were in the presence of a superior mind. were i to give the name of this person, this would readily be acknowledged. for certain reasons i cannot do this. suffice it to say, he was one of the most distinguished of modern zoologists, and to his love for the study we were indebted for his companionship upon our hunting expedition. he was known to us as mr a-- the "hunter-naturalist." there was no jealousy between him and the young besancon. on the contrary, a similarity of tastes soon brought about a mutual friendship, and the creole was observed to treat the other with marked deference and regard. i may set myself down as number of the party. let a short description of me suffice. i was then but a young fellow, educated somewhat better than common; fond of wild sports; not indifferent to a knowledge of nature; fond almost to folly of a good horse, and possessing one of the very best; not ill-looking in the face, and of middle stature; costumed in a light hunting-shirt of embroidered buckskin, with fringed cape and skirt; leggings of scarlet cloth, and cloth forage-cap, covering a flock of dark hair. powder-flask and pouch of tasty patterns; belt around the waist, with hunting-knife and pistols--revolvers. a light rifle in one hand, and in the other a bridle-rein, which guided a steed of coal blackness; one that would have been celebrated in song by a troubadour of the olden time. a deep spanish saddle of stamped leather; holsters with bearskin covers in front; a scarlet blanket, folded and strapped on the croup; lazo and haversack hanging from the "horn"--_voila tout_! there are two characters still undescribed. characters of no mean importance were they--the "guides." they were called respectively, isaac bradley and mark redwood. a brace of trappers they were, but as different from each other in personal appearance as two men could well be. redwood was a man of large dimensions, and apparently as strong as a buffalo, while his _confrere_ was a thin, wiry, sinewy mortal, with a tough, weasel-like look and gait. the expression of redwood's countenance was open and manly, his eyes were grey, his hair light-coloured, and huge brown whiskers covered his cheeks. bradley, on the other hand, was dark--his eyes small, black, and piercing--his face as hairless as an indian's, and bronzed almost to the indian hue, with the black hair of his head closely cropped around it. both these men were dressed in leather from head to foot, yet they were very differently dressed. redwood wore the usual buckskin hunting-shirt, leggings, and moccasins, but all of full proportions and well cut, while his large 'coon-skin cap, with the plume-like tail, had an imposing appearance. bradley's garments, on the contrary, were tight-fitting and "skimped." his hunting-shirt was without cape, and adhered so closely to his body that it appeared only an outer skin of the man himself. his leggings were pinched and tight. shirt, leggings, and moccasins were evidently of the oldest kind, and as dirty as a cobbler's apron. a close-fitting otter cap, with a mackinaw blanket, completed the wardrobe of isaac bradley. he was equipped with a pouch of greasy leather hanging by an old black strap, a small buffalo-horn suspended by a thong, and a belt of buffalo-leather, in which was stuck a strong blade, with its handle of buckhorn. his rifle was of the "tallest" kind--being full six feet in height--in fact, taller than he was, and at least four fifths of the weapon consisted of barrel. the straight narrow stock was a piece of manufacture that had proceeded from the hands of the trapper himself. redwood's rifle was also a long one, but of more modern build and fashion, and his equipments--pouch, powder-horn and belt--were of a more tasty design and finish. such were our guides, redwood and bradley. they were no imaginary characters these. mark redwood was a celebrated "mountain-man" at that time, and isaac bradley will be recognised by many when i give him the name and title by which he was then known,--viz. "old ike, the wolf-killer." redwood rode a strong horse of the half-hunter breed, while the "wolf-killer" was mounted upon one of the scraggiest looking quadrupeds it would be possible to imagine--an old mare "mustang." chapter two. the camp and camp-fire. our route was west by south. the nearest point with which we expected to fall in with the buffalo was two hundred miles distant. we might travel three hundred without seeing one, and even much farther at the present day; but a report had reached saint louis that the buffalo had been seen that year upon the osage river, west of the ozark hills, and towards that point we steered our course. we expected in about twenty days to fall in with the game. fancy a cavalcade of hunters making a journey of twenty days to get upon the field! the reader will, no doubt, say we were in earnest. at the time of which i am writing, a single day's journey from saint louis carried the traveller clear of civilised life. there were settlements beyond; but these were sparse and isolated--a few small towns or plantations upon the main watercourses--and the whole country between them was an uninhabited wilderness. we had no hope of being sheltered by a roof until our return to the mound city itself, but we had provided ourselves with a couple of tents, part of the freight of our waggon. there are but few parts of the american wilderness where the traveller can depend upon wild game for a subsistence. even the skilled hunter when stationary is sometimes put to his wits' end for "daily bread." upon the "route" no great opportunity is found of killing game, which always requires time to approach it with caution. although we passed through what appeared to be excellent cover for various species of wild animals, we reached our first camp without having ruffled either hair or feathers. in fact, neither bird nor quadruped had been seen, although almost every one of the party had been on the look out for game during most of the journey. this was rather discouraging, and we reasoned that if such was to be our luck until we got into the buffalo-range we should have a very dull time of it. we were well provisioned, however, and we regretted the absence of game only on account of the sport. a large bag of biscuit, and one of flour, several pieces of "hung bacon," some dry ox-tongues, a stock of green coffee, sugar, and salt, were the principal and necessary stores. there were "luxuries," too, which each had provided according to his fancy, though not much of these, as every one of the party had had some time or other in his life a little experience in the way of "roughing it." most of the loading of the waggon consisted of provender for our horses and mules. we made full thirty miles on the first day. our road was a good one. we passed over easy undulations, most of them covered with "black-jack." this is a species of dwarf oak, so called from the very dark colour of its wrinkled bark. it is almost worthless as a timber, being too small for most purposes. it is ornamental, however, forming copse-like groves upon the swells of the prairie, while its dark green foliage contrasts pleasantly with the lighter green of the grasses beneath its shade. the young botanist, besancon, had least cause to complain. his time had been sufficiently pleasant during the day. new foliage fell under his observation--new flowers opened their corollas to his delighted gaze. he was aided in making his collections by the hunter-naturalist, who of course was tolerably well versed in this kindred science. we encamped by the edge of a small creek of clear water. our camp was laid out in due form, and everything arranged in the order we designed habitually to follow. every man unsaddled his own horse. there are no servants in prairie-land. even lanty's services extended not beyond the _cuisine_, and for this department he had had his training as the cook of a new orleans trading ship. jake had enough to do with his mules; and to have asked one of our hunter-guides to perform the task of unsaddling your horse, would have been a hazardous experiment. menial service to a free trapper! there are no servants in prairie-land. our horses and mules were picketed on a piece of open ground, each having his "trail-rope," which allowed a circuit of several yards. the two tents were pitched side by side, facing the stream, and the waggon drawn up some twenty feet in the rear. in the triangle between the waggon and the tents was kindled a large fire, upon each side of which two stakes, forked at the top, were driven into the ground. a long sapling resting in the forks traversed the blaze from side to side. this was lanty's "crane,"--the fire was his kitchen. let me sketch the camp more minutely, for our first camp was a type of all the others in its general features. sometimes indeed the tents did not front the same way, when these openings were set to "oblige the wind," but they were always placed side by side in front of the waggon. they were small tents of the old-fashioned conical kind, requiring only one pole each. they were of sufficient size for our purpose, as there were only three of us to each--the guides, with jake and lanty, finding their lodgment under the tilt of the waggon. with their graceful shape, and snowy-white colour against the dark green foliage of the trees, they formed an agreeable contrast; and a _coup d'oeil_ of the camp would have been no mean picture to the eye of an artist. the human figures may be arranged in the following manner. supper is getting ready, and lanty is decidedly at this time the most important personage on the ground. he is stooping over the fire, with a small but long-handled frying-pan, in which he is parching the coffee. it is already browned, and lanty stirs it about with an iron spoon. the crane carries the large coffee-kettle of sheet iron, full of water upon the boil; and a second frying-pan, larger than the first, is filled with sliced ham, ready to be placed upon the hot cinders. our english friend thompson is seated upon a log, with the hat-box before him. it is open, and he has drawn out from it his stock of combs and brushes. he has already made his ablutions, and is now giving the finish to his toilet, by putting his hair, whiskers, moustache, teeth, and even his nails, in order. your englishman is the most comfortable traveller in the world. the kentuckian is differently engaged. he is upon his feet; in one hand gleams a knife with ivory handle and long shining blade. it is a "bowie," of that kind known as an "arkansas toothpick." in the other hand you see an object about eight inches in length, of the form of a parallelogram, and of a dark brown colour. it is a "plug" of real "james's river tobacco." with his knife the kentuckian cuts off a piece--a "chunk," as he terms it--which is immediately transferred to his mouth, and chewed to a pulp. this is his occupation for the moment. the doctor, what of him? doctor jopper may be seen close to the water's edge. in his hand is a pewter flask, of the kind known as a "pocket pistol." that pistol is loaded with brandy, and dr jopper is just in the act of drawing part of the charge, which, with a slight admixture of cool creek water, is carried aloft and poured into a very droughty vessel. the effect, however, is instantly apparent in the lively twinkle of the doctor's round and prominent eyes. besancon is seated near the tent, and the old naturalist beside him. the former is busy with the new plants he has collected. a large portfolio-looking book rests upon his knees, and between its leaves he is depositing his stores in a scientific manner. his companion, who understands the business well, is kindly assisting him. their conversation is interesting, but every one else is too busy with his affairs to listen to it just now. the guides are lounging about the waggon. old ike fixes a new flint in his rifle, and redwood, of a more mirthful disposition, is occasionally cracking a joke with mike or the "darkey." jake is still busy with his mules, and i with my favourite steed, whose feet i have washed in the stream, and anointed with a little spare grease. i shall not always have the opportunity of being so kind to him, but he will need it the less, as his hoofs become more hardened by the journey. around the camp are strewed our saddles, bridles, blankets, weapons, and utensils. these will all be collected and stowed under cover before we go to rest. such is a picture of our camp before supper. when that meal is cooked, the scene somewhat changes. the atmosphere, even at that season, was cool enough, and this, with mike's announcement that the coffee was ready, brought all the party-- guides as well--around the blazing pile of logs. each found his own platter, knife, and cup; and, helping himself from the general stock, set to eating on his own account. of course there were no fragments, as a strict regard to economy was one of the laws of our camp. notwithstanding the fatigue, always incidental to a first day's march, we enjoyed this _al fresco_ supper exceedingly. the novelty had much to do with our enjoyment of it, and also the fine appetites which we had acquired since our luncheon at noon halt. when supper was over, smoking followed, for there was not one of the party who was not an inveterate burner of the "noxious weed." some chose cigars, of which we had brought a good stock, but several were pipe-smokers. the zoologist carried a meerschaum; the guides smoked out of indian calumets of the celebrated steatite, or red claystone. mike had his dark-looking "dudeen," and jake his pipe of corn "cob" and cane-joint shank. our english friend thompson had a store of the finest havannahs, which he smoked with the grace peculiar to the english cigar smoker; holding his cigar impaled upon the point of his knife-blade. kentucky also smoked cigars, but his was half buried within his mouth, slanted obliquely towards the right cheek. besancon preferred the paper cigarette, which he made extempore, as he required them, out of a stock of loose tobacco. this is creole fashion--now also the _mode de paris_. a song from the doctor enlivened the conversation, and certainly so melodious a human voice had never echoed near the spot. one and all agreed that the grand opera had missed a capital "first tenor" in not securing the services of our companion. the fatigue of our long ride caused us to creep into our tents at an early hour, and rolling ourselves in our blankets we went to sleep. of course everything had been carefully gathered in lest rain might fall in the night. the trail-ropes of our animals were looked to: we did not fear their being stolen, but horses on their first few days' journey are easily "stampeded," and will sometimes stray home again. this would have been a great misfortune, but most of us were old travellers, and every caution was observed in securing against such a result. there was no guard kept, though we knew the time would come when that would be a necessary duty. chapter three. besancon's adventure in the swamps. the prairie traveller never sleeps after daybreak. he is usually astir before that time. he has many "_chores_" to perform, unknown to the ordinary traveller who rests in the roadside inn. he has to pack up his tent and bed, cook his own breakfast, and saddle his horse. all this requires time, therefore an early start is necessary. we were on our feet before the sun had shown his disc above the black-jacks. lanty had the start of us, and had freshened up his fire. already the coffee-kettle was bubbling audibly, and the great frying-pan perfumed the camp with an incense more agreeable than the odours of araby. the raw air of the morning had brought everybody around the fire. thompson was pruning and cleansing his nails; the kentuckian was cutting a fresh "chunk" from his plug of "james's river;" the doctor had just returned from the stream, where he had refreshed himself by a "nip" from his pewter flask; besancon was packing up his portfolios; the zoologist was lighting his long pipe, and the "captain" was looking to his favourite horse, while inhaling the fragrance of an "havannah." the guides stood with their blankets hanging from their shoulders silent and thoughtful. in half an hour breakfast was over, the tents and utensils were restored to the waggon, the horses were brought in and saddled, the mules "hitched up," and the expedition once more on its way. this day we made not quite so good a journey. the roads were heavier, the country more thickly timbered, and the ground more hilly. we had several small streams to ford, and this retarded our progress. twenty miles was the extent of our journey. we encamped again without any of us having killed or seen game. although we had beaten the bushes on both sides of our course, nothing bigger than the red-bird (scarlet tanager, _pyranga rubra_), a screaming jay, or an occasional flight of finches, gratified our sight. we reached our camp somewhat disappointed. even old ike and redwood came into camp without game, alleging also that they had not met with the sign of a living quadruped. our second camp was also on the bank of a small stream. shortly after our arrival on the ground, thompson started out afoot, taking with him his gun. he had noticed a tract of marsh at no great distance off. he thought it promised well for snipe. he had not been long gone, when two reports echoed back, and then shortly after another and another. he had found something to empty his gun at. presently we saw him returning with a brace and a half of birds that looked very much like large snipe. so he thought them, but that question was set at rest by the zoologist, who pronounced them at once to be the american "curlew" of wilson (_numenius longirostris_). curlew or snipe, they were soon divested of the feathery coat, and placed in lanty's frying-pan. excellent eating they proved, having only the fault that there was not enough of them. these birds formed the topic of our after-supper conversation, and then it generalised to the different species of wading birds of america, and at length that singular creature, the "ibis," became the theme. this came round by besancon remarking that a species of ibis was brought by the indians to the markets of new orleans, and sold there under the name of "spanish curlew." this was the white ibis (_tantalus albas_), which the zoologist stated was found in plenty along the whole southern coast of the united states. there were two other species, he said, natives of the warm parts of north america, the "wood-ibis" (_tantalus loculator_), which more nearly resembles the sacred ibis of egypt, and the beautiful "sacred ibis" (_tantalus ruber_), which last is rarer than the others. our venerable companion, who had the ornithology of america, if i may use the expression, at his fingers' ends, imparted many curious details of the habits of these rare birds. all listened with interest to his statements--even the hunter-guides, for with all their apparent rudeness of demeanour, there was a dash of the naturalist in these fellows. when the zoologist became silent, the young creole took up the conversation. talking of the ibis, he said, reminded him of an adventure he had met with while in pursuit of these birds among the swamps of his native state. he would relate it to us. of course we were rejoiced at the proposal. we were just the audience for an "adventure," and after rolling a fresh cigarette, the botanist began his narration. "during one of my college vacations i made a botanical excursion to the south-western part of louisiana. before leaving home i had promised a dear friend to bring him the skins of such rare birds as were known to frequent the swampy region i was about to traverse, but he was especially desirous i should obtain for him some specimens of the red ibis, which he intended to have `mounted.' i gave my word that no opportunity should be lost of obtaining these birds, and i was very anxious to make good my promise. "the southern part of the state of louisiana is one vast labyrinth of swamps, bayous, and lagoons. the bayous are sluggish streams that glide sleepily along, sometimes running one way, and sometimes the very opposite, according to the season of the year. many of them are outlets of the mississippi, which begins to shed off its waters more than miles from its mouth. these bayous are deep, sometimes narrow, sometimes wide, with islets in their midst. they and their contiguous swamps are the great habitat of the alligator and the fresh-water shark--the gar. numerous species of water and wading fowl fly over them, and plunge through their dark tide. here you may see the red flamingo, the egret, the trumpeter-swan, the blue heron, the wild goose, the crane, the snake-bird, the pelican, and the ibis; you may likewise see the osprey, and the white-headed eagle robbing him of his prey. both swamps and bayous produce abundantly fish, reptile, and insect, and are, consequently, the favourite resort of hundreds of birds which prey upon these creatures. in some places, their waters form a complete net-work over the country, which you may traverse with a small boat in almost any direction; indeed, this is the means by which many settlements communicate with each other. as you approach southward towards the gulf, you get clear of the timber; and within some fifty miles of the sea, there is not a tree to be seen. "in the first day or two that i was out, i had succeeded in getting all the specimens i wanted, with the exception of the ibis. this shy creature avoided me; in fact i had only seen one or two in my excursions, and these at a great distance. i still, however, had hopes of finding them before my return to my friend. "about the third or fourth day i set out from a small settlement on the edge of one of the larger bayous. i had no other company than my gun. i was even unattended by a dog, as my favourite spaniel had the day before been bitten by an alligator while swimming across the bayou, and i was compelled to leave him at the settlement. of course the object of my excursion was a search after new flora, but i had become by this time very desirous of getting the rare ibis, and i was determined half to neglect my botanising for that purpose. i went of course in a boat, a light skiff, such as is commonly used by the inhabitants of these parts. "occasionally using the paddles, i allowed myself to float some four or live miles down the main bayou; but as the birds i was in search of did not appear, i struck into a `branch,' and sculled myself up-stream. this carried me through a solitary region, with marshes stretching as far as the eye could see, covered with tall reeds. there was no habitation, nor aught that betokened the presence of man. it was just possible that i was the first human being who had ever found a motive for propelling a boat through the dark waters of this solitary stream. "as i advanced, i fell in with game; and i succeeded in bagging several, both of the great wood-ibis and the white species. i also shot a fine white-headed eagle (_falco leucocephalus_), which came soaring over my boat, unconscious of danger. but the bird which i most wanted seemed that which could not be obtained. i wanted the scarlet ibis. "i think i had rowed some three miles up-stream, and was about to take in my oars and leave my boat to float back again, when i perceived that, a little farther up, the bayou widened. curiosity prompted me to continue; and after pulling a few hundred strokes, i found myself at the end of an oblong lake, a mile or so in length. it was deep, dark, marshy around the shores, and full of alligators. i saw their ugly forms and long serrated backs, as they floated about in all parts of it, hungrily hunting for fish and eating one another; but all this was nothing new, for i had witnessed similar scenes during the whole of my excursion. what drew my attention most, was a small islet near the middle of the lake, upon one end of which stood a row of upright forms of a bright scarlet colour. these red creatures were the very objects i was in search of. they might be flamingoes: i could not tell at that distance. so much the better, if i could only succeed in getting a shot at them; but these creatures are even more wary than the ibis; and as the islet was low, and altogether without cover, it was not likely they would allow me to come within range: nevertheless, i was determined to make the attempt. i rowed up the lake, occasionally turning my head to see if the game had taken the alarm. the sun was hot and dazzling; and as the bright scarlet was magnified by refraction, i fancied for a long time they were flamingoes. this fancy was dissipated as i drew near. the outlines of the bills, like the blade of a sabre, convinced me they were the ibis; besides, i now saw that they were less than three feet in height, while the flamingoes stand five. there were a dozen of them in all. these were balancing themselves, as is their usual habit, on one leg, apparently asleep, or _buried in deep thought_. they were on the upper extremity of the islet, while i was approaching it from below. it was not above sixty yards across; and could i only reach the point nearest me, i knew my gun would throw shot to kill at that distance. i feared the stroke of the sculls would start them, and i pulled slowly and cautiously. perhaps the great heat--for it was as hot a day as i can remember--had rendered them torpid or lazy. whether or not, they sat still until the cut-water of my skiff touched the bank of the islet. i drew my gun up cautiously, took aim, and fired both barrels almost simultaneously. when the smoke cleared out of my eyes, i saw that all the birds had flown off except one, that lay stretched out by the edge of the water. "gun in hand, i leaped out of the boat, and ran across the islet to bag my game. this occupied but a few minutes; and i was turning to go back to the skiff, when, to my consternation, i saw it out upon the lake, and rapidly floating downward! "in my haste i had left it unfastened, and the bayou current had carried it off. it was still but a hundred yards distant, but it might as well have been a hundred miles, for at that time i could not swim a stroke. "my first impulse was to rush down to the lake, and after the boat. this impulse was checked on arriving at the water's edge, which i saw at a glance was fathoms in depth. quick reflection told me that the boat was gone--irrecoverably gone! "i did not at first comprehend the full peril of my situation; nor will you, gentlemen. i was on an islet, in a lake, only half a mile from its shores--alone, it is true, and without a boat; but what of that? many a man had been so before, with not an idea of danger. "these were first thoughts, natural enough; but they rapidly gave place to others of a far different character. when i gazed after my boat, now beyond recovery--when i looked around, and saw that the lake lay in the middle of an interminable swamp, the shores of which, even could i have reached them, did not seem to promise me footing--when i reflected that, being unable to swim, i could _not_ reach them--that upon the islet there was neither tree, nor log, nor bush; not a stick out of which i might make a raft--i say, when i reflected upon all these things, there arose in my mind a feeling of well-defined and absolute horror. "it is true i was only in a lake, a mile or so in width; but so far as the peril and helplessness of my situation were concerned, i might as well have been upon a rock in the middle of the atlantic. i knew that there was no settlement within miles--miles of pathless swamp. i knew that no one could either see or hear me--no one was at all likely to come near the lake; indeed, i felt satisfied that my faithless boat was the first keel that had ever cut its waters. the very tameness of the birds wheeling round my head was evidence of this. i felt satisfied, too, that without some one to help me, i should never go out from that lake: i must die on the islet, or drown in attempting to leave it! "these reflections rolled rapidly over my startled soul. the facts were clear, the hypothesis definite, the sequence certain; there was no ambiguity, no supposititious hinge upon which i could hang a hope; no, not one. i could not even expect that i should be missed and sought for; there was no one to search for me. the simple _habitans_ of the village i had left knew me not--i was a stranger among them: they only knew me as a stranger, and fancied me a strange individual; one who made lonely excursions, and brought home hunches of weeds, with birds, insects, and reptiles, which they had never before seen, although gathered at their own doors. my absence, besides, would be nothing new to them, even though it lasted for days: i had often been absent before, a week at a time. there was no hope of my being missed. "i have said that these reflections came and passed quickly. in less than a minute, my affrighted soul was in full possession of them, and almost yielded itself to despair. i shouted, but rather involuntarily than with any hope that i should be heard; i shouted loudly and fiercely: my answer--the echoes of my own voice, the shriek of the osprey, and the maniac laugh of the white-headed eagle. "i ceased to shout, threw my gun to the earth, and tottered down beside it. i can imagine the feelings of a man shut up in a gloomy prison-- they are not pleasant. i have been lost upon the wild prairie--the land sea--without bush, break, or star to guide me--that was worse. there you look around; you see nothing; you hear nothing: you are alone with god, and you tremble in his presence; your senses swim; your brain reels; you are afraid of yourself; you are afraid of your own mind. deserted by everything else, you dread lest it, too, may forsake you. there is horror in this--it is very horrible--it is hard to bear; but i have borne it all, and would bear it again twenty times over rather than endure once more the first hour i spent on that lonely islet in that lonely lake. your prison may be dark and silent, but you feel that you are not utterly alone; beings like yourself are near, though they be your jailers. lost on the prairie, you are alone; but you are free. in the islet, i felt that i was alone; that i was not free: in the islet i experienced the feelings of the prairie and the prison combined. "i lay in a state of stupor--almost unconscious; how long i know not, but many hours i am certain; i knew this by the sun--it was going down when i awoke, if i may so term the recovery of my stricken senses. i was aroused by a strange circumstance: i was surrounded by dark objects of hideous shape and hue--reptiles they were. they had been before my eyes for some time, but i had not seen them. i had only a sort of dreamy consciousness of their presence; but i heard them at length: my ear was in better tune, and the strange noises they uttered reached my intellect. it sounded like the blowing of great bellows, with now and then a note harsher and louder, like the roaring of a bull. this startled me, and i looked up and bent my eyes upon the objects: they were forms of the _crocodilidae_, the giant lizards--they were alligators. "huge ones they were, many of them; and many were they in number--a hundred at least were crawling over the islet, before, behind, and on all sides around me. their long gaunt jaws and channelled snouts projected forward so as almost to touch my body; and their eyes, usually leaden, seemed now to glare. "impelled by this new danger, i sprang to my feet, when, recognising the upright form of man, the reptiles scuttled off, and plunging hurriedly into the lake; hid their hideous bodies under the water. "the incident in some measure revived me. i saw that i was not alone; there was company even in the crocodiles. i gradually became more myself; and began to reflect with some degree of coolness on the circumstances that surrounded me. my eyes wandered over the islet; every inch of it came under my glance; every object upon it was scrutinised--the moulted feathers of wildfowl, the pieces of mud, the fresh-water mussels (_unios_) strewed upon its beach--all were examined. still the barren answer--no means of escape. "the islet was but the head of a sand-bar, formed by the eddy, perhaps gathered together within the year. it was bare of herbage, with the exception of a few tufts of grass. there was neither tree nor bush upon it: not a stick. a raft indeed! there was not wood enough to make a raft that would have floated a frog. the idea of a raft was but briefly entertained; such a thought had certainly crossed my mind, but a single glance round the islet dispelled it before it had taken shape. "i paced my prison from end to end; from side to side i walked it over. i tried the water's depth; on all sides i sounded it, wading recklessly in; everywhere it deepened rapidly as i advanced. three lengths of myself from the islet's edge, and i was up to the neck. the huge reptiles swam around, snorting and blowing; they were bolder in this element. i could not have waded safely ashore, even had the water been shallow. to swim it--no--even though i swam like a duck, they would have closed upon and quartered me before i could have made a dozen strokes. horrified by their demonstrations, i hurried back upon dry ground, and paced the islet with dripping garments. "i continued walking until night, which gathered around me dark and dismal. with night came new voices--the hideous voices of the nocturnal swamp; the qua-qua of the night-heron, the screech of the swamp-owl, the cry of the bittern, the cl-l-uk of the great water-toad, the tinkling of the bell-frog, and the chirp of the savanna-cricket--all fell upon my ear. sounds still harsher and more, hideous were heard around me--the plashing of the alligator, and the roaring of his voice; these reminded me that i must not go to sleep. to sleep! i durst not have slept for a single instant. even when i lay for a few minutes motionless, the dark reptiles came crawling round me--so close that i could have put forth my hand and touched them. "at intervals, i sprang to my feet, shouted, swept my gun around, and chased them back to the water, into which they betook themselves with a sullen plunge, but with little semblance of fear. at each fresh demonstration on my part they showed less alarm, until i could no longer drive them either with shouts or threatening gestures. they only retreated a few feet, forming an irregular circle round me. "thus hemmed in, i became frightened in turn. i loaded my gun and fired; i killed none. they are impervious to a bullet, except in the eye, or under the forearm. it was too dark to aim at these parts; and my shots glanced harmlessly from the pyramidal scales of their bodies. the loud report, however, and the blaze frightened them, and they fled, to return again after a long interval. i was asleep when they returned; i had gone to sleep in spite of my efforts to keep awake. i was startled by the touch of something cold; and half-stilled by the strong musky odour that filled the air. i threw out my arms; my fingers rested upon an object slippery and clammy: it was one of these monsters--one of gigantic size. he had crawled close alongside me, and was preparing to make his attack; as i saw that he was bent in the form of a bow, and i knew that these creatures assume that attitude when about to strike their victim. i was just in time to spring aside, and avoid the stroke of his powerful tail, that the next moment swept the ground where i had lain. again i fired, and he with the rest once more retreated to the lake. "all thoughts of going to sleep were at an end. not that i felt wakeful; on the contrary, wearied with my day's exertion--for i had had a long pull under a hot tropical sun--i could have lain down upon the earth, in the mud, anywhere, and slept in an instant. nothing but the dread certainty of my peril kept me awake. once again before morning, i was compelled to battle with the hideous reptiles, and chase them away with a shot from my gun. "morning came at length, but with it no change in my perilous position. the light only showed me my island prison, but revealed no way of escape from it. indeed, the change could not be called for the better, for the fervid rays of an almost vertical sun poured down upon me until my skin blistered. i was already speckled by the bites of a thousand swamp-flies and mosquitoes, that all night long had preyed upon me. there was not a cloud in the heavens to shade me; and the sunbeams smote the surface of the dead bayou with a double intensity. "towards evening, i began to hunger; no wonder at that: i had not eaten since leaving the village settlement. to assuage thirst, i drank the water of the lake, turbid and slimy as it was. i drank it in large quantities, for it was hot, and only moistened my palate without quenching the craving of my appetite. of water there was enough; i had more to fear from want of food. "what could i eat? the ibis. but how to cook it? there was nothing wherewith to make a fire--not a stick. no matter for that. cooking is a modern invention, a luxury for pampered palates. i divested the ibis of its brilliant plumage, and ate it raw. i spoiled my specimen, but at the time there was little thought of that: there was not much of the naturalist left in me. i anathematised the hour i had ever promised to procure the bird. i wished my friend up to his neck in a swamp. "the ibis did not weigh above three pounds, bones and all. it served me for a second meal, a breakfast; but at this _dejeuner sans fourchette_ i picked the bones. "what next? starve? no--not yet. in the battles i had had with the alligators during the second night, one of them had received a shot that proved mortal. the hideous carcass of the reptile lay dead upon the beach. i need not starve; i could eat that. such were my reflections. i must hunger, though, before i could bring myself to touch the musky morsel. "two more days' fasting conquered my squeamishness. i drew out my knife, cut a steak from the alligator's tail, and ate it--not the one i had first killed, but a second; the other was now putrid, rapidly decomposing under the hot sun: its odour filled the islet. "the stench had grown intolerable. there was not a breath of air stirring, otherwise i might have shunned it by keeping to windward. the whole atmosphere of the islet, as well as a large circle around it, was impregnated with the fearful effluvium. i could bear it no longer. with the aid of my gun, i pushed the half-decomposed carcass into the lake; perhaps the current might carry it away. it did: i had the gratification to see it float off. "this circumstance led me into a train of reflections. why did the body of the alligator float? it was swollen--inflated with gases. ha! "an idea shot suddenly through my mind--one of those brilliant ideas, the children of necessity. i thought of the floating alligator, of its intestines--what if i inflated them? yes, yes! buoys and bladders, floats and life-preservers! that was the thought. i would open the alligators, make a buoy of their intestines, and that would bear me from the islet! "i did not lose a moment's time; i was full of energy: hope had given me new life. my gun was loaded--a huge crocodile that swam near the shore received the shot in his eye. i dragged him on the beach; with my knife i laid open his entrails. few they were, but enough for my purpose. a plume-quill from the wing of the ibis served me for a blow-pipe. i saw the bladder-like skin expand, until i was surrounded by objects like great sausages. those were tied together, and fastened to my body, and then, with a plunge, i entered the waters of the lake, and floated downward. i had tied on my life-preservers in such a way that i sat in the water in an upright position, holding my gun with both hands. this i intended to have, used as a club in case i should be attacked by the alligators; but i had chosen the hot hour of noon, when these creatures lie in a half-torpid state, and to my joy i was not molested. "half an hour's drifting with the current carried me to the end of the lake, and i found myself at the _debouchure_ of the bayou. here, to my great delight, i saw my boat in the swamp, where it had been caught and held fast by the sedge. a few minutes more, and i had swung myself over the gunwale, and was sculling with eager strokes down the smooth waters of the bayou. "of course my adventure was ended, and i reached the settlement in safety, but without the object of my excursion. i was enabled, however, to procure it some days after, and had the gratification of being able to keep my promise to my friend." besancon's adventure had interested all of us; the old hunter-naturalist seemed delighted with it. no doubt it revived within him the memories of many a perilous incident in his own life. it was evident that in the circle of the camp-fire there was more than one pair of lips ready to narrate some similar adventure, but the hour was late, and all agreed it would be better to go to rest. on to-morrow night, some other would take their turn; and, in fact, a regular agreement was entered into that each one of the party who had at any period of his life been the hero or participator in any hunting adventure should narrate the same for the entertainment of the others. this would bring out a regular "round of stories by the camp-fire," and would enable us to kill the many long evenings we had to pass before coming up with the buffalo. the conditions were, that the stories should exclusively relate to birds or animals--in fact, any hunted game belonging to the _fauna_ of the american continent: furthermore, that each should contribute his _quota_ of information about whatever animal should chance to be the subject of the narration--about its habits, its geographical range; in short, its general natural history, as well as the various modes of hunting it, practised in different places by different people. this, it was alleged, would render our camp conversation instructive as well as entertaining. the idea originated with the old hunter-naturalist, who very wisely reasoned that among so many gentlemen of large hunting experience he might collect new facts for his favourite science--for to just such men, and not to the closet-dreamer, is natural history indebted for its most interesting chapters. of course every one of us, guides and all, warmly applauded the proposal, for there was no one among us averse to receiving a little knowledge of so entertaining a character. no doubt to the naturalist himself we should be indebted for most part of it; and his mode of communicating was so pleasant, that even the rude trappers listened to him with wonder and attention. they saw that he was no "greenhorn" either in woodcraft or prairie knowledge, and that was a sufficient claim to their consideration. there is no character less esteemed by the regular "mountain-man" than a "greenhorn,"--that is, one who is new to the ways of their wilderness life. with the design of an early start, we once more crept into our several quarters, and went to sleep. chapter four. the passenger-pigeons. after an early breakfast we lit our pipes and cigars, and took to the road. the sun was very bright, and in less than two hours after starting we were sweltering under a heat almost tropical. it was one of those autumn days peculiar to america, where even a high latitude seems to be no protection against the sun, and his beams fall upon one with as much fervour as they would under the line itself. the first part of our journey was through open woods of black-jack, whose stunted forms afforded no shade, but only shut off the breeze which might otherwise have fanned us. while fording a shallow stream, the doctor's scraggy, ill-tempered horse took a fit of kicking quite frantical. for some time it seemed likely that either the doctor himself, or his saddle-bags, would be deposited in the bottom of the creek, but after a severe spell of whipping and kicking on the part of the rider, the animal moved on again. what had set it dancing? that was the question. it had the disposition to be "frisky," but usually appeared to be lacking in strength. the buzz of a horse-fly sounding in our ears explained all. it was one of those large insects--the "horse-bug,"--peculiar to the mississippi country, and usually found near watercourses. they are more terrible to horses than a fierce dog would be. i have known horses gallop away from them as if pursued by a beast of prey. there is a belief among western people that these insects are propagated by the horses themselves; that is, that the eggs of the female are deposited upon the grass, so that the horses may swallow them; that incubation goes on within the stomach of the animal, and that the chrysalis is afterwards voided. i have met with others who believed in a still stranger theory; that the insect itself actually sought, and found, a passage into the stomach of the horse, some said by passing down his throat, others by boring a hole through his abdomen; and that in such cases the horse usually sickened, and was in danger of dying! after the doctor's mustang had returned to proper behaviour, these odd theories became the subject of discussion. the kentuckian believed in them--the englishman doubted them--the hunter-naturalist could not endorse them--and besancon ignored them entirely. shortly after the incident we entered the bottom lands of a considerable stream. these were heavily-timbered, and the shadow of the great forest trees afforded us a pleasant relief from the hot sun. our guides told us we had several miles of such woods to pass through, and we were glad of the information. we noticed that most of the trees were beech, and their smooth straight trunks rose like columns around us. the beech (_fagus sylvatica_) is one of the most beautiful of american forest trees. unlike most of the others, its bark is smooth, without fissures, and often of a silvery hue. large beech-trees standing by the path, or near a cross road, are often seen covered with names, initials, and dates. even the indian often takes advantage of the bark of a beech-tree to signalise his presence to his friends, or commemorate some savage exploit. indeed, the beautiful column-like trunk seems to invite the knife, and many a souvenir is carved upon it by the loitering wayfarer. it does not, however, invite the axe of the settler. on the contrary, the beechen woods often remain untouched, while others fall around them--partly because these trees are not usually the indices of the richest soil, but more from the fact that clearing a piece of beech forest is no easy matter. the green logs do not burn so readily as those of the oak, the elm, the maple, or poplar, and hence the necessity of "rolling" them off the ground to be cleared--a serious thing where labour is scarce and dear. we were riding silently along, when all at once our ears were assailed by a strange noise. it resembled the clapping of a thousand pairs of hands, followed by a whistling sound, as if a strong wind had set suddenly in among the trees. we all knew well enough what it meant, and the simultaneous cry of "pigeons," was followed by half a dozen simultaneous cracks from the guns of the party, and several bluish birds fell to the ground. we had stumbled upon a feeding-place of the passenger-pigeon (_columba migratoria_). our route was immediately abandoned, and in a few minutes we were in the thick of the flock, cracking away at them both with shot-gun and rifle. it was not so easy, however, to bring them down in any considerable numbers. in following them up we soon strayed from each other, until our party was completely scattered, and nearly two hours elapsed before we got back to the road. our game-bag, however, made a fine show, and about forty brace were deposited in the waggon. with the anticipation of roast pigeon and "pot-pie," we rode on more cheerily to our night-camp. all along the route the pigeons were seen, and occasionally large flocks whirled over our heads under the canopy of the trees. satiated with the sport, and not caring to waste our ammunition, we did not heed them farther. in order to give lanty due time for the duties of the _cuisine_, we halted a little earlier than usual. our day's march had been a short one, but the excitement and sport of the pigeon-hunt repaid us for the loss of time. our dinner-supper--for it was a combination of both--was the dish known in america as "pot-pie," in which the principal ingredients were the pigeons, some soft flour paste, with a few slices of bacon to give it a flavour. properly speaking, the "pot-pie" is not a pie, but a stew. ours was excellent, and as our appetites wore in a similar condition, a goodly quantity was used up in appeasing them. of course the conversation of the evening was the "wild pigeon of america," and the following facts regarding its natural history-- although many of them are by no means new--may prove interesting to the reader, as they did to those who listened to the relation of them around our camp-fire. the "passenger" is less in size than the house pigeon. in the air it looks not unlike the kite, wanting the forked or "swallow" tail. that of the pigeon is cuneiform. its colour is best described by calling it a nearly uniform slate. in the male the colours are deeper, and the neck-feathers present the same changeable hues of green, gold, and purple-crimson, generally observed in birds of this species. it is only in the woods, and when freshly caught or killed, that these brilliant tints can be seen to perfection. they fade in captivity, and immediately after the bird has been shot. they seem to form part of its life and liberty, and disappear when it is robbed of either. i have often thrust the wild pigeon, freshly killed, into my game-bag, glittering like an opal. i have drawn it forth a few hours after of a dull leaden hue, and altogether unlike the same bird. as with all birds of this tribe, the female is inferior to the male, both in size and plumage. the eye is less vivid. in the male it is of the most brilliant fiery orange, inclosed in a well-defined circle of red. the eye is in truth its finest feature, and never fails to strike the beholder with admiration. the most singular fact in the natural history of the "passenger," is their countless numbers. audubon saw a flock that contained "one billion one hundred and sixteen millions of birds!" wilson counted, or rather computed, another flock of "two thousand two hundred and thirty millions!" these numbers seem incredible. i have no doubt of their truth. i have no doubt that they are _under_ rather than _over_ the numbers actually seen by both these naturalists, for both made most liberal allowances in their calculations. where do these immense flocks come from? the wild pigeons breed in all parts of america. their breeding-places are found as far north as the hudson's bay, and they have been seen in the southern forests of louisiana and texas. the nests are built upon high trees, and resemble immense rookeries. in kentucky, one of their breeding-places was forty miles in length, by several in breadth! one hundred nests will often be found upon a single tree, and in each nest there is but one "squab." the eggs are pure white, like those of the common kind, and, like them, they breed several times during the year, but principally when food is plenty. they establish themselves in great "roosts," sometimes for years together, to which each night they return from their distant excursions--hundreds of miles, perhaps; for this is but a short fly for travellers who can pass over a mile in a single minute, and some of whom have even strayed across the atlantic to england! they, however, as i myself have observed, remain in the same woods where they have been feeding for several days together. i have also noticed that they prefer roosting in the low underwood, even when tall trees are close at hand. if near water, or hanging over a stream, the place is still more to their liking; and in the morning they may be seen alighting on the bank to drink, before taking to their daily occupation. the great "roosts" and breeding-places are favourite resorts for numerous birds of prey. the small vultures (_cathartes aura_ and _atratus_), or, as they are called in the west, "turkey buzzard," and "carrion crow," do not confine themselves to carrion alone. they are fond of live "squabs," which they drag out of their nests at pleasure. numerous hawks and kites prey upon them; and even the great white-headed eagle (_falco leucocephalus_) may be seen soaring above, and occasionally swooping down for a dainty morsel. on the ground beneath move enemies of a different kind, both biped and quadruped. fowlers with their guns and long poles; farmers with waggons to carry off the dead birds; and even droves of hogs to devour them. trees fall under the axe, and huge branches break down by the weight of the birds themselves, killing numbers in their descent. torches are used--for it is usually a night scene, after the return of the birds from feeding,-- pots of burning sulphur, and other engines of destruction. a noisy scene it is. the clapping of a million pair of wings, like the roaring of thunder; the shots; the shouts; men hoarsely calling to each other; women and children screaming their delight; the barking of dogs; the neighing of horses; the "crashes" of breaking branches; and the "chuck" of the woodman's axe, all mingled together. when the men--saturated with slaughter, and white with ordure--have retired beyond the borders of the roost to rest themselves for the night, their ground is occupied by the prowling wolf and the fox; the racoon and the cougar; the lynx and the great black bear. with so many enemies, one would think that the "passengers" would soon be exterminated. not so. they are too prolific for that. indeed, were it not for these enemies, they themselves would perish for want of food. fancy what it takes to feed them! the flock seen by wilson would require eighteen million bushels of grain every day!--and it, most likely, was only one of many such that at the time were traversing the vast continent of america. upon what do they feed? it will be asked. upon the fruits of the great forest--upon the acorns, the nuts of the beech, upon buck-wheat, and indian corn; upon many species of berries, such as the huckleberry (_whortleberry_), the hackberry (_celtis crassifolia_), and the fruit of the holly. in the northern regions, where these are scarce, the berries of the juniper tree (_juniperus communis_) form the principal food. on the other hand, among the southern plantations, they devour greedily the rice, as well as the nuts of the chestnut-tree and several species of oaks. but their staple food is the beech-nut, or "mast," as it is called. of this the pigeons are fond, and fortunately it exists in great plenty. in the forests of western america there are vast tracts covered almost entirely with the beech-tree. as already stated, these beechen forests of america remain almost intact, and so long as they shower down their millions of bushels of "mast," so long will the passenger-pigeons flutter in countless numbers amidst their branches. their migration is semi-annual; but unlike most other migratory birds, it is far from being regular. their flight is, in fact, not a periodical migration, but a sort of nomadic existence--food being the object which keeps them in motion and directs their course. the scarcity in one part determines their movement to another. when there is more than the usual fall of snow in the northern regions, vast flocks make their appearance in the middle states, as in ohio and kentucky. this may in some measure account for the overcrowded "roosts" which have been occasionally seen, but which are by no means common. you may live in the west for many years without witnessing a scene such as those described by wilson and audubon, though once or twice every year you may see pigeons enough to astonish you. it must not be imagined that the wild pigeons of america are so "tame" as they have been sometimes represented. that is their character only while young at the breeding-places, or at the great roosts when confused by crowding upon each other, and mystified by torch-light. far different are they when wandering through the open woods in search of food. it is then both difficult to approach and hard to kill them. odd birds you may easily reach; you may see them perched upon the branches on all sides of you, and within shot-range; but the _thick_ of the flock, somehow or other, always keeps from one to two hundred yards off. the sportsman cannot bring himself to fire at single birds. no. there is a tree near at hand literally black with pigeons. its branches creak under the weight. what a fine havoc he will make if he can but get near enough! but that is the difficulty; there is no cover, and he must approach as he best can without it. he continues to advance; the birds sit silent, watching his movements. he treads lightly and with caution; he inwardly anathematises the dead leaves and twigs that make a loud rustling under his feet. the birds appear restless; several stretch out their necks as if to spring off. at length he deems himself fairly within range, and raises his gun to take aim; but this is a signal for the shy game, and before he can draw trigger they are off to another tree! some stragglers still remain; and at them he levels his piece and fires. the shot is a random one; for our sportsman, having failed to "cover" the flock, has become irritated and careless, and in all such cases the pigeons fly off with the loss of a few feathers. the gun is reloaded, and our amateur hunter, seeing the thick flock upon another tree, again endeavours to approach it, but with like success. chapter five. hunt with a howitzer. when the conversation about the haunts and habits of these birds began to flag, some one called for a "pigeon story." who could tell a pigeon story? to our surprise the doctor volunteered one, and all gathered around to listen. "yes, gentlemen," began the doctor, "i have a pigeon adventure, which occurred to me some years ago. i was then living in cincinnati, following my respectable calling, when i had the good fortune to set a broken leg for one colonel p--, a wealthy planter, who lived upon the bank of the river some sixty miles from the city. i made a handsome set of if, and won the colonel's friendship for ever. shortly after, i was invited to his house, to be present at a great pigeon-hunt which was to come off in the fall. the colonel's plantation stood among beech woods, and he had therefore an annual visitation of the pigeons, and could tell almost to a day when they would appear. the hunt he had arranged for the gratification of his numerous friends. "as you all know, gentlemen, sixty miles in our western travel is a mere bagatelle; and tired of pills and prescriptions, i flung myself into a boat, and in a few hours arrived at the colonel's stately home. a word or two about this stately home and its proprietor. "colonel p-- was a splendid specimen of the backwoods' gentleman--you will admit there _are_ gentlemen in the backwoods." (here the doctor glanced good-humouredly, first at our english friend thompson, and then at the kentuckian, both of whom answered him with a laugh.) "his house was the type of a backwoods mansion; a wooden structure, both walls and roof. no matter. it has distributed as much hospitality in its time as many a marble palace; that was one of its backwoods' characteristics. it stood, and i hope still stands, upon the north bank of the ohio--that beautiful stream--`_la belle riviere_,' as the french colonists, and before their time the indians, used to call it. it was in the midst of the woods, though around it were a thousand acres of `clearing,' where you might distinguish fields of golden wheat, and groves of shining maize plants waving aloft their yellow-flower tassels. you might note, too, the broad green leaf of the nicotian `weed,' or the bursting pod of the snow-white cotton. in the garden you might observe the sweet potato, the common one, the refreshing tomato, the huge water-melon, cantelopes, and musk melons, with many other delicious vegetables. you could see pods of red and green pepper growing upon trailing plants; and beside them several species of peas and beans--all valuable for the colonel's _cuisine_. there was an orchard, too, of several acres in extent. it was filled with fruit-trees, the finest peaches in the world, and the finest apples--the newton pippins. besides, there were luscious pears and plums, and upon the espaliers, vines bearing bushels of sweet grapes. if colonel p-- lived in the woods, it cannot be said that he was surrounded by a desert. "there were several substantial log-houses near the main building or mansion. they were the stable--and good horses there were in that stable; the cow-house, for milk cattle; the barn, to hold the wheat and maize-corn; the smoke-house, for curing bacon; a large building for the dry tobacco; a cotton-gin, with its shed of clap-boards; bins for the husk fodder, and several smaller structures. in one corner you saw a low-walled erection that reminded you of a kennel, and the rich music that from time to time issued from its apertures would convince you that it _was_ a kennel. if you had peeped into it, you would have seen a dozen of as fine stag-hounds as ever lifted a trail. the colonel was somewhat partial to these pets, for he was a `mighty hunter.' you might see a number of young colts in an adjoining lot; a pet deer, a buffalo-calf, that had been brought from the far prairies, pea-fowl, guinea-hens, turkeys, geese, ducks, and the usual proportion of common fowls. rail-fences zigzagged off in all directions towards the edge of the woods. huge trees, dead and divested of their leaves, stood up in the cleared fields. turkey buzzards and carrion, crows might be seen perched upon their grey naked limbs; upon their summit you might observe the great rough-legged falcon; and above all, cutting sharply against the blue sky, the fork-tailed kite sailing gently about." here the doctor's auditory interrupted him with a murmur of applause. the doctor was in fine spirits, and in a poetical mood. he continued. "such, gentlemen, was the sort of place i had come to visit; and i saw at a glance that i could spend a few days there pleasantly enough--even without the additional attractions of a pigeon-hunt. "on my arrival i found the party assembled. it consisted of a score and a half of ladies and gentlemen, nearly all young people. the pigeons had not yet made their appearance, but were looked for every hour. the woods had assumed the gorgeous tints of autumn, that loveliest of seasons in the `far west.' already the ripe nuts and berries were scattered profusely over the earth offering their annual banquet to god's wild creatures. the `mast' of the beech-tree, of which the wild pigeon is so fond, was showering down among the dead leaves. it was the very season at which the birds were accustomed to visit the beechen woods that girdled the colonel's plantation. they would no doubt soon appear. with this expectation everything was made ready; each of the gentlemen was provided with a fowling-piece, or rifle if he preferred it; and even some of the ladies insisted upon being armed. "to render the sport more exciting, our host had established certain regulations. they were as follows:--the gentlemen were divided into two parties, of equal numbers. these were to go in opposite directions, the ladies upon the first day of the hunt accompanying whichever they chose. upon all succeeding days, however, the case would be different. the ladies were to accompany that party which upon the day previous had bagged the greatest number of birds. the victorious gentlemen, moreover, were endowed with other privileges, which lasted throughout the evening; such as the choice of partners for the dinner-table and the dance. "i need not tell you, gentlemen, that in these conditions existed powerful motives for exertion. the colonel's guests were the _elite_ of western society. most of the gentlemen were young men or bachelors; and among the ladies there were _belles_; three or four of them rich and beautiful. on my arrival i could perceive signs of incipient flirtations. attachments had already arisen; and by many it would have been esteemed anything but pleasant to be separated in the manner prescribed. a strong _esprit du corps_ was thus established; and, by the time the pigeons arrived, both parties had determined to do their utmost. in fact, i have never known so strong a feeling of rivalry to exist between two parties of amateur sportsmen. "the pigeons at length arrived. it was a bright sunny morning, and yet the atmosphere was darkened, as the vast flock, a mile in breadth by several in length, passed across the canopy. the sound of their wings resembled a strong wind whistling among tree-tops, or through the rigging of a ship. we saw that they hovered over the woods, and settled among the tall beeches. "the beginning of the hunt was announced, and we set forth, each party taking the direction allotted to it. with each went a number of ladies, and even some of these were armed with light fowling-pieces, determined that the party of their choice should be the victorious one. after a short ride, we found ourselves fairly `in the woods,' and in the presence of the birds, and then the cracking commenced. "in our party we had eight guns, exclusive of the small fowling-pieces (two of those), with which a brace of our heroines were armed, and which, truth compels me to confess, were less dangerous to the pigeons than to ourselves. some of our guns were double-barrelled shot-guns, others were rifles. you will wonder at rifles being used in such a sport, and yet it is a fact that the gentlemen who carried rifles managed to do more execution than those who were armed with the other species. this arose from the circumstance that they were contented to aim at single birds, and, being good shots, they were almost sure to bring these down. the woods were filled with straggling pigeons. odd birds were always within rifle range; and thus, instead of wasting their time in endeavouring to approach the great flocks, our riflemen did nothing but load and fire. in this way they soon counted their game by dozens. "early in the evening, the pigeons, having filled their crops with the mast, disappeared. they flew off to some distant `roost.' this of course concluded our sport for the day. we got together and counted our numbers. we had birds. we returned home full of hope; we felt certain that we had won for that day. our antagonists had arrived before us. they showed us dead pigeons. we were beaten. "i really cannot explain the chagrin which this defeat occasioned to most of our party. they felt humiliated in the eyes of the ladies, whose company they were to lose on the morrow. to some there was extreme bitterness in the idea; for, as i have already stated, attachments had sprung up, and jealous thoughts were naturally their concomitants. it was quite tantalising, as we parted next morning, to see the galaxy of lovely women ride off with our antagonists, while we sought the woods in the opposite direction, dispirited and in silence. "we went, however, determined to do our best, and win the ladies for the morrow. a council was held, and each imparted his advice and encouragement; and then we all set to work with shot-gun and rifle. "on this day an incident occurred that aided our `count' materially. as you know, gentlemen, the wild pigeons, while feeding, sometimes cover the ground so thickly that they crowd upon each other. they all advance in the same direction, those behind continually rising up and fluttering to the front, so that the surface presents a series of undulations like sea-waves. frequently the birds alight upon each other's backs, for want of room upon the ground, and a confused mass of winged creatures is seen rolling through the woods. at such times, if the sportsman can only `head' the flock, he is sure of a good shot. almost every pellet tells, and dozens may be brought down at a single discharge. "in my progress through the woods, i had got separated from my companions, when i observed an immense flock approaching me after the manner described. i saw from their plumage that they were young birds, and therefore not likely to be easily alarmed. i drew my horse (i was mounted) behind a tree, and awaited their approach. this i did more from curiosity than any other motive, as, unfortunately i carried a rifle, and could only have killed one or two at the best. the crowd came `swirling' forward, and when they were within some ten or fifteen paces distant, i fired into their midst. to my surprise, the flock did not take flight, but continued to advance as before, until they were almost among the horse's feet. i could stand it no longer. i drove the spurs deeply, and galloped into their midst, striking right and left as they fluttered up round me. of course they were soon off; but of those that had been trodden upon by my horse, and others i had knocked down, i counted no less than twenty-seven! proud of my exploit, i gathered the birds into my bag, and rode in search of my companions. "our party on this day numbered over head killed; but, to our surprise and chagrin, our antagonists had beaten us by more than a hundred! "the gentlemen of `ours' were wretched. the belles were monopolised by our antagonists; we were scouted, and debarred every privilege. "it was not to be endured; something must be done. what was to be done? counselled we. if fair means will not answer, we must try the opposite. it was evident that our antagonists were better shots than we. "the colonel, too, was one of them, and he was sure to kill every time he pulled trigger. the odds were against us; some plan must be devised; some _ruse_ must be adopted, and the idea of one had been passing through my mind during the whole of that day. it was this:--i had noticed, what has been just remarked, that, although the pigeons will not allow the sportsman to come within range of a fowling-piece, yet at a distance of little over a hundred yards they neither fear man nor beast. at that distance they sit unconcerned, thousands of them upon a single tree. it struck me that a gun large enough to throw shot among them would be certain of killing hundreds at each discharge; but where was such a gun to be had? as i reflected thus, `mountain howitzers' came into my mind. i remembered the small mountain howitzers i had seen at covington. one of these loaded with shot would be the very weapon. i knew there was a battery of them at the barracks. i knew that a friend of mine commanded the battery. by steamer, should one pass, it was but a few hours to covington. i proposed sending for a `mountain howitzer.' "i need hardly say that my proposal was hailed with a universal welcome on the part of my companions; and without dropping a hint to the other party, it was at once resolved that the design should be carried into execution. it was carried into execution. an `up-river' boat chanced to pass in the nick of time. a messenger was forthwith, despatched to covington, and before twelve o'clock upon the following day another boat on her down trip brought the howitzer, and we had it secretly landed and conveyed to a place in the woods previously agreed upon. my friend, captain c--, had sent a `live corporal' along with it, and we had no difficulty in its management. "as i had anticipated, it answered our purpose as though it had been made for it. every shot brought down a shower of dead birds, and after one discharge alone the number obtained was ! at night our `game-bag' counted over three thousand birds! we were sure of the ladies for the morrow. "before returning home to our certain triumph, however, there were some considerations. to-morrow we should have the ladies in our company; some of the fair creatures would be as good as sure to `split' upon the howitzer. what was to be done to prevent this? "we eight had sworn to be staunch to each other. we had taken every precaution; we had only used our `great gun' when far off, so that its report might not reach the ears of our antagonists; but how about to-morrow? could we trust our fair companions with a secret? decidedly not. this was the unanimous conclusion. a new idea now came to our aid. we saw that we might dispense with the howitzer, and still manage to out-count our opponents. we would make a depository of birds in a safe place. there was a squatter's house near by: that would do. so we took the squatter into our council, and left some birds in his charge, the remainder being deemed sufficient for that day. from the thus left, we might each day take a few hundred to make up our game-bag just enough to out-number the other party. we did not send home the corporal and his howitzer. we might require him again; so we quartered him upon the squatter. "on returning home, we found that our opponents had also made a `big day's work of it;' but they were beaten by hundreds. the ladies were ours! "and we kept them until the end of the hunt, to the no little mortification of the gentlemen in the `minority:' to their surprise, as well; for most of them being crack-shots, and several of us not at all so, they could not comprehend why they were every day beaten so outrageously. we had hundreds to spare, and barrels of the birds were cured for winter use. "another thing quite puzzled our opponents, as well as many good people in the neighbourhood. that was the loud reports that had been heard in the woods. some argued they were thunder, while others declared they must have proceeded from an earthquake. this last seemed the more probable, as the events i am narrating occurred but a few years after the great earthquake in the mississippi valley, and people's minds were prepared for such a thing. "i need not tell you how the knowing ones enjoyed the laugh for several days, and it was not until the colonel's _reunion_ was about to break up, that our secret was let out, to the no small chagrin of our opponents, but to the infinite amusement of our host himself, who, although one of the defeated party, often narrates to his friends the story of the `hunt with a howitzer.'" chapter six. killing a cougar. although we had made a five miles' march from the place where we had halted to shoot the pigeons, our night-camp was still within the boundaries of the flock. during the night we could hear them at intervals at no great distance off. a branch occasionally cracked, and then a fluttering of wings told of thousands dislodged or frightened by its fall. sometimes the fluttering commenced without any apparent cause. no doubt the great-horned owl (_strix virginiana_), the wild cat (_felis rufa_), and the raccoon, were busy among them, and the silent attacks of these were causing the repeated alarms. before going to rest, a torch-hunt was proposed by way of variety, but no material for making good torches could be found, and the idea was abandoned. torches should be made of dry pine-knots, and carried in some shallow vessel. the common frying-pan, with a long handle, is best for the purpose. link-torches, unless of the best pitch-pine (_pinus resinosa_), do not burn with sufficient brightness to stultify the pigeons. they will flutter off before the hunter can get his long pole within reach, whereas with a very brilliant light, he may approach almost near enough to lay his hands upon them. as there were no pitch-pine-trees in the neighbourhood, nor any good torch-wood, we were forced to give up the idea of a night-hunt. during the night strange noises were heard by several who chanced to be awake. some said they resembled the howling of dogs, while others compared them to the screaming of angry cats. one party said they were produced by wolves; another, that the wild cats (lynxes) made them. but there was one that differed from all the rest. it was a sort of prolonged hiss, that all except ike believed to be the snort of the black bear, lice, however, declared that it was not the bear, but the "sniff," as he termed it, of the "painter" (cougar). this was probable enough, considering the nature of the place. the cougar is well-known to frequent the great roosts of the passenger-pigeon, and is fond of the flesh of these birds. in the morning our camp was still surrounded by the pigeons, sweeping about among the tree-trunks, and gathering the mast as they went. a few shots were fired, not from any inclination to continue the sport of killing them, but to lay in a fresh stock for the day's dinner. the surplus from yesterday's feast was thrown away, and left by the deserted camp--a banquet for the preying creatures that would soon visit the spot. we moved on, still surrounded by masses upon the wing. a singular incident occurred as we were passing through a sort of avenue in the forest. it was a narrow aisle, on both sides walled in by the thick foliage of the beeches. we were fairly within this hall-like passage, when it suddenly darkened at the opposite end. we saw that a cloud of pigeons had entered it, flying towards us. they were around our heads before they had noticed us. seeing our party, they suddenly attempted to diverge from their course, but there was no other open to them, except to rise upward in a vertical direction. this they did on the instant--the clatter of their wings producing a noise like the continued roar of thunder. some had approached so near, that the men on horseback, striking with their guns, knocked several to the ground; and the kentuckian, stretching upward his long arm, actually caught one of them on the wing. in an instant they were out of sight; but at that instant two great birds appeared before us at the opening of the forest, which were at once recognised as a brace of white-headed eagles (_falco leucocephalus_). this accounted for the rash flight of the pigeons; for the eagles had evidently been in pursuit of them, and had driven them to seek shelter under the trees. we were desirous of emptying our guns at the great birds of prey, and there was a simultaneous spurring of horses and cocking of guns: to no purpose, however. the eagles were on the alert. they had already espied us; and, uttering their maniac screams, they wheeled suddenly, and disappeared over the tree-tops. we had hardly recovered from this pleasant little bit of excitement, when the guide ike, who rode in the advance, was seen suddenly to jerk up, exclaiming-- "painter, by god! i know'd i heard a painter." "where? where?" was hurriedly uttered by several voices, while all pressed forward to the guide. "yander!" replied ike, pointing to a thicket of young beeches. "he's tuk to the brush: ride round, fellers. mark, boy, round! quick, damn you!" there was a scramble of horsemen, with excited, anxious looks and gestures. every one had his gun cocked and ready, and in a few seconds the small copse of beeches, with their golden-yellow leaves, was inclosed by a ring of hunters. had the cougar got away, or was he still within the thicket? several large trees grew out of its midst. had he taken to one? the eyes of the party were turned upwards. the fierce creature was nowhere visible. it was impossible to see into every part of the jungle from the outside, as we sat in our saddles. the game might be crouching among the grass and brambles. what was to be done? we had no dogs. how was the cougar to be started? it would be no small peril to penetrate the thicket afoot. who was to do it? the question was answered by redwood, who was now seen dismounting from his horse. "keep your eyes about you," cried he. "i'll make the varmint show if he's thur. look sharp, then!" we saw redwood enter fearlessly, leaving his horse hitched over a branch. we heard him no longer, as he proceeded with that stealthy silence known only to the indian fighter. we listened, and waited in profound suspense. not even the crackling of a branch broke the stillness. full five minutes we waited, and then the sharp crack of a rifle near the centre of the copsewood relieved, us. the next moment was heard redwood's voice crying aloud-- "look out thur? by god! i've missed him." before we had time to change our attitudes another rifle cracked, and another voice was heard, crying in answer to redwood-- "but, by god! i hain't." "he's hyur," continued the voice; "dead as mutton. come this a way, an' yu'll see the beauty." ike's voice was recognised, and we all galloped to the spot where it proceeded from. at his feet lay the body of the panther quite dead. there was a red spot running blood between the ribs, where ike's bullet had penetrated. in trying to escape from the thicket, the cougar had halted a moment, in a crouching attitude, directly before ike's face, and that moment was enough to give the trapper time to glance through his sights, and send the fatal bullet. of course the guide received the congratulations of all, and though he pretended not to regard the thing in the light of a feat, he knew well that killing a "painter" was no everyday adventure. the skin of the animal was stripped off in a trice, and carried to the waggon. such a trophy is rarely left in the woods. the hunter-naturalist performed some farther operations upon the body for the purpose of examining the contents of the stomach. these consisted entirely of the half-digested remains of passenger-pigeons, an enormous quantity of which the beast had devoured during the previous night--having captured them no doubt upon the trees. this adventure formed a pleasant theme for conversation during the rest of our journey, and of course the cougar was the subject. his habits and history were fully discussed, and the information elicited is given below. chapter seven. the cougar. the cougar (_felis concolor_) is the only indigenous long-tailed cat in america north of the parallel of degrees. the "wild cats" so called, are lynxes with short tails; and of these there are three distinct species. but there is only one true representative of the genus felis, and that is the animal in question. this has received many trivial appellations. among anglo-american hunters, it is called the panther--in their _patois_, "painter." in most parts of south america, as well as in mexico, it receives the grandiloquent title of "lion" (_leon_), and in the peruvian countries is called the "puma," or "poma." the absence of stripes, such as those of the tiger--or spots, as upon the leopard--or rosettes, as upon the jaguar, have suggested the name of the naturalists, _concolor_. _discolor_ was formerly in use; but the other has been generally adopted. there are few wild animals so regular in their colour as the cougar: very little variety has been observed among different specimens. some naturalists speak of spotted cougars--that is, having spots that may be seen in a certain light. upon young cubs, such markings do appear; but they are no longer visible on the full-grown animal. the cougar of mature age is of a tawny red colour, almost uniform over the whole body, though somewhat paler about the face and the parts underneath. this colour is not exactly the tawny of the lion; it is more of a reddish hue--nearer to what is termed calf-colour. the cougar is far from being a well-shaped creature: it appears disproportioned. its back is long and hollow; and its tail does not taper so gracefully as in some other animals of the cat kind. its legs are short and stout; and although far from clumsy in appearance, it does not possess the graceful _tournure_ of body so characteristic of some of its congeners. though considered the representative of the lion in the new world, its resemblance to the royal beast is but slight; its colour seems to be the only title it has to such an honour. for the rest, it is much more akin to the tigers, jaguars, and true panthers. cougars are rarely more than six feet in length, including the tail, which is usually about a third of that measurement. the range of the animal is very extensive. it is known from paraguay to the great lakes of north america. in no part of either continent is it to be seen every day, because it is for the most part not only nocturnal in its activity, but one of those fierce creatures that, fortunately, do not exist in large numbers. like others of the genus, it is solitary in its habits, and at the approach of civilisation betakes itself to the remoter parts of the forest. hence the cougar, although found in all of the united states, is a rare animal everywhere, and seen only at long intervals in the mountain-valleys, or in other difficult places of the forest. the appearance of a cougar is sufficient to throw any neighbourhood into an excitement similar to that which would be produced by the chase of a mad dog. it is a splendid tree-climber. it can mount a tree with the agility of a cat; and although so large an animal, it climbs by means of its claws--not by hugging, after the manner of the bears and opossums. while climbing a tree, its claws can be heard crackling along the bark as it mounts upward. it sometimes lies "squatted" along a horizontal branch, a lower one, for the purpose of springing upon deer, or such other animals as it wishes to prey upon. the ledge of a cliff is also a favourite haunt, and such are known among the hunters as "panther-ledges." it selects such a position in the neighbourhood of some watering-place, or, if possible, one of the salt or soda springs (licks) so numerous in america. here it is more certain that its vigil will not be a protracted one. its prey--elk, deer, antelope, or buffalo--soon appears beneath, unconscious of the dangerous enemy that cowers over them. when fairly within reach, the cougar springs, and pouncing down upon the shoulders of the victim, buries its claws in the flesh. the terrified animal starts forward, leaps from side to side, dashes into the papaw thickets, or breasts the dense cane-brake, in hopes of brushing off its relentless rider. all in vain! closely clasping its neck, the cougar clings on, tearing its victim in the throat, and drinking its blood throughout the wild gallop. faint and feeble, the ruminant at length totters and falls, and the fierce destroyer squats itself along the body, and finishes its red repast. if the cougar can overcome several animals at a time, it will kill them all, although but the twentieth part may be required to satiate its hunger. unlike the lion in this, even in repletion it will kill. with it, destruction of life seems to be an instinct. there is a very small animal, and apparently a very helpless one, with which the cougar occasionally quarrels, but often with ill success--this is the canada porcupine. whether the cougar ever succeeds in killing one of these creatures is not known, but that it attacks them is beyond question, and its own death is often the result. the quills of the canada porcupine are slightly barbed at their extremities; and when stuck into the flesh of a living animal, this arrangement causes them to penetrate mechanically deeper and deeper as the animal moves. that the porcupine can itself discharge them to some distance, is not true, but it is true that it can cause them to be easily _detached_; and this it does when rashly seized by any of the predatory animals. the result is, that these remarkable spines become fast in the tongue, jaws, and lips of the cougar, or any other creature which may make an attack on that seemingly unprotected little animal. the fisher (_mustela canadensis_) is said to be the only animal that can kill the porcupine with impunity. it fights the latter by first throwing it upon its back, and then springing upon its upturned belly, where the spines are almost entirely wanting. the cougar is called a cowardly animal: some naturalists even assert that it will not venture to attack man. this is, to say the least, a singular declaration, after the numerous well-attested instances in which men have been attacked, and even killed by cougars. there are many such in the history of early settlement in america. to say that cougars are cowardly now when found in the united states--to say they are shy of man, and will not attack him, may be true enough. strange, if the experience of years' hunting, and by such hunters too, did not bring them to that. we may safely believe, that if the lions of africa were placed in the same circumstances, a very similar shyness and dread of the upright biped would soon exhibit itself. what all these creatures--bears, cougars, lynxes, wolves, and even alligators--are now, is no criterion of their past. authentic history proves that their courage, at least so far as regards man, has changed altogether since they first heard the sharp detonation of the deadly rifle. even contemporaneous history demonstrates this. in many parts of south america, both jaguar and cougar attack man, and numerous are the deadly encounters there. in peru, on the eastern declivity of the andes, large settlements and even villages have been abandoned solely on account of the perilous proximity of those fierce animals. in the united states, the cougar is hunted by dog and gun. he will run from the hounds, because he knows they are backed by the unerring rifle of the hunter; but should one of the yelping pack approach too near, a single blow of the cougar's paw is sufficient to stretch him out. when closely pushed, the cougar takes to a tree, and, halting in one of its forks, humps his back, bristles his hair, looks downward with gleaming eyes, and utters a sound somewhat like the purring of a cat, though far louder. the crack of the hunter's rifle usually puts an end to these demonstrations, and the cougar drops to the ground either dead or wounded. if only the latter, a desperate fight ensues between him and the dogs, with several of whom he usually leaves a mark that distinguishes them for the rest of their lives. the scream of the cougar is a common phrase. it is not very certain that the creature is addicted to the habit of screaming, although noises of this kind heard in the nocturnal forest have been attributed to him. hunters, however, have certainly never heard him, and they believe that the scream talked about proceeds from one of the numerous species of owls that inhabit the deep forests of america. at short intervals, the cougar does make himself heard in a note which somewhat resembles a deep-drawn sigh, or as if one were to utter with an extremely guttural expression the syllables "co-oa," or "cougar." is it from this that he derives his trivial name? chapter eight. old ike's adventure. now a panther story was the natural winding-up of this day, and it had been already hinted that old ike had "rubbed out" several of these creatures in his time, and no doubt could tell more than one "painter" story. "wal, strengers," began he, "it's true thet this hyur ain't the fust painter i've comed acrosst. about fifteen yeern ago i moved to loozyanny, an' thur i met a painter, an' a queer story it are." "let us have it by all means," said several of the party, drawing closer up and seating themselves to listen attentively. we all knew that a story from ike could not be otherwise than "queer," and our curiosity was on the _qui vive_. "wal then," continued he, "they have floods dowd thur in loozyanny, sich as, i guess, you've never seen the like o' in england." here ike addressed himself specially to our english comrade. "england ain't big enough to hev sich floods. one o' 'm ud kiver yur hul country, i hev heern said. i won't say that ar's true, as i ain't acquainted with yur jography. i know, howsomdever, they're mighty big freshets thur, as i hev sailed a skift more 'n a hundred mile acrosst one o' 'm, whur thur wan't nothin' to be seen but cypress tops peep in out o' the water. the floods, as ye know, come every year, but them ar big ones only oncest in a while. "wal, as i've said about fifeteen yeern ago, i located in the red river bottom, about fifty mile or tharabout below nacketosh, whur i built me a shanty. i hed left my wife an' two young critters in massissippi state, intendin' to go back for 'em in the spring; so, ye see, i wur all alone by meself, exceptin' my ole mar, a collins's axe, an' of coorse my rifle. "i hed finished the shanty all but the chinkin' an' the buildin' o' a chimbly, when what shed come on but one o' 'm tarnation floods. it wur at night when it begun to make its appearance. i wur asleep on the floor o' the shanty, an' the first warnin' i hed o' it wur the feel o' the water soakin' through my ole blanket. i hed been a-dreamin', an' thort it wur rainin', an' then agin i thort that i wur bein' drownded in the massissippi; but i wan't many seconds awake, till i guessed what it wur in raality; so i jumped to my feet like a started buck, an' groped my way to the door. "a sight that wur when i got thur. i hed chirred a piece o' ground around the shanty--a kupple o' acres or better--i hed left the stumps a good three feet high: thur wan't a stump to be seen. my clearin', stumps an' all, wur under water; an' i could see it shinin' among the trees all round the shanty. "of coorse, my fust thoughts wur about my rifle; an i turned back into the shanty, an' laid my claws upon that quick enough. "i next went in search o' my ole mar. she wan't hard to find; for if ever a critter made a noise, she did. she wur tied to a tree close by the shanty, an' the way she wur a-squealin' wur a caution to cats. i found her up to the belly in water, pitchin' an' flounderin' all round the tree. she hed nothin' on but the rope that she wur hitched by. both saddle an' bridle hed been washed away: so i made the rope into a sort o' halter, an' mounted her bare-backed. "jest then i begun to think whur i wur agoin'. the hul country appeared to be under water: an' the nearest neighbour i hed lived acrosst the parairy ten miles off. i knew that his shanty sot on high ground, but how wur i to get thur? it wur night; i mout lose my way, an' ride chuck into the river. "when i thort o' ibis, i concluded it mout be better to stay by my own shanty till mornin'. i could hitch the mar inside to keep her from bein' floated away; an' for meself, i could climb on the roof. "while i wur thinkin' on this, i noticed that the water wur a-deepenin', an' it jest kim into my head, that it ud soon be deep enough to drownd my ole mar. for meself i wan't frightened. i mout a clomb a tree, an' stayed thur till the flood fell; but i shed a lost the mar, an' that critter wur too valleyble to think o' such a sacryfize; so i made up my mind to chance crossin' the parairy. thur wan't no time to be wasted-- ne'er a minnit; so i gin the mar a kick or two in the ribs an' started. "i found the path out to the edge of the parairy easy enough. i hed blazed it when i fust come to the place; an', as the night wur not a very dark one, i could see the blazes as i passed atween the trees. my mar knew the track as well as meself, an' swaltered through at a sharp rate, for she knew too thur wan't no time to be wasted. in five minnites we kim out on the edge o' the pairairy, an' jest as i expected, the hul thing wur kivered with water, an' lookin' like a big pond, i could see it shinin' clur acrosst to the other side o' the openin'. "as luck ud hev it, i could jest git a glimp o' the trees on the fur side o' the parairy. thur wur a big clump o' cypress, that i could see plain enough; i knew this wur clost to my neighbour's shanty; so i gin my critter the switch, an' struck right for it. "as i left the timmer, the mar wur up to her hips. of coorse, i expected a good grist o' heavy wadin'; but i hed no idee that the water wur a-gwine to git much higher; thur's whur i made my mistake. "i hedn't got more'n a kupple o' miles out when i diskivered that the thing wur a-risin' rapidly, for i seed the mar wur a-gettin' deeper an' deeper. "'twan't no use turnin' back now. i ud lose the mar to a dead sartinty, if i didn't make the high ground; so i spoke to the critter to do her best, an' kep on. the poor beast didn't need any whippin'--she knew as well's i did meself thur wur danger, an' she wur a-doin' her darndest, an' no mistake. still the water riz, an' kep a-risin', until it come clur up to her shoulder. "i begun to git skeart in airnest. we wan't more 'n half acrosst, an' i seed if it riz much more we ud hav to swim for it. i wan't far astray about that. the minnit arter it seemed to deepen suddintly, as if thur wur a hollow in the parairy: i heerd the mar give a loud gouf, an' then go down, till i wur up to the waist. she riz agin the next minnit, but i could tell from the smooth ridin' that she wur off o' the bottom. she wur swimmin', an' no mistake. "at fust i thort o' headin' her back to the shanty; an' i drew her round with that intent; but turn her which way i would, i found she could no longer touch bottom. "i guess, strengers, i wur in a quandairy about then. i 'gun to think that both my own an' my mar's time wur come in airnest, for i hed no idee that the critter could iver swim to the other side, 'specially with me on her back, an' purticklarly as at that time these hyur ribs had a sight more griskin upon 'em than they hev now. "wal, i wur about reckinin' up. i hed got to thinkin' o' mary an' the childer, and the old shanty in the mississippi, an' a heap o' things that i hed left unsettled, an' that now come into my mind to trouble me. the mar wur still plungin' ahead; but i seed she wur sinkin' deeper an' deeper an' fast loosin' her strength, an' i knew she couldn't hold out much longer. "i thort at this time that if i got off o' her back, an' tuk hold o' the tail, she mout manage a leetle hotter. so i slipped backwards over her hips, an' grupped the long hair. it did do some good, for she swum higher; but we got mighty slow through the water, an' i hed but leetle behopes we should reach land. "i wur towed in this way about a quarter o' a mile, when i spied somethin' floatin' on the water a leetle ahead. it hed growed considerably darker; but thur wur still light enough to show me that the thing wur a log. "an idee now entered my brain-pan, that i mout save meself by takin' to the log. the mar ud then have a better chance for herself; an' maybe, when eased o' draggin' my carcass, that wur a-keepin' her back, she mout make footin' somewhur. so i waited till she got a leetle closter; an' then, lettin' go o' her tail, i clasped the log, an' crawled on to it. "the mar swum on, appeerintly 'ithout missin' me. i seed her disappear through the darkness; but i didn't as much as say good-bye to her, for i wur afeard that my voice mout bring her back agin', an' she mout strike the log with her hoofs, an' whammel it about. so i lay quiet, an' let her hev her own way. "i wan't long on the log till i seed it wur a-driftin', for thur wur a current in the water that set tol'uble sharp acrosst the parairy. i hed crawled up at one eend, an' got stride-legs; but as the log dipped considerable, i wur still over the hams in the water. "i thort i mout be more comfortable towards the middle, an' wur about to pull the thing more under me, when all at once i seed thur wur somethin' clumped up on t'other eend o' the log. "'twan't very clur at the time, for it had been a-growin' cloudier ever since i left the shanty, but 'twur clur enough to show me that the thing wur a varmint: what sort, i couldn't tell. it mout be a bar, an' it mout not; but i had my suspects it wur eyther a bar or a painter. "i wan't left long in doubt about the thing's gender. the log kep makin' circles as it drifted, an' when the varmint kim round into a different light, i caught a glimp o' its eyes. i knew them eyes to be no bar's eyes: they wur painter's eyes, an' no mistake. "i reckin, strengers, i felt very queery jest about then. i didn't try to go any nearer the middle o' the log; but instead of that, i wriggled back until i wur right plum on the eend of it, an' could git no further. "thur i sot for a good long spell 'ithout movin' hand or foot. i dasen't make a motion, as i wur afeard it mout tempt the varmint to attackt me. "i hed no weepun but my knife; i hed let go o' my rifle when i slid from the mar's back, an' it hed gone to the bottom long since. i wan't in any condition to stand a tussle with the painter nohow; so i 'wur determined to let him alone as long's he ud me. "wal, we drifted on for a good hour, i guess, 'ithout eyther o' us stirrin'. we sot face to face; an' now an' then the current ud set the log in a sort o' up-an'-down motion, an' then the painter an' i kep bowin' to each other like a pair o' bob-sawyers. i could see all the while that the varmint's eyes wur fixed upon mine, an' i never tuk mine from hisn; i know'd 'twur the only way to keep him still. "i wur jest prospectin' what ud be the eendin' o' the business, when i seed we wur a-gettin' closter to the timmer: 'twan't more 'n two miles off, but 'twur all under water 'ceptin' the tops o' the trees. i wur thinkin' that when the log shed float in among the branches, i mout slip off, an' git my claws upon a tree, 'ithout sayin anythin' to my travellin' companion. "jest at that minnit somethin' appeared dead ahead o' the log. it wur like a island; but what could hev brought a island thur? then i recollects that i hed seed a piece o' high ground about that part o' the parairy--a sort o' mound that hed been made by injuns, i s'pose. this, then, that looked like a island, wur the top o' that mound, sure enough. "the log wur a-driftin' in sich a way that i seed it must pass within twenty yards o' the mound. i detarmined then, as soon as we shed git alongside, to put out for it, an' leave the painter to continue his voyage 'ithout me. "when i fust sighted the island i seed somethin' that; hed tuk for bushes. but thur wan't no bushes on the mound--that i knowd. "howsomdever, when we got a leetle closter, i diskivered that the bushes wur beests. they wur deer; for i spied a pair o' buck's horns atween me an' the sky. but thur wur a somethin' still bigger than a deer. it mout be a hoss, or it mout be an opelousa ox, but i thort it wur a hoss. "i wur right about that, for a horse it wur, sure enough, or rayther i shed say, a _mar_, an' that mar no other than my ole crittur! "arter partin' company, she hed turned with the current; an', as good luck ud hev it, hed swum in a beeline for the island, an' thur she stood lookin' as slick as if she hed been greased. "the log hed by this got nigh enough, as i kalklated; an', with as little rumpus as possible, i slipped over the eend an' lot go my hold o' it. i wan't right spread in the water, afore i heerd a plump, an' lookin' round a bit, i seed the painter hed left the log too, an' tuk to the water. "at fust, i thort he wur arter me; an' i drawed my knife with one hand, while i swum with the other. but the painter didn't mean fight that time. he made but poor swimmin' himself, an' appeared glad enough to get upon dry groun' 'ithout molestin' me; so we swum on side by side, an' not a word passed atween us. "i didn't want to make a race o' it; so i let him pass me, rayther than that he should fall behind, an' get among my legs. "of coorse, he landed fust; an' i could hear by the stompin' o' hoofs, that his suddint appearance hed kicked up a jolly stampede among the critters upon the island. i could see both deer and mar dancing all over the groun', as if old nick himself hed got among 'em. "none o' 'em, howsomdever, thort o' takin' to the water. they hed all hed enough o' that, i guess. "i kep a leetle round, so as not to land near the painter; an' then, touchin' bottom, i climbed quietly up on the mound. i hed hardly drawed my drippin' carcass out o' the water, when i heerd a loud squeal, which i knew to be the whigher o' my ole mar; an' jest at that minnit the critter kim runnin' up, an' rubbed her nose agin my shoulder. i tuk the halter in my hand, an' sidling round a leetle, i jumped upon her back, for i still wur in fear o' the painter; an' the mar's back appeared to me the safest place about, an' that wan't very safe, eyther. "i now looked all round to see what new company i hed got into. the day wur jest breakin', an' i could distinguish a leetle better every minnit. the top o' the mound which, wur above water wan't over half an acre in size, an' it wur as clur o' timmer as any other part o' the parairy, so that i could see every inch o' it, an' everythin' on it as big as a tumble-bug. "i reckin, strengers, that you'll hardly believe me when i tell you the concatenation o' varmints that wur then an' thur caucused together. i could hardly believe my own eyes when i seed sich a gatherin', an' i thort i hed got aboard o' noah's ark. thur wur--listen, strengers--fust my ole mar an' meself, an' i wished both o' us anywhur else, i reckin-- then thur wur the painter, yur old acquaintance--then thur wur four deer, a buck an' three does. then kim a catamount; an' arter him a black bar, a'most as big as a buffalo. then thur wur a 'coon an' a 'possum, an' a kupple o' grey wolves, an' a swamp rabbit, an', darn the thing! a stinkin' skunk. perhaps the last wan't the most dangerous varmint on the groun', but it sartintly wur the most disagreeableest o' the hul lot, for it smelt only as a cussed polecat kin smell. "i've said, strengers, that i wur mightily tuk by surprise when i fust seed this curious clanjamfrey o' critters; but i kin tell you i wur still more dumbfounded when i seed thur behaveyur to one another, knowin' thur different naturs as i did. thur wur the painter lyin' clost up to the deer--its nat'ral prey; an' thur wur the wolves too; an' thur wur the catamount standin' within three feet o' the 'possum an' the swamp rabbit; an' thur wur the bar an' the cunnin' old 'coon; an' thur they all wur, no more mindin' one another than if they hed spent all thur days together in the same penn. "'twur the oddest sight i ever seed, an' it remembered me o' bit o' scripter my ole mother hed often read from a book called the bible, or some sich name--about a lion that wur so tame he used to squat down beside a lamb, 'ithout layin' a claw upon the innocent critter. "wal, stranger, as i'm sayin', the hul party behaved in this very way. they all appeared down in the mouth, an' badly skeart about the water; but for all that, i hed my fears that the painter or the bar--i wan't afeard o' any o' the others--mout git over thur fright afore the flood fell; an' thurfore i kept as quiet as any one o' them during the hul time i wur in thur company, an' stayin' all the time clost by the mar. but neyther bar nor painter showed any savage sign the hul o' the next day, nor the night that follered it. "strengers, it ud tire you wur i to tell you all the movements that tuk place among these critters durin' that long day an' night. ne'er a one o' 'em laid tooth or claw on the other. i wur hungry enough meself, and ud a liked to hev taken a steak from the buttocks o' one o' the deer, but i dasen't do it. i wur afeard to break the peace, which mout a led to a general shindy. "when day broke, next mornin' arter, i seed that the flood wur afallin'; and as soon as it wur shallow enough, i led my mar quietly into the water, an' climbin' upon her back, tuk a silent leave o' my companions. the water still tuk my mar up to the flanks, so that i knew none o' the varmint could follow 'ithout swimmin', an' ne'er a one seemed inclined to try a swim. "i struck direct for my neighbour's shanty, which i could see about three mile off, an', in a hour or so, i wur at his door. thur i didn't stay long, but borrowin' an extra gun which he happened to hev, an' takin' him along with his own rifle, i waded my mar back to the island. we found the game not exactly as i hed left it. the fall o' the flood hed given the painter, the cat, an' the wolves courage. the swamp rabbit an' the 'possum wur clean gone--all but bits o' thur wool--an' one o' the does wur better 'n half devoured. "my neighbour tuk one side, an' i the other, an' ridin' clost up, we surrounded the island. "i plugged the painter at the fust shot, an' he did the same for the bar. we next layed out the wolves, an' arter that cooney, an' then we tuk our time about the deer--these last and the bar bein' the only valley'ble things on the island. the skunk we kilt last, as we didn't want the thing to stink us off the place while we wur a-skinnin' the deer. "arter killin' the skunk, we mounted an' left, of coorse loaded with our bar-meat an' venison. "i got my rifle arter all. when the flood went down, i found it near the middle of the parairy, half buried in the sludge. "i saw i hed built my shanty in the wrong place; but i soon looked out a better location, an' put up another. i hed all ready in the spring, when i went back to massissippi, an' brought out mary and the two young uns." the singular adventure of old ike illustrates a point in natural history that, as soon as the trapper had ended, became the subject of conversation. it was that singular trait in the character of predatory animals, as the cougar, when under circumstances of danger. on such occasions fear seems to influence them so much as to completely subdue their ferocity, and they will not molest other animals sharing the common danger, even when the latter are their natural and habitual prey. nearly every one of us had observed this at some time or other; and the old naturalist, as well as the hunter-guides, related many incidents confirming the strange fact. humboldt speaks of an instance observed by him on the orinoco, where the fierce jaguar and some other creatures were seen quietly and peacefully floating together on the same log--all more or less frightened at their situation! ike's story had very much interested the doctor, who rewarded him with a "nip" from the pewter flask; and, indeed, on this occasion the flask was passed round, as the day had been one of unusual interest. the killing of a cougar is a rare adventure, even in the wildest haunts of the backwoods' country. chapter nine. the musquash. our next day's march was unenlivened by any particular incident. we had left behind us the heavy timber, and again travelled through the "oak openings." not an animal was started during the whole day, and the only one seen was a muskrat that took to the water of a small creek and escaped. this occurred at the spot where we had halted for our night-camp, and after the tents were pitched, several of the party went "rat-hunting." the burrow of a family of these curious little animals was discovered in the bank, and an attempt was made to dig them out, but without success. the family proved to be "not at home." the incident, however, brought the muskrat on the _tapis_. the "muskrat" of the states is the musquash of the fur-traders (_fiber sibethicus_). he is called muskrat, from his resemblance to the common rat, combined with the musky odour which he emits from glands situated near the anus. musquash is said to be an indian appellative--a strange coincidence, as the word, "musk" is of arabic origin, and "musquash" would seem a compound of the french _musque_, as the early canadian fur-traders were french, or of french descent, and fixed the nomenclature of most of the fur-bearing animals of that region. naturalists have used the name of "musk beaver" on account of the many points of resemblance which this animal bears to the true beaver (_castor fiber_). indeed, they seem to be of the same genus, and so linnaeus classed them; but later systematists have separated them, for the purpose, i should fancy, not of simplifying science, but of creating the impression that they themselves were very profound observers. the teeth--those great friends of the closet naturalist, which help him to whole pages of speculation--have enabled him to separate the beaver from the musquash, although the whole history and habits of these creatures prove them to be congeners, as much as a mastiff is the congener of a greyhound--indeed, far more. so like are they in a general sense, that the indians call them "cousins." in form the muskrat differs but little from the beaver. it is a thick, rounded, and flat-looking animal, with blunt nose, short ears almost buried in the fur, stiff whiskers like a cat, short legs and neck, small dark eyes, and sharply-clawed feet. the hinder ones are longest, and are half-webbed. those of the beaver are full-webbed. there is a curious fact in connection with the tails of these two animals. both are almost naked of hair, and covered with "scales," and both are flat. the tail of the beaver, and the uses it makes of this appendage, are things known to every one. every one has read of its trowel-shape and use, its great breadth, thickness, and weight, and its resemblance to a cricket-bat. the tail of the muskrat is also naked, covered with scales, and compressed or flattened; but instead of being horizontally so, as with the beaver, it is the reverse; and the thin edges are in a vertical plane. the tail of the former, moreover, is not of the trowel-shape, but tapers like that of the common rat. indeed, its resemblance to the house-rat is so great as to render it a somewhat disagreeable object to look upon. tail and all, the muskrat is about twenty inches in length; and its body is about half as big as that of a beaver. it possesses a strange power of contracting its body, so as to make it appear about half its natural size, and to enable it to pass through a chink that animals of much smaller dimensions could not enter. its colour is reddish-brown above, and light-ash underneath. there are eccentricities, however, in this respect. specimens have been found quite black, as also mixed and pure white. the fur is a soft, thick down, resembling that of the beaver, but not quite so fine. there are long rigid hairs, red-coloured, that overtop the fur; and these are also sparely scattered over the tail. the habits of the muskrat are singular--perhaps not less so than those of his "cousin" the beaver, when you strip the history of the latter of its many exaggerations. indeed the former animal, in the domesticated state, exhibits much greater intelligence than the latter. like the beaver, it is a water animal, and is only found where water exists; never among the dry hills. its "range" extends over the whole continent of north america, wherever "grass grows and water runs." it is most probable it is an inhabitant of the southern continent, but the natural history of that country is still but half told. unlike the beaver, the race of the muskrat is not likely soon to become extinct. the beaver is now found in america, only in the remotest parts of the uninhabited wilderness. although formerly an inhabitant of the atlantic states, his presence there is now unknown; or, if occasionally met with, it is no longer in the beaver dam, with its cluster of social domes, but only as a solitary creature, a "terrier beaver," ill-featured, shaggy in coat, and stunted in growth. the muskrat, on the contrary, still frequents the settlements. there is hardly a creek, pond, or watercourse, without one or more families having an abode upon its banks. part of the year the muskrat is a social animal; at other seasons it is solitary. the male differs but little from the female, though he is somewhat larger, and better furred. in early spring commences the season of his loves. his musky odour is then strongest, and quite perceptible in the neighbourhood of his haunt. he takes a wife, to whom he is for ever after faithful; and it is believed the connection continues to exist during life. after the "honeymoon" a burrow is made in the bank of a stream or pond; usually in some solitary and secure spot by the roots of a tree, and always in such a situation that the rising of the water cannot reach the nest which is constructed within. the entrance to this burrow is frequently under water, so that it is difficult to discover it. the nest within is a bed of moss or soft grasses. in this the female brings forth five or six "cubs," which she nourishes with great care, training them to her own habits. the male takes no part in their education; but during this period absents himself, and wanders about alone. in autumn the cubs are nearly full-grown, and able to "take care of themselves." the "old father" now joins the family party, and all together proceed to the erection of winter quarters. they forsake the "home of their nativity," and build a very different sort of a habitation. the favourite site for their new house, is a swamp not likely to freeze to the bottom, and if with a stream running through it, all the better. by the side of this stream, or often on a little islet in the midst, they construct a dome-shaped pile, hollow within, and very much like the house of the beaver. the materials used are grass and mud, the latter being obtained at the bottom of the swamp or stream. the entrance to this house is subterranean, and consists of one or more galleries debouching under the water. in situations where there is danger of inundation, the floor of the interior is raised higher, and frequently terraces are made to admit of a dry seat, in case the ground-floor should get flooded. of course there is free egress and ingress at all times, to permit the animal to go after its food, which consists of plants that grow in the water close at hand. the house being completed, and the cold weather having set in, the whole family, parents and all, enter it, and remain there during the winter, going out only at intervals for necessary purposes. in spring they desert this habitation and never return to it. of course they are warm enough during winter while thus housed, even in the very coldest weather. the heat of their own bodies would make them so, lying as they do, huddled together, and sometimes on top of one another, but the mud walls of their habitations are a foot or more in thickness, and neither frost nor rain can penetrate within. now, a curious fact has been observed in connection with the houses of these creatures. it shows how nature has adapted them to the circumstances in which they may be placed. by philosophers it is termed "instinct"; but in our opinion it is the same sort of instinct which enables mr hobbs to pick a "chubb" lock. it is this:-- in southern climates--in louisiana, for instance--the swamps and rivers do not freeze over in winter. there the muskrat does not construct such houses as that described, but is contented all the year with his burrow in the banks. he can go forth freely and seek his food at all seasons. in the north it is different. there for months the rivers are frozen over with thick ice. the muskrat could only come out under the ice, or above it. if the latter, the entrance of his burrow would betray him, and men with their traps, and dogs, or other enemies, would easily get at him. even if he had also a water entrance, by which he might escape upon the invasion of his burrow, he would drown for want of air. although an amphibious animal, like the beaver and otter, he cannot live altogether under water, and must rise at intervals to take breath. the running stream in winter does not perhaps furnish him with his favourite food--the roots and stems of water-plants. these the swamp affords to his satisfaction; besides, it gives him security from the attacks of men and preying animals, as the wolverine and fisher. moreover, his house in the swamp cannot be easily approached by the hunter--man--except when the ice becomes very thick and strong. then, indeed, is the season of peril for the muskrat, but even then he has loopholes of escape. how cunningly this creature adapts itself to its geographical situation! in the extreme north--in the hyperborean regions of the hudson's bay company--lakes, rivers, and even springs freeze up in winter. the shallow marshes become solid ice, congealed to their very bottoms. how is the muskrat to get under water there? thus, then, he manages the matter:-- upon deep lakes, as soon as the ice becomes strong enough to bear his weight, he makes a hole in it, and over this he constructs his dome-shaped habitation, bringing the materials up through the hole, from the bottom of the lake. the house thus formed sits prominently upon the ice. its entrance is in the floor--the hole which has already been made--and thus is kept open during the whole season of frost, by the care and watchfulness of the inmates, and by their passing constantly out and in to seek their food--the water-plants of the lake. this peculiar construction of the muskrat's dwelling, with its water-passage, would afford all the means of escape from its ordinary enemies--the beasts of prey--and, perhaps, against these alone nature has instructed it to provide. but with all its cunning it is, of course, outwitted by the superior ingenuity of its enemy--man. the food of the muskrat is varied. it loves the roots of several species of _nymphae_, but its favourite is _calamus_ root (_calamus_ or _acorus aromaticus_). it is known to eat shell-fish, and heaps of the shells of fresh-water muscles (_unios_) are often found near its retreat. some assert that it eats fish, but the same assertion is made with regard to the beaver. this point is by no means clearly made out; and the closet naturalists deny it, founding their opposing theory, as usual, upon the teeth. for my part, i have but little faith in the "teeth," since i have known horses, hogs, and cattle greedily devour both fish, flesh, and fowl. the muskrat is easily tamed, and becomes familiar and docile. it is very intelligent, and will fondly caress the hand of its master. indians and canadian settlers often have them in their houses as pets; but there is so much of the rat in their appearance, and they emit such a disagreeable odour in the spring, as to prevent them from becoming general favourites. they are difficult to cage up, and will eat their way out of a deal box in a single night. their flesh, although somewhat musky, is eaten by the indians and white hunters, but these gentry eat almost everything that "lives, breathes, and moves." many canadians, however, are fond of the flesh. it is not for its flesh that the muskrat is so eagerly hunted. its fur is the important consideration. this is almost equal to the fur of the beaver in the manufacture of hats, and sells for a price that pays the indians and white trappers for the hardships they undergo in obtaining it. it is, moreover, used in the making of boas and muffs, as it somewhat resembles the fur of the pine marten or american sable (_mustela martes_), and on account of its cheapness is sometimes passed off for the latter. it is one of the regular articles of the hudson's bay company's commerce, and thousands of muskrat skins are annually obtained. indeed, were it not that the animal is prolific and difficult to capture, its species would soon suffer extermination. the mode of taking it differs from that practised in trapping the beaver. it is often caught in traps set for the latter, but such a "catch" is regarded in the light of a misfortune, as until it is taken out the trap is rendered useless for its real object. as an amusement it is sometimes hunted by dogs, as the otter is, and dug out of its burrow; but the labour of laying open its deep cave is ill repaid by the sport. the amateur sportsman frequently gets a shot at the muskrat while passing along the bank near its haunts, and almost as frequently misses his aim. the creature is too quick for him, and dives almost without making a bubble. of course once in the pool it is seen no more. many tribes of indians hunt the muskrat both for its flesh and skin. they have peculiar modes of capturing it, of one of which the hunter-naturalist gave an account. a winter which he had spent at a fort in the neighbourhood of a settlement of ojibways gave him an opportunity of witnessing this sport in perfection. chapter ten. a rat-hunt. "chingawa," began he, "a chippeway or ojibway indian, better-known at the fort as `old foxey,' was a noted hunter of his tribe. i had grown to be a favourite with him. my well-known passion for the chase was a sort of masonic link between us; and our friendship was farther augmented by the present of an old knife for which i had no farther use. the knife was not worth twopence of sterling money, but it made `old foxey' my best friend; and all his `hunter-craft'--the gatherings of about sixty winters--became mine. "i had not yet been inducted into the mystery of `rat-catching,' but the season for that `noble' sport at length arrived, and the indian hunter invited me to join him in a muskrat hunt. "taking our `traps' on our shoulders, we set out for the place where the game was to be found. this was a chain of small lakes or ponds that ran through a marshy valley, some ten or twelve miles distant from the fort. "the traps, or implements, consisted of an ice-chisel with a handle some five feet in length, a small pickaxe, an iron-pointed spear barbed only on one side, with a long straight shaft, and a light pole about a dozen feet in length, quite straight and supple. "we had provided ourselves with a small stock of eatables as well as materials for kindling a fire--but no indian is ever without these. we had also carried our blankets along with us, as we designed to make a night of it by the lakes. "after trudging for several hours through the silent winter forests, and crossing both lakes and rivers upon the ice, we reached the great marsh. of course, this, as well as the lakes, was frozen over with thick ice; we could have traversed it with a loaded waggon and horses without danger of breaking through. "we soon came to some dome-shaped heaps rising above the level of the ice. they were of mud, bound together with grass and flags, and were hardened by the frost. within each of these rounded heaps, old foxey knew there was at least half a dozen muskrats--perhaps three times that number--lying snug and warm and huddled together. "since there appeared no hole or entrance, the question was how to get at the animals inside. simply by digging until the inside should be laid open, thought i. this of itself would be no slight labour. the roof and sides, as my companion informed me, were three feet in thickness; and the tough mud was frozen to the hardness and consistency of a fire-brick. but after getting through this shell, where should we find the inmates? why, most likely, we should not find them at all after all this labour. so said my companion, telling me at the same time that there were subterranean, or rather subaqueous, passages, by which the muskrats would be certain to make off under the ice long before he had penetrated near them. "i was quite puzzled to know how we should proceed. not so old foxey. he well knew what he was about, and pitching his traps down by one of the `houses,' commenced operations. "the one he had selected stood out in the lake, some distance from its edge. it was built entirely upon the ice; and, as the hunter well knew, there was a hole in its floor by which the animals could get into the water at will. how then was he to prevent them from escaping by the hole, while we removed the covering or roof? this was what puzzled me, and i watched his movements with interest. "instead of digging into the house, he commenced cutting a hole in the ice with his ice-chisel about two feet from the edge of the mud. that being accomplished, he cut another, and another, until four holes were pierced forming the corners of a square, and embracing the house of the muskrat within. "leaving this house, he then proceeded to pierce a similar set of holes around another that also stood out on the open lake. after that he went to a third one, and this and then a fourth were prepared in a similar manner. "he now returned to the first, this time taking care to tread lightly upon the ice and make as little stir as possible. having arrived there, he took out from his bag a square net made of twisted deer-thongs, and not much, bigger than a blanket. this in a most ingenious manner he passed under the ice, until its four corners appeared opposite the four holes; where, drawing them through, he made all last and `taut' by a line stretching from one corner to the other. "his manner of passing the net under the ice i have pronounced ingenious. it was accomplished by reeving a line from hole to hole by means of the long slender pole already mentioned. the pole, inserted through one of the holes, conducted the line, and was itself conducted by means of two forked sticks that guided it, and pushed it along to the other holes. the line being attached to the comers of the net made it an easy matter to draw the latter into its position. "all the details of this curious operation were performed with a noiseless adroitness which showed `old foxey' was no novice at `rat-catching.' "the net being now quite taut along the lower surface of the ice, must of course completely cover the hole in the `floor.' it followed, therefore, that if the muskrats were `at home,' they were now `in the trap.' "my companion assured me that they would be found inside. the reason why he had not used the net on first cutting the holes, was to give any member of the family that had been frightened out, a chance of returning; and this he knew they would certainly do, as these creatures cannot remain very long under the water. "he soon satisfied me of the truth of his statement. in a few minutes, by means of the ice-chisel and pickaxe, we had pierced the crust of the dome; and there, apparently half asleep,--because dazzled and blinded by the sudden influx of light--were no less than eight full-grown musquashes! "almost before i could count them, old foxey had transfixed the whole party, one after the other, with his long spear. "we now proceeded to another of the houses, at which the holes had been cut. there my companion went through a similar series of operations; and was rewarded by a capture of six more `rats.' "in the third of the houses only three were found. "on opening a fourth, a singular scene met our eyes. there was but, one muskrat alive, and that one seemed to be nearly famished to death. its body was wasted to mere `skin and bone;' and the animal had evidently been a long time without food. beside it lay the naked skeletons of several small animals that i at once saw were those of the muskrat. a glance at the bottom of the nest explained all. the hole, which in the other houses had passed through the ice, and which we found quite open, in this one was frozen up. the animals had neglected keeping it open, until the ice had got too thick for them to break through; and then, impelled by the cravings of hunger, they had preyed upon each other, until only one, the strongest, survived! "i found upon counting the skeletons that no less than eleven had tenanted this ice-bound prison. "the indian assured me that in seasons of very severe frost such an occurrence is not rare. at such times the ice forms so rapidly, that the animals--perhaps not having occasion to go out for some hours--find themselves frozen in; and are compelled to perish of hunger, or devour one another! "it was now near night--for we had not reached the lake until late in the day--and my companion proposed that we should leave farther operations until the following morning. of course i assented to the proposal, and we betook ourselves to some pine-trees that grew on a high bank near the shore, where we had determined to pass the night. "there we kindled a roaring fire of pine-knots; but we had grown very hungry, and i soon found that of the provisions i had brought, and upon which i had already dined, there remained but a scanty fragment for supper. this did not trouble my companion, who skinned several of the `rats,' gave them a slight warming over the fire, and then ate them up with as much _gout_ as if they had been partridges. i was hungry, but not hungry enough for that; so i sat watching him with some astonishment, and not without a slight feeling of disgust. "it was a beautiful moonlight night, one of the clearest i ever remember. there was a little snow upon the ground, just enough to cover it; and up against the white sides of the hills could be traced the pyramidal outlines of the pines, with their regular gradations of dark needle-clothed branches. they rose on all sides around the lake, looking like ships with furled sails and yards square-set. "i was in a reverie of admiration, when i was suddenly aroused by a confused noise, that resembled the howling and baying of hounds. i turned an inquiring look upon my companion. "`wolves!' he replied, unconcernedly, chawing away at his `roast rat.' "the howling sounded nearer and nearer; and then there was a rattling among dead trees, and the quickly-repeated `crunch, crunch,' as of the hoofs of some animal breaking through frozen snow. the next moment a deer dashed past in full run, and took to the ice. it was a large buck, of the `caribou' or reindeer species (_cervus tarandus_), and i could see that he was smoking with heat, and almost run down. "he had hardly passed the spot when the howl again broke out in a continued strain, and a string of forms appeared from out the bushes. they were about a dozen in all; and they were going at full speed like a pack of hounds on the view. their long muzzles, erect ears, and huge gaunt bodies, were outlined plainly against the snowy ground. i saw that they were wolves. they were white wolves, and of the largest species. "i had suddenly sprung to my feet, not with the intention of saving the deer, but of assisting in its capture; and for this purpose i seized the spear, and ran out. i heard my companion, as i thought, shouting some caution after me; but i was too intent upon the chase to pay any attention to what he said. i had at the moment a distinct perception of hunger, and an indistinct idea of roast venison for supper. "as i got down to the shore, i saw that the wolves had overtaken the deer, and dragged it down upon the ice. the poor creature made but poor running on the slippery track, sprawling at every bound; while the sharp claws of its pursuers enabled them to gallop over the ice like cats. the deer had, no doubt, mistaken the ice for water, which these creatures very often do, and thus become an easy prey to wolves, dogs, and hunters. "i ran on, thinking that i would soon scatter the wolves, and rob them of their prey. in a few moments i was in their midst, brandishing my spear; but to my surprise, as well as terror, i saw that, instead of relinquishing the deer, several of them still held on it, while the rest surrounded me with open jaws, and eyes glancing like coals of fire. "i shouted and fought desperately, thrusting the spear first at one and then at another; but the wolves only became more bold and fierce, incensed by the wounds i was inflicting. "for several minutes i continued this unexpected conflict. i was growing quite exhausted; and a sense of terrible dread coming over me, had almost paralysed me, when the tall, dark form of the indian, hurrying over the ice, gave me new courage; and i plied the spear with all my remaining strength, until several of my assailants lay pierced upon the ice. the others, now seeing the proximity of my companion with his huge ice-chisel, and frighted, moreover, by his wild indian yells, turned tail and scampered off. "three of them, however, had uttered their last howl, and the deer was found close by--already half devoured! "there was enough left, however, to make a good supper for both myself and my companion; who, although, he had already picked the bones of three muskrats, made a fresh attack upon the venison, eating of it as though he had not tasted food for a fortnight." chapter eleven. musquitoes and their antidote. our next day's journey brought us again into heavy timber--another creek bottom. the soil was rich and loamy, and the road we travelled was moist, and in some places very heavy for our waggon. several times the latter got stalled in the mud, and then the whole party were obliged to dismount, and put their shoulders to the wheel. our progress was marked by some noise and confusion, and the constant din made by jake talking to his team, his loud sonorous "woha!" as they were obliged to halt, and the lively "gee-up--gee-up" as they moved on again--frighted any game long before we could come up with it. of course we were compelled to keep by the waggon until we had made the passage of the miry flat. we were dreadfully annoyed by the mosquitoes, particularly the doctor, of whose blood they seemed to be especially fond! this is a curious fact in relation to the mosquitoes--of two persons sleeping in the same apartment, one will sometimes be bitten or rather punctured, and half bled to death, while the other remains untouched! is it the quality of the blood or the thickness of the skin that guides to this preference? this point was discussed amongst us--the doctor taking the view that it was always a sign of good blood when one was more than usually subject to the attack of mosquitoes. he was himself an apt illustration of the fact. this statement of course produced a general laugh, and some remarks at the doctor's expense, on the part of the opponents of his theory. strange to say, old ike was fiercely assailed by the little blood-suckers. this seemed to be an argument against the doctor's theory, for in the tough skinny carcass of the old trapper, the blood could neither have been very plenteous nor delicate. most of us smoked as we rode along, hoping by that means to drive off the ferocious swarm, but although tobacco smoke is disagreeable to the mosquitoes, they cannot be wholly got rid of by a pipe or cigar. could one keep a constant _nimbus_ of the smoke around his face it might be effective, but not otherwise. a sufficient quantity of tobacco smoke will kill mosquitoes outright, as i have more than once proved by a thorough fumigation of my sleeping apartment. these insects are not peculiar, as sometimes supposed, to the inter-tropical regions of america. they are found in great numbers even to the shores of the arctic sea, and as fierce and bloodthirsty as anywhere else--of course only in the summer season, when, as before remarked, the thermometer in these northern latitudes mounts to a high figure. their haunts are the banks of rivers, and particularly those of a stagnant and muddy character. there is another singular fact in regard to them. upon the banks of some of the south-american rivers, life is almost unendurable on account of this pest--the "_plaga de mosquitos_," as the spaniards term it-- while upon other streams in the very same latitude musquitoes are unknown. these streams are what are termed "_rios negros_," or black-water rivers--a peculiar class of rivers, to which many tributaries of the amazon and orinoco belong. our english comrade, who had travelled all over south america, gave us this information as we rode along. he stated, that he had often considered it a great relief, a sort of escape from purgatory, while on his travels he parted from one of the yellow or white water streams, to enter one of the "_rios negros_." many indian tribes settled upon the banks of the latter solely to get clear of the "_plaga de mosquitos_." the indians who reside in the mosquito districts habitually paint their bodies, and smear themselves with oil, as a protection against their bites; and it is a common thing among the natives, when speaking of any place, to inquire into the "character" of its mosquitoes! on some tributaries of the amazon the mosquitoes are really a life torment, and the wretched creatures who inhabit such places frequently bury their bodies in the sand in order to get sleep! even the pigments with which they anoint themselves are pierced by the poisoned bills of their tormentors. besancon and the kentuckian both denied that any species of ointment would serve as a protection against mosquitoes. the doctor joined them in their denial. they asserted that they had tried everything that could be thought of--camphor, ether, hartshorn, spirits of turpentine, etcetera. some of us were of a different opinion, and ike settled the point soon after in favour of the dissentients by a practical illustration. the old trapper, as before stated, was a victim to the fiercest attacks, as was manifested by the slapping which he repeatedly administered to his cheeks, and an almost constant muttering of bitter imprecations. he knew a remedy he said in a "sartint weed," if he could only "lay his claws upon it." we noticed that from time to time as he rode along his eyes swept the ground in every direction. at length a joyous exclamation told that he had discovered the "weed." "thur's the darned thing at last," muttered he, as he flung himself to the ground, and commenced gathering the stalks of a small herb that grew plentifully about. it was an annual, with leaves very much of the size and shape of young garden box-wood, but of a much brighter green. of course we all knew well enough what it was, for there is not a village "common" in the western united states that is not covered with it. it was the well-known "penny-royal" (_hedcoma pulegioides_), not the english herb of that name, which is a species of _mentha_. redwood also leaped from his horse, and set to plucking the "weed." he too, from experience, knew its virtues. we all drew bridle, watching the guides. both operated in a similar manner. having collected a handful of the tenderest tops, they rubbed them violently between their palms--rough and good for such service--and then passed the latter over the exposed skin of their necks and laces. ike took two small bunches of the stalks, crushed them under his heel, and then stuck them beneath his cap, so that the ends hung down over his cheeks. this being done, he and his comrade mounted their horses and rode on. some of us--the hunter-naturalist, the englishman, and myself-- dismounted and imitated ike--of course under a volley of laughter and "pooh-poohs" from besancon, the kentuckian, and the doctor; but we had not ridden two hundred paces until the joke changed sides. from that moment not a mosquito approached us, while our three friends were bitten as badly as ever. in the end they were convinced, and the torment of the mosquitoes proving stronger than the fear of our ridicule, all three sprang out of their saddles, and made a rush at the next bed of penny-royal that came in sight. whether it is the highly aromatic odour of the penny-royal that keeps off these insects, or whether the juice when touched by them burns the delicate nerves of their feet i am unable to say. certain it is they will not alight upon the skin which has been plentifully anointed with it. i have tried the same experiment often since that time with a similar result, and in fact have never since travelled through a mosquito country without a provision of the "essence of penny-royal." this is better than the herb itself, and can be obtained from any apothecary. a single drop or two spilled in the palm of the hand is sufficient to rub over all the parts exposed, and will often ensure sleep, where otherwise such a thing would be impossible. i have often lain with my face so smeared, and listened to the sharp hum of the mosquito as it approached, fancying that the next moment i should feel its tiny touch, as it settled down upon my cheek, or brow. as soon, however, as it came within the influence of the penny-royal i could hear it suddenly tack round and wing its way off again, until its disagreeable "music" was no longer heard. the only drawback in the use of the penny-royal lies in the burning sensation which the fluid produces upon the skin; and this in a climate where the thermometer is pointing to degrees is no slight disqualification of the remedy. the use of it is sometimes little better than "hobbson's choice." the application of it on the occasion mentioned restored the spirits of our party, which had been somewhat kept under by the continuous attacks of the mosquitoes, and a lively little incident that occurred soon after, viz. the hunt and capture of a raccoon, made us all quite merry. cooney, though a night prowler, is sometimes abroad during the day, but especially in situations where the timber is high, and the woods dark and gloomy. on the march we had come so suddenly upon this one, that he had not time to strike out for his own tree, where he would soon have hidden from us in its deep cavity. he had been too busy with his own affairs--the nest of a wild turkey upon the ground, under some brush and leaves, the broken eggs in which told of the delicious meal he had made. taken by surprise--for the guides had ridden nearly on top of him--he galloped up the nearest tree, which fortunately contained neither fork nor cavity in which he could shelter himself; and a well-directed shot from redwood's rifle brought him with a heavy "thump" back to the ground again. we were all stirred up a little by this incident; in fact, the unusual absence of game rendered ever so trifling an occurrence an "event" with us. no one, however, was so pleased as the black waggoner jake, whose eyes fairly danced in his head at the sight of a "coon." the "coon" to jake was well-known game--natural and legitimate--and jake preferred "roast coon" to fried bacon at any time. jake knew that none of us would care to eat of his coonship. he was therefore sure of his supper; and the "varmint" was carefully deposited in the corner of the waggon. jake did not have it all to himself. the trappers liked fresh meat too, even "coon-meat;" and of course claimed their share. none of the rest of the party had any relish for such a fox-like carcass. after supper, cooney was honoured with a description, and for many of the facts of his history we are indebted to jake himself. chapter twelve. the 'coon, and his habits. foremost of all the wild creatures of america in point of being generally known is the raccoon (_procyon lotor_). none has a wider geographical distribution, as its "range" embraces the entire continent, from the polar sea to terra del fuego. some naturalists have denied that it is found in south america. this denial is founded on the fact, that neither ulloa nor molina have spoken of it. but how many other animals have these crude naturalists omitted to describe? we may safely assert that the raccoon exists in south america, as well in the tropical forests of guyana as in the colder regions of the table land--everywhere that there exists tree-timber. in most parts where the spanish language is spoken, it is known as the "_zorro negro_," or black fox. indeed, there are two species in south america, the common one (_procyon lotor_), and the crab-eater (_procyon cancrivorus_). in north america it is one of the most common of wild animals. in all parts you may meet with it. in the hot lowlands of louisiana--in the tropical "chapparals" of mexico--in the snowy regions of canada--and in the vernal valleys of california. unlike the deer, the wild cat, and the wolverine, it is never mistaken for any other animal, nor is any animal taken for it. it is as well-known in america as the red fox is in england, and with a somewhat similar reputation. although there is a variety in colour and size, there is no ambiguity about species or genus. wherever the english language is spoken, it has but one name, the "raccoon." in america, every man, woman and child knows the "sly ole 'coon." this animal has been placed by naturalists in the family _ursidae_, genus _procyon_. linnaeus made it a _bear_, and classed it with _ursus_. it has, in our opinion, but little in common with the bear, and far more resembles the fox. hence the spanish name of "_zorro negro_" (black fox). a writer quaintly describes it thus:--"the limbs of a bear, the body of a badger, the head of a fox, the nose of a dog, the tail of a cat, and sharp claws, by which it climbs trees like a monkey." we cannot admit the similarity of its tail to that of a cat. the tail of the raccoon is full and bushy, which is not true of the cat's tail. there is only a similarity in the annulated or banded appearance noticed in the tails of some cats, which in that of the raccoon is a marked characteristic. the raccoon, to speak in round terms, is about the size of an english fox, but somewhat thicker and "bunchier" in the body. its legs are short in proportion, and as it is _plantigrade_ in the hind-feet, it stands and runs low, and cat-like. the muzzle is extremely pointed and slender, adapted to its habit of prying into every chink and corner, in search of spiders, beetles, and other creatures. the general colour of the raccoon is dark brown (nearly black) on the upper part of the body, mixed with iron-grey. underneath it is of a lighter hue. there is, here and there, a little fawn colour intermixed. a broad black band runs across the eyes and unites under the throat. this band is surrounded and sharply defined with a margin of greyish-white, which gives a unique expression to the "countenance" of the "'coon." one of the chief beauties of this animal is its tail, which is characteristic in its markings. it exhibits twelve annulations or ring-bands, six black and six greyish-white, in regular alternation. the tip is black, and the tail itself is very full or "bushy." when the 'coon-skin is made into a cap--which it often is among hunters and frontiers-men--the tail is left to hang as a drooping plume; and such a head-dress is far from ungraceful. in some "settlements" the 'coon-skin cap is quite the fashion among the young "backwoodsmen." the raccoon is an animal of an extremely amorous disposition; but there is a fact connected with the sex of this creature which is curious: the female is larger than the male. not only larger, but in every respect a finer-looking animal. the hair, long on both, is more full and glossy upon the female, its tints deeper and more beautiful. this is contrary to the general order of nature. by those unacquainted with this fact, the female is mistaken for the male, and _vice versa_, as in the case of hawks and eagles. the fur of the raccoon has long been an article of commerce, as it is used in making beaver hats; but as these have given place in most countries to the silk article, the 'coon-skin now commands but a small price. the raccoon is a tree-climber of the first quality. it climbs with its sharp-curved claws, not by hugging, as is the case with the bear tribe. its lair, or place of retreat, is in a tree--some hollow, with its entrance high up. such trees are common in the great primeval forests of america. in this tree-cave it has its nest, where the female brings forth three, four, five, or six "cubs" at a birth. this takes place in early spring--usually the first week in april. the raccoon is a creature of the woods. on the prairies and in treeless regions it is not known. it prefers heavy "timber," where there are huge logs and hollow trees in plenty. it requires the neighbourhood of water, and in connection with this may be mentioned a curious habit it has, that of plunging all its food into the water before devouring it. it will be remembered that the otter has a similar habit. it is from this peculiarity that the raccoon derives its specific name of _lotor_ (washer). it does not always moisten its morsel thus, but pretty generally. it is fond, moreover, of frequent ablutions, and no animal is more clean and tidy in its habits. the raccoon is almost omnivorous. it eats poultry or wild fowls. it devours frogs, lizards, lame, and insects without distinction. it is fond of sweets, and is very destructive to the sugar-cane and indian corn of the planter. when the ear of the maize is young, or, as it is termed, "in the milk," it is very sweet. then the raccoon loves to prey upon it. whole troops at night visit the corn-fields and commit extensive havoc. these mischievous habits make the creature many enemies, and in fact it has but few friends. it kills hares, rabbits, and squirrels when it can catch them, and will rob a bird's nest in the most ruthless manner. it is particularly fond of shell-fish; and the _unios_, with which many of the fresh-water lakes and rivers of america abound, form part of its food. these it opens as adroitly with its claws as an oyster-man could with his knife. it is partial to the "soft-shell" crabs and small tortoises common in the american waters. jake told us of a trick which the 'coon puts in practice for catching the small turtles of the creek. we were not inclined to give credence to the story, but jake almost swore to it. it is certainly curious if true, but it smacks very much of buffon. it may be remarked, however, that the knowledge which the plantation negroes have of the habits of the raccoon surpasses that of any mere naturalist. jake boldly declares that the 'coon fishes for turtles! that it squats upon the bank of the stream, allowing its bushy tail to hang over into the water; that the turtles swimming about in search of food or amusement, spies the hairy appendage and lays hold of it; and that the 'coon, feeling the nibble, suddenly draws the testaceous swimmer upon dry land, and then "cleans out de shell" at his leisure! the 'coon is often domesticated in america. it is harmless as a dog or cat except when crossed by children, when it will snarl, snap, and bite like the most crabbed cur. it is troublesome, however, where poultry is kept, and this prevents its being much of a favourite. indeed, it is not one, for it is hunted everywhere, and killed--wherever this can be done--on sight. there is a curious connection between the negro and the raccoon. it is not a tie of sympathy, but a kind of antagonism. the 'coon, as already observed, is the negro's legitimate game. 'coon-hunting is peculiarly a negro sport. the negro is the 'coon's mortal enemy. he kills the 'coon when and wherever he can, and cats it too. he loves its "meat," which is pork-tasted, and in young 'coons palatable enough, but in old ones rather rank. this, however, our "darkie" friend does not much mind, particularly if his master be a "stingy old boss," and keeps him on rice instead of meat rations. the negro, moreover, makes an odd "bit" (twelve and a half cents) by the skin, which he disposes of to the neighbouring "storekeeper." the 'coon-hunt is a "nocturnal" sport, and therefore does not interfere with the negro's regular labour. by right the night belongs to him, and he may then dispose of his time as he pleases, which he often does in this very way. the negro is not, allowed to carry fire-arms, and for this reason the squirrel may perch upon a high limb, jerk its tail about and defy him; the hare may run swiftly away, and the wild turkey may tantalise him with its incessant "gobbling." but the 'coon can be killed without fire-arms. the 'coon can be overtaken and "treed." the negro is not denied the use of an axe, and no man knows better how to handle it than he. the 'coon, therefore, is his natural game, and much sport does he have in its pursuit. nearly the same may be said of the opossum (_didelphis virginiana_); but the "'possum" is more rare, and it is not our intention now to describe that very curious creature. from both 'coon and 'possum does the poor negro derive infinite sport--many a sweet excitement that cheers his long winter nights, and chequers with brighter spots the dull and darksome monotony of his slave-life. i have often thought what a pity it would be if the 'coon and the opossum should be extirpated before slavery itself became extinct. i had often shared in this peculiar sport of the negro, and joined in a real 'coon-chase, but the most exciting of all was the first in which i had been engaged, and i proffered my comrades an account of it. chapter thirteen. a 'coon-chase. "my 'coon-chase took place in tennessee, where i was sojourning for some time upon a plantation. it was the first affair of the kind i had been present at, and i was somewhat curious as to the mode of carrying it on. my companion and inductor was a certain `uncle abe,' a gentleman very much after the style and complexion of our own jake here. "i need not tell you, gentlemen, that throughout the western states every neighbourhood has its noted 'coon-hunter. he is usually a wary old `nigger,' who knows all the tricks and dodges of the 'coon. he either owns a dog himself, or has trained one of his master's, in that peculiar line. it is of little importance what breed the dog may be. i have known curs that were excellent `'coon-dogs.' all that is wanted is, that he have a good nose, and that he be a good runner, and of sufficient bulk to be able to bully a 'coon when taken. this a very small dog cannot do, as the 'coon frequently makes a desperate fight before yielding. mastiffs, terriers, and half-bred pointers make the best `'coon-dogs.' "uncle abe was the mighty hunter, the nimrod of the neighbourhood in which i happened to be; and uncle abe's dog--a stout terrier--was esteemed the `smartest 'coon-dog' in a circle of twenty miles. in going out with uncle abe, therefore, i had full confidence that i should see sport. "on one side of the plantation was a heavily-timbered `bottom', through which meandered a small stream, called, of course, a `creek.' this bottom was a favourite _habitat_ of the 'coons, as there were large trees growing near the water, many of which were hollow either in their trunks or some of their huge limbs. moreover, there were vast trellises of vines extending from tree to tree; some of them, as the fox and muscadine (_vitis labrusca_), yielding sweet grapes, of which the raccoons are very fond. "to this bottom, then, we directed our course, abe acting as guide, and holding his dog, pompo, in the leash abe carried no other weapon than an axe, while i had armed myself with a double-barrel. pompo knew as well as either of us the errand on which we were bent, as appeared from his flashing eyes and the impatient leaps which he now and then made to get free. "we had to cross a large corn-field, a full half-mile in breadth, before we reached the woods. between this and the timber was a zigzag fence-- the common `rail' fence of the american farmer. for some distance beyond the fence the timber was small, but farther on was the creek `bottom,' where the 'coons were more likely to make their dwelling-place. "we did not, however, proceed direct to the bottom. abe knew better than that. the young corn was just then `in the milk,' and the 'coon-hunter expected to find his game nearer the field. it was settled, therefore, that we should follow the line of the fence, in hopes that the dog would strike a fresh trail, leading either to or from the corn-field. "it was now night--two hours after sundown. the 'coon-chase, i have already said, is a nocturnal sport. the raccoon does range by day, but rarely, and only in dark and solitary woods. he often basks by day upon high limbs, or the broken tops, of trees. i have shot several of his tribe while asleep, or sunning themselves in such situations. perhaps before they knew their great enemy man, they were less nocturnal in their activity. we had a fine moonlight; but so far as a view of the chase was concerned, that would benefit us but little. during the hunt there is not much to be seen of either dog or 'coon, as it is always a scramble through trees and underwood. the dog trusts altogether to his nose, and the hunter to his ears; for the latter has no other guide save the yelp or bark of his canine assistant. nevertheless, moonlight, or a clear night, is indispensable; without one or the other, it would be impossible to follow through the woods. a view of a 'coon-chase is a luxury enjoyed only by the hats and owls. "pompo was now let loose in the corn; while abe and i walked quietly along the fence, keeping on different sides. abe remained in the field for the purpose of handing over the dog, as the fence was high--a regular `ten rail, with stalks and riders.' a 'coon could easily cross it, but not a dog, without help. "we had not gone more than a hundred yards, when a quick sharp yelp from pompo announced that he had come suddenly upon something in the corn-field. "`a varmint!' cried abe; and the next moment appeared the dog, running up full tilt among the maize plants and up to the fence. i could see some dark object before him, that passed over the rails with a sudden spring, and bounded into the timbers. "`a varmint, massa!' repeated abe, as he lifted the dog over, and followed himself. "i knew that in abe's vocabulary--for that night at least--a `varmint' meant a 'coon; and as we dashed through the brushwood, following the dog, i felt all the excitement of a 'coon-chase. "it was not a long one--i should think of about five minutes' duration; at the end of which time the yelp of the dog which had hitherto guided us, changed into a regular and continuous harking. on hearing this, abe quietly announced-- "`the varmint am treed.' "our only thought now was to get to the tree as speedily as possible, but another thought entered our minds as we advanced; that was, what sort of a tree had the 'coon taken shelter in? "this was an important question, and its answer involved the success or failure of our hunt. if a very large tree, we might whistle for the 'coon. abe knew this well, and as we passed on, expressed his doubts about the result. "the bark of pompo sounded some hundred yards off, in the very heaviest of the bottom timber. it was not likely, therefore, that the 'coon had taken to a small tree, while there were large ones near at hand. our only hope was that he had climbed one that was not `hollow.' in that case we might still have a chance with the double-barrel and buck-shot. abe had but little hope. "`he hab reach him own tree, massa; an' that am sartin to be a big un wi' a hole near um top. wagh! 'twar dat ar fence. but for de dratted fence ole pomp nebber let um reach um own tree. wagh!' "from this i learned that one point in the character of a good 'coon-dog was speed. the 'coon runs well for a few hundred yards. he rarely strays farther from his lair. if he can beat his pursuer for this distance he is safe, as his retreat is always in a hollow tree of great size. there is no way of getting at him there, except by felling the tree, and this the most zealous 'coon-hunter would not think of attempting. the labour of cutting down such a tree would be worth a dozen 'coons. a swift dog, therefore, will overtake the raccoon, and force him to the nearest tree--often a small one, where he is either shaken off or the tree cut down. sometimes the hunter climbs after and forces him to leap out, so as to fall into the very jaws of the watchful dog below. "in abe's opinion pompo would have `treed' his 'coon before reaching, the bottom, had not the fence interfered, but now-- "`told ye so, massa!' muttered he, interrupting my thoughts. `look dar! dar's de tree--trunk thick as a haystack. wagh!' "i looked in the direction indicated by my companion. i saw pompo standing by the root of a very large tree, looking upward, shaking his tail, and barking at intervals. before i had time to make any farther observations abe's voice again sounded in my ears. "`gollies! it am a buttonwood! why, pomp, ole fellur, you hab made a mistake--de varmint ain't dar, 'cooney nebber trees upon buttonwood-- nebber--you oughter know better'n dat, ole fool!' "abe's speech drew my attention to the tree. i saw that it was the american sycamore (_platanus occidentalis_), familiarly known by the trivial name, `buttonwood,' from the use to which its wood is sometimes put. but why should the 'coon not `tree' upon it, as well as any other? i put the question to my companion. "`'cause, massa, its bark am slickery. de varmint nebber takes to 'im. he likes de oak, an' de poplum, an' de scaly-bark. gosh! but he am dar!' continued abe, raising his voice, and looking outward--`look yonder, massa! he had climb by de great vine. dat's right, pomp! you am right after all, and dis nigga's a fool. hee--up, ole dog! hee--up!' "following the direction in which abe pointed, my eyes rested on a huge parasite of the lliana kind, that, rising out of the ground at some distance, slanted upward and joined the sycamore near its top. this had no doubt been the ladder by which the 'coon had climbed. "this discovery, however, did not mend the matter as far as we were concerned. the 'coon had got into the buttonwood, fifty feet from the ground, where the tree had been broken off by the lightning or the wind, and where the mouth of a large cavity was distinctly visible by the light of the moon. the trunk was one of the largest, and it would have been sheer folly (so we concluded) to have attempted felling it. "we left the spot without farther ado, and took our way back to the corn-field. "the dog had now been silent for some time, and we were in hopes that another `varmint' might have stolen into the corn. "our hopes were not doomed to disappointment. pompo had scarcely entered the field when a second 'coon was sprung, which, like the other, ran directly for the fence and the woods. "pomp followed as fast as he could be flung over; and this 'coon was also `treed' in a few minutes. "from the direction of the barking, we calculated that it must be near where the other had escaped us; but our astonishment equalled our chagrin, when upon arriving at the spot, we found that both the `varmints' had taken to the same tree! "with some rather emphatic ejaculations we returned to the corn-field, and after a short while a third 'coon was raised, which, like the others, made of course for the timber. "pomp ran upon his trail with an angry yelping, that soon changed into the well-known signal that he had treed the game. "we ran after through brush and brake, and soon came up with the dog. if our astonishment was great before, it was now beyond bounds. the identical buttonwood with its great parasite was before us, the dog barking at its foot! the third 'coon had taken shelter in its capacious cavity. "`wagh! massa!' ejaculated abe, in a voice of terror, `its de same varmint. it ain't no 'coon, it's de debil! for de lub o' god, massa, let's get away from here!' "of course i followed his advice, as to get at the 'coons was out of the question. "we returned once more to the corn-field, but we found that we had at last cleared it of 'coons. it was still early, however, and i was determined not to give up the hunt until i had assisted in killing a 'coon. by abe's advice, therefore, we struck into the woods with the intention of making a circuit where the trees were small. some 'coon might be prowling there in search of birds' nests. so thought abe. "he was right in his conjecture. a fourth was started, and off went pompo after him. in a few minutes the quick constant bark echoed back. this time we were sure, from the direction, in a new tree. "it proved to be so, and such a small one that, on coming up, we saw the animal squatted upon the branches, not twenty feet from the ground. "we were now sure of him, as we thought; and i had raised my gun to fire; when all at once, as if guessing my intent, the 'coon sprang into another tree, and then ran down to the ground and off again, with pompo veiling in his track. "of course we expected that the dog would speedily tree him again, which after a few minutes he did, but this time in the heavy timber. "we hastened forward, guided by the barking. to the extreme of my astonishment, and i fancy to the very extreme of abe's terror, we again found ourselves at the foot of the buttonwood. "abe's wool stood on end. superstition was the butt-end of his religion; and he not only protested, but i am satisfied that he believed, that all the four 'coons were one and the same individual, and that individual `de debil.' "great 'coon-hunter as he was, he would now have gone home, if i had let him. but i had no thoughts of giving up the matter in that easy way. i was roused by the repeated disappointment. a new resolve had entered my mind. i was determined to get the 'coons out of the buttonwood, cost what it might. the tree must come down, if it should take us till morning to fell it. "with this determination i caught hold of abe's axe, and struck the first blow. to my surprise and delight the tree sounded hollow. i repeated the stroke. the sharp axe went crashing inwards. the tree was hollow to the ground; on the side where i had commenced chopping, it was but a shell. "a few more blows, and i had made a hole large enough to put a head through. felling such a tree would be no great job after all, and i saw that it would hardly occupy an hour. the tree must come down. "abe seeing me so resolute, had somewhat recovered his courage and his senses, and now laid hold of the axe. abe was a `first hand' at `chopping,' and the hole soon gaped wider. "`if de hole run clar up, massa,' said he, resting for a moment, `we can smoke out de varmint--wid de punk and de grass here we can smoke out de debil himself. s'pose we try 'im, massa?' "`good!' cried i, catching at abe's suggestion; and in a few minutes we had made a fire in the hole, and covered it with leaves, grass, and weeds. "the smoke soon did its work. we saw it ooze out above at the entrance of the 'coon hole--at first in a slight filmy stream, and then in thick volumes. we heard a scraping and rattling within the hollow trunk, and a moment after a dark object sprang out upon the lliana, and ran a short way downward. another followed, and another, and another, until a string of no less than six raccoons squatted along the parasite threatening to run downward! "the scene that followed was indescribable. i had seized my gun, and both barrels were emptied in a `squirrel's jump.' two of the 'coons came to the ground, badly wounded. pompo tackled another, that had run down the lliana, and was attempting to get off; while abe with his axe clove the skull of a fourth, that had tried to escape in a similar manner. "the other two ran back into the `funnel,' but only to come out again just in time to receive a shot each from the reloaded gun, which brought both of them tumbling from the tree. we succeeded in bagging the whole family; and thus finished what abe declared to be the greatest `'coon-chase on de record.' "as it was by this time far in the night, we gathered up our game, and took the `back track to hum.'" chapter fourteen. wild hogs of the woods. next day while threading our way through a patch of oak forest--the ground covered thickly with fallen leaves--we were startled by a peculiar noise in front of us. it was a kind of bellows-like snort, exactly like that made by the domestic swine when suddenly affrighted. some of the party cried out "bear," and of course this announcement threw us all into a high state of excitement. even the buffalo itself would be but secondary game, when a bear was upon the ground. the "snuff" of the bear has a very considerable resemblance to that of terrified hogs, and even our guides were deceived. they thought it might be "bar" we had heard. it proved we were all wrong. no wonder we fancied the noise resembled that made by hogs. the animal that uttered it was nothing else than a wild boar. "what!" you will exclaim, "a wild boar in the forests of missouri? oh! a peccary i suppose." no, not a peccary; for these creatures do not range so far north as the latitude of missouri--not a wild boar, neither, if you restrict the meaning of the phrase to the true indigenous animal of that kind. for all that, it was a wild boar, or rather a boar _ran wild_. wild enough and savage too it appeared, although we had only a glimpse of its shaggy form as it dashed into the thicket with a loud grunt. half a dozen shots followed it. no doubt it was tickled with some of the "leaden hail" from the double-barrelled guns, but it contrived to escape, leaving us only the incident as a subject for conversation. throughout the backwoods there are large numbers of half-wild hogs, but they are usually the denizens of woods that are inclosed by a rail-fence, and therefore private property. one part of the year they are tamer, when a scarcity of food renders it necessary for them to approach the owner's house, and eat the corn placed for them in a well-known spot. at this season they answer to a call somewhat similar to the "milk oh!" of the london dairyman, but loud enough to be heard a mile or more through the woods. a traveller passing through the backwoods' settlements will often hear this singular call sounding afar off in the stillness of the evening. these hogs pick up most of their subsistence in the forest. the "mast" of the beech-tree, the nut of the hickory, the fruit of the chinquapin oak, the acorn, and many other seeds and berries, furnish them with food. many roots besides, and grasses, contribute to sustain them, and they make an occasional meal off a snake whenever they can get hold of one. indeed it may be safely asserted, that no other cause has contributed so much to the destruction of these reptiles, as the introduction of the domestic hog into the forests of america. wherever a tract of woods has been used as the "run" of a drove of hogs, serpents of every kind become exceedingly scarce, and you may hunt through such a tract for weeks without seeing one. the hog seems to have the strongest antipathy to the snake tribe; without the least fear of them. when one of the latter is discovered by a hog, and no crevice in the rocks, or hollow log, offers it a shelter, its destruction is inevitable. the hog rushes to the spot, and, bounding forward, crushes the reptile under his hoof's. should the first attempt not succeed, and the serpent glide away, the hog nimbly follows, and repeats his efforts until the victim lies helpless. the victor then goes to work with his powerful jaws, and quietly devours the prey. the fondness of the hog for this species of food proves that in a state of nature it is partially a carnivorous animal. the peccary, which is the true representative of the wild hog in america--has the very same habit, and is well-known to be one of the most fatal enemies of the serpent tribe to be found among american animals. the hog shows no fear of the snake. his thick hide seems to protect him. the "skin" of the rattle-snake or the "hiss" of the deadly "moccasin," are alike unheeded by him. he kills them as easily as he does the innocent "chicken snake" or the black constrictor. the latter often escapes from its dreaded enemy by taking to a bush or tree; but the rattle-snake and the moccasin are not tree-climbers, and either hide themselves in the herbage and dead leaves, or retreat to their holes. it is not true that the hog cats the body of the snake he has killed, leaving the head untouched, and thus avoiding the poisoned fangs. he devours the whole of the creature, head and all. the venom of the snake, like the "curari" poison of the south-american indians, is only effective when coming in contact with the blood. taken internally its effects are innoxious--indeed there are those who believe it to be beneficial, and the curari is often swallowed as a medicine. most of this information about the half-wild hogs of the backwoods was given by our kentucky comrade, who himself was the proprietor of many hundreds of them. an annual hog-hunt was part of the routine of his life. it was undertaken not merely for the sport of the thing--though that was by no means to be despised--and the season of the hog-hunting is looked forward to with pleasant anticipation by the domestics of the plantation, as well as a few select friends or neighbours who are invited to participate in it. when the time arrives, the proprietor, with his pack of hounds, and accompanied by a party mounted and armed with rifles, enters the large tract of woodland--perhaps miles in extent, and in many places covered with cane-brakes, and almost impenetrable thickets of undergrowth. to such places the hogs fly for shelter, but the dogs can penetrate wherever hogs can go; and of course the latter are soon driven out, and forced into the more open ground, where the mounted men are waiting to receive them with a volley of bullets. sometimes a keen pursuit follows, and the dogs in full cry are carried across the country, over huge logs, and through thickets and ravines, followed by the horsemen-- just as if an old fox was the game pursued. a large waggon with drivers and attendants follows the chase, and in this the killed are deposited, to be "hauled" home when the hunt is over. this, however, often continues for several days, until all, or at least all the larger hogs, are collected and brought home, and then the sport terminates. the produce of the hunt sometimes amounts to hundreds-- according to the wealth of the proprietor. of course a scene of slaughtering and bacon-curing follows. a part of the bacon furnishes the "smoke-house" for home consumption during the winter; while the larger part finds its way to the great pork-market of cincinnati. the kentuckian related to us a curious incident illustrating the instinct of the swinish quadruped; but which to his mind, as well as to ours, seemed more like a proof of a rational principle possessed by the animal. the incident he had himself been witness to, and in his own woodlands. he related it thus:-- "i had strayed into the woods in search of a wild turkey with nothing but my shot-gun, and having tramped about a good bit, i sat down upon a log to rest myself. i had not been seated live minutes when i heard a rustling among the dead leaves in front of me. i thought it might be deer, and raised my gun; but i was greatly disappointed on seeing some half dozen of my own hogs make their appearance, rooting as they went along. "i paid no more heed to them at the time; but a few minutes after, my attention was again drawn to them, by seeing them make a sudden rush across a piece of open ground, as if they were in pursuit of something. "sure enough they were. just before their snouts, i espied the long shining body of a black snake doing its best to get out of their way. in this it succeeded, for the next moment i saw it twisting itself up a pawpaw sapling, until it had reached the top branches, where it remained looking down at its pursuers. "the snake may have fancied itself secure at the moment, and so thought i, at least so far as the hogs were concerned. i had made up my mind to be its destroyer myself, and was just about to sprinkle it with shot, when a movement on the part of one of the hogs caused me to hold back and remain quiet. i need not tell you i was considerably astonished to see the foremost of these animals seize the sapling in its jaws and jerk it about in a determined manner, as if with the intention of shaking off the snake! of course it did not succeed in this, for the latter was wound around the branches, and it would have been as easy to have shaken off the bark. "as you all know, gentlemen, the pawpaw--not the pawpaw (_carica papaya_), but a small tree of the _anonas_ or custard apple tribe, common in the woods of western america--is one of the softest and most brittle of our trees, and the hog seemed to have discovered this, for he suddenly changed his tactics, and instead of shaking at the sapling, commenced grinding it between his powerful jaws. the others assisted him, and the tree fell in a few seconds. as soon as the top branches touched the ground, the whole drove dashed forward at the snake; and in less than the time i take in telling it, the creature was crushed and devoured." after hearing the singular tale, our conversation now returned to the hog we had just "jumped." all agreed that it must be some stray from the plantations that had wandered thus far from the haunts of men, for there was no settlement within twenty miles of where we then were. our trapper guides stated that wild hogs are frequently found in remote parts, and that many of them are not "strays," but have been "littered" and brought up in the forest. these are as shy and difficult to approach as deer, or any other hunted animals. they are generally of a small breed, and it is supposed that they are identical with the species found throughout mexico, and introduced by the spaniards. chapter fifteen. treed by peccaries. talking of these spanish hogs naturally led us to the subject of the peccary--for this creature is an inhabitant only of those parts of north america which have been hitherto in possession of the spanish race. of the peccary (_dicotyles_), there are two distinct species known--the "collared," and the "white-lipped." in form and habits they are very similar to each other. in size and colour they differ. the "white-lipped" is the larger. its colour is dark brown, nearly black, while that of the collared peccary is a uniform iron-grey, with the exception of the band or collar upon its shoulders. the distinctive markings are, on the former species a greyish-white patch along the jaws, and on the other a yellowish-white belt, embracing the neck and shoulders, as a collar does a horse. these markings have given to each its specific name. they are farther distinguished, by the forehead of the white-lipped peccary being more hollowed or concave than that of its congener. in most other respects these creatures are alike. both feed upon roots, fruits, frogs, toads, lizards, and snakes. both make their lair in hollow logs, or in caves among the rocks, and both are gregarious in their habits. in this last habit, however, they exhibit some difference. the white-lipped species associate in troops to the number of hundreds, and even as many as a thousand have been seen together; whereas the others do not live in such large droves, but are oftener met with in pairs. yet this difference of habit may arise from the fact that in the places where both have been observed, the latter have not been so plentiful as the white-lipped species. as many as a hundred of the collared peccary have been observed in one "gang," and no doubt had there been more of them in the neighbourhood, the flock would have been still larger. the white-lipped species does not extend to the northern half of the american continent. its _habitat_ is in the great tropical forests of guyana and brazil, and it is found much farther south, being common in paraguay. it is there known as the "vaquira," whence our word "peccary." the other species is also found in south america, and is distinguished as the "vaquira de collar" (collared peccary). of course, they both have trivial indian names, differing in different parts of the country. the former is called in paraguay "tagnicati," while the latter is the "taytetou." neither species is so numerous as they were informer times. they have been thinned off by hunting--not for the value either of their flesh or their skins, not for the mere sport either, but on account of their destructive habits. in the neighbourhood of settlements they make frequent forays into the maize and mandioc fields, and they will lay waste a plantation of sugar-cane in a single night. for this reason it is that a war of extermination has long been waged against them by the planters and their dependents. as already stated, it is believed that the white-lipped species is not found in north america. probably it does exist in the forests of southern mexico. the natural history of these countries is yet to be thoroughly investigated. the mexicans have unfortunately employed all their time in making revolutions. but a new period has arrived. the panama railroad, the nicaragua canal, and the route of tehuantepec, will soon be open, when among the foremost who traverse these hitherto unfrequented regions, will be found troops of naturalists, of the audubon school, who will explore every nook and corner of central america. indeed, already some progress has been made in this respect. the two species of peccaries, although so much alike never associate together, and do not seem to have any knowledge of a relationship existing between them. indeed, what is very singular, they are never found in the same tract of woods. a district frequented by the one is always without the other. the collared peccary is the species found in north america; and of it we more particularly speak. it is met with when you approach the more southern latitudes westward of the mississippi river. in that great wing of the continent, to the eastward of this river, and now occupied by the united states, no such animal exists, nor is there any proof that it was ever known to exist there in its wild state. in the territory of texas, it is a common animal, and its range extends westward to the pacific, and south throughout the remainder of the continent. as you proceed westwards, the line of its range rises considerably; and in new mexico it is met with as high as the rd parallel. this is just following the isothermal line, and proves that the peccary cannot endure the rigours of a severe winter climate. it is a production of the tropics and the countries adjacent. some naturalists assert that it is a forest-dwelling animal, and is never seen in open countries. others, as buffon, state that it makes its _habitat_ in the mountains, never the low countries and plains; while still others have declared that it is never found in the mountains! none of these "theories" appears to be the correct one. it is well-known to frequent the forest-covered plains of texas, and emory (one of the most talented of modern observers) reports having met with a large drove of peccaries in the almost treeless mountains of new mexico. the fact is, the peccary is a wide "ranger," and frequents either plains or mountains wherever he can find the roots or fruits which constitute his natural food. the haunts he likes best appear to be the dry hilly woods, where he finds several species of nuts to his taste-- such as the chinquapin (_castanea pumila_), the pecan (_juglans olivaformis_), and the acorns of several species of oak, with which the half-prairie country of western texas abounds. farther than to eat their fruit, the forest trees are of no use to the peccary. he is not a climber, as he is a hoofed animal. but in the absence of rocks, or crevices in the cliffs, he makes his lair in the bottoms of hollow trees, or in the great cavities so common in half-decayed logs. he prefers, however, a habitation among rocks, as experience has no doubt taught him that it is a safer retreat both from hunters and fire. the peccary is easily distinguished from the other forest animals by his rounded, hog-like form, and long, sharp snout. although pig-shaped, he is extremely active and light in his movements. the absence of a tail-- for that member is represented only by a very small protuberance or "knob"--imparts a character of lightness to his body. his jaws are those of the hog, and a single pair of tusks, protruding near the angles of the mouth, gives him a fierce and dangerous aspect. these tusks are seen in the old males or "boars." the ears are short, and almost buried in the long harsh hairs or bristles that cover the whole body, but which are much longer on the back. these, when erected or thrown forward--as is the case when the peccary is incensed--have the appearance of a stiff mane rising all along the neck, shoulders, and spine. at such times, indeed, the rigid, bristling coat over the whole body gives somewhat of a porcupine appearance to the animal. the peccary, as already stated, is gregarious. they wander in droves of twenty, or sometimes more. this, however, is only in the winter. in the season of love, and during the period of gestation, they are met with only in pairs--a male and female. they are very true to each other, and keep close together. the female produces two young at a litter. these are of a reddish-brown colour, and at first not larger than young puppies; but they are soon able to follow the mother through the woods; and then the "family party" usually consists of four. later in the season, several of these families unite, and remain together, partly perhaps from having met by accident, and partly for mutual protection; for whenever one of their number is attacked, all the drove takes part against the assailant, whether he be hunter, cougar, or lynx. as they use both their teeth, tusks, and sharp fore-hoofs with rapidity and effect, they become a formidable and dangerous enemy. the cougar is often killed and torn to pieces by a drove of peccaries, that he has been imprudent enough to attack. indeed, this fierce creature will not often meddle with the peccaries when he sees them in large numbers. he attacks only single ones; but their "grunting," which can be heard to the distance of nearly a mile, summons the rest, and he is surrounded before he is aware of it, and seized by as many as can get around him. the texan hunter, if afoot, will not dare to disturb a drove of peccaries. even when mounted, unless the woods be open, he will pass them by without rousing their resentment. but, for all this, the animal is hunted by the settlers, and hundreds are killed annually. their ravages committed upon the corn-fields make them many enemies, who go after them with a desire for wholesale slaughter. hounds are employed to track the peccary and bring it to bay, when the hunters ride up and finish the chase by their unerring rifles. a flock of peccaries, when pursued, will sometimes take shelter in a cave or cleft of the rocks, one of their number standing ready at the mouth. when this one is shot by the hunter, another will immediately rush out and take its place. this too being destroyed, will be replaced by a third, and so on until the whole drove has fallen. should the hounds attack the peccary while by themselves, and without the aid and encouragement of the hunter, they are sure to be "routed," and some of their number destroyed. indeed, this little creature, of not more than two feet in length, is a match for the stoutest bull-dog! i have myself seen a peccary (a caged one, too)--that had killed no less than six dogs of bull and mastiff breed--all of them considered fighting dogs of first-rate reputation. the kentuckian had a peccary adventure which had occurred to him while on an excursion to the new settlements of texas. "it was my first introduction to these animals," began he, "and i am not likely soon to forget it. it gave me, among the frontier settlers of texas, the reputation of a `mighty hunter,' though how far i deserved that name you may judge for yourselves. "i was for some weeks the guest of a farmer or `planter,' who lived upon the trinity bottom. we had been out in the `timber' several times, and had filled both bear, deer, and turkeys, but had not yet had the luck to fall in with the peccary, although we never went abroad without seeing their tracks, or some other indications of what my friend termed `peccary sign.' the truth is, that these animals possess the sense of smell in the keenest degree; and they are usually hidden long before the hunter can see them or come near them. as we had gone without dogs, of course we were not likely to discover which of the nine hundred and ninety-nine hollow logs passed in a day, was the precise one in which the peccaries had taken shelter. "i had grown very curious about these creatures. bear i had often hunted--deer i had driven; and turkeys i had both trapped and shot. but i had never yet killed a peccary; in fact, had never seen one. i was therefore very desirous of adding the tusk of one of these wild boars to my trophies of the chase. "my desire was gratified sooner than i expected, and to an extent i had never dreamt of; for in one morning--before tasting my breakfast--i caused no less than nineteen of these animals to utter their last squeak! but i shall give the details of this `feat' as they happened. "it was in the autumn season--the most beautiful season of the forest-- when the frondage obtains its tints of gold, orange, and purple. i was abed in the house of my friend, but was awakened out of my sleep by the `gobbling' of wild turkeys that sounded close to the place. "although there was not a window in my room, the yellow beams streaming in through the chinks of the log wall told me that it was after `sun-up.' "i arose, drew on my garments and hunting-habiliments, took my rifle, and stole out. i said nothing to any one, as there was no one--neither `nigger' nor white man--to be seen stirring about the place. i wanted to steal a march upon my friend, and show him how smart i was by bagging a fat young `gobbler' for breakfast. "as soon as i had got round the house, i saw the turkeys--a large `gang' of them. they were out in an old corn-field, feeding upon such of the seeds as had been dropped in the corn-gathering. they were too far off for my gun to reach them, and i entered among the corn-stalks to get near them. "i soon perceived that they were feeding towards the woods, and that they were likely to enter them at a certain point. could i only reach that point before them, reflected i, i should be sure of a fair shot. i had only to go back to the house and keep around the edge of the field, where there happened to be some `cover.' in this way i should be sure to `head' them--that is, could i but reach the woods in time. "i lost not a moment in setting out; and, running most of the way, i reached the desired point. "i was now about a mile from my friend's house--for the corn-field was a very large one--such as you may only see in the great plantations of the far western world. i saw that i had `headed' the turkeys, with some time to spare; and choosing a convenient log, i sat down to await their coming. i placed myself in such a situation that i was completely hidden by the broad green leaves of some bushy trees that grew over the log. "i had not been in that position over a minute i should think, when a slight rustling among the leaves attracted my attention. i looked, and saw issuing from under the rubbish the long body of a snake. as yet, i could not see its tail, which was hidden by the grass; but the form of the head and the peculiar chevron-like markings of the body, convinced me it was the `banded rattle-snake.' it was slowly gliding out into some open ground, with the intention of crossing to a thicket upon the other side. i had disturbed it from the log, where it had no doubt been sunning itself; and it was now making away from me. "my first thought was to follow the hideous reptile, and kill it; but reflecting that if i did so i should expose myself to the view of the turkeys, i concluded to remain where i was, and let it escape. "i watched it slowly drawing itself along--for this species makes but slow progress--until it was near the middle of the glade, when i again turned my attention to the birds that had now advanced almost within range of my gun. "i was just getting ready to fire, when a strange noise, like the grunt of a small pig, sounded in my ears from the glade, and again caused me to look in that direction. as i did so, my eyes fell upon a curious little animal just emerging from the bushes. its long, sharp snout--its pig-like form--the absence of a tail--the high rump, and whitish band along the shoulders, were all marks of description which i remembered. the animal could be no other than a peccary. "as i gazed upon it with curious eyes, another emerged from the bushes, and then another, and another, until a good-sized drove of them were in sight. "the rattle-snake, on seeing the first one, had laid his head flat upon the ground; and evidently terrified, was endeavouring to conceal himself in the grass. but it was a smooth piece of turf, and he did not succeed. the peccary had already espied him; and upon the instant his hinder parts were raised to their full height, his mane became rigid, and the hair over his whole body stood erect, radiating on all sides outwards. the appearance of the creature was changed in an instant, and i could perceive that the air was becoming impregnated with a disagreeable odour, which the incensed animal emitted from its dorsal gland. without stopping longer than a moment, he rushed forward, until he stood within three feet of the body of the snake. "the latter, seeing he could no longer conceal himself, threw himself into a coil, and stood upon his defence. his eyes glared with a fiery lustre: the skir-r-r of his rattles could be heard almost incessantly; while with his upraised head he struck repeatedly in the direction of his enemy. "these demonstrations brought the whole drove of peccaries to the spot, and in a moment a circle of them had formed around the reptile, that did not know which to strike at, but kept launching out its head recklessly in all directions. the peccaries stood with their backs highly arched and their feet drawn up together, like so many angry cats, threatening and uttering shrill grunts. then one of them, i think the first that had appeared, rose suddenly into the air, and with his four hoofs held close together, came pounce down upon the coiled body of the snake. another followed in a similar manner, and another, and another, until i could see the long carcase of the reptile unfolded, and writhing over the ground. "after a short while it lay still, crushed beneath their feet. the whole squad then seized it in their teeth, and tearing it to pieces, devoured it almost instantaneously. "from the moment the peccaries had appeared in sight, i had given up all thoughts about the turkeys. i had resolved to send my leaden messenger in quite a different direction. turkeys i could have at almost any time; but it was not every day that peccaries appeared. so i `slewed' myself round upon the log, raised my rifle cautiously, `marked' the biggest `boar' i could see in the drove, and fired. "i heard the boar squeak (so did all of them), and saw him fall over, either killed or badly wounded. but i had little time to tell which, for the smoke had hardly cleared out of my eyes, when i perceived the whole gang of peccaries, instead of running away, as i had expected, coming full tilt towards me. "in a moment i was surrounded by a dark mass of angry creatures, leaping wildly at my legs, uttering shrill grunts, and making their teeth crack like castanets. "i ran for the highest part of the log, but this proved no security. the peccaries leaped upon it, and followed. i struck with the butt of my clubbed gun, and knocked them off; but again they surrounded me, leaping upward and snapping at my legs, until hardly a shred remained of my trousers. "i saw that i was in extreme peril, and put forth all my energies. i swept my gun wildly around me; but where one of the fierce brutes was knocked over, another leaped into his place, as determined as he. still i had no help for it, and i shouted at the top of my voice, all the while battling with desperation. "i still kept upon the highest point of the log, as there they could not all come around me at once; and i saw that i could thus better defend myself. but even with this advantage, the assaults of the animals were so incessant, and my exertions in keeping them off so continuous, that i was in danger of falling into their jaws from very exhaustion. "i was growing weak and wearied--i was beginning to despair for my life--when on winding my gun over my head in order to give force to my blows, i felt it strike against something behind me. it was the branch of a tree, that stretched over the spot where i was standing. "a new thought came suddenly into my mind. could i climb the tree? i knew that they could not, and in the tree i should be safe. "i looked upward; the branch was within reach. i seized upon it and brought it nearer. i drew a long breath, and with all the strength that remained in my body sprang upward. "i succeeded in getting upon the limb, and the next moment i had crawled along it, and sat close in by the trunk. i breathed freely--i was safe. "it was some time before i thought of anything else than resting myself. i remained a full half-hour before i moved in my perch. occasionally i looked down at my late tormentors. i saw that instead of going off, they were still there. they ran around the root of the tree, leaping up against its trunk, and tearing the bark with their teeth. they kept constantly uttering their shrill, disagreeable grunts; and the odour, resembling the smell of musk and garlic, which they emitted from their dorsal glands, almost stifled me. i saw that they showed no disposition to retire, but, on the contrary, were determined to make me stand siege. "now and then they passed out to where their dead comrade lay upon the grass, but this seemed only to bind their resolution the faster, for they always returned again, grunting as fiercely as ever. "i had hopes that my friend would be up by this time, and would come to my rescue; but it was not likely neither, as he would not `miss' me until i had remained long enough to make my absence seem strange. as it was, that would not be until after night, or perhaps far in the next day. it was no unusual thing for me to wander off with my gun, and be gone for a period of at least twenty hours. "i sat for hours on my painful perch--now looking down at the spiteful creatures beneath--now bending my eyes across the great corn-field, in hopes of seeing some one. at times the idea crossed my mind, that even upon the morrow i might not be missed! "i might perish with hunger, with thirst--i was suffering from both at the moment--or even if i kept alive, i might become so weak as not to be able to hold on to the tree. my seat was far from being an easy one. the tree was small--the branch was slender. it was already cutting into my thighs. i might, in my feebleness, be compelled to let it go, and then--. "these reflections were terrible; and as they came across my mind, i shouted to the highest pitch of my voice, hoping i should be heard. "up to this time i had not thought of using my gun, although clinging to it instinctively. i had brought it with me into the tree. it now occurred to me to fire it, in hopes that my friend or some one might hear the report. "i balanced myself on the branch as well as i could, and loaded it with powder. i was about to fire it off in the air, when it appeared to me that i might just as well reduce the number of my enemies. i therefore rammed down a ball, took aim at the forehead of one, and knocked him over. "another idea now arose in my mind, and that was, that i might serve the whole gang as i had done this one. his fall had not frightened them in the least; they only came nearer, throwing up their snouts and uttering their shrill notes--thus giving me a better chance of hitting them. "i repeated the loading and firing. another enemy the less. "hope began to return. i counted my bullets, and held my horn up to the sun. there were over twenty bullets, and powder sufficient. i counted the peccaries. sixteen still lived, with three that i had done for. "i again loaded and fired--loaded and fired--loaded and fired. i aimed so carefully each time, that out of all i missed only one shot. "when the firing ceased, i dropped down from my perch in the midst of a scene that resembled a great slaughter-yard. nineteen of the creatures lay dead around the tree, and the ground was saturated with their blood! "the voice of my friend at this moment sounded in my ears, and turning, i beheld him standing, with hands uplifted and eyes as large as saucers. "the `feat' was soon reported through the settlement, and i was looked upon for the time as the greatest hunter in the `trinity bottom.'" chapter sixteen. a duck-shooting adventure. during our next day's journey we again fell in with flocks of the wild pigeon, and our stock was renewed. we were very glad of this, as we were getting tired of the dry salt bacon, and another "pot-pie" from lanty's _cuisine_ was quite welcome. the subject of the pigeons was exhausted, and we talked no more about them. ducks were upon the table in a double sense, for during the march we had fallen in with a brood of the beautiful little summer ducks (_anas sponsa_), and had succeeded in shooting several of them. these little creatures, however, did not occupy our attention, but the far more celebrated species known as the "canvas-back" (_anas vallisneria_). of the two dozen species of american wild-ducks, none has a wider celebrity than that known as the canvas-back; even the eider-duck is less thought of, as the americans care little for beds of down. but the juicy, fine-flavoured flesh of the canvas-back is esteemed by all classes of people; and epicures prize it above that of all other winged creatures, with the exception, perhaps, of the reed-bird or rice-hunting, and the prairie-hen. these last enjoy a celebrity almost if not altogether equal. the prairie-hen, however, is the _bon morceau_ of western epicures; while the canvas-back is only to be found in the great cities of the atlantic. the reed-bird--in the west indies called "ortolan"--is also found in the same markets with the canvas-back. the flesh of all three of these birds--although the birds themselves are of widely-different families--is really of the most delicious kind; it would be hard to say which of them is the greatest favourite. the canvas-back is not a large duck, rarely exceeding three pounds in weight. its colour is very similar to the pochard of europe: its head is a uniform deep chestnut, its breast black; while the back and upper parts of the wings present a surface of bluish-grey, so lined and mottled as to resemble--though very slightly--the texture of canvas: hence the trivial name of the bird. like most of the water-birds of america, the canvas-back is migratory. it proceeds in spring to the cold countries of the hudson's bay territory, and returns southward in october, appearing in immense flocks along the atlantic shores. it does not spread over the fresh-water lakes of the united states, but confines itself to three or four well-known haunts, the principal of which is the great chesapeake bay. this preference for the chesapeake bay is easily accounted for, as here its favourite food is found in the greatest abundance. hound the mouths of the rivers that run into this bay, there are extensive shoals of brackish water; these favour the growth of a certain plant of the genus _vallisneria_--a grass-like plant, standing several feet out of the water, with deep green leaves, and stems, and having a white and tender root. on this root, which is of such a character as to have given the plant, the trivial name of "wild celery," the canvas-back feeds exclusively; for wherever it is not to be found, neither does the bird make its appearance. diving for it, and bringing it up in its bill, the canvas-back readily breaks off the long lanceolate leaves, which float off, either to be eaten by another species--the pochard--or to form immense banks of wrack, that are thrown up against the adjacent shores. it is to the roots of the wild celery that the flesh of the canvas-back owes its esteemed flavour, causing it to be in such demand that very often a pair of these ducks will bring three dollars in the markets of new york and philadelphia. when the finest turkey can be had for less than a third of that sum, some idea may be formed of the superior estimation in which the web-footed favourites are held. of course, shooting the canvas-back duck is extensively practised, not only as an amusement, but as a professional occupation. various means are employed to slaughter these birds: decoys by means of dogs, duck boats armed with guns that resemble infernal-machines, and disguises of every possible kind. the birds themselves are extremely shy; and a shot at them is only obtained by great ingenuity, and after considerable dodging. they are excellent divers; and when only wounded, almost always make good their escape. their shyness is overcome by their curiosity. a dog placed upon the shore, near where they happen to be, and trained to run backwards and forwards, will almost always seduce them within shot. should the dog himself not succeed, a red rag wrapped around his body, or tied to his tail, will generally bring about the desired result. there are times, however, when the ducks have been much shot at, that even this decoy fails of success. on account of the high price the canvas-backs bring in the market, they are pursued by the hunters with great assiduity, and are looked upon as a source of much profit. so important has this been considered, that in the international treaties between the states bordering upon the chesapeake, there are several clauses or articles relating to them that limit the right of shooting to certain parties. an infringement of this right, some three or four years ago, led to serious collisions between the gunners of philadelphia and baltimore. so far was the dispute carried, that schooners armed, and filled with armed men, cruised for some time on the waters of the chesapeake, and all the initiatory steps of a little war were taken by both parties. the interference of the general government prevented what would have proved, had it been left to itself, a very sanguinary affair. it so chanced that i had met with a rather singular adventure while duck-shooting on the chesapeake bay, and the story was related thus: "i was staying for some days at the house of a friend--a planter--who lived near the mouth of a small river that runs into the chesapeake. i felt inclined to have a shot at the far-famed canvas-backs. i had often eaten of these birds, but had novel shot one, or even seen them in their natural _habitat_. i was, therefore, anxious to try my hand upon them, and i accordingly set out one morning for that purpose. "my friend lived upon the bank of the river, some distance above tide-water. as the wild celery grows only in brackish water--that is, neither in the salt sea itself nor yet in the fresh-water rivers--i had to pass down the little stream a mile or more before i came to the proper place for finding the ducks. i went in a small skiff, with no other companion than an ill-favoured cur-dog, with which i had been furnished, and which was represented to me as one of the best `duck-dogs' in the country. "my friend having business elsewhere, unfortunately could not upon that day give me his company; but i knew something of the place, and being _au fait_ in most of the dodges of duck-hunting, i fancied i was quite able to take care of myself. "floating and rowing by turns, i soon came in sight of the bay and the wild celery fields, and also of flocks of water-fowl of different species, among which i could recognise the pochards, the canvas-backs, and the common american widgeon. "seeking a convenient place near the mouth of the stream, i landed; and, tying the skiff to some weeds, proceeded in search of a cover. this was soon found--some bushes favoured me; and having taken my position, i set the dog to his work. the brute, however, took but little notice of my words and gestures of encouragement, i fancied that he had a wild and frightened look, but i attributed this to my being partially a stranger to him; and was in hopes that, as soon as we became better acquainted, he would work in a different manner. "i was disappointed, however, as, do what i might, he would not go near the water, nor would he perform the trick of running to and fro which i had been assured by my friend he would be certain to do. on the contrary, he cowered among the bushes, near where i had stationed myself, and seemed unwilling to move out of them. two or three times, when i dragged him forward, and motioned him toward the water, he rushed back again, and ran under the brushwood. "i was exceedingly provoked with this conduct of the dog, the more so that a flock of canvas-backs, consisting of several thousands, was seated upon the water not more than half a mile from the shore. had my dog done his duty, i have no doubt they might have been brought within range; and, calculating upon this, i had made sure of a noble shot. my expectations, however, were defeated by the waywardness of the dog, and i saw there was no hope of doing anything with him. "having arrived at this conclusion, after some hours spent to no purpose, i rose from my cover, and marched back to the skiff. i did not even motion the wretched cur to follow me; and i should have rowed off without him, risking the chances of my friend's displeasure, but it pleased the animal himself to trot after me without invitation, and, on arriving at the boat, to leap voluntarily into it. "i was really so provoked with the brute, that i felt much inclined to pitch him out, again. my vexation, however, gradually left me; and i stood up in the skiff, turning over in my mind what course i should pursue next. "i looked toward the flock of canvas-backs. it, was a tantalising sight. they sat upon the water as light as corks, and as close together as sportsman could desire for a shot. a well-aimed discharge could not have failed to kill a score of them at least. "was there no way of approaching them? this question i had put to myself for the twentieth time without being able to answer it to my satisfaction. "an idea at length flitted across my brain. i had often approached common mallards by concealing my boat under branches or furze, and then floating down upon them, impelled either by the wind or the current of a stream. might not this also succeed with the canvas-backs? "i resolved upon making the experiment. the flock was in a position to enable me to do so. they were to the leeward of a sedge of the _vallisneria_. the wind would carry my skiff through this; and the green bushes with which i intended to disguise it would not be distinguished from the sedge, which was also green. "the thing was feasible. i deemed it so. i set about cutting some leafy branches that grew near, and trying them along the gunwales of my little craft. in less than half an hour, i pushed her from the shore; and no one at a distance would have taken her for aught else than a floating raft of brushwood. "i now pulled quietly out until i had got exactly to windward of the ducks, at about half a mile's distance from the edge of the flock. i then took in the paddles, and permitted the skiff to glide before the wind. i took the precaution to place myself in such a manner that i was completely hidden, while through the branches i commanded a view of the surface on any side i might wish to look. "the bushes acted as a sail, and i was soon drifted down among the plants of the wild celery. i feared that this might stay my progress, as the breeze was light, and might not carry me through. but the sward, contrary to what is usual, was thin at the place where the skiff had entered, and i felt, to my satisfaction, that i was moving, though slowly, in the right direction. "i remember that the heat annoyed me at the time. it was the month of november; but it was that peculiar season known as `indian summer', and the heat was excessive--not under degrees, i am certain. the shrubbery that encircled me prevented a breath of air from reaching my body; and the rays of the noonday sun fell almost vertically in that southern latitude, scorching me as i lay along the bottom of the boat. under other circumstances, i should not have liked to undergo such a roasting; but with the prospect of a splendid shot before me, i endured it as best i could. "the skiff was nearly an hour in pushing its way through the field of _vallisneria_, and once or twice it remained for a considerable time motionless. a stronger breeze, however, would spring up, and then the sound of the reeds rubbing the sides of the boat would gratefully admonish me that i was moving ahead. "i saw, at length, to my great gratification, that i was approaching the selvage of the sedge, and, moreover, that the flock itself was moving, as it were, to meet me! many of the birds were diving and feeding in the direction of the skiff. "i lay watching them with interest. i saw that the canvas-backs were accompanied by another species of a very different colour from themselves: this was the american widgeon. it was a curious sight to witness the constant warfare that was carried on between these two species of birds. the widgeon is but a poor diver, while the canvas-back is one of the very best. the widgeon, however, is equally fond of the roots of the wild celery with his congener; but he has no means of obtaining them except by robbing the latter. being a smaller and less powerful bird, he is not able to do this openly; and it was curious to observe the means by which he effected his purpose. it was as follows: when the canvas-back descends, he must perforce remain some moments under water. it requires time to seize hold of the plant, and pluck it up by the roots. in consequence of this, he usually reaches the surface in a state of half-blindness, holding the luscious morsel in his bill. the widgeon has observed him going down; and, calculating to a nicety the spot where he will reappear, seats himself in readiness. the moment the other emerges, and before he can fully recover his sight or his senses, the active spoliator makes a dash, seizes the celery in his horny mandibles, and makes off with it as fast as his webbed feet can propel him. the canvas-back, although chagrined at being plundered in this impudent manner, knows that pursuit would be idle, and, setting the root down as lost, draws a fresh breath, and dives for another. i noticed in the flock a continual recurrence of such scenes. "a third species of birds drew my attention. these were the pochards, or, as they are termed by the gunners of the chesapeake, `red-heads.' these creatures bear a very great resemblance to the canvas-backs, and can hardly be distinguished except by their bills: those of the former being concave along the upper surface, while the bills of the canvas-backs exhibit a nearly straight line. "i saw that the pochards did not interfere with either of the other species, contenting themselves with feeding upon what neither of the others cared for--the green leaves of the _vallisneria_, which, after being stripped of their roots, were floating in quantities on the surface of the water. yet these pochards are almost as much prized for the table as their cousins the canvas-backs; and, indeed, i have since learnt that they are often put off for the latter by the poulterers of new york and philadelphia. those who would buy a real canvas-back should know something of natural history. the form and colour of the bill would serve as a criterion to prevent their being deceived. in the pochard, the bill is of a bluish colour; that of the canvas-back is dark green; moreover, the eye of the pochard is yellow, while that of its congener is fiery red. "i was gratified in perceiving that i had at last drifted within range of a thick clump of the ducks. nothing now remained but to poke my gun noiselessly through the bushes, set the cocks of both barrels, take aim, and fire. "it was my intention to follow the usual plan--that is, fire one barrel at the birds while sitting, and give them the second as they rose upon the wing. this intention was carried out the moment after; and i had the gratification of seeing some fifteen or twenty ducks strewed over the water, at my service. the rest of the flock rose into the heavens, and the clapping of their wings filled the air with a noise that resembled thunder. "i say that there appeared to have been fifteen or twenty killed; how many i never knew: i never laid my hands upon a single bird of them. i became differently occupied, and with a matter that soon drove canvas-backs, and widgeons, and pochards as clean out of my head as if no such creatures had ever existed. "while drifting through the sedge, my attention had several times been attracted by what appeared to be strange conduct on the part of my canine companion. he lay cowering in the bottom of the boat near the bow, and half covered by the bushes; but every now and then he would start to his feet, look wildly around, utter a strange whimpering, and then resume his crouching attitude. i noticed, moreover, that at intervals he trembled as if he was about to shake out his teeth. all this had caused me wonder--nothing more. i was too much occupied in watching the game, to speculate upon causes; i believed, if i formed any belief on the subject, that these manoeuvres were caused by fear; that the cur had never been to sea, and that he was now either sea-sick or sea-scared. "this explanation had hitherto satisfied me, and i had thought no more upon the matter. i had scarcely delivered my second barrel, however, when my attention was anew attracted to the dog; and this time was so arrested, that in one half-second i thought of nothing else. the animal had arisen, and stood within three feet of me, whining hideously. his eyes glared upon me with a wild and unnatural expression, his tongue lolled out, and saliva fell copiously from his lips. _the dog was mad_! "i saw that the dog was mad, as certainly as i saw the dog. i had seen mad dogs before, and knew the symptoms well. it was hydrophobia of the most dangerous character. "fear, quick and sudden, came over me. fear is a tame word; horror i should call it; and the phrase would not be too strong to express my sensations at that moment. i knew myself to be in a situation of extreme peril, and i saw not the way out of it. death--death painful and horrid--appeared to be nigh, appeared to confront me, glaring from out the eyes of the hideous brute. "instinct had caused me to put myself in an attitude of defence. my first instinct was a false one. i raised my gun, at the same moment manipulating the lock, with the design of cocking her. in the confusion of terror, i had even forgotten that both barrels were empty, that i had just scattered their contents in the sea. "i thought of re-loading; but a movement of the dog towards me showed that that would be a dangerous experiment; and a third thought or instinct directed me to turn the piece in my hand, and defend myself, if necessary, with the butt. this instinct was instantly obeyed, and in a second's time i held the piece clubbed and ready to strike. "i had retreated backward until i stood in the stern of the skiff. the dog had hitherto lain close up to the bow, but after the shots, he had sprung up and taken a position nearer the centre of the boat. in fact, he had been within biting distance of me before i had noticed his madness. the position into which i had thus half involuntarily thrown myself, offered me but a trifling security. "any one who has ever rowed an american skiff will remember that these little vessels are `crank' to an extreme degree. although boat-shaped above, they are without keels, and a rude step will turn them bottom upward in an instant. even to stand upright in them, requires careful balancing; but to fight a mad dog in one without being bitten, would require the skill and adroitness of an acrobat. with all my caution, as i half stood, half crouched in the stern, the skiff rocked from side to side, and i was in danger of being pitched out. should the dog spring at me, i knew that any violent exertion to fend him off would either cause me to be precipitated into the water, or would upset the boat--a still more dreadful alternative. "these thoughts did not occupy half the time i have taken to describe them. short, however, as that time was in actual duration, to me it seemed long enough, for the dog still held a threatening attitude, his forepaws resting upon one of the seats, while his eyes continued to glare upon me with a wild and uncertain expression. "i remained for some moments in fearful suspense. i was half paralysed with terror, and uncertain what action it would be best to take. i feared that any movement would attract the fierce animal, and be the signal for him to spring upon me. i thought of jumping out of the skiff into the water. i could not wade in it. it was shallow enough--not over five feet in depth, but the bottom appeared to be of soft mud. i might sink another foot in the mud. no; i could not have waded. the idea was dismissed. "to swim to the shore? i glanced sideways in that direction: it was nearly half a mile distant. i could never reach it, cumbered with my clothes. to have stripped these off, would have tempted the attack. even could i have done so, might not the dog follow and seize me in the water? a horrible thought! "i abandoned all hope of escape, at least that might arise from any active measures on my part. i could do nothing to save myself; my only hope lay in passively awaiting the result. "impressed with this idea, i remained motionless as a statue; i moved neither hand nor foot from the attitude i had first assumed; i scarcely permitted myself to breathe, so much did i dread attracting the farther attention of my terrible companion, and interrupting the neutrality that existed. "for some minutes--they seemed hours--this state of affairs continued. the dog still stood up, with his forepaws raised upon the bench; the oars were among his feet. in this position he remained, gazing wildly, though it did not appear to me steadily, in my face. several times i thought he was about to spring on me; and, although i carefully avoided making any movement, i instinctively grasped my gun with a firmer hold. to add to my embarrassment, i saw that i was fast drifting seaward! the wind was from the shore; it was impelling the boat with considerable velocity, in consequence of the mass of bushes acting as sails. already it had cleared the sedge, and was floating out in open water. to my dismay, at less than a mile's distance, i descried a line of breakers! "a side-glance was sufficient to convince me, that unless the skiff was checked, she would drift upon these in the space of ten minutes. "a fearful alternative now presented itself: i must either drive the dog from the oars, or allow the skiff to be swamped among the breakers. the latter would be certain death, the former offered a chance for life; and, nerving myself with the palpable necessity for action, i instantly resolved to make the attack. "whether the dog had read my intention in my eyes; or observed my fingers taking a firmer clutch of my gun, i know not, but at this moment he seemed to evince sudden fear, and, dropping down from the seat, he ran backward to the bow, and cowered there as before. "my first impulse was to get hold of the oars, for the roar of the breakers already filled my ears. a better idea suggested itself immediately after, and that was to load my gun. this was a delicate business, but i set about it with all the caution i could command. "i kept my eyes fixed upon the animal, and _felt_ the powder, the wadding, and the shot, into the muzzle. i succeeded in loading one barrel, and fixing the cap. "as i had now something upon which i could rely, i proceeded with more confidence, and loaded the second barrel with greater care, the dog eyeing me all the while. had madness not obscured his intelligence, he would no doubt have interrupted my manipulations; as it was, he remained still until both barrels were loaded, capped, and cocked. "i had no time to spare; the breakers were nigh; their hoarse `sough' warned me of their perilous proximity; a minute more, and the little skiff would be dancing among them like a shell, or sunk for ever. "not a moment was to be lost, and yet i had to proceed with caution. i dared not raise the gun to my shoulder--i dared not glance along the barrels: the manoeuvre might rouse the dangerous brute. "i held the piece low, slanting along my thighs. i guided the barrels with my mind, and, feeling the direction to be true, i fired. "i scarcely heard the report, on account of the roaring of the sea; but i saw the dog roll over, kicking violently. i saw a livid patch over his ribs, where the shot had entered in a clump. this would no doubt have proved sufficient; but to make sure, i raised the gun to my shoulder, took aim, and sent the contents of the second barrel through the ribs of the miserable brute. his kicking ended almost instantly, and he lay dead in the bottom of the boat. "i dropped my gun and flew to the oars: it was a close `shave;' the skiff was already in white water, and dancing like a feather; but with a few strokes i succeeded in backing her out, and then heading her away from the breakers, i pulled in a direct line for the shore. "i thought not of my canvas-backs--they had floated by this time, i neither knew nor cared whither: the sharks might have them for me. my only care was to get away from the scene as quickly as possible, determined never again to go duck-shooting with a cur for my companion." chapter seventeen. hunting the vicuna. during our next day's march the only incident that befel us was the breaking of our waggon-tongue, which delayed our journey. there was plenty of good hickory-wood near the place, and jake, with a little help from redwood and ike and lanty, soon spliced it again, making it stronger than ever. of course it shortened our journey for the day, and we encamped at the end of a ten miles' march. strange to say, on the whole ten miles we did not meet with a single animal to give us a little sport, or to form the subject of our camp talk. we were not without a subject, however, as our english friend proposed giving us an account of the mode of hunting the vicuna, and the details of a week's hunting he had enjoyed upon the high table-lands of the peruvian andes. he also imparted to our camp-fire circle much information about the different species of that celebrated animal the llama or "camel-sheep" of peru, which proved extremely interesting, not only to the old hunter-naturalist, but to the "mountain-men," to whom this species of game, as well as the mode of hunting it, was something new. thompson began his narrative as follows:--"when pizarro and his spaniards first climbed the peruvian andes, they were astonished at seeing a new and singular species of quadrupeds, the camel-sheep, so called from their resemblance to these two kinds of animals. they saw the `llama' domesticated and trained to carrying burdens, and the `alpaca,' a smaller species, reared on account of its valuable fleece. "but there were still two other species of these odd animals only observed in a wild state, and in the more desolate and uninhabited parts of the cordilleras. these were the `guanaco' and `vicuna.' "up to a very late period the guanaco was believed to be the llama in its wild state, and by some the llama run wild. this, however, is not the case. the four species, llama, alpaca, guanaco, and vicuna as quite distinct from each other, and although the guanaco can be tamed and taught to carry burdens, its labour is not of sufficient value to render this worth while. the alpaca is never used as a beast of burden. its fleece is the consideration for which it is domesticated and reared, and its wool is much finer and more valuable than that of the llama. "the guanaco is, perhaps, the least prized of the four, as its fleece is of indifferent quality, and its flesh is not esteemed. the vicuna, on the contrary, yields a wool which is eagerly sought after, and which in the andes towns will sell for at least five times its weight in alpaca wool. ponchos woven out of it are deemed the finest made, and command the fabulous price of pounds or pounds sterling. a rich proprietor in the cordilleras is often seen with such a poncho, and the quality of the garment, the length of time it will turn rain, etcetera, are favourite subjects of conversation with the wearers of them. of course everybody in those parts possesses one, as everybody in england or the united states must have a great coat; but the ponchos of the poorer classes of peruvians--the indian labourers, shepherds, and miners--are usually manufactured out of the coarse wool of the llama. only the `ricos' can afford the beautiful fabric of the vicuna's fleece. "the wool of the vicuna being so much in demand, it will be easily conceived that hunting the animal is a profitable pursuit; and so it is. in many parts of the andes there are regular vicuna hunters, while, in other places, whole tribes of peruvian indians spend a part of every year in the chase of this animal and the guanaco. when we go farther south, in the direction of patagonia, we find other tribes who subsist principally upon the guanaco, the vicuna, and the rhea or south-american ostrich. "hunting the vicuna is by no means an easy calling. the hunter must betake himself to the highest and coldest regions of the andes--far from civilised life, and far from its comforts. he has to encamp in the open air, and sleep in a cave or a rude hut, built by his own hands. he has to endure a climate as severe as a lapland winter, often in places where not a stick of wood can be procured, and where he is compelled to cook his meals with the dry ordure of wild cattle. "if not successful in the chase he is brought to the verge of starvation, and must have recourse to roots and berries--a few species of which, such as the tuberous root `maca,' are found growing in these elevated regions. he is exposed, moreover, to the perils of the precipice, the creaking `soga' bridge, the slippery path, and the hoarse rushing torrent--and these among the rugged cordilleras of the andes are no mean dangers. a life of toil, exposure, and peril is that of the vicuna hunter. "during my travels in peru i had resolved to enjoy the sport of hunting the vicuna. for this purpose i set out from one of the towns of the lower sierra, and climbed up the high region known as the `puna,' or sometimes as the `despoblado' (the uninhabited region). "i reached at length the edge of a plain to which i had mounted by many a weary path--up many a dark ravine. i was twelve or fourteen thousand feet above sea level, and although i had just parted from the land of the palm-tree and the orange, i was now in a region cold and sterile. mountains were before and around me--some bleak and dark, others shining under a robe of snow, and still others of that greyish hue as if snow had freshly fallen upon them, but not enough to cover their stony surface. the plain before me was several miles in circumference. it was only part of a system of similar levels separated from each other by spurs of the mountains. by crossing a ridge another comes in view, a deep cleft leads you into a third, and so on. "these table plains are too cold for the agriculturist. only the cereal barley will grow there, and some of those hardy roots--the natives of an arctic zone. but they are covered with a sward of grass--the `ycha' grass, the favourite food of the llamas--and this renders them serviceable to man. herds of half-wild cattle may be seen, tended by their wilder-looking shepherds. flocks of alpacas, female llamas with their young, and long-tailed peruvian sheep, stray over them, and to some extent relieve their cheerless aspect. the giant vulture--the condor, wheels above all, or perches on the jutting rock. here and there, in some sheltered nook, may be seen the dark mud hut of the `vaquero' (cattle herd), or the man himself, with his troop of savage curs following at his heels, and this is all the sign of habitation or inhabitant to be met with for hundreds of miles. this bleak land, up among the mountain tops of the andes, as i have already said, is called the `puna.' "the puna is the favourite haunt of the vicuna, and, of course, the home of the vicuna hunter. i had directions to find one of these hunters, and an introduction to him when found, and after spending the night at a shepherd's hut, i proceeded next morning in search of him--some ten miles farther into the mountains. "i arrived at the house, or rather hovel, at an early hour. notwithstanding, my host had been abroad, and was just returned with full hands, having a large bundle of dead animals in each. they were chinchillas and viscachas, which he had taken out of his snares set overnight. he said that most of them had been freshly caught, as their favourite time of coming out of their dens to feed is just before daybreak. "these two kinds of animals, which in many respects resemble our rabbits, also resemble each other in habits. they make their nests in crevices of the rocks, to which they retreat, when pursued, as rabbits to their burrows. of course, they are snared in a very similar manner-- by setting the snares upon, their tracks, and at the entrances to their holes. one difference i noted. the peruvian hunter used snares made of twisted horse-hair, instead of the spring wire employed by our gamekeepers and poachers. the chinchilla is a much more beautiful creature than the viscacha, and is a better-known animal, its soft and beautifully-marbled fur being an article of fashionable wear in the cities of europe. "as i approached his hut, the hunter had just arrived with the night's produce of his snares, and was hanging them up to the side of the building, skinning them one by one. not less than half a score of small, foxy-looking dogs were around him--true native dogs of the country. "of the disposition of these creatures i was soon made aware. no sooner had they espied me, than with angry yelps the whole pack ran forward to meet me, and came barking and grinning close around the feet of my horse. several of them sprang upward at my legs, and would, no doubt, have bitten them, had i not suddenly raised my feet up to the withers, and for some time held them in that position. i have no hesitation in saying that had i been afoot, i should have been badly torn by the curs; nor do i hesitate to say, that of all the dogs in the known world, these peruvian mountain dogs are the most vicious and spiteful. they will bite even the friends of their own masters, and very often their masters themselves have to use the stick to keep them in subjection. i believe the dogs found among many tribes of your north-american indians have a very similar disposition, though by no means to compare in fierceness and savage nature with their cousins of the cold puna. "the masters of these dogs are generally indians, and it is a strange fact, that they are much more spiteful towards the whites than indians. it is difficult for a white man to get on friendly terms with them. "after a good deal of kicking and cuffing, my host succeeded in making his kennel understand that i had not come there to be eaten up. i then alighted from my horse, and walked (i should say crawled) inside the hut. "this was, as i have already stated, a mere hovel. a circular wall of mud and stone, about five feet high, supported a set of poles that served as rafters. these poles were the flower stalks of the great american aloe, or maguey-plant--the only thing resembling wood that grew near. over these was laid a thick layer of puna grass, which was tied with strong ropes of the same material, to keep it from flying off when the wind blew violently, which it there often does. a few blocks of stone in the middle of the floor constituted the fireplace, and the smoke got out the best way it could through a hole in the roof. "the owner of this mansion was a true indian, belonging to one of those tribes of the mountains that could not be said ever to have been conquered by the spaniards. living in remote districts, many of these people never submitted to the _repartimientos_, yet a sort of religious conquest was made of some of them by the missionaries, thus bringing them under the title of `indios mansos' (tame indians), in contradistinction to the `indios bravos,' or savage tribes, who remain unconquered and independent to this day. "as already stated, i had come by appointment to share the day's hunt. i was invited to partake of breakfast. my host, being a bachelor, was his own cook, and some parched maize and `macas,' with a roasted chinchilla, furnished the repast. "fortunately, i carried with me a flask of catalan brandy; and this, with a cup of water from the icy mountain spring, rendered our meal more palatable i was not without some dry tobacco, and a husk to roll it in, so that we enjoyed our cigar; but what our hunter enjoyed still more was a `coceada,' for he was a regular chewer of `coca.' he carried his pouch of chinchilla skin filled with the dried leaves of the coca plant, and around his neck was suspended the gourd bottle, filled with burnt lime and ashes of the root of the `molle' tree. "all things arranged, we started forth. it was to be a `still' hunt, and we went afoot, leaving our horses safely tied by the hut. the indian took with him only one of his dogs--a faithful and trusty one, on which, he could rely. "we skirted the plain, and struck into a defile in the mountains. it led upwards, among rocky boulders. a cold stream gurgled in its bottom, now and then leaping over low falls, and churned into foam. at times the path was a giddy one, leading along narrow ledges, rendered more perilous by the frozen snow, that lay to the depth of several inches. our object was to reach the level of a plain still higher, where my companion assured me we should be likely to happen upon a herd of vicunas. "as we climbed among the rocks, my eye was attracted by a moving object, higher up. on looking more attentively, several animals were seen, of large size, and reddish-brown colour. i took them at first for deer, as i was thinking of that animal. i saw my mistake in a moment. they were not deer, but creatures quite as nimble. they were bounding from rock to rock, and running along the narrow ledges with the agility of the chamois. these must be the vicunas, thought i. "`no,' said my companion; `guanacos--nothing more.' "i was anxious to have a shot at them. "`better leave them now,' suggested the hunter; `the report would frighten the vicunas, if they be in the plain--it is near. i know these guanacos. i know where they will retreat to--a defile close by--we can have a chance at them on our return.' "i forbore firing, though i certainly deemed the guanacos within shot, but the hunter was thinking of the more precious skin of the vicunas, and we passed on. i saw the guanacos run for a dark-looking cleft between two mountain spurs. "`we shall find them in there,' muttered my companion, `that is their haunt.' "noble game are these guanacos--large fine animals--noble game as the red deer himself. they differ much from the vicunas. they herd only in small numbers, from six to ten or a dozen: while as many as four times this number of vicunas may be seen together. there are essential points of difference in the habits of the two species. the guanacos are dwellers among the rocks, and are most at home when bounding from cliff to cliff, and ledge to ledge. they make but a poor run upon the level grassy plain, and their singular contorted hoofs seem to be adapted for their favourite haunts. the vicunas, on the contrary, prefer the smooth turf of the table plains, over which they dart with the swiftness of the deer. both are of the same family of quadrupeds, but with this very essential difference--the one is a dweller of the level plain, the other of the rocky declivity; and nature has adapted each to its respective _habitat_." here the narrator was interrupted by the hunter-naturalist, who stated that he had observed this curious fact in relation to other animals of a very different genus, and belonging to the _fauna_ of north america. "the animals i speak of," said he, "are indigenous to the region of the rocky mountains, and well-known to our trapper friends here. they are the big horn (_ovis montana_) and the prong-horned antelope (_a. furcifer_). the big horn is usually denominated a sheep, though it possesses far more of the characteristics of the deer and antelope families. like the chamois, it is a dweller among the rocky cliffs and declivities, and only there does it feel at home, and in the full enjoyment of its faculties for security. place it upon a level plain, and you deprive it of confidence, and render its capture comparatively easy. at the base of these very cliffs on which the _ovis montana_ disports itself, roams the prong-horn, not very dissimilar either in form, colour, or habits; and yet this creature, trusting to its heels for safety, feels at home and secure only on the wide open plain where it can see the horizon around it! such is the difference in the mode of life of two species of animals almost cogenerie, and i am not surprised to hear you state that a somewhat like difference exists between the guanaco and vicuna." the hunter-naturalist was again silent, and the narrator continued. "a few more strides up the mountain pass brought us to the edge of the plain, where we expected to see the vicunas. we were not disappointed. a herd was feeding upon it, though at a good distance off. a beautiful sight they were, quite equalling in grace and stateliness the lordly deer. in fact, they might have passed for the latter to an unpractised eye, particularly at that season when deer are `in the red.' indeed the vicuna is more deer-like than any other animal except the antelope--much more so than its congeners the llama, alpaca, or guanaco. its form is slender, and its gait light and agile, while the long tapering neck and head add to the resemblance. the colour, however, is peculiarly its own, and any one accustomed to seeing the vicuna can distinguish the orange-red of its silky coat at a glance, and at a great distance. so peculiar is it, that in peru the `_colour de vicuna_' (vicuna colour) has become a specific name. "my companion at once pronounced the animals before us a herd of vicunas. there were about twenty in all, and all except one were quietly feeding on the grassy plain. this one stood apart, his long neck raised high in air, and his head occasionally turning from side to side, as though he was keeping watch for the rest. such was in fact the duty he was performing; he was the leader of the herd--the patriarch, husband and father of the flock. all the others were ewes or young ones. so affirmed my companion. "the vicuna is polygamous--fights for his harem with desperate fierceness, watches over its number while they feed or sleep, chooses the ground for browsing and rest--defends them against enemies--heads them in the advance, and covers their retreat with his own `person'-- such is the domestic economy of the vicuna. "`now, senor,' said the hunter, eyeing the herd, `if i could only kill him (he pointed to the leader) i would have no trouble with the rest. i should get every one of them.' "`how?' i inquired. "`oh!--they would!--ha! the very thing i wished for!' "`what?' "`they are heading towards yonder rocks.' he pointed to a clump of rocky boulders that lay isolated near one side of the plain--`let us get there, comrade--_vamos_!' "we stole cautiously round the edge of the mountain until the rocks lay between us and the game; and then crouched forward and took our position among them. we lay behind a jagged boulder, whose seamed outline looked as if it had been designed for loop-hole firing. it was just the cover we wanted. "we peeped cautiously through the cracks of the rock. already the vicunas were near, almost within range of our pieces. i held in my hands a double-barrel, loaded in both barrels with large-sized buck-shot; my companion's weapon was a long spanish rifle. "i received his instructions in a whisper. i was not to shoot until he had fired. both were to aim at the leader. about this he was particular, and i promised obedience. "the unconscious herd drew near. the leader, with the long white silky hair hanging from his breast, was in the advance, and upon him the eyes of both of us were fixed. i could observe his glistening orbs, and his attitude of pride, as he turned at intervals to beckon his followers on. "`i hope he has got the worms,' muttered my companion; `if he has, he'll come to rub his hide upon the rocks.' "some such intention was no doubt guiding the vicuna, for at that moment it stretched forth its neck, and trotted a few paces towards us. it suddenly halted. the wind was in our favour, else we should have been scented long ago. but we were suspected. the creature halted, threw up its head, struck the ground with its hoof, and uttered a strange cry, somewhat resembling the whistling of a deer. the echo of that cry was the ring of my companion's rifle, and i saw the vicuna leap up and fall dead upon the plain. "i expected the others to break off in flight, and was about to fire at them though they were still at long range. my companion prevented me. "`hold!' he whispered, `you'll have a better chance--see there!--now, if you like, senor!' "to my surprise, the herd, instead of attempting to escape, came trotting up to where the leader lay, and commenced running around at intervals, stooping over the body, and uttering plaintive cries. "it was a touching sight, but the hunter is without pity for what he deems his lawful game. in an instant i had pulled both triggers, and both barrels had sent forth their united and deadly showers. "deadly indeed--when the smoke blew aside, nearly half of the herd were seen lying quiet or kicking on the plain. "the rest remained as before! another ring of the long rifle, and another fell--another double detonation of the heavy deer-gun, and several came to the ground; and so continued the alternate fire of bullets and shot, until the whole herd were strewn dead and dying upon the ground! "our work was done--a great day's work for my companion, who would realise nearly a hundred dollars for the produce of his day's sport. "this, however, he assured me was a very unusual piece of good luck. often for days and even weeks, he would range the mountains without killing a single head--either vicuna or guanaco, and only twice before had he succeeded in thus making a _battue_ of a whole herd. once he had approached a flock of vicunas disguised in the skin of a guanaco, and killed most of them before they thought of retreating. "it was necessary for us to return to the hut for our horses in order to carry home the game, and this required several journeys to be made. to keep off the wolves and condors my companion made use of a very simple expedient, which i believe is often used in the north--among your prairie trappers here. several bladders were taken from the vicunas and inflated. they were then tied upon poles of maguey, and set upright over the carcasses, so as to dangle and dance about in the wind. cunning as is the andes wolf this `scare' is sufficient to keep him off, as well as his ravenous associate, the condor. "it was quite night when we reached the indian hut with our last load. both of us were wearied and hungry, but a fresh vicuna cutlet, washed down by the catalan, and followed by a cigarette, made us forget our fatigues. my host was more than satisfied with his day's work, and promised me a guanaco hunt for the morrow." chapter eighteen. a chacu of vicunas. "well, upon the morrow," continued the englishman, "we had our guanaco hunt, and killed several of the herd we had seen on the previous day. there was nothing particular in regard to our mode of hunting--farther than to use all our cunning in getting within shot, and then letting fly at them. "it is not so easy getting near the guanaco. he is among the shyest game i have ever hunted, and his position is usually so far above that of the hunter, that he commands at all times a view of the movements of the latter. the over-hanging rocks, however, help one a little, and by diligent creeping he is sometimes approached. it requires a dead shot to bring him down, for, if only wounded, he will scale the cliffs, and make off--perhaps to die in some inaccessible haunt. "while sojourning with my hunter-friend, i heard of a singular method practised by the indians, of capturing the vicuna in large numbers. this was called the `chacu.' "of course i became very desirous of witnessing a `chacu,' and the hunter promised to gratify me. it was now the season of the year for such expeditions, and one was to come off in a few days. it was the annual hunt got up by the tribe to which my host belonged; and, of course, he, as a practised and professional hunter, was to bear a distinguished part in the ceremony. "the day before the expedition was to set out, we repaired to the village of the tribe--a collection of rude huts, straggling along the bottom of one of the deep clefts or valleys of the cordilleras. this village lay several thousand feet below the level of the puna plains, and was therefore in a much warmer climate. in fact, the sugar-cane and yucca plant (_jatropha mainhot_) were both seen growing in the gardens of the villagers, and indian corn flourished in the fields. "the inhabitants were `_indios mansos_' (civilised indians). they attended part of the year to agriculture, although the greater part of it was spent in idleness, amusements, or hunting. they had been converted--that is nominally--to christianity; and a church with its cross was a prominent feature of the village. "the cure, or priest, was the only white man resident in the place, and he was white only by comparison. though of pure spanish blood, he would have passed for a `coloured old gentleman' in any part of europe or the states. "my companion introduced me to the padre, and i was at once received upon terms of intimacy. to my surprise i learnt that he was to accompany the chacu--in fact to take a leading part in it. he seemed to be as much interested in the success of the hunt as any of them--more so, perhaps, and with good reason too. i afterwards learnt why. the produce of the annual hunt was part of the padre's income. by an established law, the skins of the vicunas were the property of the church, and these, being worth on the spot at least a dollar a-piece, formed no despicable tithe. after hearing this i was at no loss to understand the padre's enthusiasm about the chacu. all the day before he had been bustling about among his parishioners, aiding them with his counsel, and assisting them in their preparations. i shared the padre's dwelling, the best in the village; his supper too--a stewed fowl, killed for the occasion, and rendered fiery hot with `aji,' or capsicum. this was washed down with `chica,' and afterwards the padre and i indulged in a cigarette and a chat. "he was a genuine specimen of the south-american missionary priest; rather more scrupulous about getting his dues than about the moral welfare of his flock; fat, somewhat greasy, fond of a good dinner, a glass of `yea' brandy, and a cigarette. nevertheless, his rule was patriarchal in a high degree, and he was a favourite with the simple people among whom he dwelt. "morning came, and the expedition set forth; not, however, until a grand mass had been celebrated in the church, and prayers offered up for the success of the hunt. the cavalcade then got under weigh, and commenced winding up the rugged path that led toward the `altos,' or puna heights. we travelled in a different direction from that in which my companion and i had come. "the expedition itself was a picturesque affair. there were horses, mules, and llamas, men, women, children, and dogs; in fact, almost every living thing in the village had turned out. a chacu is no common occasion--no one day affair. it was to be an affair of weeks. there were rude tents carried along; blankets and cooking utensils; and the presence of the women was as necessary as any part of the expedition. their office would be to do the cooking, and keep the camp in order! as well as to assist in the hunt. "strung out in admirable confusion, we climbed up the mountain--a picturesque train--the men swinging along in their coloured ponchos of llama wool, and the women dressed in bright mantas of `bayeta' (a coarse cloth, of native manufacture). i noticed several mules and llamas packed with loads of a curious character. some carried large bundles of rags--others were loaded with coils of rope--while several were `freighted' with short poles, tied in bunches. i had observed these cargoes being prepared before leaving the village, and could not divine the use of them. that would no doubt be explained when we had reached the scene of the chacu, and i forbore to trouble my companions with any interrogatories, as i had enough to do to guide my horse along the slippery path we were travelling. "about a mile from the village there was a sudden halt. i inquired the cause. "`the _huaro_,' was the reply. "i knew the huaro to be the name of a peculiar kind of bridge, and i learnt that one was here to be crossed. i rode forward, and found myself in front of the huaro. a singular structure it was. i could scarcely believe in the practicability of our getting over it. the padre, however, assured me it was a good one, and we should all be on the other side in a couple of hours! "i at first felt inclined to treat this piece of information as a joke: but it proved that the priest was in earnest. it was full two hours before we were all crossed with our bag and baggage. "the huaro was nothing more than a thick, rope stretched across the chasm, and made fast at both ends. on this rope was a strong piece of wood, bent into the shape of the letter u, and fastened to a roller which rested upon the rope, and moved along it when pulled by a cord from either side. there were two cords, or ropes, attached to the roller, one leading to each side of the chasm, and their object was to drag the passenger across: of course, only one of us could be carried over at a time. no wonder we were so long in making the crossing, when there were over one hundred in all, with numerous articles of baggage. "i shall never forget the sensations i experienced in making the passage of the huaro. i had felt giddy enough in going over the `soga' bridges and `barbacoas' common throughout peru, but the passage of the huaro is really a gymnastic feat of no easy accomplishment. i was first tied, back downwards, with my back resting in the concavity of the bent wood; my legs were then crossed over the main rope--the bridge itself--with nothing to hold them there farther than my own muscular exertion. with my hands i clutched the vertical side of the wooden yoke, and was told to keep my head in as upright a position as possible. without farther ado i felt myself jerked out until i hung in empty air over a chasm that opened at least two hundred feet beneath, and through the bottom of which a white torrent was foaming over black rocks! my ankles slipped along the rope, but the sensation was so strange, that i felt several times on the point of letting them drop off. in that case my situation would have been still more painful, as i should have depended mainly on my arms for support. indeed, i held on tightly with both hands, as i fancied that the cord with which i had been tied to the yoke would every minute give way. "after a good deal of jerking and hauling, i found myself on the opposite side, and once more on my feet! "i was almost repaid for the fright i had gone through, by seeing the great fat padre pulled over. it was certainly a ludicrous sight, and i laughed the more, as i fancied the old fellow had taken occasion to laugh at me. he took it all in good part, however, telling me that it caused him no fear, as he had long been accustomed to those kind of bridges. "this slow and laborious method of crossing streams is not uncommon in many parts of the andes. it occurs in retired and thinly-populated districts, where there is no means for building bridges of regular construction. of course, the traveller himself only can be got over by the huaro. his horse, mule, or llamas must swim the stream, and in many instances these are carried off by the rapid current, or dashed against the rocks, and killed. "the whole _cavallada_ of the expedition got safely over, and in a short while we were all _en route_, once more climbing up toward the `altos.' i asked my companion why we could not have got over the stream at some other point, and thus have saved the time and labour. the answer was, that it would have cost us a twenty miles' journey to have reached a point no nearer our destination than the other end of the huaro rope! no wonder such pains had been taken to ferry the party across. "we reached the heights late in the evening. the hunt would not begin until the next day. "that evening was spent in putting up tents, and getting everything in order about the camp. the tent of the padre was conspicuous--it was the largest, and i was invited to share it with him. the horses and other animals were picketted or hoppled upon the plain, which was covered with a short brown grass. "the air was chill--cold, in fact--we were nearly three miles above ocean level. the women and youths employed themselves in collecting _taquia_ to make fires. there was plenty of this, for the plain where we had halted was a pasture of large flocks of llamas and horned cattle. it was not there we expected to fall in with the vicunas. a string of `altos,' still farther on were their favourite haunts. our first camp was sufficiently convenient to begin the hunt. it would be moved farther on when the plains in its neighbourhood had been hunted, and the game should grow scarce. "morning arrived; but before daybreak, a large party had set off, taking with them the ropes, poles, and bundles of rags i have already noticed. the women and boys accompanied this party. their destination was a large table plain, contiguous to that on which we had encamped. "an hour afterwards the rest of the party set forth--most of them mounted one way or other. these were the real hunters, or `drivers.' along with them went the dogs--the whole canine population of the village. i should have preferred riding with this party, but the padre took me along with himself, promising to guide me to a spot where i should get the best view of the chacu. he and i rode forward alone. "in half an hour we reached the plain where the first party had gone. they were all at work as we came up--scattered over the plain--and i now saw the use that was to be made of the ropes and rags. with them a pound, or `corral,' was in process of construction. part of it was already finished, and i perceived that it was to be of a circular shape. the poles, or stakes, were driven into the ground in a curving line at the distance of about a rod from each other. when thus driven, each stake stood four feet high, and from the top of one to the other, ropes were ranged and tied, thus making the inclosure complete. along these ropes were knotted the rags and strips of cotton, so as to hang nearly to the ground, or flutter in the wind; and this slight semblance of a fence was continued over the plain in a circumference of nearly three miles in length. one side, for a distance of several hundred yards, was left unfinished, and this was the entrance to the corral. of course, this was in the direction from which the drove was to come. "as soon as the inclosure was ready, those engaged upon it withdrew in two parties to the opposite flanks, and then deployed off in diverging lines, so as to form a sort of funnel, at least two miles in width. in this position they remained to await the result of the drive, most of them squatting down to rest themselves. "meanwhile the drive was proceeding, although the hunters engaged in it were at a great distance--scarcely seen from our position. they, too, had gone out in two parties, taking opposite directions, and skirting the hills that surrounded the plain. their circuit could not have been less than a dozen miles; and, as soon as fairly round, they deployed themselves into a long arc, with its concavity towards the rope corral. then, facing inward, the forward movement commenced. whatever animals chanced to be feeding between them and the inclosure were almost certain of being driven into it. "the padre had led me to an elevated position among the rocks. it commanded a view of the rope circle; but we were a long while waiting before the drivers came in sight. at length we descried the line of mounted men far off upon the plain, and, on closely scrutinising the ground between them and us, we could distinguish several reddish forms gliding about: these were the vicunas. there appeared to be several bands of them, as we saw some at different points. they were crossing and recrossing the line of the drive, evidently startled, and not knowing in what direction to run. every now and then a herd, led by its old male, could be seen shooting in a straight line--then suddenly making a halt--and the next minute sweeping off in a contrary direction. their beautiful orange-red flanks, glistening in the sun, enabled us to mark them at a great distance. "the drivers came nearer and nearer, until we could distinguish the forms of the horsemen as they rose over the swells of the plain. we could now hear their shouts--the winding of their ox-horns, and even the yelping of their dogs. but what most gratified my companion was to see that several herds of vicunas were bounding backwards and forwards in front of the advancing line. "`_mira_!' he cried exultingly, `_mira! senor_, one, two, three, four-- four herds, and large ones--ah! _carrambo_! jesus!' continued he, suddenly changing tone, `_carrambo! esos malditos guanacos_!' (those cursed guanacos). i looked as he was pointing. i noticed a small band of guanacos springing over the plain. i could easily distinguish them from the vicunas by their being larger and less graceful in their motions, but more particularly by the duller hue of brownish red. but what was there in their presence to draw down the maledictions of the padre, which he continued to lavish upon them most unsparingly? i put the question. "`ah! senor,' he answered with a sigh, `these guanacos will spoil all-- they will ruin the hunt. caspita!' "`how? in what manner, mio padre?' i asked in my innocence, thinking that a fine herd of guanacos would be inclosed along with their cousins, and that `all were fish,' etcetera. "`ah!' exclaimed the padre, `these guanacos are _hereticos_--reckless brutes, they pay no regard to the ropes--they will break through and let the others escape--_santissima virgen_! what is to be done?' "nothing could be done except leave things to take their course, for in a few minutes the horsemen were seen advancing, until their line closed upon the funnel formed by the others. the vicunas, in several troops, now rushed wildly from side to side, turning sharply as they approached the figures of the men and women, and running in the opposite direction. there were some fifty or sixty in all, and at length they got together in a single but confused clump. the guanacos, eight or ten in number, became mixed up with them, and after several quarterings, the whole flock, led by one that thought it had discovered the way of escape, struck off into a gallop, and dashed into the inclosure. "the hunters, who were afoot with the women, now rushed to the entrance, and in a short while new stakes were driven in, ropes tied upon them, rags attached, and the circle of the chacu was complete. "the mounted hunters at the same time had galloped around the outside, and flinging themselves from their horses, took their stations, at intervals from each other. each now prepared his `holas,' ready to advance and commence the work of death, as soon as the corral should be fairly surrounded by the women and boys who acted as assistants. "the hunters now advanced towards the centre, swinging their bolas, and shouting to one another to direct the attack. the frightened vicunas rushed from side to side, everywhere headed by an indian. now they broke into confused masses and ran in different directions--now they united again and swept in graceful curves over the plain. everywhere the bolas whizzed through the air, and soon the turf was strewed with forms sprawling and kicking. a strange picture was presented. here a hunter stood with the leaden balls whirling around his head--there another rushed forward upon a vicuna hoppled and falling--a third bent over one that was already down, anon he brandished a bleeding knife, and then, releasing the thong from the limbs of his victim, again swung his bolas in the air, and rushed forward in the chase. "an incident occurred near the beginning of the _melee_, which was very gratifying to my companion the padre, and at once restored the equanimity of his temper. the herd of guanacos succeeded in making their escape, and without compromising the success of the hunt. this, however, was brought about by a skilful manoeuvre on the part of my old friend the puna hunter. these animals had somehow or other got separated from the vicunas, and dashed off to a distant part of the inclosure. seeing this, the hunter sprang to his horse, and calling his pack of curs after him, leaped over the rope fence and dashed forward after the guanacos. he soon got directly in their rear, and signalling those who stood in front to separate and let the guanacos pass, he drove them out of the inclosure. they went head foremost against the ropes, breaking them free from the stakes; but the hunter, galloping up, guarded the opening until the ropes and rags were freshly adjusted. "the poor vicunas, nearly fifty in number, were all killed or captured. when pursued up to the `sham-fence' they neither attempted to rush against it or leap over, but would wheel suddenly round, and run directly in the faces of their pursuers! "the sport became even more interesting when all but a few were _hors de combat_. then the odd ones that remained were each attacked by several hunters at once, and the rushing and doubling of the animals--the many headings and turnings--the shouts of the spectators--the whizzing of the bolas--sometimes two or three of these missiles hurled at a single victim--all combined to furnish a spectacle to me novel and exciting. "about twenty minutes after the animals had entered the rope inclosure the last of them was seen to `bite the dust,' and the chacu of that day was over. then came the mutual congratulations of the hunters, and the joyous mingling of voices. the slain vicunas were collected in a heap-- the skins stripped off, and the flesh divided among the different families who took part in the chacu. "the skins, as we have said, fell to the share of the `church,' that is, to the church's representative--the padre, and this was certainly the lion's share of the day's product. "the ropes were now unfastened and coiled--the rags once more bundled, and the stakes pulled up and collected--all to be used on the morrow in some other part of the puna. the meat was packed on the horses and mules, and the hunting party, in a long string, proceeded to camp. then followed a scene of feasting and merriment--such as did not fall to the lot of these poor people every day in the year. "this chacu lasted ten days, during which time i remained in the company of my half-savage friends. the whole game killed amounted to five hundred and odd vicunas, with a score or two guanacos, several tarush, or deer of the andes (_cervus antisensis_) and half a dozen black bears (_ursus ornatus_). of course only the vicunas were taken in the chacu. the other animals were started incidentally, and killed by the hunters either with their bolas, or guns, with which a few of them were armed." the "chacu" of the andes indians corresponds to the "surround" of the indian hunters on the great plains of north america. in the latter case, however, buffaloes are usually the objects of pursuit, and no fence is attempted--the hunters trusting to their horses to keep the wild oxen inclosed. the "pound" is another mode of capturing wild animals practised by several tribes of indians in the hudson's bay territory. in this case the game is the caribou or reindeer, but no rope fence would serve to impound these. a good substantial inclosure of branches and trees is necessary, and the construction of a "pound" is the work of time and labour. i know of no animal except the vicuna itself, that could be captured after the manner practised in the "chacu." chapter nineteen. squirrel-shooting. we were now travelling among the spurs of the "ozark hills," and our road was a more difficult one. the ravines were deeper, and as our course obliged us to cross the direction in which most of them ran, we were constantly climbing or descending the sides of steep ridges. there was no road except a faint indian trail, used by the kansas in their occasional excursions to the borders of the settlements. at times we were compelled to cut away the underwood, and ply the axe lustily upon some huge trunk that had fallen across the path and obstructed the passage of our waggon. this rendered our progress but slow. during such halt most of the party strayed off into the woods in search of game. squirrels were the only four-footed creatures found, and enough of these were shot to make a good-sized "pot-pie;" and it may be here remarked, that no sort of flesh is better for this purpose than that of the squirrel. the species found in these woods was the large "cat-squirrel" (_sciurus cinereus_), one of the noblest of its kind. of course at that season, amid the plenitude of seeds, nuts, and berries, they were as plump as partridges. this species is usually in good condition, and its flesh the best flavoured of all. in the markets of new york they bring three times the price of the common grey squirrel. as we rode along, the naturalist stated many facts in relation to the squirrel tribe, that were new to most of us. he said that in north america there were not less than twenty species of true squirrels, all of them dwellers in the trees, and by including the "ground" and "flying" squirrels (_tamias_ and _pteromys_), the number of species might be more than forty. of course there are still new species yet undescribed, inhabiting the half-explored regions of the western territory. the best-known of the squirrels is the common "grey squirrel," as it is in most parts of the united states the most plentiful. indeed it is asserted that some of the other species, as the "black squirrel" (_sciurus niger_), disappear from districts where the grey squirrels become numerous--as the native rat gives place to the fierce "norway." the true fox squirrel (_sciurus vulpinus_) differs essentially from the "cat," which is also known in many states by the name of fox squirrel. the former is larger, and altogether a more active animal, dashing up to the top of a pine-tree in a single run. the cat-squirrel, on the contrary, is slow and timid among the branches, and rarely mounts above the first fork, unless when forced higher by the near approach of its enemy. it prefers concealing itself behind the trunk, dodging round the tree as the hunter advances upon it. it has one peculiarity, however, in its mode of escape that often saves it, and disappoints its pursuer. unless very hotly pursued by a dog, or other swift enemy, it will not be treed until it has reached the tree that contains its nest, and, of course, it drops securely into its hole, bidding defiance to whatever enemy--unless, indeed, that enemy chance to be the pine-martin, which is capable of following it even to the bottom of its dark tree-cave. now most of the other squirrels make a temporary retreat to the nearest large tree that offers. this is often without a hole where they can conceal themselves, and they are therefore exposed to the small shot or rifle-bullet from below. it does not always follow, however, that they are brought down from their perch. in very heavy bottom timber the squirrel often escapes among the high twigs, even where there are no leaves to conceal it, nor any hole in the tree. twenty shots, and from good marksmen too, have been fired at a single squirrel in such situations, without bringing it to the ground, or seriously wounding it! a party of hunters have often retired without getting such game, and yet the squirrel has been constantly changing place, and offering itself to be sighted in new positions and attitudes! the craft of the squirrel on these occasions is remarkable. it stretches its body along the upper part of a branch, elongating it in such a manner, that the branch, not thicker than the body itself, forms almost a complete shield against the shot. the head, too, is laid close, and the tail no longer erect, but flattened along the branch, so as not to betray the whereabouts of the animal. squirrel-shooting is by no means poor sport. it is the most common kind practised in the united states, because the squirrel is the most common game. in that country it takes the place that snipe or partridge shooting holds in england. in my opinion it is a sport superior to either of these last, and the game, when killed, is not much less in value. good fat squirrel can be cooked in a variety of ways, and many people prefer it to feathered game of any kind. it is true the squirrel has a rat-like physiognomy, but that is only in the eyes of strangers to him. a residence in the backwoods, and a short practice in the eating of squirrel pot-pie, soon removes any impression of that kind. a hare, as brought upon the table-cloth in england, is far more likely to produce _degout_--from its very striking likeness to "puss," that is purring upon the hearth-rug. in almost all parts of the united states, a day's squirrel-shooting may be had without the necessity of making a very long journey. there are still tracts of woodland left untouched, where these animals find a home. in the western states a squirrel-hunt may be had simply by walking a couple of hundred yards from your house, and in some places you may shoot the creatures out of the very door. to make a successful squirrel-hunt two persons at least are necessary. if only one goes out, the squirrel can avoid him simply by "dodging" round the trunk, or any large limb of the tree. when there are two, one remains stationary, while the other makes a circuit, and drives the game from the opposite side. it is still better when three or four persons make up the party, as then the squirrel is assailed on all sides, and can find no resting-place, without seeing a black tube levelled upon him, and ready to send forth its deadly missile. some hunt the squirrel with shot-guns. these are chiefly young hands. the old hunter prefers the rifle; and in the hands of practised marksmen this is the better weapon. the rifle-bullet, be it ever so small, kills the game at once; whereas a squirrel severely peppered with shot will often escape to the tree where its hole is, and drop in, often to die of its wounds. no creature can be more tenacious of life--not even a cat. when badly wounded it will cling to the twigs to its last breath, and even after death its claws sometimes retain their hold, and its dead body hangs suspended to the branch! the height from which a squirrel will leap to the ground without sustaining injury, is one of those marvels witnessed by every squirrel-hunter. when a tree in which it has taken refuge is found not to afford sufficient shelter, and a neighbouring tree is not near enough for it to leap to, it then perceives the necessity of returning to the ground, to get to some other part of the woods. some species, as the cat-squirrel, fearing to take the dreadful leap (often nearly a hundred feet), rush down by the trunk. not so the more active squirrels, as the common grey kind. these run to the extremity of a branch, and spring boldly down in a diagonal direction. the hunter--if a stranger to the feat--would expect to see the creature crushed or crippled by the fall. no danger of that. even the watchful dog that is waiting for such an event, and standing close to the spot, has not time to spring upon it, until it is off again like a flying bird, and, almost as quick as sight can follow, is seen ascending some other tree. there is an explanation required about this precipitous leap. the squirrel is endowed with the capability of spreading out its body to a great extent, and this in the downward rush it takes care to do--thus breaking its fall by the resistance of the air. this alone accounts for its not killing itself. nearly all squirrels possess this power, but in different degrees. in the flying squirrels it is so strongly developed, as to enable them to make a flight resembling that of the birds themselves. the squirrel-hunter is often accompanied by a dog--not that the dog ever by any chance catches one of these creatures. of him the squirrel has but little fear, well knowing that he cannot climb a tree. the office of the dog is of a different kind. it is to "tree" the squirrel, and, by remaining at the root, point out the particular tree to his master. the advantage of the dog is obvious. in fact, he is almost as necessary as the pointer to the sportsman. first, by ranging widely, he beats a greater breadth of the forest. secondly, when a squirrel is seen by him, his swiftness enables him to hurry it up some tree _not its own_. this second advantage is of the greatest importance. when the game has time enough allowed it, it either makes to its own tree (with a hole in it of course), or selects one of the tallest near the spot. in the former case it is impossible, and in the latter difficult, to have a fair shot at it. if there be no dog, and the hunter trusts to his own eyes, he is often unable to find the exact tree which the squirrel has climbed, and of course loses it. a good squirrel-dog is a useful animal. the breed is not important. the best are usually half-bred pointers. they should have good sight as well as scent; should range widely, and run fast. when well trained they will not take after rabbits, or any other game. they will bark only when a squirrel is treed, and remain staunchly by the root of the tree. the barking is necessary, otherwise the hunter, often separated from them by the underwood, would not know when they had succeeded in "treeing." the squirrel seems to have little fear of the dog, and rarely ascends to a great height. it is often seen only a few feet above him, jerking its tail about, and apparently mocking its savage enemy below. the coming up of the hunter changes the scene. the squirrel then takes the alarm, and shooting up, conceals itself among the higher branches. taking it all in all, we know none of the smaller class of field sports that requires greater skill, and yields more real amusement, than hunting the squirrel. our kentuckian comrade gave us an account of a grand squirrel-hunt got up by himself and some neighbours, which is not an uncommon sort of thing in the western states. the hunters divided themselves into two parties of equal numbers, each taking its own direction through the woods. a large wager was laid upon the result, to be won by that party that could bring in the greatest number of squirrels. there were six guns on each side, and the numbers obtained at the end of a week--for the hunt lasted so long--were respectively , and ! of course the sport came off in a tract of country where squirrels were but little hunted, and were both tame and plenty. such hunts upon a grand scale are, as already stated, not uncommon in some parts of the united states. they have another object besides the sport--that of thinning off the squirrels for the protection of the planter's corn-field. so destructive are these little animals to the corn and other grains, that in some states there has been at times a bounty granted, for killing them. in early times such a law existed in pennsylvania, and there is a registry that in one year the sum of pounds was paid out of the treasury of this bounty-money, which at threepence a head--the premium--would make , , the number of the squirrels killed in that year! the "migration of the squirrels" is still an unexplained fact. it is among the grey squirrels it takes place; hence the name given to that species, _sciurus migratorius_. there is no regularity about these migrations, and their motive is not known. immense bands of the squirrels are observed in a particular neighbourhood, proceeding through the woods or across tracts of open ground, all in one direction. nothing stays their course. narrow streams and broad rivers are crossed by them by swimming, and many are drowned in the attempt. under ordinary circumstances, these little creatures are as much afraid of water as cats, yet when moving along their track of migration they plunge boldly into a river, without calculating whether they will ever reach the other side. when found upon the opposite bank, they are often so tired with the effort, that one may overtake them with a stick; and thousands are killed in this way when a migration has been discovered. it is stated that they roll pieces of dry wood, or bark, into the water, and, seating themselves on these, are wafted across, their tails supplying them with a sail: of course this account must be held as apocryphal. but the question is, what motive impels them to undertake these long and perilous wanderings, from which it is thought they never return to their original place of abode? it cannot be the search of food, nor the desire to change from a colder to a warmer climate. the direction of the wanderings forbids us to receive either of these as the correct reason. no light has been yet thrown upon this curious habit. it would seem as if some strange instinct propelled them, but for what purpose, and to what end, no one can tell. chapter twenty. treeing a bear. the doctor was the only one not taking part in the conversation. even the rude guides listened. all that related to game interested them, even the scientific details given by the hunter-naturalist. the doctor had ridden on in front of us. some one remarked that he wanted water to mix with the contents of his flask, and was therefore searching for a stream. be this as it may, he was seen suddenly to jerk his spare horse about, and spur back to us, his countenance exhibiting symptoms of surprise and alarm. "what is it, doctor?" inquired one. "he has seen indians," remarked another. "a bear--a bear!" cried the doctor, panting for breath; "a grizzly bear! a terrible-looking creature i assure you." "a bar! d'you say?" demanded ike, shooting forward on his old mare. "a bar!" cried redwood, breaking through the bushes in pursuit. "a bear!" shouted the others, all putting spurs to their horses, and galloping forward in a body. "where, doctor? where?" cried several. "yonder," replied the doctor, "just by that great tree. i saw him go in there--a grizzly, i'm sure." it was this idea that had put the doctor in such affright, and caused him to ride back so suddenly. "nonsense, doctor," said the naturalist, "we are yet far to the east of the range of the grizzly bear. it was a black bear you saw." "as i live," replied the doctor, "it was not black, anything but that. i should know the black bear. it was a light brown colour--almost yellowish." "oh! that's no criterion. the black bear is found with many varieties of colour. i have seen them of the colour you describe. it must be one of them. the grizzly is not found so far to the eastward, although it is possible we may see them soon; but not in woods like these." there was no time for farther explanation. we had come up to the spot where the bear had been seen; and although an unpractised eye could have detected no traces of the animal's presence, old ike, redwood, and the hunter-naturalist could follow its trail over the bed of fallen leaves, almost as fast as they could walk. both the guides had dismounted, and with their bodies slightly bent, and leading their horses after them, commenced tracking the bear. from ike's manner one would have fancied that he was guided by scent rather than by sight. the trail led us from our path, and we had followed it some hundred yards into the woods. most of us were of the opinion that the creature had never halted after seeing the doctor, but had run off to a great distance. if left to ourselves, we should have given over the chase. the trappers, however, knew what they were about. they asserted that the bear had gone away slowly--that it had made frequent halts--that they discovered "sign" to lead them to the conclusion that the animal's haunt was in the neighbourhood--that its "nest" was near. we were, therefore, encouraged to proceed. all of us rode after the trackers. jake and lanty had been left with the waggon, with directions to keep on their route. after a while we heard the waggon moving along directly in front of us. the road had angled as well as the bear's trail, and the two were again converging. just at that moment a loud shouting came from the direction of the waggon. it was lanty's voice, and jake's too. "och! be the vargin mother! luck there! awch, mother o' moses, jake, such a haste!" "golly, massa lanty, it am a bar!" we all heard this at once. of course we thought of the trail no longer, but made a rush in the direction of the voices, causing the branches to fly on every side. "whar's the bar?" cried redwood, who was first up to the waggon, "whar did ye see't?" "yander he goes!" cried lanty, pointing to a pile of heavy timber, beset with an undergrowth of cane, but standing almost isolated from the rest of the forest on account of the thin open woods that were around it. we were too late to catch a glimpse of him, but perhaps he would halt in the undergrowth. if so we had a chance. "surround, boys, surround!" cried the kentuckian, who understood bear-hunting as well as any of the party. "quick, round and head him;" and, at the same time, the speaker urged his great horse into a gallop. several others rode off on the opposite side, and in a few seconds we had surrounded the cane-brake. "is he in it?" cried one. "do you track 'im thur, mark?" cried ike to his comrade from the opposite side. "no," was the reply, "he hain't gone out this away." "nor hyur," responded ike. "nor here," said the kentuckian. "nor by here," added the hunter-naturalist. "belike, then, he's still in the timmor," said redwood. "now look out all of yees. keep your eyes skinned; i'll hustle him out o' thar." "hold on, mark, boy," cried ike, "hold on thur. damn the varmint! hyur's his track, paddled like a sheep pen. wagh, his den's hyur--let me rout 'im." "very wal, then," replied the other, "go ahead, old fellow--i'll look to my side--thu'll no bar pass me 'ithout getting a pill in his guts. out wi' 'im!" we all sat in our saddles silent and watchful. ike had entered the cane, but not a rustle was heard. a snake could not have passed through it with less noise than did the old trapper. it was full ten minutes before the slightest sound warned of what he was about. then his voice reached us. "this way, all of you! the bar's treed." the announcement filled all of us with pleasant anticipations. the sport of killing a bear is no everyday amusement, and now that the animal was "treed" we were sure of him. some dismounted and hitched their horses to the branches; others boldly dashed into the cane, hurrying to the spot, with the hope of having first shot. why was ike's rifle not heard if he saw the bear treed? this puzzled some. it was explained when we got up. ike's words were figurative. the bear had not taken shelter in a tree, but a hollow log, and, of course, ike had not yet set eyes on him. but there was the log, a huge one, some ten or more feet in thickness, and there was the hole, with the well-beaten track leading into it. it was his den. he was there to a certainty. how to get him out? that was the next question. several took their stations, guns in hand, commanding the entrance to the hollow. one went back upon the log, and pounded it with the butt of his gun. to no purpose. bruin was not such a fool as to walk out and be peppered by bullets. a long pole was next thrust up the hollow. nothing could be felt. the den was beyond reach. smoking was next tried, but with like success. the bear gave no sign of being annoyed with it. the axes were now brought from the waggon. it would be a tough job--for the log (a sycamore) was sound enough except near the heart. there was no help for it, and jake and lanty went to work as if for a day's rail splitting. redwood and the kentuckian, both good axemen, relieved them, and a deep notch soon began to make its appearance on each side of the log. the rest of us kept watch near the entrance, hoping the sound of the axe might drive out the game. we were disappointed in that hope, and for full two hours the chopping continued, until the patience and the arms of those that plied the axe were nearly tired out. it is no trifling matter to lay open a tree ten feet in diameter. they had chosen the place for their work guided by the long pole. it could not be beyond the den, and if upon the near side, of it, the pole would then be long enough to reach the bear, and either destroy him with a knife-blade attached to it, or force him out. this was our plan, and therefore we were encouraged to proceed. at length the axes broke through the wood and the dark interior lay open. they had cut in the right place, for the den of the bear was found directly under, but no bear! poles were inserted at both openings, but no bear could be felt either way. the hollow ran up no farther, so after all there was no bear in the log. there were some disappointed faces about--and some rather rough ejaculations were heard. i might say that ike "cussed a few," and that would be no more than the truth. the old trapper seemed to be ashamed of being so taken in, particularly as he had somewhat exultingly announced that the "bar was treed." "he must have got off before we surrounded," said one. "are you sure he came into the timber?" asked another--"that fool, lanty, was so scared, he could hardly tell where the animal went." "be me soul! gintlemen, i saw him go in wid my own eyes, oil swear--" "cussed queer!" spitefully remarked redwood. "damn the bar!" ejaculated ike, "whur kid the varmint a gone?" where was a--? all eyes were turned to look for the hunter-naturalist, as if he could clear up the mystery. he was nowhere to be seen. he had not been seen for some time! at that moment, the clear sharp ring of a rifle echoed in our ears. there was a moment's silence, and the next moment a loud "thump" was heard, as of a heavy body falling from a great height to the ground. the noise startled even our tired horses, and some of them broke their ties and scampered off. "this way, gentlemen!" said a quiet voice, "here's the bear!" the voice was a--'s; and we all, without thinking of the horses, hurried up to the spot. sure enough, there lay the great brute, a red stream oozing out of a bullet-hole in his ribs. a-- pointed to a tree--a huge oak that spread out above our heads. "there he was, in yonder fork," said he. "we might have saved ourselves a good deal of trouble had we been more thoughtful. i suspected he was not in the log when the smoke failed to move him. the brute was too sagacious to hide there. it is not the first time i have known the hunter foiled by such a trick." the eyes of redwood were turned admiringly on the speaker, and even old ike could not help acknowledging his superior hunter-craft. "mister," he muttered, "i guess you'd make a darned fust-rate mountain-man. he's a gone injun when you look through sights." all of us were examining the huge carcass of the bear--one of the largest size. "your sure it's no grizzly?" inquired the doctor. "no, doctor," replied the naturalist, "the grizzly never climbs a tree." chapter twenty one. the black bear of america. after some time spent in recovering the horses, we lifted the bear into jake's waggon, and proceeded on our journey. it was near evening, however, and we soon after halted and formed camp. the bear was skinned in a trice,--ike and redwood performing this operation with the dexterity of a pair of butchers; of course "bear-meat" was the principal dish for supper; and although some may think this rather a savage feast, i envy those who are in the way of a bear-ham now. of course for that evening nothing was talked of but bruin, and a good many anecdotes were related about the beast. with the exception of the doctor, jake and lanty, all of us had something to say upon that subject, for all the rest had more or less practice in bear-hunting. the black or "american bear" (_ursus americanus_) is one of the best-known of his tribe. it is he that is oftenest seen in menageries and zoological gardens, for the reason, perhaps, that he is found in great plenty in a country of large commercial intercourse with other nations. hence he is more frequently captured and exported to all parts. any one at a glance may distinguish him from the "brown bear" of europe, as well as the other bears of the eastern continent--not so much by his colour (for he is sometimes brown too), as by his form and the regularity and smoothness of his coat. he may be as easily distinguished, too, from his congeners of north america--of which there are three--the grizzly (_ursus ferox_), the brown (_ursus arctus_), and the "polar" (_ursus maritimus_). the hair upon other large bears (the polar excepted) is what may be termed "tufty," and their forms are different, being generally more uncouth and "chunkier." the black bear is, in fact, nearer to the polar in shape, as well as in the arrangement of his fur,--than to any other of the tribe. he is much smaller, however, rarely exceeding two-thirds the weight of large specimens of the latter. his colour is usually a deep black all over the body, with a patch of rich yellowish red upon the muzzle, where the hair is short and smooth. this ornamental patch is sometimes absent, and varieties of the black bear are seen of very different colours. brown ones are common in some parts, and others of a cinnamon colour, and still others with white markings, but these last are rare. they are all of one species, however, the assertion of some naturalists to the contrary notwithstanding. the proof is, that the black varieties have been seen followed by coloured cubs, and _vice versa_. the black bear is omnivorous--feeds upon flesh as well as fruit, nuts, and edible roots. habitually his diet is not carnivorous, but he will eat at times either carrion or living flesh. we say living flesh, for on capturing prey he does not wait to kill it, as most carnivorous animals, but tears and destroys it while still screaming. he may be said to swallow some of his food alive! of honey he is especially fond, and robs the bee-hive whenever it is accessible to him. it is not safe from him even in the top of a tree, provided the entrance to it is large enough to admit his body; and when it is not, he often contrives to make it so by means of his sharp claws. he has but little fear of the stings of the angry bees. his shaggy coat and thick hide afford him ample protection against such puny weapons. it is supposed that he spends a good deal of his time ranging the forest in search of "bee trees." of course he is a tree-climber--climbs by the "hug," not by means of his claws, as do animals of the cat kind; and in getting to the ground again descends the trunk, stern-foremost, as a hod-carrier would come down a ladder. in this he again differs from the _felidae_. the range of the black bear is extensive--in fact it may be said to be colimital with the forest, both in north and south america--though in the latter division of the continent, another species of large black bear exists, the _ursus ornatas_. in the northern continent the american bear is found in all the wooded parts from the atlantic to the pacific, but not in the open and prairie districts. there the grizzly holds dominion, though both of them range together in the wooded valleys of the rocky mountains. the grizzly, on the other hand, is only met with west of the mississippi, and affects the dry desert countries of the uninhabited west. the brown bear, supposed to be identical with the _ursus arctus_ of north europe, is only met with in the wild and treeless track known as "barren grounds," which stretch across nearly the whole northern part of the continent from the last timber to the shores of the arctic sea, and in this region the black bear is not found. the zone of the polar bear joins with that of the brown, and the range of the former extends perhaps to the pole itself. at the time of the colonisation of america, the area of the present united states was the favourite home of the black bear. it was a country entirely covered with thick forests, and of course a suitable _habitat_ for him. even to this day a considerable number of bears is to be found within the limits of the settlements. scarcely a state in which some wild woodlands or mountain fastnesses do not afford shelter to a number of bears, and to kill one of them is a grand object of the hunter's ambition. along the whole range of the alleghanies black bears are yet found, and it will be long ere they are finally extirpated from such haunts. in the western states they are still more common, where they inhabit the gloomy forests along the rivers, and creek bottoms, protected alike by the thick undergrowth and the swampy nature of the soil. their den is usually in a hollow tree--sometimes a prostrate log if the latter be large enough, and in such a position as is not likely to be observed by the passing hunter. a cave in the rocks is also their favourite lair, when the geological structure of the country offers them so secure a retreat. they are safer thus; for when a bear-tree or log has been discovered by either hunter or farmer the bear has not much chance of escape. the squirrel is safe enough, as his capture will not repay the trouble of felling the tree; but such noble game as a bear will repay whole hours of hard work with the axe. the black bear lies torpid during several months of the winter. the time of his hibernation depends upon the latitude of the place and the coldness of the climate. as you approach the south this period becomes shorter and shorter, until in the tropical forests, where frost is unknown, the black bear ranges throughout the year. the mode of hunting the black bear does not differ from that practised with the fox or wild cat. he is usually chased by dogs, and forced into his cave or a tree. if the former, he is shot down, or the tree, if hollow, is felled. sometimes smoking brings him out. if he escapes to a cave, smoking is also tried; but if that will not succeed in dislodging him, he must be left alone, as no dogs will venture to attack him there. the hunter often tracks and kills him in the woods with a bullet from his rifle. he will not turn upon man unless when wounded or brought to bay. then his assault is to be dreaded. should he grasp the hunter between his great forearms, the latter will stand a fair chance of being hugged to death. he does not attempt to use his teeth like the grizzly bear, but relies upon the muscular power of his arms. the nose appears to be his tenderest part, and his antagonist, if an old bear-hunter, and sufficiently cool, will use every effort to strike him there. a blow upon the snout has often caused the black bear to let go his hold, and retreat terrified! the log trap is sometimes tried with success. this is constructed in such a way that the removal of the bait operates upon a trigger, and a large heavy log comes down on the animal removing it--either crushing it to death or holding it fast by pressure. a limb is sometimes only caught; but this proves sufficient. the same kind of trap is used throughout the northern regions of america by the fur trappers--particularly the sable hunters and trappers of the white weasel (_mustela erminea_). of course that for the bear is constructed of the heaviest logs, and is of large dimensions. redwood related an adventure that had befallen him while trapping the black bear at an earlier period of his life. it had nearly cost him his life too, and a slight halt in his gait could still be observed, resulting from that very adventure. we all collected around the blazing logs to listen to the trapper's story. chapter twenty two. the trapper trapped. "well, then," began redwood, "the thing i'm agoin' to tell you about, happened to me when i war a younker, long afore i ever thought i was a coming out hyar upon the parairas. i wan't quite growed at the time, though i was a good chunk for my age. "it war up thar among the mountains in east tennessee, whar this child war raised, upon the head waters of the tennessee river. "i war fond o' huntin' from the time that i war knee high to a duck, an' i can jest remember killin' a black bar afore i war twelve yeer old. as i growed up, the bar had become scacer in them parts, and it wan't every day you could scare up such a varmint, but now and then one ud turn up. "well, one day as i war poking about the crik bottom (for the shanty whar my ole mother lived war not on the tennessee, but on a crik that runs into it), i diskivered bar sign. there war tracks o' the bar's paws in this mud, an' i follered them along the water edge for nearly a mile--then the trail turned into about as thickety a bottom as i ever seed anywhar. it would a baffled a cat to crawl through it. "after the trail went out from the crik and towards the edge o' this thicket, i lost all hopes of follerin' it further, as the ground was hard, and covered with donicks, and i couldn't make the tracks out no how. i had my idea that the bar had tuk the thicket, so i went round the edge of it to see if i could find whar he had entered. "for a long time i couldn't see a spot whar any critter as big as a bar could a-got in without makin' some sort o' a hole, and then i begun to think the bar had gone some other way, either across the crik or further down it. "i war agoin' to turn back to the water, when i spied a big log lyin' half out o' the thicket, with one eend buried in the bushes. i noticed that the top of this log had a dirty look, as if some animal had tramped about on it; an' on goin' up and squintin' at it a little closter, i seed that that guess war the right one. "i clomb the log, for it war a regular rouster, bigger than that 'n we had so much useless trouble with, and then i scrammelled along the top o' it in the direction of the brush. thar i seed the very hole whar the bar had got into the thicket, and thar war a regular beaten-path runnin' through the brake as far as i could see. "i jumped off o' the log, and squeezed myself through the bramble. it war a trail easy enough to find, but mighty hard to foller, i can tell ye. thar war thistles, and cussed stingin' nettles, and briars as thick as my wrist, with claws upon them as sharp as fish-hooks. i pushed on, howsomever, feelin' quite sartin that sich a well-used track must lead to the bar's den, an' i war safe enough to find it. in coorse i reckoned that the critter had his nest in some holler tree, and i could go home for my axe, and come back the next morning--if smoking failed to git him out. "well, i poked on through the thicket a good three hundred yards, sometimes crouching, and sometimes creeping on my hands and knees. i war badly scratched, i tell you, and now and then i jest thought to myself, what would be the consyquince if the bar should meet me in that narrow passage. we'd a had a tough tussel, i reckon--but i met no bar. "at last the brash grew thinner, and jest as i was in hopes i might stumble on the bar tree, what shed i see afore me but the face o' a rocky bluff, that riz a consid'able height over the crik bottom. i begun to fear that the varmint had a cave, and so, cuss him! he had--a great black gulley in the rocks was right close by, and thar was his den, and no mistake. i could easily tell it by the way the clay and stones had been pattered over by his paws. "of coorse, my tracking for that day war over, and i stood by the mouth of the cave not knowin' what to do. i didn't feel inclined to go in. "after a while i bethought me that the bar mout come out, an' i laid myself squat down among the bushes facing the cave. i had my gun ready to give him a mouthful of lead, as soon as he should show his snout outside o' the hole. "'twar no go. i guess he had heard me when i first come up, and know'd i war thar. i laid still until 'twar so dark i thought i would never find my way back agin to the crik; but, after a good deal of scramblin' and creepin' i got out at last, and took my way home. "it warn't likely i war agoin' to give that bar up. i war bound to fetch him out o' his boots if it cost me a week's hunting. so i returned the next morning to the place, and lay all day in front o' the cave. no bar appeared, an' i went back home a cussin'. "next day i come again, but this time i didn't intend to stay. i had fetched my axe with me wi' the intention of riggin' up a log trap near the mouth o' the cave. i had also fetched a jug o' molasses and some yeers o' green corn to bait the trap, for i know'd the bar war fond o' both. "well, i got upon the spot, an' makin' as leetle rumpus as possible, i went to work to build my trap. i found some logs on the ground jest the scantlin, and in less than an hour i hed the thing rigged an' the trigger set. 'twan't no small lift to get up the big log, but i managed it wi' a lever i had made, though it took every pound o' strength in my body. if it come down on the bar i knew it would hold him. "well, i had all ready except layin' the bait; so i crawled in, and was fixin' the green yeers and the 'lasses, when, jest at that moment, what shed i hear behind me but the `sniff' o' the bar! "i turned suddently to see. i had jest got my eye on the critter standin' right in the mouth o' his cave, when i feeled myself struck upon the buttocks, and flattened down to the airth like a pancake! "at the first stroke i thought somebody had hit me a heavy blow from behind, and i wish it had been that. it war wusser than that. it war the log had hit me, and war now lying with all its weight right acrosst my two leg's. in my hurry to git round i had sprung the trigger, and down comed the infernal log on my hams. "at fust i wan't scared, but i war badly hurt. i thought it would be all right as soon as i had crawled out, and i made an attempt to do so. it was then that i become scared in airnest; for i found that i couldn't crawl out. my legs were held in such a way that i couldn't move them, and the more i pulled the more i hurt them. they were in pain already with the heavy weight pressin' upon them, and i couldn't bear to move them. no more could i turn myself. i war flat on my face, and couldn't slew myself round any way, so as to get my hands at the log. i war fairly catched in my own trap! "it war jest about then i began to feel scared. thar wan't no settlement in the hul crik bottom but my mother's old shanty, an' that were two miles higher up. it war as unlikely a thing as could happen that anybody would be passing that way. and unless some one did i saw no chance of gettin' clar o' the scrape i war in. i could do nothin' for myself. "i hollered as loud as i could, and that frightened the bar into his cave again. i hollered for an hour, but i could hear no reply, and then i war still a bit, and then i hollered again, an' kept this up pretty much for the hul o' that blessed day. "thar wan't any answer but the echo o' my own shoutin', and the whoopin' of the owls that flew about over my head, and appeared as if they war mockin' me. "i had no behopes of any relief comin' from home. my ole mother had nobody but myself, and she wan't like to miss me, as i'd often stayed out a huntin' for three or four days at a time. the only chance i had, and i knew it too, war that some neighbour might be strayin' down the crik, and you may guess what sort o' chance that war, when i tell you thar wan't a neighbour livin' within less than five mile o' us. if no one come by i knew i must lay there till i died o' hunger and rotted, or the bar ate me up. "well, night come, and night went. 'twar about the longest night this child remembers. i lay all through it, a sufferin' the pain, and listening to the screechin' owls. i could a screeched as loud as any of them if that would a done any good. i heerd now and then the snuffin' o' the bar, and i could see thar war two o' them. i could see thar big black bodies movin' about like shadows, and they appeared to be gettin' less afeerd o' me, as they come close at times, and risin' up on their hind-quarters stood in front o' me like a couple o' black devils. "i begun to get afeerd they would attack me, and so i guess they would a-done, had not a circumstance happened that put them out o' the notion. "it war jest grey day, when one o' them come so clost that i expected to be attacked by him. now as luck would have it, my rifle happened to be lyin' on the ground within reach. i grabbed it without saying a word, and slewin' up one shoulder as high as i could, i was able to sight the bar jest behind the fore leg. the brute wan't four feet from the muzzle, and slap into him went wad and all, and down he tumbled like a felled ox. i seed he war as dead as a buck. "well, badly as i war fixed, i contrived to get loaded again, for i knowed that bars will fight for each other to the death; and i thought the other might attack me. it wan't to be seen at the time, but shortly after it come upon the ground from the direction of the crik. "i watched it closely as it shambled up, having my rifle ready all the while. when it first set eyes on its dead comrade it gave a loud snort, and stopped. it appeared to be considerably surprised. it only halted a short spell, and then, with a loud roar, it run up to the carcass, and sniffed at it. "i hain't the least o' a doubt that in two seconds more it would a-jumped me, but i war too quick for it, and sent a bullet right plum into one of its eyes, that come out again near the back o' its neck. that did the business, and i had the satisfaction to see it cowollop over nearly on top o' the other 'n. "well, i had killed the bars, but what o' that. that wouldn't get me from under the log; and what wi' the pain i was sufferin', and the poor prospect o' bein' relieved, i thought i mout as well have let them eat me. "but a man don't die so long as he can help it, i b'lieve, and i detarmined to live it out while i could. at times i had hopes and shouted, and then i lost hope and lay still again. "i grew as hungry as a famished wolf. the bars were lying right before me, but jest beyond reach, as if to tantylise me. i could have ate a collop raw if i could a-got hold of it, but how to reach it war the difeeculty. "needcesity they say is the mother o' invention; and i set myself to invent a bit. thar war a piece o' rope i had brought along to help me wi' the trap, and that i got my claws on. "i made a noose on one eend o' it, and after about a score o' trials i at last flung the noose over the head o' one o' the bars, and drew it tight. i then sot to work to pull the bar nearer. if that bar's neck wan't well stretched i don't know what you'd call stretchin', for i tugged at it about an hour afore i could get it within reach. i did get it at last, and then with my knife i cut out the bar's tongue, and ate it raw. "i had satisfied one appetite, but another as bad, if not wusser, troubled me. that war thirst--my throat war as dry as a corn cob, and whar was the water to come from. it grew so bad at last that i thought i would die of it. i drawed the bar nearer me, and cut his juglar to see if thar war any relief from that quarter. thar wan't. the blood war froze up thick as liver. not a drop would run. "i lay coolin' my tongue on the blade o' my knife an' chawin' a bullet, that i had taken from my pouch. i managed to put in the hul of the next day this away, now and then shoutin' as hard as i could. towards the evenin' i grew hungry again, and ate a cut out o' the cheek o' the bar; but i thought i would a-choked for want o' water. "i put in the night the best way i could. i had the owls again for company, and some varmint came up and smelt at the bars; but was frightened at my voice, and run away again. i suppose it war a fox or wolf, or some such thing, and but for me would a-made a meal off o' the bar's carcass. "i won't trouble you with my reflexshuns all that night; but i can assure ye they war anything but pleasant. i thought of my ole mother, who had nobody but me, and that helped to keep up my spirits. i detarmined to cut away at the bar, and hold out as long as possible. "as soon as day broke i set up my shoutin' again, restin' every fifeteen minutes or so, and then takin' afresh start. about an hour after sun-up, jest as i had finished a long spell o' screechin', i thought i heerd a voice. i listened a bit with my heart thumpin' against my ribs. thar war no sound; i yelled louder than ever, and then listened. thar war a voice. "`damn ye! what are ye hollowin' about?' cried the voice. "i again shouted `holloa!' "`who the hell's thar?' inquired the voice. "`casey!' i called back, recognising the voice as that of a neighbour who lives up the crik; `for god's sake this way.' "`i'm a-comin',' he replied; `'taint so easy to get through hyar--that you, redwood? what the hell's the matter? damn this brush!' "i heard my neighbour breakin' his way through the thicket, and strange i tell ye all, but true it is, i couldn't believe i war goin' to get clar even then until i seed casey standin' in front o' me. "well, of coorse, i was now set free again, but couldn't put a foot to the ground. casey carried me home to the shanty, whar i lay for well nigh six weeks, afore i could go about, and damn the thing! i han't got over it yet." so ended redwood's story. chapter twenty three. the american deer. during our next day's journey we fell in with and killed a couple of deer--a young buck and doe. they were the first of these animals we had yet seen, and that was considered strange, as we had passed through a deer country. they were of the species common to all parts of the united states' territory--the "red" or "fallow" deer (_cervus virginianus_). it may be here remarked that the common deer of the united states, sometimes called "red deer," is the fallow deer of english parks, that the "elk" of america is the red deer of europe, and the "elk" of europe is the "moose" of america. many mistakes are made in relation to this family of animals on account of these misapplied names. in north america there are six well-defined species of deer--the moose (_cervus alces_); the elk (_cervus canadensis_); the caribou (_tarandus_); the black-tail or "mule" deer (_macrotis_); the long-tail (_leucurus_); and the virginian, or fallow deer (_virginianus_). the deer of louisiana (_cervus nemoralis_) is supposed by some to be a different species from any of the above; so also is the "mazama" of mexico (_cervus mexicanus_). it is more probable that these two kinds are only varieties of the _genus virginianus_--the difference in colour, and other respects, resulting from a difference in food, climate, and such like causes. it is probable, too, that a small species of deer exists in the russian possessions west of the rocky mountains, quite distinct from any of the six mentioned above; but so little is yet known of the natural history of these wild territories, that this can only be taken as conjecture. it may be remarked, also that of the caribou (_cervus tarandus_) there are two marked varieties, that may almost be regarded in the light of species. one, the larger, is known as the "woodland caribou," because it inhabits the more southern and wooded districts of the hudson's bay territory; the other, the "barren ground caribou," is the "reindeer" of the arctic voyagers. of the six well-ascertained species, the last-mentioned (_cervus virginianus_) has the largest geographical range, and is the most generally known. indeed, when the word "deer" is mentioned, it only is meant. it is the deer of the united states. the "black-tails" and "long-tails" are two species that may be called new. though long known to trappers and hunters, they have been but lately described by the scientific naturalist. their _habitat_ is the "far west" in california, oregon, the high prairies, and the valleys of the rocky mountains. up to a late period naturalists have had but little to do with these countries. for this reason their _fauna_ has so long remained comparatively unknown. the geographical disposition of the other four species is curious. each occupies a latitudinal zone. that of the caribou, or rein deer, extends farthest north. it is not found within the limits of the united states. the zone of the moose overlaps that of the caribou, but, on the other side, goes farther south, as this species is met with along the extreme northern parts of the united states. the elk is next in order. his range "dovetails" into that of the moose, but the elk roves still farther into the temperate regions, being met with almost as far south as texas. the fourth, the common deer, embraces in his range the temperate and torrid zones of both north and south america, while he is not found in higher latitudes than the southern frontier of canada. the common deer, therefore, inhabits a greater area than any of his congeners, and is altogether the best-known animal of his kind. most persons know him by sight. he is the smallest of the american species, being generally about five feet in length by three in height, and a little more than pounds in weight. he is exceedingly well formed and graceful; his horns are not so large as those of the stag, but, like his, they are annually caducous, falling off in the winter and returning in the spring. they are rounded below, but in the upper part slightly flattened or palmated. the antlers do not rise upward, but protrude forward over the brow in a threatening manner. there is no regular rule, however, for their shape and "set," and their number also varies in different individuals. the horns are also present only in the male or buck; the doe is without them. they rise from a rough bony protuberance on the forehead, called the "burr." in the first year they grow in the shape of two short straight spikes; hence the name "spike-bucks" given to the animals of that age. in the second season a small antler appears on each horn, and the number increases until the fourth year, when they obtain a full head-dress of "branching honours." the antlers, or, as they are sometimes called, "points," often increase in number with the age of the animal, until as many as fifteen make their appearance. this, however, is rare. indeed, the food of the animal has much to do with the growth of his horns. in an ill-fed specimen they do not grow to such size, nor branch so luxuriantly as in a well-fed fat buck. we have said that the horns fall annually. this takes place in winter-- in december and january. they are rarely found, however, as they are soon eaten up by the small-gnawing animals. the new horns begin to grow as soon as the old ones have dropped off. during the spring and summer they are covered with a soft velvety membrane, and they are then described as being "in the velvet." the blood circulates freely through this membrane, and it is highly sensitive, so that a blow upon the horns at this season produces great pain. by the time the "rutting" season commences (in october), the velvet has peeled off, and the horns are then in order for battle--and they need be, for the battles of the bucks during this period are terrible indeed.--frequently their horns get "locked" in such conflicts, and, being unable to separate them, the combatants remain in this situation until both perish by hunger, or fall a prey to their natural enemy--the wolf. many pairs of horns have been found in the forest thus locked together, and there is not a museum in america without this singular souvenir of mutual destruction! the hair of the american deer is thickly set and smooth on the surface. in winter it grows longer and is of a greyish hue; the deer is then, according to hunter phraseology, "in the grey." in the summer a new coat is obtained, which is reddish, or calf-coloured. the deer is then "in the red." towards the end of august, or in autumn, the whole coat has a blue tinge. this is called "in the blue." at all times the animal is of a whitish appearance on the throat and belly and insides of the legs. the skin is toughest when "in the red," thickest "in the blue," and thinnest "in the grey." in the blue it makes the best buckskin, and is, therefore, most valuable when obtained in autumn. the fawns of this species are beautiful little creatures; they are fawn-coloured, and showered all over with white spots which disappear towards the end of their first summer, when they gradually get into the winter grey. the american deer is a valuable animal. much of the buckskin of commerce is the product of its hides, and the horns are put to many uses. its flesh, besides supplying the tables of the wealthy, has been for centuries almost the whole sustenance of whole nations of indians. its skins have furnished them with tents, beds, and clothing; its intestines with bowstrings, ball "raquets," and snow-shoes; and in the chase of this creature they have found almost their sole occupation as well as amusement. with so many enemies, it is a matter of wonder that this species has not long been extirpated; not only has man been its constant and persevering destroyer, but it has a host of enemies besides, in the cougar, the lynxes, the wolverine, and the wolves. the last are its worst foes. hunters state that for one deer killed by themselves, five fall a prey to the wolves. these attack the young and feeble, and soon run them down. the old deer can escape from a wolf by superior speed; but in remote districts, where the wolves are numerous, they unite in packs of eight or ten, and follow the deer as hounds do, and even with a somewhat similar howling. they run by the nose, and unless the deer can reach water, and thus escape them, they will tire it down in the end. frequently the deer, when thus followed in winter, makes for the ice, upon which he is soon overtaken by his hungry pursuers. notwithstanding all this, the american deer is still common in most of the states, and in some of them even plentiful. where the wolves have been thinned off by "bounty" laws, and the deer protected during the breeding season by legislative enactments, as is the case in new york, their number is said to be on the increase. the markets of all the great cities in america are supplied with venison almost as cheap as beef, which shows that the deer are yet far from being scarce. the habits of this creature are well-known. it is gregarious in its natural _habitat_. the herd is usually led by an old buck, who watches over the safety of the others while feeding. when an enemy approaches, this sentinel and leader strikes the ground sharply with his hoofs, snorts loudly, and emits a shrill whistle; all the while fronting the danger with his horns set forward in a threatening manner. so long as he does not attempt to run, the others continue to browse with confidence; but the moment their leader starts to fly, all the rest follow, each trying to be foremost. they are timid upon ordinary occasions, but the bucks in the rutting season are bold, and when wounded and brought "to bay," are not to be approached with impunity. they can inflict terrible blows, both with their hoofs and antlers; and hunters who have come too near them on such occasions have with difficulty escaped being gored to death. they are foes to the snake tribe, and kill the most venomous serpents without being bitten. the rattle-snake hides from their attack. their mode of destroying these creatures is similar to that employed by the peccary (_dicotyles_): that is, by pouncing down upon them with the four hoofs held close together, and thus crushing them to death. the hostility of the peccary to snakes is easily understood, as no sooner has it killed one than it makes a meal of it. with the deer, of course, such is not the case, as they are not carnivorous. its enmity to the reptile race can be explained only by supposing that it possesses a knowledge of their dangerous qualities, and thinks they should therefore be got rid of. the food of the american deer consists of twigs, leaves of trees, and grass. they are fonder of the tree-shoots than the grass; but their favourite morsels are the buds and flowers of _nymphae_, especially those of the common pond-lily. to get these, they wade into the lakes and rivers like the moose, and, like them, are good swimmers. they love the shady forest better than the open ground, and they haunt the neighbourhood of streams. these afford them protection, as well as a means of quenching thirst. when pursued, their first thought is to make for water, in order to elude the pursuer, which they often succeed in doing, throwing both dogs and wolves off the scent. in summer, they seek the water to cool themselves, and get free from flies and mosquitoes, that pester them sadly. they are fond of salt, and repair in great numbers to the salines, or salt springs, that abound in all parts of america. at these they lick up quantities of earth along with the salt efflorescence, until vast hollows are formed in the earth, termed, from this circumstance, salt "licks." the consequence of this "dirt-eating" is, that the excrement of the animal comes forth in hard pellets; and by seeing this, the hunters can always tell when they are in the neighbourhood of a "lick." the does produce in spring--in may or june, according to the latitude. they bring forth one, two, and very rarely three fawns at a birth. their attachment to their young is proverbial. the mothers treat them with the greatest tenderness, and hide them while they go to feed. the bleating of the fawn at once recalls the mother to its side. the hunter often imitates this with success, using either his own voice, or a "call," made out of a cane-joint. an anecdote, told by parry, illustrates this maternal fondness:--"the mother, finding her young one could not swim as fast as herself, was observed to stop repeatedly, so as to allow, the fawn to come up with her; and, having landed first, stood watching it with trembling anxiety as the boat chased it to the shore. she was repeatedly fired at, but remained immovable, until her offspring landed in safety, when they both cantered out of sight." the deer to which parry refers is the small "caribou;" but a similar affection exists between the mother and fawns of the common deer. the american deer is hunted for its flesh, its hide, and "the sport." there are many modes of hunting it. the simplest and most common is that which is termed "still" hunting. in this, the hunter is armed with his rifle or deer-gun--a heavy fowling-piece--and steals forward upon the deer, as he would upon any other game. "cover" is not so necessary as silence in such a hunt. this deer, like some antelopes, is of a "curious" disposition, and will sometimes allow the hunter to approach in full view without attempting to run off. but the slightest noise, such as the rustling of dry leaves, or the snapping of a stick, will alarm him. his sense of hearing is extremely acute. his nose, too, is a keen one, and he often scents the hunter, and makes off long before the latter has got within sight or range. it is necessary in "still" hunting to leave the dog at home; unless, indeed, he be an animal trained to the purpose. another species of hunting is "trailing" the deer in snow. this is done either with dogs or without them. the snow must be frozen over, so as to cut the feet of the deer, which puts them in such a state of fear and pain, that the hunter can easily get within shot. i have assisted in killing twenty in a single morning in this way; and that, too, in a district where deer were not accounted plentiful. the "drive" is the most exciting mode of hunting deer; and the one practised by those who hunt for "the sport." this is done with hounds, and the horsemen who follow them also carry guns. in fact, there is hardly a species of hunting in america in which fire-arms are not used. several individuals are required to make up a "deer drive." they are generally men who know the "lay" of the country, with all its ravines and passes. one or two only accompany the hounds as "drivers," while the rest get between the place where the dogs are beating the cover and some river towards which it is "calculated" the startled game will run. they deploy themselves into a long line, which sometimes extends for miles through the forest. each, as he arrives at his station, or "stand," as it is called, dismounts, ties his horse in a thicket, and takes his stand, "covering" himself behind a log or tree. the stands are selected with reference to the configuration of the ground, or by paths which the deer are accustomed to take; and as soon as all have so arranged themselves, the dogs at a distant point are set loose, and the "drive" begins. the "stand men" remain quiet, with their guns in readiness. the barking of the dogs, afar off through the woods, usually admonishes them when a deer has been "put up;" and they watch with eager expectation, each one hoping that the game may come his way. hours are sometimes passed without the hunter either seeing or hearing a living thing but himself and his horse; and many a day he returns home from such a "chase" without having had the slightest glimpse of either buck, doe, or fawn. this is discouraging; but at other times he is rewarded for his patient watching. a buck comes bounding forward, the hounds after him in full cry. at intervals he stops, and throws himself back on his haunches like a halted hare. his eyes are protruded, and watching backward. his beautiful neck is swollen with fear and rage, and his branching antlers tower high in the air. again he springs forward, and approaches the silent hunter, who, with a beating heart, holds his piece in the attitude of "ready." he makes another of his pauses. the gun is levelled, the trigger pulled; the bullet speeds forth, and strikes into his broad chest, causing him to leap upward in the spasmodic effort of death. the excitement of a scene like this rewards the hunter for his long and lonely vigil. "torch-hunting," or "fire-hunting," as it is sometimes termed, is another method of capturing the fallow deer. it is done by carrying a torch in a very dark night through woods where deer are known to frequent. the torch is made of pine-knots, well dried. they are not tied in bunches, as represented by some writers, but carried in a vessel of hard metal. a frying-pan with a long handle, as already stated, is best for the purpose. the "knots" are kindled within the pan, and, if good ones, yield a blaze that will light the woods for a hundred yards around. the deer seeing this strange object, and impelled by curiosity, approaches within range; and the "glance" of his eyes, like two burning coals, betrays him to the hunter, who with his deadly rifle "sights" between the shining orbs and fire. while we were on the subject of torch-hunting the doctor took up the cue, and gave us an account of a torch-hunt he had made in tennessee. "i will tell you of a `torch-hunt,'" said he, "of which _pars magna fui_, and which ended with a `catastrophe.' it took place in tennessee, where i was for a while sojourning. i am not much of a hunter, as you all know; but happening to reside in a `settlement,' where there were some celebrated hunters, and in the neighbourhood of which was an abundance of game, i was getting very fond of it. i had heard, among other things, of this `torch-hunting,'--in fact, had read many interesting descriptions of it, but i had never witnessed the sport myself; and was therefore eager, above all things, to join in a torch-hunt. "the opportunity at length offered. a party was made up to go hunting, of which i was one. "there were six of us in all; but it was arranged that we should separate into three pairs, each taking its own torch and a separate course through the woods. in each pair one was to carry the light, while the other managed the `shooting iron.' we were all to meet at an appointed rendezvous when the hunt was over. "these preliminaries being arranged, and the torches made ready, we separated. my partner and i soon plunged into the deep forest. "the night was dark as pitch--dark nights are the best--and when we entered the woods we had to grope our way. of course, we had not yet set fire to our torch, as we had not reached the place frequented by the deer. "my companion was an old hunter, and by right should have carried the gun; but it was arranged differently, out of compliment to me--the stranger, he held in one hand the huge frying-pan, while in a bag over his shoulder was a bushel or more of dry pine-knots. "on arriving at the place where it was expected deer would be found, we set fire to our torch, and in a few moments the blaze threw its glaring circle around us, painting with vermilion tints the trunks of the great trees. "in this way we proceeded onward, advancing slowly, and with as little noise as possible. we talked only in whispers, keeping our eyes turned upon all sides at once. but we walked and walked, up hill and down hill, for, i should say, ten miles at the least; and not a single pair of bright orbs answered to our luminary. not a deer's eye reflected the blaze of our torch. "we had kept the fire replenished and burning vividly to no purpose, until hardly a knot remained in the bag. "i had grown quite tired in this fruitless search. so had my companion, and both of us felt chagrin and disappointment. we felt this the more keenly as there had been a `supper-wager' laid between us and our friends, as to what party would kill the greatest number of deer, and we fancied once or twice that we heard shots far off in the direction the others had gone. we were likely to come back empty-handed, while they, no doubt, would bring a deer each, perhaps more. "we were returning towards the point from which we had started, both of us in a most unamiable mood, when all at once an object right before us attracted my attention, and brought me to a sudden halt. i did not wait to ask any questions. a pair of small round circles glistened in the darkness like two little discs of fire. of course they were eyes. of course, they were the eyes of a deer. "i could see no body, for the two luminous objects shone as if set in a ground of ebony. but i did not stay to scan in what they were set. my piece was up. i glanced hastily along the barrel. i sighted between the eyes. i pulled the trigger. i fired. "as i did so, i fancied that i heard my companion shouting to me, but the report hindered me from hearing what he said. "when the echoes died away, however, his voice reached me, in a full, clear tone, pronouncing these words:-- "`tarnation, doctor! you've shot squire robbins's bull!' "at the same time the bellowing of the bull, mingling with his own loud laugh, convinced me that the hunter had spoken the truth. "he was a good old fellow, and promised to keep dark; but it was necessary to make all right with `squire robbins.' so the affair soon got wind, and my torch-hunt became, for a time, the standing joke of the settlement." chapter twenty four. deer hunt in a "dug-out." as we were now approaching the regions where the common fallow deer ceased to be met with, and where its place is supplied by two other species, these last became the subject of our talk. the species referred to are the "black-tails," and "long-tails" (_cervus macrotis_ and _leucurus_). ike and redwood were well acquainted with both kinds, as they had often trapped beaver in the countries where these deer are found; and they gave us a very good account of the habits of these animals, which showed that both species were in many respects similar to the _cervus virginianus_. their form, however, as well as their size, colour, and markings, leave no doubt of their being specifically distinct not only from the latter, but from each other. indeed, there are two varieties of the black-tails, differing in some respects, although both have the dark hair upon the tail, and the long ears, which so much distinguish them from other deer. the great length of their ears gives to their heads something of a "mulish" look--hence they are often known among the trappers by the name of "mule deer." ike and redwood spoke of them by this name, although they also knew them as "black-tails," and this last is the designation most generally used. they receive it on account of the colour of the hair upon the upper side of their tail-tips, which is of a jetty blackness, and is very full and conspicuous. the two species have been often confounded with each other, though in many respects they are totally unlike. the black-tails are larger, their legs shorter and their bodies more "chunky," and altogether of stouter build. in running, they bound with all their feet raised at once; while those of the long-tailed species run more like the common fallow deer--by trotting a few steps, then giving a bound, and trotting as before. the ears of the black-tails stand up full half the height of their antlers, and their hair, of a reddish-brown colour, is coarser than the hair of the _cervus virginianus_, and more like the coat of the elk (_cervus canadensis_). their hoofs, too, are shorter and wider, and in this respect there is also a similarity to the elk. the flesh of the black-tails is inferior to that of the fallow deer, while the long-tailed kind produces a venison very similar to the latter. both species inhabit woodlands occasionally, but their favourite _habitat_ is the prairie, or that species of undulating country where prairie and forest alternate, forming a succession of groves and openings. both are found only in the western half of the continent-- that is, in the wild regions extending from the mississippi to the pacific. in longitude, as far east as the mississippi, they are rarely seen; but as you travel westward, either approaching the rocky mountains, or beyond these to the shores of the pacific, they are the common deer of the country. the black-tailed kind is more southern in its range. it is found in the californias, and the valleys of the rocky mountains, as far south as texas; while to the north it is met with in oregon, and on the eastern side of the rocky mountains, as high as the fifty-fourth parallel. the long-tailed species is the most common deer of oregon and the columbia river, and its range also extends east of the rocky mountains, though not so far as the longitude of the mississippi. the hunter-naturalist, who had some years before made a journey to oregon, and of course had become well acquainted with the habits of the _cervus leucurus_, gave us a full account of them, and related a stirring adventure that had befallen him while hunting "long-tails" upon the columbia. "the long-tailed deer," began he, "is one of the smallest of the deer kind. its weight rarely exceeds pounds. it resembles in form and habits the common fallow deer, the chief distinction being the tail, which is a very conspicuous object. this appendage is often found to measure eighteen inches in length! "while running, the tail is held erect, and kept constantly switching from side to side, so as to produce a singular and somewhat ludicrous effect upon the mind of the spectator. "the gait of this animal is also peculiar. it first takes two ambling steps that resemble a trot, after these it makes a long bound, which carries it about twice the distance of the steps, and then it trots again. no matter how closely pursued, it never alters this mode of progression. "like the fallow deer, it produces spotted fawns, which are brought forth in the spring, and change their colour to that of the deer itself in the first winter. about the month of november they gather into herds, and remain together until april, when they separate, the females secreting themselves to bring forth their young. "the long-tailed deer is often found in wooded countries; though its favourite haunts are not amid the heavy timber of the great forests, but in the park-like openings that occur in many parts of the rocky mountain valleys. "sometimes whole tracts of country are met with in these regions, whose surface exhibits a pleasing variety of woodland and prairie; sloping hills appear with coppices upon their crests and along their sides. among these natural groves may be seen troops of the long-tailed deer, browsing along the declivities of the hills, and, by their elegant attitudes and graceful movements, adding to the beauty of the landscape. "some years ago i had an opportunity of hunting the long-tailed, deer. i was on my way across the rocky mountains to fort vancouver, when circumstances rendered it necessary that i should stop for some days at a small trading-post on one of the branches of the columbia. i was, in fact, detained, waiting for a party of fur-traders with whom i was to travel, and who required some time to get their packs in readiness. "the trading-post was a small place, with miserable accommodations, having scarcely room enough in its two or three wretched log-cabins to lodge half the company that happened at the time to claim its hospitality. as my business was simply to wait for my travelling companions, i was of course _ennuye_ almost to death in such a place. there was nothing to be seen around but packs of beaver, otter, mink, fox, and bear skins; and nothing to be heard but the incessant chattering of canadian voyageurs, in their mixed jargon of french, english, and indian. to make matters still more unpleasant, there was very little to eat, and nothing to drink but the clear water of the little mountain-stream upon which the fort was built. "the surrounding country, however, was beautiful; and the lovely landscapes that on every side met the eye almost compensated for the discomforts of the post. the surface of the country was what is termed rolling--gentle undulations here and there rising into dome-shaped hills of low elevation. these were crowned with copses of shrubby trees, principally of the wild filbert or hazel (_corylus_), with several species of _rosa_ and raspberry (rubus), and bushes of the june-berry (_amelanchier_), with their clusters of purplish-red fruit. the openings between were covered with a sward of short gramma grass, and the whole landscape presented the appearance of a cultivated park; so that one involuntarily looked along the undulating outlines of the hills for some noble mansion or lordly castle. "it is just in such situations that the fallow deer delights to dwell; and these are the favourite haunts of its near congeners, the long-tails. i had ascertained this from the people at the post; and the fact that fresh venison formed our staple and daily food was proof sufficient that some species of deer was to be found in the neighbourhood. i was not long, therefore, after my arrival, in putting myself in train for a hunt. "unfortunately, the gentlemen of the company were too busy to go along with me; so also were the numerous _engages_; and i set out, taking only my servant, a _bois brule_, or half-breed, who happened, however, to be a good guide for such an expedition, as well as a first-rate hunter. "setting out, we kept down the stream for some distance, walking along its bank. we saw numerous deer-tracks in the mud, where the animals had gone to and from the water. these tracks were almost fresh, and many of them, as my servant averred, must have been made the previous night by the animals coming to drink--a common habit with them, especially in hot weather. "but, strange to say, we walked a mile or more without getting a glimpse of a single deer, or any other sort of animal. i was becoming discouraged, when my man proposed that we should leave the stream, and proceed back among the hills. the deer, he believed, would be found there. "this was resolved upon; and we accordingly struck out for the high ground. we soon climbed up from the river bottom, and threaded our way amidst the fragrant shrubbery of amelanchiers and wild-roses, cautiously scrutinising every new vista that opened before us. "we had not gone far before we caught sight of several deer; we could also hear them at intervals, behind the copses that surrounded us, the males uttering a strange whistling sound, similar to that produced by blowing into the barrel of a gun, while this was occasionally replied to by the goat-like bleat of the females. "strange to say, however, they were all very shy, and notwithstanding much cautious crouching and creeping among the bushes, we wandered about for nearly two-thirds of the day without getting a shot at any of them. "what had made them so wary we could not at the time, tell, but we afterwards learned that a large party of flathead indians had gone over the ground only a few days before, and had put the deer through a three days chase, from which they had not yet recovered. indeed, we saw indian `sign' all along the route, and at one place came upon the head and horns of a fine buck, which, from some fancy or other of the hunter, had been left suspended from the branch of a tree, and had thus escaped being stripped by the wolves. "at sight of this trophy, my companion appeared to be in ecstasies. i could not understand what there was in a worthless set of antlers to produce such joyful emotions; but as blue dick--such was the _soubriquet_ of my servant--was not much given to idle exhibitions of feeling, i knew there must be something in it. "`now, master,' said he, addressing me, `if i had something else, i could promise you a shot at the long-tails, shy as they are.' "`something else! what do you want?' i inquired. "`something that ought to grow about yar, else i'm mightily mistaken in the sign. let me try down yonder,'--and dick pointed to a piece of low swampy ground that lay to one side of our course. "i assented, and followed him to the place. "we had hardly reached the border of the wet ground, when an exclamation from my companion told me that the `something' he wanted was in sight. "`yonder, master; the very weed: see yonder.' "dick pointed to a tall herbaceous plant that grew near the edge of the swamp. its stem was fully eight feet in height, with large lobed leaves, and a wide-spreading umbel of pretty white flowers. i knew the plant well. it was that which is known in some places as master-wort, but more commonly by the name of cow parsnip. its botanical name is _heracleum lanatum_. i knew that its roots possessed stimulant and carminative properties; but that the plant had anything to do with deer-hunting, i was ignorant. "dick, however, was better acquainted with its uses in that respect; and his hunter-craft soon manifested itself. "drawing his knife from its sheath, he cut one of the joints from the stem of the heracleum, about six inches in length. this he commenced fashioning somewhat after the manner of a penny-trumpet. "in a few minutes he had whittled it to the proper form and dimensions, after which he put up his knife, and applying the pipe to his lips, blew into it. the sound produced was so exactly like that which i had already heard to proceed from the deer, that i was startled by the resemblance. "not having followed his manoeuvres, i fancied for a moment that we had got into close proximity with one of the long-tails. my companion laughed, as he pointed triumphantly to his new made `call.' "`now, master,' said he, `we'll soon "rub out" one of the long-tail bucks.' "so saying, he took up the antlers, and desired me to follow him. "we proceeded as before, walking quickly but cautiously among the thickets, and around their edges. we had gone only a few hundred paces farther, when the hollow whistle of a buck sounded in our ears. "`now,' muttered dick, `we have him. squat down, master, under the bush--so.' "i did as desired, hiding myself under the leafy branches of the wild rose-trees. my companion cowered down beside me in such an attitude that he himself was concealed, while the buck's head and antlers were held above the foliage, and visible from several points where the ground was open. "as soon as we were fairly placed, dick applied the call to his lips, and blew his mimic note several times in succession. we heard what appeared to be an echo, but it was the response of a rival; and shortly after we could distinguish a hoof-stroke upon the dry turf, as if some animal was bounding towards us. "presently appeared a fine buck, at an opening between two copses, about one hundred paces from the spot where we lay. it had halted, thrown back upon its flanks until its haunches almost touched the ground, while its full large eye glanced over the opening, as if searching for some object. "at this moment dick applied the reed to his lips, at the same time moving the horns backward and forward, in imitation of a buck moving his head in a threatening manner. "the stranger now perceived what appeared to him the branching horns of a rival, hearing, at the same time, the well-known challenge. this was not to be borne, and rising erect on all-fours, with his brow-antlers set forward, he accepted the challenge, and came bounding forward. "at the distance of twenty paces or so, be again baited, as if still uncertain of the character of his enemy; but that halt was fatal to him, for by dick's directions i had made ready my rifle, and taking sight at his breast, i pulled trigger. the result was as my companion had predicted, and the buck was `rubbed out.' "after skinning our game, and hanging the meat out of reach of the barking wolves, we proceeded as before; and soon after another buck was slain in a manner very similar to that described. "this ended our day's hunt, as it was late before dick had bethought him of the decoy; and taking the best parts of both the long-tails upon our shoulders, we trudged homeward to the post. "part of our road, as we returned, lay along the stream, and we saw several deer approaching the water, but, cumbered as we were, we failed in getting a shot. an idea, however, was suggested to my companion that promised us plenty of both sport and venison for the next hunt--which was to take place by night. "this idea he communicated to me for my approval. i readily gave my consent, as i saw in the proposal the chances of enjoying a very rare sport. that sport was to be a fire-hunt; but not as usually practised among backwoodsmen, by carrying a torch through the woods. our torch was to float upon the water, while we were snugly seated beside it; in other words, we would carry our torch in a canoe, and, floating down stream, would shoot the deer that happened to be upon the banks drinking or cooling their hoofs in the water. i had heard of the plan, but had never practised it, although i was desirous of so doing. dick had often killed deer in this way, and therefore knew all about it. it was agreed, then, that upon the following night we should try the experiment. "during the next day, dick and i proceeded in our preparations without saying anything to any one. it was our design to keep our night-hunt a secret, lest we might be unsuccessful, and get laughed at for our pains. on the other hand, should we succeed in killing a goodly number of long-tails, it would be time enough to let it be known how we had managed matters. "we had little difficulty in keeping our designs to ourselves. every one was busy with his own affairs, and took no heed of our manoeuvres. "our chief difficulty lay in procuring a boat; but for the consideration of a few loads of powder, we at length borrowed an old canoe that belonged to one of the flathead indians--a sort of hanger-on of the post. "this craft was simply a log of the cotton-wood, rudely hollowed out by means of an axe, and slightly rounded at the ends to produce the canoe-shape. it was that species of water craft popularly known throughout western america as a `dug-out,' a phrase which explains itself. it was both old and ricketty, but after a short inspection, blue dick declared it would do `fust-rate.' "our next move was to prepare our torch. for this we had to make an excursion to the neighbouring hills, where we found the very material we wanted--the dry knots of the pitch-pine-tree. "a large segment of birch-bark was then sought for and obtained, and our implements were complete. "at twilight all was ready, and stepping into our dug-out, we paddled silently down stream. "as soon as we had got out of the neighbourhood of the post, we lighted our torch. this was placed in a large frying-pan out upon the bow, and was in reality rather a fire of pine-knots than a torch. it blazed up brightly, throwing a glare over the surface of the stream, and reflecting in red light every object upon both banks. we, on the other hand, were completely hidden from view by means of the birch-bark screen, which stood up between us and the torch. "as soon as we were fairly under way, i yielded up the paddle to dick, who now assigned to himself the double office of guiding the dug-out and keeping the torch trimmed. i was to look to the shooting; so, placing my trusty rifle across my thighs, i sat alternately scanning both banks as we glided along. "i shall never forget the romantic effect which was produced upon my mind during that wild excursion. the scenery of the river upon which we had launched our craft was at all times of a picturesque character: under the blaze of the pine-wood--its trees and rocks tinted with a reddish hue, while the rippling flood below ran like molten gold--the effect was heightened to a degree of sublimity which could not have failed to impress the dullest imagination. it was the autumn season, too, and the foliage, which had not yet commenced falling, had assumed those rich varied tints so characteristic of the american _sylva_-- various hues of green and golden, and yellow and deep red were exhibited upon the luxuriant frondage that lined the banks of the stream, and here and there drooped like embroidered curtains down to the water's edge. it was a scene of that wild beauty, that picturesque sublimity, which carries one to the contemplation of its creator. "`yonder!' muttered a voice, that roused me from my reverie. it was dick who spoke; and in the dark shadow of the birch-bark i could see one of his arms extended, and pointing to the right bank. "my eyes followed the direction indicated; they soon rested upon two small objects, that from the darker background of the foliage appeared bright and luminous. these objects were round, and close to each other; and at a glance i knew them to be the eyes of some animal, reflecting the light of our torch. "my companion whispered me that they were the eyes of a deer. i took sight with my rifle, aiming as nearly as i could midway between the luminous spots. i pulled trigger, and my true piece cracked like a whip. "the report was not loud enough to drown the noises that came back from the shore. there was a rustling of leaves, followed by a plunge, as of some body felling in the water. "dick turned the head of the dug-out, and paddled her up to the bank. the torch, blazing brightly, lit up the scene ahead of us, and our eyes were gratified by the sight of a fine buck, that had fallen dead into the river. he was about being drawn into the eddy of the current, but dick prevented this, and, seizing him by the antlers, soon deposited him safely in the bottom of the dug-out. "our craft was once more headed down stream, and we scrutinised every winding of the banks in search of another pair of gleaming eyes. in less than half an hour these appeared, and we succeeded in killing a second long-tail--a doe--and dragged her also into the boat. "shortly after, a third was knocked over, which we found standing out in the river upon a small point of sand. this proved to be a young spike-buck, his horns not having as yet branched off into antlers. "about a quarter of a mile farther down, a fourth, deer was shot at, and missed, the dug-out having grazed suddenly against a rock just as i was pulling trigger, thus rendering my aim unsteady. "i need hardly say that this sport was extremely exciting; and we had got many miles from the post, without thinking either of the distance or the fact that we should be under the disagreeable necessity of paddling the old flathead's canoe every inch of the way back again. down stream it was all plain sailing; and dick's duty was light enough, as it consisted merely in keeping the dug-out head foremost in the middle of the river. the current ran at the rate of three miles an hour, and therefore drifted us along with sufficient rapidity. "the first thing that suggested a return to either of us, was the fact that our pine-knots had run out: dick had just piled the last of them in the frying-pan. "at this moment, a noise sounded in our ears that caused us some feelings of alarm: it was the noise of falling water. it was not new to us, for, since leaving the post, we had passed the mouths of several small streams that debouched into the one upon which we were, in most cases over a jumble of rocks, thus forming a series of noisy rapids. but that which we now heard was directly ahead of us, and must, thought we, be a rapid or fall of the stream itself; moreover, it sounded louder than any we had hitherto passed. "we lost little time in conjectures. the first impulse of my companion, upon catching the sound, was to stop the progress of the dug-out, which in a few seconds he succeeded in doing; but by this time our torch had shown us that there was a sharp turning in the river, with a long reach of smooth water below. the cascade, therefore, could not be in our stream, but in some tributary that fell into it near the bend. "on seeing this, dick turned his paddle, and permitted the dug-out once more to float with the current. "the next moment we passed the mouth of a good-sized creek, whose waters, having just leaped a fall of several feet, ran into the river, covered with white froth and bubbles. we could see the fall at a little distance, through the branches of the trees; and as we swept on, its foaming sheet reflected the light of our torch like shining metal. "we had scarcely passed this point, when my attention was attracted by a pair of fiery orbs that glistened out of some low bushes upon the left bank of the river. i saw that they were the eyes of some animal, but what kind of animal i could not guess. i know they were not the eyes of a deer. their peculiar scintillation, their lesser size, the wide space between them all convinced me they were not deer's eyes. moreover, they moved at times, as if the head of the animal was carried about in irregular circles. this is never the case with the eyes of the deer, which either pass hurriedly from point to point, or remain with a fixed and steadfast gaze. "i knew, therefore, it was no deer; but no matter what--it was some wild creature, and all such are alike the game of the prairie-hunter. "i took aim, and pulled trigger. while doing so, i heard the voice of my companion warning me, as i thought, not to fire. i wondered at this admonition, but it was then too late to heed it, for it had been uttered almost simultaneously with the report of my rifle. "i first looked to the bank, to witness the effect of my shot. to my great surprise, the eyes were still there, gleaming from the bushes as brightly as ever. "had i missed my aim? it is true, the voice of my companion had somewhat disconcerted me; but i still believed that my bullet must have sped truly, as it had been delivered with a good aim. "as i turned to dick for an explanation, a new sound fell upon my ears that explained all, at the same time causing me no slight feeling of alarm. it was a sound not unlike that sometimes uttered by terrified swine, but still louder and more threatening. i knew it well--i knew it was the snort of the grizzly bear! "of all american animals, the grizzly bear is the most to be dreaded. armed or unarmed, man is no match for him, and even the courageous hunter of these parts shuns the encounter. this was why my companion had admonished me not to fire. i thought i had missed: it was not so. my bullet had hit and stung the fierce brute to madness; and a quick cracking among the bushes was immediately followed by a heavy plunge: the bear was in the water! "`good heavens, he's after us!' cried dick in accents of alarm, at the same time propelling the dug-out with all his might. "it proved true enough that the bear was after us, and the very first plunge had brought his nose almost up to the side of the canoe. however, a few well-directed strokes of the paddle set us in quick motion, and we were soon gliding rapidly down stream, followed by the enraged animal, that every now and then uttered one of his fierce snorts. "what rendered our situation a terrible one was, that we could not now see the bear, nor tell how far he might be from us. all to the rear of the canoe was of a pitchy darkness, in consequence of the screen of birch-bark. no object could be distinguished in that direction, and it was only by hearing him that we could tell he was still some yards off. the snorts, however, were more or less distinct, as heard amid the varying roar of the waterfall; and sometimes they seemed as if the snout from which they proceeded was close up to our stern. "we knew that if he once laid his paw upon the canoe, we should either be sunk or compelled to leap out and swim for it. we knew, moreover, that such an event would be certain death to one of us at least. "i need hardly affirm, that my companion used his paddle with all the energy of despair. i assisted him as much as was in my power with the butt-end of my gun, which was now empty. on account of the hurry and darkness, i had not attempted to re-load it. "we had shot down stream for a hundred yards or so, and were about congratulating ourselves on the prospect of an escape from the bear, when a new object of dread presented itself to our terrified imaginations. this object was the sound of falling water; but not as before, coming from some tributary stream. no. it was a fall of the river upon which we were floating, and evidently only a very short distance below us! "we were, in fact, within less than one hundred yards of it. our excitement, in consequence of being pursued by the bear, as well as the fact that the sough of the cascade above still filled our ears, had prevented us from perceiving this new danger until we had approached it. "a shout of terror and warning from my companion seemed the echo of one i had myself uttered. both of us understood the peril of our situation, and both, without speaking another word, set about attempting to stop the boat. "we paddled with all our strength--he with the oar, whilst i used the flat butt of my rifle. we had succeeded in bringing her to a sort of equilibrium, and were in hopes of being able to force her toward the bank, when all at once we heard a heavy object strike against the stern. at the same moment, the bow rose up into the air, and a number of the burning pine-knots fell back into the bottom of the canoe. they still continued to blaze; and their light now falling towards the stern, showed us a fearful object. the bear had seized hold of the dug-out, and his fierce head and long curving claws were visible over the edge! "although the little craft danced about upon the water, and was likely to be turned keel upward, the animal showed no intention of relaxing its hold; but, on the contrary, seemed every moment mounting higher into the canoe. "our peril was now extreme. we knew it, and the knowledge half paralysed us. "both of us started up, and for some moments half sat, half crouched, uncertain how to act. should we use the paddles, and get the canoe ashore, it would only be to throw ourselves into the jaws of the bear. on the other hand, we could not remain as we were, for in a few seconds we should be drifted over the falls; and how high these were we knew not. we had never heard of them: they might be fifty feet--they might be a hundred! high enough, they were, no doubt, to precipitate us into eternity. "the prospect was appalling, and our thoughts ran rapidly. quick action was required. i could think of no other than to lean sternward, and strike at the bear with my clubbed rifle, at the same time calling upon my companion to paddle for the shore. we preferred, under all circumstances, risking the chances of a land encounter with our grizzly antagonist. "i had succeeded in keeping the bear out of the canoe by several well-planted blows upon the snout; and dick was equally successful in forcing the dug-out nearer to the bank, when a sharp crack reached my ears, followed by a terrified cry from my companion. "i glanced suddenly round, to ascertain the cause of these demonstrations. dick held in his hands a short round stick, which i recognised as the shaft of the paddle. the blade had snapped off, and was floating away on the surface! "we were now helpless. the _manege_ of the canoe was no longer possible. over the falls she must go! "we thought of leaping out, but it was too late. we were almost upon the edge, and the black current that bore our craft swiftly along would have carried our bodies with like velocity. we could not make a dozen strokes before we should be swept to the brink: it was too late. "we both saw this; and each knew the feelings of the other, for we felt alike. neither spoke; but, crouching down and holding the gunwales of the canoe, we awaited the awful moment. "the bear seemed to have some apprehension as well as ourselves; for, instead of continuing his endeavours to climb into the canoe, he contented himself with holding fast to the stern, evidently under some alarm. "the torch still blazed, and the canoe was catching fire; perhaps this it was that alarmed the bear. "the last circumstance gave us at the moment but little concern; the greater danger eclipsed the less. we had hardly noticed it, when we felt that we were going over! "the canoe shot outward as if propelled by some projectile force; then came a loud crash, as though we had dropped upon a hard rock. water, and spray, and froth were dashed over our bodies; and the next moment, to our surprise as well as delight, we felt ourselves still alive, and seated in the canoe, which was floating gently in still smooth water. "it was quite dark, for the torch had been extinguished; but even in the darkness we could perceive the bear swimming and floundering near the boat. to our great satisfaction, we saw him heading for the shore, and widening the distance between himself and us with all the haste he could make. the unexpected precipitation over the falls had cooled his courage, if not his hostility. "dick and i headed the canoe, now half full of water, for the opposite bank, which we contrived to reach by using the rifle and our hands for paddles. here we made the little vessel fast to a tree, intending to leave it there, as we could not by any possibility get it back over the fall. having hung our game out of reach of the wolves, we turned our faces up-stream, and, after a long and wearisome walk, succeeded in getting back to the post. "next morning, a party went down for the venison, with the intention also of carrying the canoe back over the fall. the craft, however, was found to be so much injured, that it would not hang together during the portage, and was therefore abandoned. this was no pleasant matter to me, for it afterwards cost me a considerable sum before i could square with the old flathead for his worthless dug-out." chapter twenty five. old ike and the grizzly. a--'s adventure ending in a grizzly bear story, drew the conversation upon that celebrated animal, and we listened to the many curious facts related about it, with more than usual interest. the grizzly bear (_ursus ferox_) is, beyond all question, the most formidable of the wild creatures inhabiting the continent of america-- jaguar and cougar not excepted. did he possess the swiftness of foot of either the lion or tiger of the old world, he would be an assailant as dangerous as either; for he is endowed with the strength of the former, and quite equals the latter in ferocity. fortunately, the horse outruns him; were it not so, many a human victim would be his, for he can easily overtake a man on foot. as it is, hundreds of well-authenticated stories attest the prowess of this fierce creature. there is not a "mountain-man" in america who cannot relate a string of perilous adventures about the "grizzly bar;" and the instances are far from being few, in which human life has been sacrificed in conflicts with this savage beast. the grizzly bear is an animal of large dimensions; specimens have been killed and measured quite equal to the largest size of the polar bear, though there is much variety in the sizes of different individuals. about pounds might be taken as the average weight. in shape, the grizzly bear is a much more compact animal than either the black or polar species: his ears are larger, his arms stouter, and his aspect fiercer. his teeth are sharp and strong; but that which his enemies most dread is the armature of his paws. the paws themselves are so large, as frequently to leave in the mud a track of twelve inches in length, by eight in breadth; and from the extremities of these formidable fists protrude horn-like claws full six inches long! of course, we are speaking of individuals of the largest size. these claws are crescent-shaped, and would be still longer, but in all cases nearly an inch is worn from their points. the animal digs up the ground in search of marmots, burrowing squirrels, and various esculent roots; and this habit accounts for the blunted condition of his claws. they are sharp enough, notwithstanding, to peel the hide from a horse or buffalo, or to drag the scalp from a hunter--a feat which has been performed by grizzly bears on more than one occasion. the colour of this animal is most generally brownish, with white hairs intermixed, giving that greyish or grizzled appearance--whence the trivial name, grizzly. but although this is the most common colour of the species, there are many varieties. some are almost white, others yellowish red, and still others nearly black. the season, too, has much to do with the colour; and the pelage is shaggier and longer than that of the _ursus americanus_. the eyes are small in proportion to the size of the animal, but dark and piercing. the geographical range of the grizzly bear is extensive. it is well-known that the great chain of the rocky mountains commences on the shores of the arctic ocean, and runs southwardly through the north-american continent. in those mountains, the grizzly bear is found, from their northern extremity, at least as far as that point where the rio grande makes its great bend towards the gulf of mexico. in the united states and canada, this animal has never been seen in a wild state. this is not strange. the grizzly bear has no affinity with the forest. previous to the settling of these territories, they were all forest-covered. the grizzly is rarely found under heavy timber, like his congener the black bear; and, unlike the latter, he is not a tree-climber. the black bear "hugs" himself up a tree, and usually destroys his victim by compression. the grizzly does not possess this power, so as to enable him to ascend a tree-trunk; and for such a purpose, his huge dull claws are worse than useless. his favourite haunts are the thickets of _corylus rubus_, and _amelanchiers_, under the shade of which he makes his lair, and upon the berries of which he partially subsists. he lives much by the banks of streams, hunting among the willows, or wanders along the steep and rugged bluffs, where scrubby pine and dwarf cedar (_juniperus prostrata_), with its rooting branches, forms an almost impenetrable underwood. in short, the grizzly bear of america is to be met with in situations very similar to those which are the favourite haunts of the african lion, which, after all, is not so much the king of the forest, as of the mountain and the open plain. the grizzly bear is omnivorous. fish, flesh, and fowl are eaten by him apparently with equal relish. he devours frogs, lizards, and other reptiles. he is fond of the larvae of insects; these are often found in large quantities adhering to the under sides of decayed logs. to get at them, the grizzly bear will roll over logs of such size and weight, as would try the strength of a yoke of oxen. he can "root" like a hog, and will often plough up acres of prairie in search of the wapatoo and indian turnip. like the black bear, he is fond of sweets; and the wild-berries, consisting of many species of currant, gooseberry, and service berry, are greedily gathered into his capacious maw. he is too slow of foot to overtake either buffalo, elk, or deer, though he sometimes comes upon these creatures unawares; and he will drag the largest buffalo to the earth, if he can only get his claws upon it. not unfrequently he robs the panther of his repast, and will drive a whole pack of wolves from the carrion they have just succeeded in killing. several attempts have been made to raise the young grizzlies, but these have all been abortive, the animals proving anything but agreeable pets. as soon as grown to a considerable size, their natural ferocity displays itself, and their dangerous qualities usually lead to the necessity for their destruction. for a long time the great polar bear has been the most celebrated animal of his kind; and most of the bear-adventures have related to him. many a wondrous tale of his prowess and ferocity has been told by the whaler and arctic voyager, in which this creature figures as the hero. his fame, however, is likely to be eclipsed by his hitherto less-known congener--the grizzly. the golden lure which has drawn half the world to california, has also been the means of bringing this fierce animal more into notice; for the mountain-valleys of the sierra nevada are a favourite range of the species. besides, numerous "bear scrapes" have occurred to the migrating bands who have crossed the great plains and desert tracts that stretch from the mississippi to the shores of the south sea. hundreds of stories of this animal, more or less true, have of late attained circulation through the columns of the press and the pages of the traveller's note-book, until the grizzly bear is becoming almost as much an object of interest as the elephant, the hippopotamus, or the king of beasts himself. speaking seriously, he is a dangerous assailant. white hunters never attack him unless when mounted and well armed; and the indians consider the killing a grizzly bear a feat equal to the scalping of a human foe. these never attempt to hunt him, unless when a large party is together; and the hunt is, among some tribes, preceded by a ceremonious feast and a bear-dance. it is often the lot of the solitary trapper to meet with this four-footed enemy, and the encounter is rated as equal to that with two hostile indians. of course, both redwood and old ike had met with more than one "bar scrape," and the latter was induced to relate one of his best. "strengers," began he, "when you scare up a grizzly, take my advice, and gie 'im a wide berth--that is, unless yur unkimmun well mounted. ov coorse, ef yur critter kin be depended upon, an' thur's no brush to 'tangle him, yur safe enuf; as no grizzly, as ever i seed, kin catch up wi' a hoss, whur the ground's open an' clur. f'r all that, whur the timmer's clost an' brushy, an' the ground o' that sort whur a hoss mout stummel, it are allers the safest plan to let ole eph'm slide. i've seed a grizzly pull down as good a hoss as ever tracked a parairy, whur the critter hed got bothered in a thicket. the fellur that straddled him only saved himself by hookin' on to the limb o' a tree. 'twant two minnits afore this child kim up--hearin' the rumpus. i hed good sight o' the bar, an' sent a bullet--sixty to the pound--into the varmint's brain-pan, when he immediately cawalloped over. but 'twur too late to save the hoss. he wur rubbed out. the bar had half skinned him, an' wur tarrin' at his guts! wagh!" here the trapper unsheathed his clasp-knife, and having cut a "chunk" from a plug of real "jeemes's river," stuck it into his cheek, and proceeded with his narration. "i reck'n, i've seed a putty consid'able o' the grizzly bar in my time. ef them thur chaps who writes about all sorts o' varmint hed seed as much o' the grizzly as i hev, they mout a gin a hul book consarnin' the critter. ef i hed a plug o' bacca for every grizzly i've rubbed out, it 'ud keep my jaws waggin' for a good twel'month, i reck'n. ye-es, strengers, i've done some bar-killin'--i hev that, an' no mistake! hain't i, mark? "wal, i wur a-gwine to tell you ov a sarcumstance that happened to this child about two yeern ago. it wur upon the platte, atween chimbly rock an' laramies'. "i wur engaged as hunter an' guide to a carryvan o' emigrant folks that wur on thur way to oregon. "ov coorse i allers kept ahead o' the carryvan, an' picked the place for thur camp. "wal, one arternoon i hed halted whur i seed some timmer, which ur a scace article about chimbly rock. this, thort i, 'll do for campin'-ground; so i got down, pulled the saddle off o' my ole mar, an' staked the critter upon the best patch o' grass that wur near, intendin' she shed hev her gut-full afore the camp cattle kim up to bother her. "i hed shot a black-tail buck, an' after kindlin' a fire, i roasted a griskin' o' him, an' ate it. "still thur wan't no sign o' the carryvan, an' arter hangin' the buck out o' reach o' the wolves, i tuk up my rifle, an' set out to rackynoiter the neighbourhood. "my mar bein' some'at jaded, i let her graze away, an' went afoot; an' that, let me tell you, strengers, ar about the foolichest thing you kin do upon a parairy. i wan't long afore i proved it; but i'll kum to that by 'm by. "wal, i fust clomb a conside'able hill, that gin me a view beyont. thur war a good-sized parairy layin' torst the south an' west. thur wur no trees 'ceptin' an odd cotton-wood hyur an' thur on the hillside. "about a mile off i seed a flock of goats--what you'd call antelopes, though goats they ur, as sure as goats is goats. "thur waunt no kiver near them--not a stick, for the parairy wur as bar as yur hand; so i seed, at a glimp, it 'ud be no use a tryin' to approach, unless i tuk some plan to decoy the critters. "i soon thort o' a dodge, an' went back to camp for my blanket, which wur a red mackinaw. this i knew 'ud be the very thing to fool the goats with, an' i set out torst them. "for the fust half-a-mile or so, i carried the blanket under my arm. then i spread it out, an' walked behind it until i wur 'ithin three or four hundred yards o' the animals. i kept my eye on 'em through a hole in the blanket. they wur a-growin' scary, an' hed begun to run about in circles; so when i seed this, i knew it wur time to stop. "wal, i hunkered down, an' still keepin' the blanket spread out afore me, i hung it upon a saplin' that i had brought from the camp. i then stuck the saplin' upright in the ground; an' mind ye, it wan't so easy to do that, for the parairy wur hard friz, an' i hed to dig a hole wi' my knife. howsomdever, i got the thing rigged at last, an' the blanket hangin' up in front kivered my karkidge most complete. i hed nothin' more to do but wait till the goats shed come 'ithin range o' my shootin'-iron. "wal, that wan't long. as ye all know, them goats is a mighty curious animal--as curious as weemen is--an arter runnin' backward an' forrard a bit, an' tossin' up thur heads, an' sniffin' the air, one o' the fattest, a young prong-horn buck, trotted up 'ithin fifty yards o' me. "i jest squinted through the sights, an' afore that goat hed time to wink twice, i hit him plum atween the eyes. ov coorse he wur throwed in his tracks. "now, you'd a-jumped up, an' frightened the rest away--that's what you'd a done, strengers. but you see i knowd better. i knowd that so long's the critters didn't see my karkidge, they wan't a-gwine to mind the crack o' the gun. so i laid still, in behopes to git a wheen more o' them. "as i hed calc'lated at fust, they didn't run away, an' i slipped in my charge as brisk as possible. but jest as i wur raisin' to take sight on a doe that hed got near enough, the hull gang tuk scare, an' broke off as ef a pack of parairy-wolves wur arter 'em. "i wur clean puzzled at this, for i knowd i hedn't done anythin' to frighten 'em, but i wan't long afore i diskivered the pause o' thur alarm. jest then i heerd a snift, like the coughin' o' a glandered hoss; an' turnin' suddintly round, i spied the biggest bar it hed ever been my luck to set eyes on. he wur comin' direct torst me, an' at that minnit wan't over twenty yards from whur i lay. i knowd at a glimp he wur a grizzly! "'tain't no use to say i wan't skeart; i wur skeart, an' mighty bad skeart, i tell ye. "at fust, i thort o' jumpin' to my feet, an' makin' tracks; but a minnit o' reflexshun showed me that 'ud be o' little use. thur wur a half o' mile o' clur parairy on every side o' me, an' i knowd the grizzly laid catch up afore i hed made three hundred yards in any direction. i knowd, too, that ef i started, the varmint 'ud be sartin to foller. it wur plain to see the bar meant mischief; i kud tell that from the glint o' his eyes. "thur wan't no time to lose in thinkin' about it. the brute wur still comin' nearer; but i noticed that he wur a-gwine slower an' slower, every now an' agin risin' to his hind-feet, clawin' his nose, an' sniffin' the air. "i seed that it wur the red blanket that puzzled him; an' seein' this, i crep' closter behint it, an' cached as much o' my karkidge as it 'ud kiver. "when the bar hed got 'ithin about ten yards o' the spot, he kim to a full stop, an' reared up as he hed did several times, with his belly full torst me. the sight wur too much for this niggur, who never afore had been bullied by eyther injun or bar. "'twur a beautiful shot, an' i kudn't help tryin' it, ef 't hed been my last; so i poked my rifle through the hole in the blanket, an' sent a bullet atween the varmint's ribs. "that wur, perhaps, the foolichest an' wust shot this child ever made. hed i not fired it, the bar mout a gone off, feard o' the blanket; but i did fire, an' my narves bein' excited, i made a bad shot. "i had ta'en sight for the heart, an' i only hit the varmint's shoulder. "ov coorse, the bar bein' now wounded, bekim savage, and cared no longer for the blanket. he roared out like a bull, tore at the place whur i hed hit him, an' then kim on as fast as his four legs 'ud carry him. "things looked squally. i throwed away my emp'y gun, an' drawed my bowie, expectin' nothin' else than a regular stand-up tussle wi' the bar. i knowd it wur no use turnin' tail now; so i braced myself up for a desp'rate fight. "but jest as the bar hed got 'ithin ten feet o' me, an idee suddintly kim into my head. i hed been to santa fe, among them yaller-hided mexikins, whur i hed seed two or three bull-fights. i hed seed them mattydoors fling thur red cloaks over a bull's head, jest when you'd a thort they wur a-gwine to be gored to pieces on the fierce critter's horns. "jest then, i remembered thur trick; an' afore the bar cud close on me, i grabbed the blanket, spreadin' it out as i tuk holt. "strangers, that wur a blanket an' no mistake! it wur as fine a five-point mackinaw as ever kivered the hump-ribs o' a nor'-west trader. i used to wear it mexikin-fashun when it rained; an' in coorse, for that purpose, thur wur a hole in the middle to pass the head through. "wal, jest as the bar sprung at me, i flopped the blanket straight in his face. i seed his snout a passin' through the hole, but i seed no more; for i feeled the critter's claws touchin' me, an' i let go. "now, thunk i, wur my time for a run. the blanket mout blin' him a leetle, an' i mout git some start. "with this thort, i glid past the animal's rump, an' struck out over the parairy. "the direction happened to be that that led torst the camp, half a mile off; but thur wur a tree nearer, on the side o' the hill. ef i kud reach that, i knowd i 'ud be safe enuf, as the grizzly bar it don't climb. "for the fust hundred yards i never looked round; then i only squinted back, runnin' all the while. "i kud jest see that the bar appeared to be still a tossin' the blanket, and not fur from whur we hed parted kumpny. "i thort this some'at odd; but i didn't stay to see what it meant till i hed put another hundred yards atween us. then i half turned, an' tuk a good look; an' if you believe me, strangers, the sight i seed thur 'ud a made a mormon larf. although jest one minnit afore, i wur putty nigh skeart out o' my seven senses, that sight made me larf till i wur like to bring on a colic. "thur wur the bar wi' his head right a-through the blanket. one minnit, he 'ud rear up on his hind-feet, an' then the thing hung roun' him like a mexikin greaser. the next minnit, he 'ud be down on all-fours, an' tryin' to foller me; an' then the mackinaw 'ud trip him up, an' over he 'ud whammel, and kick to get free--all the while routin' like a mad buffalo. jehosophat! it wur the funniest sight this child ever seed. wagh! "wal, i watched the game awhile--only a leetle while; for i knowd that if the bar could git clur o' the rag, he mout still overtake me, an' drive me to the tree. that i didn't wan't, eyther, so i tuk to my heels agin' and soon reached camp. "thur i saddled my mar, an' then rid back to git my gun, an', perhaps, to give ole eph'm a fresh taste o' lead. "when i clomb the hill agin, the bar wur still out on the parairy, an' i cud see that the blanket wur a-hanging around 'im. howsomdever, he wur makin' off torst the hills, thinkin', maybe, he'd hed enuf o' my kumpny. "i wan't a-gwine to let 'im off so easy, for the skear he hed 'gin me; besides, he wur traillin' my mackinaw along wi' 'im. so i galluped to whur my gun lay, an' havin' rammed home a ball, i then galluped arter ole grizzly. "i soon overhauled him, an' he turned on me as savagerous as ever. but this time, feeling secure on the mar's back, my narves wur steadier; an' i shot the bar plum through the skull, which throwed him in his tracks wi' the blanket wropped about 'im. "but sich a blanket as that wur then--ay, sich a blanket! i never seed sich a blanket! thur wunt a square foot o' it that wan't torn to raggles. ah, strangers, you don't know what it are to lose a five-point mackinaw; no, that you don't. cuss the bar!" chapter twenty six. a battle with grizzly bears. as adventure with grizzly bears which had befallen the "captain" was next related. he had been travelling with a strange party--the "scalp-hunters,"--in the mountains near santa fe, when they were overtaken by a sudden and heavy fall of snow that rendered farther progress impossible. the "canon," a deep valley in which they had encamped, was difficult to get through at any time, but now the path, on account of the deep soft snow, was rendered impassable. when morning broke they found themselves fairly "in the trap." "above and below, the valley was choked up with snow five fathoms deep. vast fissures--_barrancas_--were filled with the drift; and it was perilous to attempt penetrating in either direction. two men had already disappeared. "on each side of our camp rose the walls of the canon, almost vertical, to the height of a hundred feet. these we might have climbed had the weather been soft, for the rock was a trap formation, and offered numerous seams and ledges; but now there was a coating of ice and snow upon them that rendered the ascent impossible. the ground had been frozen hard before the storm came on, although it was now freezing no longer, and the snow would not bear our weight. all our efforts to get out of the valley proved idle; and we gave them over, yielding ourselves, in a kind of reckless despair, to wait for--we scarce knew what. "for three days we sat shivering around the fires, now and then casting looks of gloomy inquiry around the sky. the same dull grey for an answer, mottled with flakes slanting earthward, for it still continued to know. not a bright spot cheered the aching eye. "the little platform on which we rested--a space of two or three acres-- was still free from the snow-drift, on account of its exposure to the wind. straggling pines, stunted and leafless, grew over its surface, in all about fifty or sixty trees. from these we obtained our fires; but what were fires when we had no meat to cook upon them! "we were now in the third day without food! without food, though not absolutely without eating--the men had bolted their gun-covers and the cat-skin flaps of their bullet-pouches, and were now seen--the last shift but one--stripping the _parfleche_ from the soles of their moccasins! "the women, wrapped in their _tilmas_, nestled closely in the embrace of father, brother, husband, and lover; for all these affections were present. the last string of _tasajo_, hitherto economised for their sake, had been parcelled out to them in the morning. that was gone, and whence was their next morsel to come? at long intervals, `_ay da mi! dios de mi alma_!' were heard only in low murmurs, as some colder blast swept down the canon. in the faces of those beautiful creatures might be read that uncomplaining patience--that high endurance--so characteristic of the hispano-mexican women. "even the stern men around them bore up with less fortitude. rude oaths were muttered from time to time, and teeth ground together, with that strange wild look that heralds insanity. once or twice i fancied that i observed a look of still stranger, still wilder expression, when the black ring forms around the eye--when the muscles twitch and quiver along gaunt, famished jaws--when men gaze guilty-like at each other. o god! it was fearful! the half-robber discipline, voluntary at the best, had vanished under the levelling-rod of a common suffering, and i trembled to think-- "`it clars a leetle, out tharawa!' "it was the voice of the trapper, garey, who had risen and stood pointing toward the east. "in an instant we were all upon our feet, looking in the direction, indicated. sure enough, there was a break in the lead-coloured sky--a yellowish streak, that widened out as we continued gazing--the flakes fell lighter and thinner, and in two hours more it had ceased snowing altogether. "half-a-dozen of us, shouldering our rifles, struck down the valley. we would make one more attempt to trample a road through the drift. it was a vain one. the snow was over our heads, and after struggling for two hours, we had not gained above two hundred yards. here we caught a glimpse of what lay before us. as far as the eye could reach, it rested upon the same deep impassable masses. despair and hunger paralysed our exertions, and, dropping off one by one, we returned to the camp. we fell down around the fires in sullen silence. garey continued pacing back and forth, now glancing up at the sky, and at times kneeling down, and running his hand over the surface of the snow. at length he approached the fire, and in his slow, drawling manner, remarked-- "`it's a-gwine to friz, i reckin.' "`well! and if it does?' asked one of his comrades, without caring for an answer to the question. "`wal, an iv it does,' repeated the trapper, `we'll walk out o' this hyar jug afore sun-up, an' upon a good hard trail too.' "the expression of every face was changed, as if by magic. several leaped to their feet. gode, the canadian, skilled in snow-craft, ran to a bank, and drawing his hand along the combing, shouted back-- "`_c'est vrai; il gele; il gele_!' "a cold wind soon after set in, and, cheered by the brightening prospect, we began to think of the fires, that, during our late moments of reckless indifference, had been almost suffered to burn out. the delawares, seizing their tomahawks, commenced hacking at the pines, while others dragged forward the fallen trees, lopping off their branches with the keen scalping-knife. "at this moment a peculiar cry attracted our attention, and, looking around, we perceived one of the indians drop suddenly upon his knees, striking the ground with his hatchet. "`what is it? what is it?' shouted several voices, in almost as many languages. "`_yam-yam! yam-yam_!' replied the indian, still digging at the frozen ground. "`the injun's right; it's _man-root_!' said garey, picking up some leaves which the delaware had chopped off. "i recognised a plant well-known to the mountain-men--a rare, but wonderful convolvulus, the _iponea leptophylla_. the name of `man-root' is given to it by the hunters from the similarity of its root in shape, and sometimes in size, to the body of a man. it is esculent, and serves to sustain human life. "in an instant, half-a-dozen men were upon their knees, chipping and hacking the hard clay, but their hatchets glinted off as from the surface of a rock. "`look hyar!' cried garey; `ye're only spoilin' yer tools. cut down a wheen o' these pine saplin's, and make a fire over him!' "the hint was instantly followed, and in a few minutes a dozen pieces of pine were piled upon the spot, and set on fire. "we stood around the burning branches with eager anticipation. should the root prove a `full-grown man,' it would make a supper for our whole party; and with the cheering idea of supper, jokes were ventured upon-- the first we had heard for some time--the hunters tickled with the novelty of unearthing the `old man' ready roasted, and speculating whether he would prove a `fat old hoss.' "a hollow crack sounded from above, like the breaking of a dead tree. we looked up. a large object--an animal--was whirling outward and downward from a ledge that projected half-way up the cliff. in an instant it struck the earth, head foremost, with a loud `bump,' and, bounding to the height of several feet, came back with a somersault on its legs, and stood firmly. "an involuntary `hurrah!' broke from the hunters, who all recognised, at a glance, the `carnero cimmaron,' or `bighorn.' he had cleared the precipice at two leaps, alighting each time on his huge crescent-shaped horns. "for a moment, both parties--hunters and game--seemed equally taken by surprise, and stood eyeing each other in mute wonder. it was but for a moment. the men made a rush for their rifles, and the animal, recovering from his trance of astonishment, tossed back his horns, and bounded across the platform. in a dozen springs he had readied the selvedge of the snow, and plunged into its yielding bank; but, at the same instant, several rifles cracked, and the white wreath was crimsoned behind him. he still kept on, however, leaning and breaking through the drift. "we struck into his track, and followed with the eagerness of hungry wolves. we could tell by the numerous _gouts_ that he was shedding his life-blood, and about fifty paces farther on we found him dead. "a shout apprised our companions of our success, and we had commenced dragging back the prize, when wild cries reached us from the platform,-- the yells of men, the screams of women, mingled with oaths and exclamations of terror! "we ran on towards the entrance of the track. on reaching it, a sight was before us that caused the stoutest to tremble. hunters, indians, and women were running to and fro in frantic confusion, uttering their varied cries, and pointing upward. we looked in that direction--a row of fearful objects stood upon the brow of the cliff. we knew our enemy at a glance,--the dreaded monsters of the mountains--the grizzly bears! "there were; five of them--five in sight--there might be others in the background. five were enough to destroy our whole party, caged as we were, and weakened by famine. "they had reached the cliff in chase of the cimmaron, and hunger and disappointment were visible in their horrid aspects. two of them had already crawled close to the scarp, and were pawing over and snuffing the air, as if searching for a place to descend. the other three reared themselves up on their hams, and commenced manoeuvring with their forearms, in a human-like and comical pantomime! "we were in no condition to relish this amusement. every man hastened to arm himself, those who had emptied their rifles hurriedly re-loading them. "`for your life don't!' cried garey, catching at the gun of one of the hunters. "the caution came too late: half-a-dozen bullets were already whistling upwards. "the effect was just what the trapper had anticipated. the bears, maddened by the bullets, which had harmed them no more than the pricking of as many pins, dropped to their all-fours again, and, with fierce growls, commenced descending the cliff. "the scene of confusion was now at its height. several of the men, less brave than their comrades, ran off to hide themselves in the snow, while others commenced climbing the low pine-trees! "`cache the gals!' cried garey. `hyar, yer darned spanish greasers! if yer won't light, hook on to the weemen a wheen o' yer, and toat them to the snow. cowardly slinks,--wagh!' "`see to them, doctor,' i shouted to the german, who, i thought, might be best spared from the fight; and the next, moment, the doctor, assisted by several mexicans, was hurrying the terrified girls towards the spot where we had left the cimmaron. "many of us knew that to hide, under the circumstances, would be worse than useless. the fierce but sagacious brutes would have discovered, us one by one, and destroyed, us in detail. `they must, be met and fought!' that was the word; and we resolved to carry it into execution. "there were about a dozen of us who `stood up to it'--all the delaware and shawanoes, with garey and the mountain-men. "we kept firing at the bears as they ran along the ledges in their zigzag descent, but our rifles were out of order, our fingers were numbed with cold, and our nerves weakened with hunger. our bullets drew blood from the hideous brutes, yet not a shot proved deadly. it only stung them into fiercer rage. "it was a fearful moment when the last shot was fired, and still not an enemy the less. we flung away the guns, and, clutching the hatchets and hunting-knives, silently awaited our grizzly foes. "we had taken our stand close to the rock. it was our design to have the first blow, as the animals, for the most part, came stern-foremost down the cliff. in this we were disappointed. on reaching a ledge some ten feet from the platform, the foremost bear halted, and, seeing our position, hesitated to descend. the next moment, his companions, maddened with wounds, came tumbling down upon the same ledge, and, with fierce growls, the five huge bodies were precipitated into our midst. "then came the desperate struggle, which i cannot describe,--the shouts of the hunters, the wilder yells of our indian allies, the hoarse worrying of the bears, the ringing of tomahawks from skulls like flint, the deep, dull `thud' of the stabbing-knife, and now and then a groan, as the crescent claw tore up the clinging muscle. o god! it was a fearful scene! "over the platform bears and men went rolling and struggling, in the wild battle of life and death. through the trees, and into the deep drift, staining the snow with their mingled blood! here, two or three men were engaged with a single foe--there, some brave hunter stood battling alone. several were sprawling upon the ground. every moment, the bears were lessening the number of their assailants! "i had been struck down at the commencement of the struggle. on regaining my feet, i saw the animal that had felled me hugging the prostrate body of a man. "it was gode. i leaned over the bear, clutching its shaggy skin. i did this to steady myself; i was weak and dizzy; so were we all. i struck with all my force, stabbing the animal on the ribs. "letting go the frenchman, the bear turned suddenly, and reared upon me. i endeavoured to avoid the encounter, and ran backward, fending him off with my knife. "all at once i came against the snow-drift, and fell over on my back. next moment, the heavy body was precipitated upon me, the sharp claws pierced deep into my shoulder,--i inhaled the monster's fetid breath; and striking wildly with my right arm, still free, we rolled over and over in the snow. "i was blinded by the dry drift. i felt myself growing weaker and weaker; it was the loss of blood. i shouted--a despairing shout--but it could not have been heard at ten paces' distance. then there was a strange hissing sound in my ears,--a bright light flashed across my eyes; a burning object passed over my face, scorching the skin; there was a smell as of singeing hair; i could hear voices, mixed with the roars of my adversary; and all at once the claws were drawn out of my flesh, the weight was lifted from my breast, and i was alone! "i rose to my feet, and, rubbing the snow out of my eyes, looked around. i could see no one. i was in a deep hollow made by our struggles, but i was alone! "the snow all around me was dyed to a crimson; but what had become of my terrible antagonist? who had rescued me from his deadly embrace? "i staggered forward to the open ground. here a new scene met my gaze: a strange-looking man was running across the platform, with a huge firebrand,--the bole of a burning pine-tree,--which he waved in the air. he was chasing one of the hears, that, growling with rage and pain, was making every effort to reach the cliffs. two others were already half-way up, and evidently clambering with great difficulty, as the blood dripped back from their wounded flanks. "the bear that was pursued soon took to the rocks, and, urged by the red brand scorching his shaggy hams, was soon beyond the reach of his pursuer. the latter now made towards a fourth, that was still battling with two or three weak antagonists. this one was `routed' in a twinkling, and with yells of terror followed his comrades up the bluff. the strange man looked around for the fifth. it had disappeared. prostrate, wounded men were strewed over the ground, but the bear was nowhere to be seen. he had doubtless escaped through the snow. "i was still wondering who was the hero of the firebrand, and where he had come from. i have said he was a strange-looking man. he was so-- and like no one of our party that i could think of. his head was bald,--no, not bald, but naked,--there was not a hair upon it, crown or sides, and it glistened in the clear light like polished ivory. i was puzzled beyond expression, when a man--garey--who had been felled upon the platform by a blow from one of the bears, suddenly sprang to his feet, exclaiming,-- "`go it, doc! three chyars for the doctor!' "to my astonishment, i now recognised the features of that individual, the absence of whose brown locks had produced such a metamorphosis as, i believe, was never effected by means of borrowed hair. "`here's your scalp, doc,' cried garey, running up with the wig, `by the livin' thunder! yer saved us all;' and the hunter seized the german in his wild embrace. "wounded men were all around, and commenced crawling together. but where was the fifth of the bears? four only had escaped by the cliff. "`yonder he goes!' cried a voice, as a light spray, rising above the snow-wreath, showed that some animal was struggling through the drift. "several commenced loading their rifles, intending to follow, and, if possible, secure him. the doctor armed himself with a fresh pine; but before these, arrangements were completed, a strange cry came from the spot, that caused our blood to run cold again. the indians leaped to their feet, and, seizing their tomahawks, rushed to the gap. they knew the meaning of that cry--it was the death-yell of their tribe! "they entered the road that we had trampled down in the morning, followed by those who had loaded their guns. we watched them from the platform with anxious expectation, but before they had reached the spot, we could see that, the `stoor' was slowly settling down. it was plain that the struggle had ended. "we still stood waiting in breathless silence, and watching the floating spray that noted their progress through the drift. at length they had reached the scene of the struggle. there was an ominous stillness, that lasted for a moment, and then the indian's fate was announced in the sad, wild note that came wailing up the valley. it was the dirge of a shawano warrior! "they had found their brave comrade dead, with his scalping-knife buried in the heart of his terrible antagonist! "it was a costly supper, that bear-meat, but, perhaps, the sacrifice had saved many lives. we would keep the `cimmaron' for to-morrow; next day, the man-root; and the next,--what next? perhaps--the man! "fortunately, we were not, driven to this extremity. the frost, had again set in, and the surface of the snow, previously moistened by the sun and rain, soon became caked into ice strong enough to bear us, and upon its firm crust we escaped out of the perilous pass, and gained the warmer region of the plains in safety." chapter twenty seven. the swans of america. in our journey we had kept far enough to the north to avoid the difficult route of the ozark hills; and we at length encamped upon the marais de cygnes, a branch of the osage river. beyond this we expected to fall in with the buffalo, and of course we were full of pleasant anticipation. near the point where we had pitched our camp, the banks of the river were marshy, with here and there small lakes of stagnant water. in these a large number of swans, with wild geese and other aquatic birds, were swimming and feeding. of course our guns were put in requisition, and we succeeded in killing a brace of swans, with a grey goose (anser _canadensis_), and a pair of ducks. the swans were very large ones--of the trumpeter species--and one of them was cooked for supper. it was in excellent condition, and furnished a meal for the whole of our party! the other swan, with the goose and ducks, were stowed away for another occasion. while "discussing" the flesh of this great and noble bird, we also discussed many of the points in its natural history. "white as a swan" is a simile old as language itself. it would, no doubt, puzzle an australian, used to look upon those beautiful and stately birds as being of a very different complexion. the simile holds good, however, with the north-american species, all three of which--for there are three of them--are almost snow-white. we need not describe the form or general appearance of the swan. these are familiar to every one. the long, upright, and gracefully-curving neck; the finely-moulded breast, the upward-tending tail-tip, the light "dip," and easy progression through the water, are points that everybody has observed, admired, and remembered. these are common to all birds of the genus _cygnus_, and are therefore not peculiar to the swans of america. many people fancy there are but two kinds of swans--the white and black. it is not long since the black ones have been introduced to general notoriety, as well as to general admiration. but there are many distinct species besides--species differing from each other in size, voice, and other peculiarities. in europe alone, there are four native swans, specifically distinct. it was long believed that the common american swan (_cygnus americanus_) was identical with the common european species, so well-known in england. it is now ascertained, however, not only that these two are specifically distinct, but that in north america there exist two other species, differing from the _cygnus americanus_, and from each other. these are the trumpeter (_cygnus buccinnator_) and the small swan of bewick (_cygnus bewickii_), also an inhabitant of european countries. the common american species is of a pure white, with black hill, logs, and feet. a slight tinge of brownish red is found on some individuals on the crown of the head, and a small patch of orange-yellow extends from the angles of the mouth to the eye. on the base of the bill is a fleshy tubercle or knob, and the upper mandible is curved at the tip. the young of this species are of a bluish-grey colour, with more of the brown-red tinge upon the head. the naked yellow patch, extending from the angles of the mouth to the eye, in the young birds, is covered with feathers, and their bills are flesh-coloured. this description answers in every respect for the swan of bewick; but the latter species is only three-fourths the size of the former; and, besides, it has only eighteen tail feathers, while the american swan has twenty. their note is also entirely unlike. the "trumpeter" is different from either. he is the largest, being frequently met with of nearly six feet in length, while the common swan rarely exceeds five. the bill of the trumpeter is not tuberculated; and the yellow patch under the eye is wanting. the bill, legs, and feet are entirely black. all the rest is white, with the exception of the head, which is usually tinged with chestnut or red-brown. when young, he is of a greyish-white, with a yellow mixture, and the head of deeper red-brown. his tail feathers are twenty-four in number; but there is a material difference between him and his congeners in the arrangement of the windpipe. in the trumpeter this enters a protuberance that stands out on the dorsal aspect of the sternum, which is wanting in both the other kinds. it may be that this arrangement has something to do with his peculiar note, which differs altogether from that of the others. it is much fuller and louder, and at a distance bears a considerable resemblance to the trumpet or french horn. hence the trivial name by which this species is known to the hunters. all the american swans are migratory--that is, they pass from north to south, every autumn, and back again from south to north in the beginning of spring. the period of their migration is different with the three species. the trumpeter is the earliest, preceding all other birds, with the exception of the eagles. the _cygnus americanus_ comes next; and, lastly, the small swans, that are among the very latest of migratory birds. the trumpeters seek the north at the breaking up of the ice. sometimes they arrive at a point in their journey where this has not taken place. in such cases they fly back again until they reach some river or lake from which the ice has disappeared, where they remain a few days, and wait the opening of the waters farther north. when they are thus retarded and sent back, it is always in consequence of some unusual and unseasonable weather. the swans go northward to breed. why they do so is a mystery. perhaps they feel more secure in the inhospitable wastes that lie within the arctic circle. the trumpeters breed as far south as latitude degrees, but most of them retire within the frigid zone. the small swans do not nest so far south, but pursue their course still onward to the polar sea. here they build immense nests by raising heaps of peat moss, six feet in length by four in width, and two feet high. in the top of these heaps is situated the nest, which consists of a cavity a foot deep, and a foot and a half in diameter. the trumpeters and american swans build in marshes and the islands of lakes. where the muskrat (_fiber zibethicus_) abounds, his dome-shaped dwelling--at that season, of course, deserted--serves often as the breeding-place boll? for the swans and wild geese. on the top of this structure, isolated in the midst of great marshes, these birds are secure from all their enemies--the eagle excepted. the eggs of the trumpeter are very large, one of them being enough to make a good meal for a man. the eggs of the american species are smaller and of a greenish appearance, while those of the bewick swan are still smaller and of a brownish-white colour, with a slight clouding of darker hue. six or seven eggs is the usual "setting." the cygnets, when half or full-grown, are esteemed good eating, and are much sought after by the hunters and indians of the fur countries. when the cygnets are full-grown, and the frost makes its appearance upon the lakes and rivers of the hyperborean regions, the swans begin to shift southwards. they do not migrate directly, as in the spring, but take more time on their journey, and remain longer in the countries through which they pass. this no doubt arises from the fact that a different motive or instinct now urges them. in the spring they are under the impulse of philo-progenitiveness. now they range from lake to lake and stream to stream in search only of food. again, as in the spring, the trumpeters lead the van--winging their way to the great lakes, and afterwards along the atlantic coast, and by the line of the mississippi, to the marshy shores of the mexican sea. it may be remarked that this last-mentioned species--the trumpeter--is rare upon the atlantic coast, where the common swan is seen in greatest plenty. again, the trumpeter does not appear on the pacific or by the colombia river, where the common swan is met with, but the latter is there outnumbered by the small species (_cygnus bewickii_) in the ratio of five to one. this last again is not known in the fur countries of the interior, where the _cygnus americanus_ is found, but where the trumpeter exists in greatest numbers. indeed the skins of the trumpeter are those which are mostly exported by the hudson's bay company, and which form an important article of their commerce. the swan is eagerly hunted by the indians who inhabit the fur countries. its skin brings a good price from the traders, and its quills are valuable. besides, the flesh is a consideration with these people, whose life, it must be borne in mind, is one continuous struggle for food; and who, for one-half the year, live upon the very verge of starvation. the swan, therefore, being a bird that weighs between twenty and thirty pounds, ranks among large game, and is hunted with proportionate ardour. every art the indian can devise is made use of to circumvent these great birds, and snares, traps, and decoys of all kinds are employed in the pursuit. but the swans are among the shyest of god's creatures. they fly so rapidly, unless when beating against the wind, that it requires a practised shot to hit them on the wing. even when moulting their feathers, or when young, they can escape--fluttering over the surface of the water faster than a canoe can be paddled. the most usual method of hunting them is by snares. these are set in the following manner:-- a lake or river is chosen, where it is known the swans are in the habit of resting for some time on their migration southward--for this is the principal season of swan-catching. some time before the birds make their appearance, a number of wicker hedges are constructed, running perpendicularly out from the bank, and at the distance of a few yards from each other. in the spaces between, as well as in openings left in the fences themselves, snares are set. these snares are made of the intestines of the deer, twisted into a round shape, and looped. they are placed so that several snares may embrace the opening, and the swans cannot pass through without being caught. the snare is fastened to a stake, driven into the mud with sufficient firmness to hold the bird when caught and struggling. that the snare may not be blown out of its proper place by the wind, or carried astray by the current, it is attached to the wattles of the hedge by some strands of grass. these, of course, are easily broken, and give way the moment a bird presses against the loop. the fences or wattle-hedges are always constructed projecting out from the shore--for it is known that the swans must keep close in to the land while feeding. whenever a lake or river is sufficiently shallow to make it possible to drive in stakes, the hedges are continued across it from one side to the other. swans are also snared upon their nests. when a nest is found, the snare is set so as to catch the bird upon her return to the eggs. these birds, like many others, have the habit of entering the nest on one side, and going out by the other, and it is upon the entrance side that the snare is set. the indians have a belief that if the hands of the persons setting the snare be not clean, the bird will not approach it, but rather desert her eggs, even though she may have been hatching them for some time. it is, indeed, true that this is a habit of many birds, and may be so of the wild swan. certain it is that the nest is always reconnoitred by the returning bird with great caution, and any irregularity appearing about it will render her extremely shy of approaching it. swans are shot, like other birds, by "approaching" them under cover. it requires very large shot to kill them--the same that is used for deer, and known throughout america as "buck-shot." in england this size of shot is termed "swan shot." it is difficult to get within range of the wild swan, he is by nature a shy bird; and his long neck enables him to see over the sedge that surrounds him. where there happens to be no cover--and this is generally the case where he haunts--it is impossible to approach him. sometimes the hunter floats down upon him with his canoe hidden by a garniture of reeds and bushes. at other times he gets near enough in the disguise of a deer or other quadruped--for the swan, like most wild birds, is less afraid of the lower animals than of man. during the spring migration, when the swan is moving northward, the hunter, hidden under some rock, bank, or tree, frequently lures him from his high flight by the imitation of his well-known "hoop." this does not succeed so well in the autumn. when the swans arrive prematurely on their spring journey, they resort sometimes in considerable flocks to the springs and waterfalls, all other places being then ice-bound. at this time the hunters concealing themselves in the neighbourhood, obtain the desired proximity, and deal destruction with their guns. a-- related an account of a swan hunt by torch-light, which he had made some years before. "i was staying some days," said he, "at a remote, settlement upon one of the streams that run into the red river of the north, it was in the autumn season, and the trumpeter-swans had arrived in the neighbourhood on their annual migration to the south. i had been out several times after them with my gun, but was unable to get a shot at them in consequence of their shyness. i had adopted every expedient i could think of--calls, disguises, and decoys--but all to no purpose. i resolved, at length, to try them by torch-light. "it so happened that none of the hunters, at the settlement had ever practised this method; but as most of them had succeeded, by some means or other, in decoying and capturing several swans by other means, my hunter-pride was touched, and i was most anxious to show that i could kill swans as well as they. i had never seen swans shot by torch-light, but i had employed the plan for killing deer, as you already know, and i was determined to make a trial of it upon the swans. "i set secretly about it, resolved to steal a march upon my neighbours, if possible. my servant alone was admitted into my confidence, and we proceeded to make the necessary arrangements. "these were precisely similar to those already described in my limit of the long-tails, except that the canoe, instead of being `a dug-out,' was a light craft of birch-bark, such as are in use among the chippowas and other indians of the northern countries. the canoe was obtained from a settler, and tilled with torch-wood and other necessary articles, but these were clandestinely put on board. "i was now ready, and a dark night was all that was wanted to enable me to carry out my plan. "fortunately i soon obtained this to my heart's satisfaction. a night arrived as dark as erebus; and with my servant using the paddle, we pushed out and shot swiftly down stream. "as soon as we had cleared the `settlement,' we lit our pine-knots in the frying-pan. the blaze refracted from the concave and blackened surface of the bark, cast a brilliant light over the semicircle ahead of us, at the same time that we, behind the screen of birch-bark, were hid in utter darkness. i had heard that the swans, instead of being frightened by torch-light, only became amazed, and even at times curious enough to approach it, just as the deer and some other animals do. this proved to be correct, as we had very soon a practical illustration of it. "we had not gone a mile down the river when we observed several white objects within the circle of our light; and paddling a little nearer, we saw that they were swans. we could distinguish their long, upright necks; and saw that they had given up feeding, and were gazing with wonder at the odd object that was approaching them. "there were five of them in the flock; and i directed my servant to paddle towards that which seemed nearest, and to use his oar with as much silence as possible. at the same time i looked to the caps of my double-barrelled gun. "the swans for a time remained perfectly motionless, sitting high in the water, with their long necks raised far above the surface. they appeared to be more affected by surprise than fear. "when we had got within about a hundred yards of them, i saw that they began to move about, and close in to one another; at the same time was heard proceeding from them a strange sound resembling very much the whistle of the fallow deer. i had heard of the singing of the swan, as a prelude to its death, and i hoped that which now reached my ears was a similar foreboding. "in order to make it so, i leaned forward, levelled my double-barrel-- both barrels being cocked--and waited the _moment_. "the birds had `clumped' together, until their long serpent-like necks crossed each other. a few more noiseless strokes of the paddle brought me within reach, and aiming for the heads of three that `lined,' i pulled both triggers at once. "the immense recoil flung me back, and the smoke for a moment prevented us from seeing the effect. "as soon as it had been wafted aside, our eyes were feasted by the sight of two large white objects floating down the current, while a third, evidently wounded, struggled along the surface, and beating the water into foam with its broad wings. "the remaining two had risen high into the air, and were heard uttering their loud trumpet-notes as they winged their flight through the dark heavens. "we soon bagged our game, both dead and wounded, and saw that they were a large `gander' and two young birds. "it was a successful beginning; and having replenished our torch, we continued to float downward in search of more. half a mile farther on, we came in sight of three others, one of which we succeeded in killing. "another `spell' of paddling brought us to a third flock, out of which i got one for each barrel of my gun; and a short distance below i succeeded in killing a pair of the grey wild geese. "in this way we kept down the river for at least ten miles i should think, killing both swans and geese as we went. indeed, the novelty of the thing, the wild scenery through which we passed--rendered more wild and picturesque by the glare of the torch--and the excitement of success, all combined to render the sport most attractive; and but that our `pine-knots' had run out, i would have continued it until morning. "the failure of these at length brought our shooting to a termination, and we were compelled to put about, and undertake the much less pleasant, and much more laborious, task, of paddling ten miles up-stream. the consciousness, however, of having performed a great feat--in the language of the canadian hunters, a grand `_coup_,' made the labour seem more light, and we soon arrived at the settlement, and next morning triumphantly paraded our game-bag in front of our `lodge.' "its contents were twelve trumpeter-swans, besides three of the `hoopers.' we had also a pair of canada geese; a snow-goose, and three brant,--these last being the produce of a single shot. "the hunters of the settlement were quite envious, and could not understand what means i had employed to get up such a `game-bag.' i intended to have kept that for some time a secret; but the frying-pan and the piece of blackened bark were found, and these betrayed my stratagem; so that on the night after, a dozen canoes, with torches at their bows, might have been seen floating down the waters of the stream." chapter twenty eight. hunting the moose. while crossing the marshy bottom through which our road led, a singular hoof-track was observed in the mud. some were of opinion that it was a track of the great moose-deer, but the hunter-naturalist, better informed, scouted the idea--declaring that moose never ranged, so far to the south. it was no doubt a very large elk that had made the track, and to this conclusion all at length came. the great moose-deer, however, was an interesting theme, and we rode along conversing upon it. the moose (_cervus alces_) is the largest of the deer kind. the male is ordinarily as large as a mule; specimens have been killed of still greater dimensions. one that has been measured stood seventeen bands, and weighed pounds; it was consequently larger than most horses. the females are considerably smaller than the males. the colour of the moose, like that of other animals of the deer kind, varies with the season; it varies also with the sex. the male is tawny-brown over the back, sides, head, and thighs; this changes to a darker hue in winter, and in very old animals it is nearly black; hence the name "black elk," which is given in some districts to the moose. the under parts of the body are light-coloured, with a tinge of yellow or soiled white. the female is of a sandy-brown colour above, and beneath almost white. the calves are sandy-brown, but never spotted, as are the fawns of the common deer. the moose is no other than the elk of northern europe; but the elk of america (_cervus canadensis_), as already stated, is altogether a different animal. these two species may be mistaken for each other, in the season when their antlers are young, or in the velvet; then they are not unlike to a superficial observer. but the animals are rarely confounded--only the names. the american elk is not found indigenous in the eastern hemisphere, although he is the ornament of many a lordly park. the identity of the moose with the european elk is a fact that leads to curious considerations. a similar identity exists between the caribou of canada and the reindeer of northern europe--they are both the _cervus tarandus_ of pliny. so also with the polar hear of both hemispheres, the arctic, fox, and several other animals. hence we infer, that there existed at some period either a land connection, or some other means of communication, between the northern parts of both continents. besides being the largest, the moose is certainly the most ungraceful of the deer family. his head is long, out of all proportion; so, too, are his legs; while his neck is short in an inverse ratio. his ears are nearly a foot in length, asinine, broad, and slouching; his eyes are small; and his muzzle square, with a deep _sulcus_ in the middle, which gives it the appearance of being bifid. the upper lip overhangs the under by several inches, and is highly prehensile. a long tuft of coarse hair grows out of an excrescence on the throat, in the angle between the head and neck. this tuft is observed both in the male and female, though only when full-grown. in the young, the excrescence is naked. an erect mane, somewhat resembling that of a cropped shetland pony, runs from the base of the horns over the withers, and some way down the back. this adds to the stiff and ungainly appearance of the animal. the horns of the moose are a striking characteristic: they are palmated or flattened out like shovels, while along the edge rise the points or antlers. the width from horn to horn at their tops is often more than four feet, and the breadth of a single one, antlers included, is frequently above thirty inches. a single pair has been known to weigh as much as pounds avoirdupois! of course this stupendous head-dress gives the moose quite an imposing appearance; and it is one of the wonders of the naturalist what can be its object. the horns are found only on the males, and attain their full size only when these have reached their seventh year. in the yearlings appear two knobs, about an inch in length; in two-year-olds, these knobs have become spikes a foot high; in the third year they begin to palmate, and antlers rise along their edges; and so on, until the seventh year, when they become fully developed. they are annually caducous, however, as with the common deer, so that these immense appendages are the growth of a few weeks! the haunts and habits of the moose differ materially from those of other deer. he cannot browse upon level ground without kneeling or widening his legs to a great extent: this difficulty arises from the extreme length of his legs, and the shortness of his neck. he can do better upon the sides of steep hills, and he is often seen in such places grazing _upward_. grass, however, is not his favourite food: he prefers the twigs and leaves of trees--such as birch, willow, and maple. there is one species of the last of which he is extremely fond; it is that known as striped maple (_acer striatum_), or, in the language of hunters, "moose-wood." he peels off the bark from old trees of this sort, and feeds upon it, as well as upon several species of mosses with which the arctic regions abound. it will be seen that in these respects he resembles the giraffe: he may be regarded as the giraffe of the frigid zone. the moose loves the forest; he is rarely found in the open ground--on the prairie, never. on open level ground, he is easily overtaken by the hunter, as he makes but a poor run in such a situation. his feet are tender, and his wind short; besides, as we have already said, he cannot browse there without great inconvenience. he keeps in the thick forest and the impenetrable swamp, where he finds the food most to his liking. in summer, he takes to the water, wading into lakes and rivers, and frequently swimming across both. this habit renders him at that season an easy prey to his enemies, the indian hunters, for in the water he is easily killed. nevertheless, he loves to bury himself in the water, because along the shores of lakes and margins of rivers he finds the tall reed-grass, and the pond-lily--the latter a particular favourite with him. in this way, too, he rids himself of the biting gnats and stinging mosquitoes that swarm there; and also cools his blood, fevered by parasites, larvae, and the hot sun. the female moose produces one, two, and sometimes three calves at a birth; this is in april or may. the period of gestation is nine-months. during the summer, they are seen in families--that is, a bull, a cow, and two calves. sometimes the group includes three or four cows; but this is rare. occasionally, when the winter comes on, several of these family parties unite, and form herds of many individuals. when the snow is deep, one of these herds will tread down a space of several acres, in which they will be found browsing on the bark and twigs of the trees. a place of this sort is termed by the hunters a "moose-yard;" and in such a situation the animals become an easy prey. they are shot down on the spot, and those that attempt to escape through the deep snow are overtaken and brought to bay by dogs. this can only happen, however, when the snow is deep and crusted with frost; otherwise, the hunters and their dogs, as well as their heavier game, would sink in it. when the snow is of old standing, it becomes icy on the surface through the heat of the sun, rain, and frost; then it will bear the hunter, but not the deer. the latter break through it, and as these animals are tender-hoofed, they are lacerated at every jump. they soon feel the pain, give up the attempt to escape, and come to bay. it is dangerous for dogs to approach them when in this mood. they strike with the hoofs of their forefeet, a single blow of which often knocks the breath out of the stoutest deer-hound. there are many records of hunters having been sacrificed in a similar manner. where the moose are plentiful, the indians hunt them by pounding. this is done simply by inclosing a large tract of woods, with a funnel-shaped entrance leading into the inclosure. the wide mouth of the entrance embraces a path which the deer habitually take; upon this they are driven by the indians, deployed in a wide curve, until they enter the funnel, and the pound itself. here there are nooses set, in which many are snared, while others are shot down by the hunters who follow. this method is more frequently employed with the caribou, which are much smaller, and more gregarious than the moose-deer. we have already said that the moose are easily captured in summer, when they resort to the lakes and rivers to wade and swim. the biting of gnats and mosquitoes renders them less fearful of the approach of man. the indians then attack them in their canoes, and either shoot or spear them while paddling alongside. they are much less dangerous to assail in this way than the elk or even the common deer (_cervus virginianus_), as the latter, when brought in contact with the frail birch-canoe, often kick up in such a manner as to upset it, or break a hole through its side. on the contrary, the moose is frequently caught by the antlers while swimming, and in this way carried alongside without either difficulty or danger. although in such situations these huge creatures are easily captured, it is far otherwise as a general rule. indeed, few animals are more shy than the moose. its sight is acute; so, too, with its sense of smell; but that organ in which it chiefly confides is the ear. it can hear the slightest noise to a great distance; and the hunter's foot among the dead leaves, or upon the frozen snow-crust, often betrays him long before he can creep within range. they are, however, frequently killed by the solitary hunter stealing upon them, or "approaching," as it is termed. to do this, it is absolutely necessary to keep to leeward of them, else the wind would carry to their quick ears even the cautious tread of the indian hunter. there is one other method of hunting the moose often practised by the indians--that is, trailing them with _rackets_, or snow-shoes, and running them down. as i had partaken of this sport i was able to give an account of it to my companions. "in the winter of --, i had occasion to visit a friend who lived in the northern part of the state of maine. my friend was a backwood settler; dwelt in a comfortable log-house; raised corn, cattle, and hogs; and for the rest, amused himself occasionally with a hunt in the neighbouring woods. this he could do without going far from home, as the great forests of pine, birch, and maple trees on all sides surrounded his solitary clearing, and his nearest neighbour was about twenty miles off. literally, my friend lived in the woods, and the sports of the chase were with him almost a necessity; at all events, they were an everyday occupation. "up to the time of my visit, i had never seen a moose, except in museums. i had never been so far north upon the american continent; and it must be remembered, that the geographical range of the moose is confined altogether to the cold countries. it is only in the extreme northern parts of the united states that he appears at all. canada, with the vast territories of the hudson's bay company, even to the shores of the arctic sea, is the proper _habitat_ of this animal. "i was familiar with bears; cougars i had killed; elk and fallow deer i had driven; 'coons and 'possums i had treed; in short, i had been on hunting terms with almost every game in america except the moose. i was most eager, therefore, to have a shot at one of these creatures, and i well remember the delight i experienced when my friend informed me there were moose in the adjacent woods. "on the day after my arrival, we set forth in search of them, each armed with a hunting-knife and a heavy deer-gun. we went afoot; we could not go otherwise, as the snow lay to the depth of a yard, and a horse would have plunged through it with difficulty. it was an old snow, moreover, thickly crusted, and would have maimed our horses in a few minutes. we, with our broad rackets, could easily skim along without sinking below the surface. "i know not whether you have ever seen a pair of rackets, or indian snow-shoes, but their description is easy. you have seen the rackets used in ball-play. well, now, fancy a hoop, not of circular form, but forced into an elongated pointed ellipse, very much after the shape of the impression that a capsized boat would make in snow; fancy this about three feet long, and a foot across at its widest, closely netted over with gut or deer-thong, with bars in the middle to rest the foot upon, and a small hole to allow play to the toes, and you will have some idea of a snow-shoe. two of these--right and left--make a pair. they are simply strapped on to your boots, and then their broad surface sustains you, even when the snow is comparatively soft, but perfectly when it is frozen. "thus equipped, my friend and i set out _a pied_, followed by a couple of stout deer-hounds. we made directly for a part of the woods where it was known to my friend that the striped maple grew in great plenty. it has been stated already, that the moose are particularly fond of these trees, and there we would be most likely to fall in with them. "the striped maple is a beautiful deciduous little tree or shrub, growing to the height of a dozen feet or so in its natural _habitat_. when cultivated, it often reaches thirty feet. there is one at schonbrunn, near vienna, forty feet high, but this is an exception, and is the largest known. the usual height is ten or twelve feet, and it is more often the underwood of the forest than the forest itself. when thus situated, under the shade of loftier trees, it degenerates almost to the character of a shrub. "the trunk and branches of the striped maple are covered with a smooth green bark, longitudinally marked with light and dark stripes, by which the tree is easily distinguished from others, and from which it takes its name. it has other trivial names in different parts of the country. in new york state, it is called `dogwood;' but improperly so, as the real dogwood (_cornus florida_) is a very different tree. it is known also as `false dogwood,' and `snake-barked maple.' the name `moose-wood' is common among the hunters and frontiers-men for reasons already given. where the striped maple is indigenous, it is one of the first productions that announces the approach of spring. its buds and leaves, when beginning to unfold, are of a roseate hue, and soon change to a yellowish green; the leaves are thick, cordate, rounded at the base, with three sharp lobes at the other extremity, and finely serrated. they are usually four or five inches in length and breadth. the tree flowers in may and june, and its flowers are yellow-green, grouped on long peduncles. the fruit, like all other maples, consists of _samarae_ or `keys;' it is produced in great abundance, and is ripe in september or october. "the wood is white and finely grained; it is sometimes used by cabinet-makers as a substitute for holly, in forming the lines with which they inlay mahogany. "in canada, and those parts of the united states where it grows in great plenty, the farmers in spring turn out their cattle and horses to feed upon its leaves and young shoots, of which these animals are extremely fond; the more so, as it is only in very cold regions that it grows, and the budding of its foliage even precedes the springing of the grass. such is the tree which forms the favourite browsing of the moose. "to return to my narrative. "after we had shuffled about two miles over the snow, my friend and i entered a tract of heavy timber, where the striped maple formed the underwood. it did not grow regularly, but in copses or small thickets. we had already started some small game, but declined following it, as we were bent only on a moose-chase. "we soon fell in with signs that indicated the propinquity of the animals we were in search of. in several of the thickets, the maples were stripped of their twigs and bark, but this had been done previous to the falling of the snow. as yet, there were no tracks: we were not long, however, before this welcome indication was met with. on crossing a glade where there was but little snow, the prints of a great split hoof were seen, which my friend at once pronounced to be those of the moose. "we followed this trail for some distance, until it led into deeper snow and a more retired part of the forest. the tracks were evidently fresh ones, and those, as my friend asserted, of an old bull. "half-a-mile farther on, they were joined by others; and the trail became a broken path through the deep snow, as if it had been made by farm-cattle following each other in single file. four moose had passed, as my friend--skilled in woodcraft--confidently asserted, although i could not have told that from the appearance of the trail. he went still farther in his `reckoning,' and stated that they were a bull, a cow, and two nine-months' calves. "`you shall soon see,' he said, perceiving that i was somewhat incredulous. `look here!' he continued, bending down and pressing the broken snow with his fingers; `they are quite fresh--made within the hour. speak low--the cattle can't be far off. yonder, as i live! yonder they are--hush!' "my friend, as he spoke, pointed to a thicket about three hundred yards distant; i looked in that direction, but at first could perceive nothing more than the thickly-growing branches of the maples. "after a moment, however, i could trace among the twigs the long dark outlines of a strange animal's back, with a huge pair of palmated horns rising above the underwood. it was the bull-moose--there was no mistaking him for any other creature. near him other forms--three of them--were visible: these were of smaller stature, and i could see that they were hornless. they were the cow and calves; and the herd was made up, as my companion had foretold, of these four individuals. "we had halted on the moment, each of us holding one of the dogs, and endeavouring to quiet them, as they already scented the game. we soon saw that it was of no use remaining where we were, as the herd was fully three hundred yards from us, far beyond the reach of even our heavy deer-guns. "it would be of no use either to attempt stealing forward. there was no cover that would effectually conceal us, for the timber around was not large, and we could not, therefore, make shift with the tree-trunks. "there was no other mode, then, but to let the dogs free of their leashes, and dash right forward. we knew we should not get a shot until after a run; but this would not be long, thought we, as the snow was in perfect order for our purpose. "our dogs were therefore unleashed, and went off with a simultaneous `gowl,' while my friend and i followed as fast as we could. "the first note of the deer-hounds was a signal for the herd, and we could hear their huge bodies crashing through the underwood, as they started away. "they ran across some open ground, evidently with the intention of gaining the heavy timber beyond. on this ground there was but little snow; and as we came out through the thicket we had a full view of the noble game. the old bull was in the lead, followed by the others in a string. i observed that none of them galloped--a gait they rarely practise--but all went in a shambling trot, which, however, was a very fast one, equal to the speed of a horse. they carried their heads horizontally, with their muzzles directed forward, while the huge antlers of the bull leaned back upon his shoulders as he ran. another peculiarity that struck me--the divisions of their great split hoofs, as they lifted them from the ground, met with a cracking sound, like the bursting of percussion-caps; and the four together rattled as they ran, as though a string of christmas crackers had been touched off. i have often heard a similar cracking from the hoofs of farm-cattle; but with so many hoofs together, keeping up the fire incessantly, it produced a very odd impression upon me. "in a short time they were out of sight, but we could hear the baying of the dogs as the latter closed upon them, and we followed, guided by the trail they had made. "we had skated along for nearly a mile, when the howl of the hounds began to sound through the woods with more abrupt and fiercer echoes. we knew by this that the moose had been brought to bay, and we hurried forward, eager to have a shot. "on arriving at the place, we found that only the old bull had made stand, and he was successfully engaged in keeping off the dogs, both with feet and horns. the others had gone forward, and were out of view. "the bull, on seeing us approach, once more took the trot, and, followed by the dogs, was soon out of sight. "on reaching the spot where he had made his temporary halt, we found that his trail there parted from that of the other three, as he had taken almost an opposite direction. whether he had done so considerately, in order to lead the dogs away from his weaker companions, i know not; perhaps our sudden appearance had terrified him into confusion, and he had struck out without looking before him. "we did not reflect on these points at the time. my friend, who probably was thinking more about the meat than the sport, without halting a moment, followed the trail of the cow and calves; while i, guided by different motives, took after the bull. i was in too great a hurry to heed some admonitions which were given by my friend as we parted company. as our trails separated, i heard him shouting to me to mind what i was about; but the courses we followed soon carried us beyond earshot or sight of each other. "i followed the chase about half a mile farther, guided by the tracks, as well as by the baying of the hounds. again this assumed the fierce angry tone that denoted a battle going on between the dogs and the deer. "as i neared the spot, the voices of the former seemed to grow feebler; then there was a continued howling, as if the hounds were being roughly handled, and one of them i noticed was altogether silent. "on arriving on the scene, which i did soon after, i learned the cause of this change of tune. one of the dogs met me running back on the trail on three legs only, and woefully mangled. the moose was standing in a snow-pit, which had been trodden out by the animals while battling, and near his feet lay the other dog, mutilated in a most fearful manner, and evidently quite dead. the bull, in his rage, still continued to assail the dead body of the hound, rising and pouncing down upon it with his fore-hoofs until the ribs cracked under the concussion! "on seeing me, he again struck into the snow, and made off; i saw, however, that his limbs were much lacerated by the frozen crust, and that he ran slowly, leaving red tracks behind him. "i did not stop by the dogs--one being dead, and the survivor but little better--but kept on after the game. "we had now got into a tract where the snow lay of more than usual depth, and my snow-shoes enabled me to skim along faster than the moose himself, that i could easily perceive was growing feebler at every plunge. i saw that i was gaining upon him, and would soon be alongside. the woods through which we were passing were pretty open, and i could note every movement of the chase. "i had got within a hundred yards of him, and was thinking of firing at him as he ran, when all at once he came to a stop, and wheeling suddenly round, stood facing me. his huge antlers were thrown back until they touched his withers; his mane stood erect; all the hair upon his body seemed to bristle forward; and his whole attitude was one of rage and defiance: he was altogether as formidable-looking an enemy as it had ever been my lot to encounter. "my first thought, on getting near enough, was to raise my rifle and fire, which i did. i aimed for his chest, that was fair before me; but i shot wide, partly because my fingers were numbed with cold, and partly because the sun at the moment flashed in my eyes as i glanced along the barrel. i hit the moose, however, but in a part that was not mortal--in the shoulder. "the shot enraged him, and without waiting for me to re-load, he dashed madly forward and towards me; a few plunges brought him up, and i had no resource but to get behind a tree. "fortunately there were some large pines in the neighbourhood, and behind one of these i took shelter--not, however, before the enraged animal had almost impaled me upon his antlers. as i slipped behind the trunk, he was following me so close that his horns came in contact with the tree, causing it to vibrate by the terrific shock. he himself drew back a pace or two, and then stopped and stood fast, eyeing the tree with sullen rage; his eyes glared, and his long stiff hair seemed to quiver as he threatened. "in the hope that he would allow me time, i again bethought me of re-loading my gun. what was my chagrin to find that i had not a grain of powder about me! my friend and i had started with but one powder-flask, and that he had carried with him. my gun was as useless as a bar of iron. "what was to be done? i dared not, approach the bull with my knife: my life would not have been worth five minutes' purchase. his horns and great sharp hoofs were weapons superior to mine. he might throw me down at the first outset, gore me to death, or trample me in the snow. i dared not risk such an encounter. "after reflecting for some time, i concluded that it would be wiser for me to leave the moose where he was, and take the back track without him. but how was i to get away from the spot? i was still behind the tree, and the enraged bull was within three feet of it on the other side, without showing any symptoms of retiring. should i step either to one side or the other, he would launch himself upon me, and the result would be my certain destruction. "i now began to perceive that i was in a fix--regularly `treed,' in fact; and the knowledge was anything but cheering. i did not know how long i might be kept so; perhaps the moose might not leave me at all, or until hunger had done its work. the wound i had given him had certainly rendered him desperate and vengeful, and he appeared as if determined to protract the siege indefinitely. "after remaining nearly an hour in this situation, i began to grow angry and impatient. i had shouted to frighten the bull, but to no purpose; i had shouted, and at the top of my voice, in hopes that i might be heard by my friend, but there was no response except the echoes of my own voice borne hoarsely through the aisles of the winter forest. i grew impatient of my odd captivity, and determined to stand it no longer. "on stealing a glance behind me, i perceived a tree as large as the one which sheltered me. i resolved to make for that one, as it would at least not render my situation worse should i reach it in safety. this i effected, but not without having my speed put to the test, for the moose followed so close as almost to touch me with his brow-antlers. once behind this new tree, i was no better off than before, except that it brought me some twenty paces nearer home. the moose--still stood in front of me only a few feet distant, and threatening as fiercely as ever. "after waiting some minutes for my breath, i selected a third tree in the right direction, and made for it in a similar manner, the moose following as before. "another rest and another run brought me behind a fresh tree, and another and another, until i must have made a full mile through the woods, still followed by my implacable and untiring enemy. i knew, however, that i was going homeward, for i guided myself by the trail which we had made in the chase. "i was in hopes that i might make the whole back-journey in this way, when all at once i perceived that the heavy timber came to an end, and a wide, almost open tract intersected the country, over this the trees were small stunted pines, far apart, and offering no hope of shelter from my relentless persecutor. "i had no alternative now but to remain where i was, and await the arrival of my friend, who, i presumed, would come after me as soon as he had finished his own hunt. "with this dubious hope, i kept my stand, although i was ready to drop with fatigue. to add to my misery, it commenced snowing. i saw this with feelings akin to terror, for i knew that the snow would soon blind the trail; and how, then, was my friend to follow it, and find me? the bull still stood before me in the same threatening attitude, occasionally snorting, striking the ground with his hoofs, and ready to spring after me whenever i should move. ever as i changed the attitude of my body, he would start forward again, until i could almost touch him with the muzzle of my gun. "these manoeuvres on his part suggested to me an experiment, and i wondered that i had not thought of it before. i was not long in resolving to carry it out. i was armed with a stout hunting-knife, a bowie; it was pointed as sharp as a needle; and could i only have ventured near enough to the bull, i would soon have settled the dispute with him. the idea now occurred to me of converting my bowie into a lance by splicing it upon the barrel of my gun. with this i had hopes of being able to reach my powerful assailant without coming within range either of his hoofs or horns. "the lance was soon made, a pair of buckskin gaiters which i wore furnished me with thongs. my gun happened to be a long rifle; and the knife, spliced firmly to the muzzle, rendered it a formidable weapon, so that in a few minutes i stood in a better attitude than i had assumed for hours before. "the affair soon came to an issue. as i had anticipated, by showing myself a little to one side of the tree, the bull sprang forward, and i was enabled, by a dexterous thrust, to plant the knife between his ribs. it entered his heart, and the next moment i saw him rolling over, and kicking the crimsoned snow around him in the struggles of death. "i had scarcely completed my victory, when a loud whoop sounded in my ears, and looking up, i saw my friend making towards me across the open ground. he had completed his chase, having killed all three, cut them up, and hung their meat upon the trees, to be sent for on our return to the house. "by his aid the bull was disposed of in a similar manner; and being now satisfied with our day's sport--though my friend very much regretted the loss of his fine dog--we commenced shuffling homeward." chapter twenty nine. the prairie-wolf and wolf-killer. after crossing the marais de cygnes river the country became much more open. there was a mixture of timber and prairie-land--the latter, however, constantly gaining the ascendancy as we advanced farther west. the openings became larger, until they assumed the appearance of vast meadows, inclosed by groves, that at a distance resembled great hedges. now and then there were copses that stood apart from the larger tracts of forests, looking like islands upon the surface of a green sea, and by the name of "islands" these detached groves are known among the hunters and other denizens of prairie-land. sometimes the surface was undulating or, as it is there termed, "rolling," and our road was varied, ascending or descending, as we crossed the gentle declivities. the timber through which we had up to this time been passing consisted of ash, burr oak, black walnut, chestnut oak, buck eye, the american elm, hickory, hackberry, sumach, and, in low moist places, the sycamore, and long-leaved willow. these trees, with many others, form the principal growth of the large forests, upon the banks of the mississippi, both cast and west. as we advanced westward, besancon called our attention to the fact, that all these kinds of timber, one by one, disappeared from the landscape, and in their place a single species alone made up the larger growth of the forest. this was the celebrated "cotton-wood," a species of poplar (_populus angulatus_). i say celebrated, because, being almost the only tree of large size which is found throughout the region of the great plains, it is well-known to all hunters and prairie travellers, who regard it with a peculiar veneration. a grove of cotton-wood is always a glad sight to those who traverse the limitless levels of the prairie. it promises shelter from the wind or sun, wood for the camp-fire, and, above all, water to slake the thirst. as the ocean mariner regards the sight of the welcome port, with similar feelings of joy the mariner of the "prairie-sea" beholds, over the broad waste, the silvery foliage of the cotton-wood grove, regarding it as his temporary home--his place of rest and refuge. after travelling through hundreds of small prairies, separated from each other by groves of cotton-wood, we arrived at a high point on the waters of the "little osage," another tributary of the larger river of that name. as yet we had met with no traces of the buffalo, and were beginning to doubt the correctness of the information we had received at saint louis, when we fell in with a band of kansas indians--a friendly tribe--who received us in the most courteous manner. from them we learned that the buffalo had been upon the little osage at an earlier period in that same year, but that harassed and decimated by their own hunters, they had roamed much farther west, and were now supposed to be on the other side of the "neosho," or grand river--a northern tributary of the arkansas. this was anything but pleasant news. we should have at least another hundred miles to travel before coming up with our game; but there was no thought of going back, until we had done so. no. one and all declared that rather than give up the object of our expedition, we would travel on to the rocky mountains themselves, risking the chances of being scalped by hostile indians. there was a good deal of bravado in this, it is true; but we were fully determined that we would not go back without our buffalo-hunt. thanking our kansas friends for their courtesy, we parted from them, and headed westward for the neosho. as we proceeded, timber became scarce, until at length it was found only on the banks of streams widely distant from each other. sometimes not a tree was in sight for the whole day's journey. we were now fairly on the prairies. we crossed the neosho at length--still no buffalo. we kept on, and crossed several other large streams, all flowing south-eastwardly to the arkansas. still no buffalo. we began to yearn exceedingly for a sight of the great game. the few deer that were killed from time to time offered us but poor sport, and their meat was not sufficient for our supply. of bacon we were heartily tired, and we longed for fresh buffalo-beef. the praises lavished by our guides upon the delicacy of this viand-- their talk over the camp-fire, about "fat cow" and "_boudins_" and "hump-ribs," quite tantalised our palates, and we were all eager to try our teeth upon these vaunted tit-bits. no buffalo appeared yet, and we were forced to chew our bacon, as well as our impatience, for several days longer. a great change now took place in the appearance of the country. the timber became still more scarce, and the soil drier and more sandy. species of cactus (_opuntia_) appeared along the route, with several other plants new to the eyes of most of us, and which to those of besancon were objects of extreme interest. but that which most gratified us was the appearance of a new herbage, different entirely from what we had been passing over, and this was hailed by our guides with exclamations of joy. it was the celebrated "buffalo grass." the trappers declared we should not have much farther to go until we found the buffaloes themselves, for, wherever this grass existed in plenty, the buffalo, unless driven off by hunting, were sure to be found. the buffalo grass is a short grass, not more than a few inches in height, with crooked and pointed culms, often throwing out suckers that root again, and produce other leaves and culms, and in this way form a tolerably thick sward. when in flower or seed, it is headed by numerous spikes of half an inch in length, and on these the spikelets are regular and two rowed. it is a species of _sesleria_ (_sesleria dactyloides_), but besancon informed us that it possesses characters that cause it to differ from the genus, and to resemble the _chondrosium_. the buffalo grass is not to be confounded with, another celebrated grass of the texan and north mexican prairies, the "gramma" of the spaniards. this last is a true chondrosium, and there are several species of it. the _chondrosium foeneum_ is one of the finest fodders in the world for the food of cattle, almost equal to unthrashed oats. the buffalo grass forms the favourite and principal fodder of the buffaloes whenever it is in season, and these animals roam over the prairies in search of it. of course with this knowledge we were now on the _qui vive_. at every new rise that we made over the swells of the prairie our eyes were busy, and swept the surface on every side of us, and in the course of a few days we encountered several false alarms. there is an hallucination peculiar to the clear atmosphere of these regions. objects are not only magnified, but frequently distorted in their outlines, and it is only an old hunter that knows a buffalo when he sees one. brothers a bush is often taken for a wild bull, and with us a brace of carrion crows, seated upon the crest of a ridge, were actually thought to be buffaloes, until they suddenly took wing and rose into the air, thus dispelling the illusion! long before this time we had encountered that well-known animal of the great plains--the "prairie-wolf,"--(_lupus latrans_). the prairie-wolf inhabits the vast and still unpeopled territories that lie between the mississippi river and the shores of the pacific ocean. its range extends beyond what is strictly termed "the prairies." it is found in the wooded and mountainous ravines of california and the rocky mountain districts. it is common throughout the whole of mexico, where it is known as the "coyote." i have seen numbers of this species on the battle-field, tearing at corpses, as far south as the valley of mexico itself. its name of prairie-wolf is, therefore, in some respects inappropriate, the more so as the larger wolves are also inhabitants of the prairie. no doubt this name was given it, because the animal was first observed in the prairie country west of the mississippi by the early explorers of that region. in the wooded countries east of the great river, the common large wolf only is known. whatever doubt there may be of the many varieties of the large wolf being distinct species, there can be none with regard to the _lupus latrans_. it differs from all the others in size, and in many of its habits. perhaps it more nearly resembles the jackal than any other animal. it is the new world representative of that celebrated creature. in size, it is just midway between the large wolf and fox. with much of the appearance of the former, it combines all the sagacity of the latter. it is usually of a greyish colour, lighter or darker, according to circumstances, and often with a tinge of cinnamon or brown. as regards its cunning, the fox is "but a fool to it." it cannot be trapped. some experiments made for the purpose, show results that throw the theory of instinct quite into the background. it has been known to burrow under a "dead fall," and drag off the bait without springing the trap. the steel-trap it avoids, no matter how concealed; and the cage-trap has been found "no go." farther illustrations of the cunning of the prairie-wolf might be found in its mode of decoying within reach the antelopes and other creatures on which it preys. of course this species is as much fox as wolf, for in reality a small wolf is a fox, and a large fox is a wolf. to the traveller and trapper of the prairie regions, it is a pest. it robs the former of his provisions--often stealing them out of his very tent; it unbaits the traps of the latter, or devours the game already secured in them. it is a constant attendant upon the caravans or travelling-parties that cross prairie-land. a pack of prairie-wolves will follow such a party for hundreds of miles, in order to secure the refuse left at the camps. they usually he down upon the prairie, just out of range of the rifles of the travellers; yet they do not observe this rule always, as they know there is not much danger of being molested. hunters rarely shoot them, not deeming their hides worth having, and not caring to waste a charge upon them. they are more cautious when following a caravan of california emigrants, where there are plenty of "greenhorns" and amateur-hunters ready to fire at anything. prairie-wolves are also constant attendants upon the "gangs" of buffalo. they follow these for hundreds of miles--in fact, the outskirts of the buffalo herd are, for the time being, their home. they he down on the prairie at a short distance from the buffaloes, and wait and watch, in hopes that some of these animals may get disabled or separated from the rest, or with the expectation that a cow with her new-dropped calf may fall into the rear. in such cases, the pack gather round the unfortunate individual, and worry it to death. a wounded or superannuated bull sometimes "falls out," and is attacked. in this case the fight is more desperate, and the bull is sadly mutilated before he can be brought to the ground. several wolves, too, are laid _hors de combat_ during the struggle. the prairie traveller may often look around him without seeing a single wolf; but let him fire off his gun, and, as if by magic, a score of them will suddenly appear. they start from their hiding-places, and rush forward in hopes of sharing in the produce of the shot. at night, they enliven the prairie-camp with their dismal howling, although most travellers would gladly dispense with such music. their note is a bark like that of a terrier-dog repeated three times, and then prolonged into a true wolf's howl. i have heard farm-house dogs utter a very similar bark. from this peculiarity, some naturalists prefer calling them the "barking wolf," and that (_lupus latrans_) is the specific appellation given by say, who first described them. prairie-wolves have all the ferocity of their race, but no creature could be more cowardly. of course no one fears them under ordinary circumstances, but they have been known to make a combined attack upon persons disabled, and in severe weather, when they themselves were rendered unusually savage by hunger, as already stated. but they are not regarded with fear either by traveller or hunter; and the latter disdains to waste his charge upon such worthless game. our guide, ike, was an exception to this rule. he was the only one of his sort that shot prairie-wolves, and he did so "on sight." i believe if it had been the last bullet in his pouch, and an opportunity had offered of sending it into a prairie-wolf, he would have despatched the leaden missile. we asked him how many he had killed in his time. he drew a small notched stick from his "possible sack," and desired us to count the notches upon it. we did so. there were one hundred and forty-five in all. "you have killed one hundred and forty-five, then?" cried we, astonished at the number. "yes, i'deed," replied he, with a quiet chuckle, "that many dozen; for every 'un of them nutches count twelve. i only make a nutch when i've throwed the clur dozen." "a hundred and forty-five dozen!" we repeated in astonishment; and yet i have no doubt of the truth of the trapper's statement, for he had no interest in deceiving us. i am satisfied from what i knew of him, that he had slain the full number stated--one thousand seven hundred and forty! of course we became curious to learn the cause of his antipathy to the prairie-wolves; for we knew he had an antipathy, and it was that that had induced him to commit such wholesale havoc among these creatures. it was from this circumstance he had obtained the soubriquet of "wolf-killer." by careful management, we at last got him upon the edge of the stray, and quietly pushed him into it. he gave it to us as follows:-- "wal, strengers, about ten winters agone, i wur travellin' from bent's fort on the arkensaw, to 'laramie on the platte, all alone by myself. i had undertuk the journey on some business for bill bent--no matter now what. "i had crossed the divide, and got within sight o' the black hills, when one night i had to camp out on the open parairy, without either bush or stone to shelter me. "that wur, perhaps, the coldest night this nigger remembers; thur wur a wind kim down from the mountains that wud a froze the bar off an iron dog. i gathered my blanket around me, but that wind whistled through it as if it had been a rail-fence. "'twan't no use lyin' down, for i couldn't a slep, so i sot up. "you may ask why i hadn't a fire? i'll tell you why. fust, thur wan't a stick o' timber within ten mile o' me; and, secondly, if thur had been i dasen't a made a fire. i wur travellin' as bad a bit o' injun ground as could been found in all the country, and i'd seen injun sign two or three times that same day. it's true thur wur a good grist o' buffler-chips about, tol'ably dry, and i mout have made some sort o' a fire out o' that; an' at last i did make a fire arter a fashion. i did it this a way. "seeing that with the cussed cold i wan't agoin' to get a wink o' sleep, i gathered a wheen o' the buffler-chips. i then dug a hole in the ground with my bowie, an' hard pickin' that wur; but i got through the crust at last, and made a sort o' oven about a fut, or a fut and a half deep. at the bottom i laid some dry grass and dead branches o' sage plant, and then settin' it afire, i piled the buffler-chips on top. the thing burnt tol'able well, but the smoke o' the buffler-dung would a-choked a skunk. "as soon as it had got fairly under way, i hunkered, an' sot down over the hole, in sich a position as to catch all the heat under my blanket, an' then i was comf'table enough. of coorse no injun kud see the smoke arter night, an it would a tuk sharp eyes to have sighted the fire, i reckon. "wal, strengers, the critter i rode wur a young mustang colt, about half-broke. i had bought him from a mexikin at bent's only the week afore, and it wur his fust journey, leastwise with me. of coorse i had him on the lariat; but up to this time i had kept the eend o' the rope in my hand, because i had that same day lost my picket pin; an' thinkin' as i wan't agoin' to sleep, i mout as well hold on to it. "by 'm by, however, i begun to feel drowsy. the fire 'atween my legs promised to keep me from freezin', an' i thort i mout as well take a nap. so i tied the lariat round my ankles, sunk my head atween my knees, an' in the twinklin' o' a goat's tail i wur sound. i jest noticed as i wur goin' off, that the mustang wur out some yards, nibbling away at the dry grass o' the parairy. "i guess i must a slep about an hour, or tharabouts--i won't be sartint how long. i only know that i didn't wake o' my own accord. i wur awoke; an' when i did awoke, i still thort i wur a-dreamin'. it would a been a rough dream; but unfort'nately for me, it wan't a dream, but a jenwine reality. "at fust, i cudn't make out what wur the matter wi' me, no how; an' then i thort i wur in the hands o' the injuns, who were draggin' me over the parairy; an' sure enough i wur a draggin' that a way, though not by injuns. once or twice i lay still for jest a second or two, an' then away i went agin, trailin' and bumpin' over the ground, as if i had been tied to the tail o' a gallopin' hoss. all the while there wur a yellin' in my ears as if all the cats an' dogs of creation were arter me. "wal, it wur some time afore i compre'nded what all this rough usage meant. i did at last. the pull upon my ankles gave me the idea. it wur the lariat that wur round them. my mustang had stampedoed, and wur draggin' me at full gallop acrosst the parairy! "the barkin', an' howlin', an' yelpin' i heerd, wur a pack o' parairy-wolves. half-famished, they had attacked the mustang, and started him. "all this kim into my mind at once. you'll say it wur easy to lay hold on the rope, an' stop the hoss. so it mout appear; but i kin tell you that it ain't so easy a thing. it wan't so to me. my ankles wur in a noose, an' wur drawed clost together. of coorse, while i wur movin' along, i couldn't get to my feet; an' whenever the mustang kim to a halt, an' i had half gathered myself, afore i laid reach the rope, away went the critter agin, flingin' me to the ground at full length. another thing hindered me. afore goin' to sleep, i had put my blanket on mexikin-fashion--that is, wi' my head through a slit in the centre-- an' as the drag begun, the blanket flopped about my face, an' half-smothered me. prehaps, however, an' i thort so arterwurd, that blanket saved me many a scratch, although it bamfoozled me a good bit. "i got the blanket off at last, arter i had made about a mile, i reckon, and then for the fust time i could see about me. such a sight! the moon wur up, an' i kud see that the ground wur white with snow. it had snowed while i wur asleep; but that wan't the sight--the sight war, that clost up an' around me the hul parairy wur kivered with wolves--cussed parairy-wolves! i kud see their long tongues lollin' out, an' the smoke steamin' from their open mouths. "bein' now no longer hampered by the blanket, i made the best use i could o' my arms. twice i got hold o' the lariat, but afore i kud set myself to pull up the runnin' hoss, it wur jerked out o' my hand agin. "somehow or other, i had got clutch o' my bowie, and at the next opportunity i made a cut at the rope, and heerd the clean `snig' o' the knife. arter that i lay quiet on the parairy, an' i b'lieve i kinder sort o' fainted. "'twan't a long faint no how; for when i got over it, i kud see the mustang about a half a mile off, still runnin' as fast as his legs could carry him, an' most of the wolves howlin' arter him. a few of these critters had gathered about me, but gettin' to my feet, i made a dash among them wi' the shinin' bowie, an' sent them every which way, i reckon. "i watched the mustang until he wur clur out o' sight, an' then i wur puzzled what to do. fust, i went back for my blanket, which i soon rekivered, an' then i follered the back track to get my gun an' other traps whur i had camped. the trail wur easy, on account o' the snow, an' i kud see whur i had slipped through it all the way. "having got my possibles, i then tuk arter the mustang, and follered for at least ten miles on his tracks, but i never see'd that, mustang agin. whether the wolves hunted him down or not, i can't say, nor i don't care if they did, the scarey brute! i see'd their feet all the way arter him in the snow, and i know'd it wur no use follering further. it wur plain i wur put down on the parairy, so i bundled my possibles, and turned head for laramies afoot. i had a three days' walk o' it, and prehaps i didn't cuss a few! "i wur right bad used. thur wan't a bone in my body that didn't ache, as if i had been passed through a sugar-mill; and my clothes and skin were torn consid'ably. it mout a been wuss but for the blanket an' the sprinkle o' snow that made the ground a leetle slickerer. "howsomever, i got safe to the fort, whur i wur soon rigged out in a fresh suit o' buckskin an' a hoss. "but i never arterward see'd a parairy-wolf within range o' my rifle, that i didn't let it into him, an' as you see, i've throwed a good wheen in their tracks since then. wagh! hain't i, mark?" chapter thirty. hunting the tapir. at one of our prairie-camps our english comrade furnished us with the following account of that strange creature, the tapir. "no one who has turned over the pages of a picture-book of mammalia will be likely to forget the odd-looking animal known as the tapir. its long proboscis-like snout, its stiff-maned neck, and clumsy hog-like body, render the _tout ensemble_ of this creature so peculiar, that there is no mistaking it for any other animal. "when full-grown, the tapir, or anta, as it is sometimes called, is six feet in length by four in height--its weight being nearly equal to that of a small bullock. its teeth resemble those of the horse; but instead of hoofs, its feet are toed--the fore ones having four toes, while the hind-feet have only three each. the eyes are small and lateral, while the ears are large and pointed. the skin is thick, somewhat like that of the hippopotamus, with a very thin scattering of silky hairs over it; but along the ridge of the neck, and upon the short tail, the hairs are longer and more profuse. the upper jaw protrudes far beyond the extremity of the under one. it is, moreover, highly prehensile, and enables the tapir to seize the roots upon which it feeds with greater ease. in fact, it plays the part of the elephant's proboscis to a limited degree. "although the largest quadruped indigenous to south america, the tapir is not very well-known to naturalists. its haunts are far beyond the borders of civilisation. it is, moreover, a shy and solitary creature, and its active life is mostly nocturnal; hence no great opportunity is offered for observing its habits. the chapter of its natural history is therefore a short one. "the tapir is an inhabitant of the tropical countries of america, dwelling near the banks of rivers and marshy lagoons. it is the american representative of the rhinoceros and hippopotamus, or, more properly, of the _maiba_, or indian tapir (_tapirus indicus_) of sumatra, which has but lately become known to naturalists. the latter, in fact, is a near congener, and very much, resembles the tapir of south america. "the tapir is amphibious--that is, it frequents the water, can swim and dive well, and generally seeks its food in the water or the soft marshy sedge; but when in repose, it is a land animal, making its haunt in thick coverts of the woods, and selecting a dry spot for its lair. here it will remain couched and asleep during the greater part of the day. at nightfall, it steals forth, and following an old and well-used path, it approaches the bank of some river, and plunging in, swims off in search of its food--the roots and stems of several species of water-plants. in this business it occupies most of the hours of darkness; but at daybreak, it swims back to the place where it entered the water, and going out, takes the `backtrack' to its lair, where it sleeps until sunset again warns it forth. "sometimes during rain, it leaves its den even at midday. on such occasions, it proceeds to the river or the adjacent swamp, where it delights to wallow in the mud, after the manner of hogs, and often for hours together. unlike the hog, however, the tapir is a cleanly animal. after wallowing, it never returns to its den until it has first plunged into the clear water, and washed the mud thoroughly from its skin. "it usually travels at a trot, but when hard pressed it can gallop. its gallop is peculiar. the fore-legs are thrown far in advance, and the head is carried between them in a very awkward manner, somewhat after the fashion of a frolicsome donkey. "the tapir is strictly a vegetable feeder. it lives upon flags and roots of aquatic plants. several kinds of fruits, and young succulent branches of trees, form a portion of its food. "it is a shy, timid animal, without any malice in its character; and although possessed of great strength, never uses it except for defence, and then only in endeavours to escape. it frequently suffers itself to be killed without making any defence, although with its great strength and well-furnished jaws it might do serious hurt to an enemy. "the hunt of the tapir is one of the amusements, or rather employments, of the south-american indians. not that the flesh of this animal is so eagerly desired by them: on the contrary, it is dry, and has a disagreeable taste, and there are some tribes who will not eat of it, preferring the flesh of monkeys, macaws, and the armadillo. but the part most prized is the thick, tough skin, which is employed by the indians in making shields, sandals, and various other articles. this is the more valuable in a country where the thick-skinned and leather-yielding mammalia are almost unknown. "slaying the tapir is no easy matter. the creature is shy; and, having the advantage of the watery clement, is often enabled to dive beyond the reach of pursuit, and thus escape by concealing itself. among most of the native tribes of south america, the young hunter who has killed a tapir is looked upon as having achieved something to be proud of. "the tapir is hunted by bow and arrow, or by the gun. sometimes the `gravatana,' or blow-tube, is employed, with its poisoned darts. in any case, the hunter either lies in wait for his prey, or with a pack of dogs drives it out of the underwood, and takes the chances of a `flying shot.' "when the trail of a tapir has been discovered, its capture becomes easy. it is well-known to the hunter that this animal, when proceeding from its lair to the water and returning, always follows its old track until a beaten-path is made, which is easily discernible. "this path often betrays the tapir, and leads to its destruction. "sometimes the hunter accomplishes this by means of a pitfall, covered with branches and palm-leaves; at other times, he places himself in ambuscade, either before twilight or in the early morning, and shoots the unsuspecting animal as it approaches on its daily round. "sometimes, when the whereabouts of a tapir has been discovered, a whole tribe sally out, and take part in the hunt. such a hunt i myself witnessed on one of the tributaries of the amazon. "in the year --, i paid a visit to the jurunas up the xingu. their _malaccas_ (palm-hut villages) lie beyond the falls of that river. although classed as `wild indians,' the jurunas are a mild race, friendly to the traders, and collect during a season considerable quantities of _seringa_ (indian-rubber), sarsaparilla, as well as rare birds, monkeys, and brazil-nuts--the objects of portuguese trade. "i was about to start back for para, when nothing would serve the _tuxava_, or chief of one of the maloccas, but that i should stay a day or two at his village, and take part in some festivities. he promised a tapir-hunt. "as i knew that among the jurunas were some skilled hunters, and as i was curious to witness an affair of this kind, i consented. the hunt was to come off on the second day of my stay. "the morning arrived, and the hunters assembled, to the number of forty or fifty, in an open space by the malocca; and having got their arms and equipments in readiness, all repaired to the _praya_, or narrow beach of sand, which separated the river from the thick underwood of the forest. here some twenty or thirty _ubas_ (canoes hollowed out of tree-trunks) floated on the water, ready to receive the hunters. they were of different sizes; some capable of containing half a dozen, while others were meant to carry only a single person. "in a few minutes the ubas were freighted with their living cargoes, consisting not only of the hunters, but of most of the women and boys of the malocca, with a score or two of dogs. "these dogs were curious creatures to look at. a stranger, ignorant of the customs of the jurunas, would have been at some loss to account for the peculiarity of their colour. such dogs i had never seen before. some were of a bright scarlet, others were yellow, others blue, and some mottled with a variety of tints! "what could it mean? but i knew well enough. _the dogs were dyed_! "yes, it is the custom among many tribes of south-american indians to dye not only their own bodies, but the hairy coat of their dogs, with brilliant colours obtained from vegetable juices, such as the huitoc, the yellow raucau (_annato_), and the blue of the wild indigo. the light grey, often white, hair of these animals favours the staining process; and the effect produced pleases the eye of their savage masters. "on my eye the effect was strange and fantastical. i could not restrain my laughter when i first scanned these curs in their fanciful coats. picture to yourself a pack of scarlet, and orange, and purple dogs! "well, we were soon in the ubas, and paddling up-stream. the tuxava and i occupied a canoe to ourselves. his only arms were a light fusil, which i had given him as a present. it was a good piece, and he was proud of it. this was to be its first trial. i had a rifle for my own weapon. the rest were armed variously: some had guns, others the native bow and arrows; some carried the gravatana, with arrows dipped in curari poison; some had nothing but machetes, or cutlasses--for clearing the underwood, in case the game had to be driven from the thickets. "there was a part of the river, some two or three miles above the malocca, where the channel was wider than elsewhere--several miles in breadth at this place. here it was studded with islands, known to be a favourite resort of the tapirs. this was to be the scene of our hunt. "we approached the place in about an hour; but on the way i could not help being struck with the picturesqueness of our party. no `meet' in the hunting-field of civilised countries could have equalled us in that respect. the ubas, strung out in a long irregular line, sprang up-stream in obedience to the vigorous strokes of the rowers, and these sang in a sort of irregular concert as they plied their paddles. the songs were improvised: they told the feats of the hunters already performed, and promised others yet to be done. i could hear the word `tapira' (tapir), often repeated. the women lent their shrill voices to the chorus; and now and then interrupted the song with peals of merry laughter. the strange-looking flotilla--the bronzed bodies of the indians, more than half nude--their waving black hair--their blue-head belts and red cotton armlets--the bright _tangas_ (aprons) of the women--their massive necklaces--the macaw feathers adorning the heads of the hunters--their odd arms and equipments--all combined to form a picture which, even to me, accustomed to such sights, was full of interest. "at length we arrived among the islands, and then the noises ceased. the canoes were paddled as slowly and silently as possible. "i now began to understand the plan of the hunt. it was first to discover an island upon which a tapir was supposed to be, and then encompass it with the hunters in their canoes, while a party landed with the dogs, to arouse the game and drive it toward the water. "this plan promised fair sport. "the canoes now separated; and in a short while each of them were seen coursing quietly along the edge of some islet, one of its occupants leaning inward, and scrutinising the narrow belt of sand that bordered the water. "in some places no such sand-belt appeared. the trees hung over, their branches even dipping into the current, and forming a roofed and dark passage underneath. in such places a tapir could have hidden himself from the sharpest-eyed hunters, and herein lies the chief difficulty of this kind of hunt. "it was not long before a low whistle was heard from one of the ubas, a sign for the others to come up. the traces of a tapir had been discovered. "the chief, with a stroke or two of his palm-wood paddle, brought our canoe to the spot. "there, sure enough, was the sign--the tracks of a tapir in the sand-- leading to a hole in the thick underwood, where a beaten-path appeared to continue onward into the interior of the island, perhaps to the tapir-den. the tracks were fresh--had been made that morning in the wet sand--no doubt the creature was in its lair. "the island was a small one, with some five or six acres of surface. the canoes shot off in different directions, and in a few minutes were deployed all around it. at a given signal, several hunters leaped ashore, followed by their bright-coloured assistants--the dogs; and then the chopping of branches, the shouts of the men, and the yelping of their canine companions, were all heard mingling together. "the island was densely wooded. the _uaussu_ and _piriti_ palms grew so thickly, that their crowned heads touched each other, forming a close roof. above these, rose the taller summits of the great forest trees, _cedrelas, zamangs_, and the beautiful long-leaved silk-cotton (_bombax_); but beneath, a perfect net-work of sipos or creepers and llianas choked up the path, and the hunters had to clear every step of the way with their machetes. even the dogs, with all their eagerness, could make only a slow and tortuous advance among the thorny vines of the smilax, and the sharp spines that covered the trunks of the palms. "in the circle of canoes that surrounded the island, there was perfect silence; each had a spot to guard, and each hunter sat, with arms ready, and eyes keenly fixed on the foliage of the underwood opposite his station. "the uba of the chief had remained to watch the path where the tracks of the tapir had been observed. we both sat with guns cocked and ready; the dogs and hunters were distinctly heard in the bushes approaching the centre of the islet. the former gave tongue at intervals, but their yelping grew louder, and was uttered with a fiercer accent. several of them barked at once, and a rushing was heard towards the water. "it came in our direction, but not right for us; still the game was likely to issue at a point within range of our guns. a stroke of the paddle brought us into a better position. at the same time several other canoes were seen shooting forward to the spot. "the underwood crackled and shook; reddish forms appeared among the leaves; and the next moment a dozen animals, resembling a flock of hogs, tumbled out from the thicket, and flung themselves with a splashing into the water. "`no--tapir no--capivara,' cried the chief; but his voice was drowned by the reports of guns and the twanging of bowstrings. half a dozen of the capivaras were observed to fall on the sandy margin, while the rest plunged forward, and, diving beyond the reach of pursuit, were seen no more. "this was a splendid beginning of the day's sport; for half a dozen at a single volley was no mean game, even among indians. "but the nobler beast, the tapir, occupied all our thoughts; and leaving the capivaras to be gathered in by the women, the hunters got back to their posts in a few seconds. "there was no doubt that a tapir would be roused. the island had all the appearance of being the haunt of one or more of these creatures, besides the tracks were evidence of their recent presence upon the spot. the beating, therefore, proceeded as lively as ever, and the hunters and dogs now penetrated to the centre of the thicket. "again the quick angry yelping of the latter fell upon the ear; and again the thick cover rustled and shook. "`this time the tapir,' said the chief to me in an undertone, adding the next moment in a louder voice, `look yonder!' "i looked in the direction pointed out. i could perceive something in motion among the leaves--a dark brown body, smooth and rounded, the body of a tapir! "i caught only a glimpse of it, as it sprang forward into the opening. it was coming at full gallop, with its head carried between its knees. the dogs were close after, and it looked not before it, but dashed out and ran towards us as though blind. "it made for the water, just a few feet from the bow of our canoe. the chief and i fired at the same time. i thought my bullet took effect, and so thought the chief did his; but the tapir, seeming not to heed the shots, plunged into the stream, and went under. "the next moment the whole string of dyed dogs came sweeping out of the thicket, and leaped forward to where the game had disappeared. "there was blood upon the water. the tapir is hit, then, thought i; and was about to point out the blood to the chief, when on turning i saw the latter poising himself knife in hand, near the stern of the canoe. he was about to spring out of it. his eye was fixed on some object under the water. "i looked in the same direction. the waters of the xingu are as clear as crystal: against the sandy bottom, i could trace the dark brown body of the tapir. it was making for the deeper channel of the river, but evidently dragging itself along with difficulty. one of its legs was disabled by our shots. "i had scarcely time to get a good view of it before the chief sprang into the air, and dropped head foremost into the water. i could see a struggle going on at the bottom--turbid water came to the surface--and then up came the dark head of the savage chief. "`ugh!' cried he, as he shook the water from his thick tresses, and beckoned me to assist him--`ugh! senhor, you eat roast tapir for dinner. si--bueno--here tapir.' "i pulled him into the boat, and afterwards assisted to haul up the huge body of the slain tapir. "as was now seen, both our shots had taken effect; but it was the rifle-bullet that had broken the creature's leg, and the generous savage acknowledged that he would have had but little chance of overtaking the game under water, had it not been previously crippled. "the hunt of the day proved a very successful one. two more tapirs were killed; several capivaras; and a paca--which is an animal much prized by the indians for its flesh, as well as the teeth--used by them in making their blow-guns. we also obtained a pair of the small peccaries, several macaws, and no less than a whole troop of guariba monkeys. we returned to the malocca with a game-bag as various as it was full, and a grand dance of the juruna women wound up the amusements of the day." chapter thirty one. the buffaloes at last. the long looked for day at length arrived when the game were to be met with, and i had myself the "distinguished honour" of being the first not only to see the great buffalo, but to throw a couple of them "in their tracks." this incident, however, was not without an "adventure," and one that was neither very pleasant nor without peril. during several late days of our journey we had been in the habit of straggling a good deal in search of game--deer if we could find it, but more especially in hopes of falling in with the buffalo. sometimes we went in twos or threes, but as often one of the party rode off alone to hunt wherever his inclination guided him. sometimes these solitary expeditions took place while the party was on the march, but oftener during the hours after we had pitched our night-camp. one evening, after we had camped as usual, and my brave horse had eaten his "bite" of corn, i leaped into the saddle and rode off in hopes of finding something fresh for supper. the prairie where we had halted was a "rolling" one, and as the camp had been fixed on a small stream, between two great swells, it was not visible at any great distance. as soon, therefore, as i had crossed one of the ridges, i was out of sight of my companions. trusting to the sky for my direction, i continued on. after riding about a mile, i came upon buffalo "sign," consisting of several circular holes in the ground, five or six feet in diameter, known as buffalo wallows i saw at a glance that the sign was fresh. there were several wallows; and i could tell by the tracks, in the dusk, there had been bulls in that quarter. so i continued on in hopes of getting a sight of the animals that had been wallowing. shortly after, i came to a place where the ground was ploughed up, as if a drove of hogs had been rooting it. here there had been a terrible fight among the bulls--it was the rutting season, when such conflicts occur. this augured well. perhaps they are still in the neighbourhood, reasoned i, as i gave the spur to my horse, and galloped forward with more spirit. i had ridden full five miles from camp, when my attention was attracted by an odd noise ahead of me. there was a ridge in front that prevented me from seeing what produced the noise; but i knew what it was--it was the bellowing of a buffalo-bull. at intervals, there were quick shocks, as of two hard substances coming in violent contact with each other. i mounted the ridge with caution, and looked over its crest. there was a valley beyond; a cloud of dust was rising out of its bottom, and in the midst of this i could distinguish two huge forms--dark and hirsute. i saw at once that they were a pair of buffalo-bulls engaged in a fierce fight. they were alone; there were no others in sight, either in the valley or on the prairie beyond. i did not halt longer than to see that the cap was on my rifle, and to cock the piece. occupied as the animals were, i did not imagine they would heed me: or, if they should attempt flight, i knew i could easily overtake one or other; so, without farther hesitation or precaution, i rode towards them. contrary to my expectation, they both "winded" me, and started off. the wind was blowing freshly towards them, and the sun had thrown my shadow between them, so as to draw their attention. they did not run, however, as if badly scared; on the contrary, they went off, apparently indignant at being disturbed in their fight; and every now and then both came round with short turnings, snorted, and struck the prairie with their hoofs in a violent and angry manner. once or twice, i fancied they were going to charge upon me; and had i been otherwise than well mounted, i should have been very chary of risking such an encounter. a more formidable pair of antagonists, as far as appearance went, could not have been well conceived. their huge size, their shaggy fronts, and fierce glaring eyeballs, gave them a wild and malicious seeming, which was heightened by their bellowing, and the threatening attitudes in which they continually placed themselves. feeling quite safe in my saddle, i galloped up to the nearest, and sent my bullet into his ribs. it did the work. he fell to his knees--rose again--spread out his legs, as if to prevent a second fall--rocked from side to side like a cradle--again came to his knees; and after remaining in this position for some minutes, with the blood running from his nostrils, rolled quietly over on his shoulder, and lay dead. i had watched these manoeuvres with interest, and permitted the second bull to make his escape; a side-glance had shown me the latter disappearing over the crest of the swell. i did not care to follow him, as my horse was somewhat jaded, and i knew it would cost me a sharp gallop to come up with him again; so i thought no more of him at that time, but alighted, and prepared to deal with the one already slain. there stood a solitary tree near the spot--it was a stunted cotton-wood. there were others upon the prairie, but they were distant; this one was not twenty yards from the carcass. i led my horse up to it, and taking the trail-rope from the horn of the saddle, made one end fast to the bit-ring, and the other to the tree. i then went back, drew my knife, and proceeded to cut up the buffalo. i had hardly whetted my blade, when a noise from behind caused me to leap to an upright attitude, and look round; at the first glance, i comprehended the noise. a huge dark object was passing the crest of the ridge, and rushing down the hill towards the spot where i stood. it was the buffalo-bull, the same that had just left me. the sight, at first thought, rather pleased me than otherwise. although i did not want any more meat, i should have the triumph of carrying two tongues instead of one to the camp. i therefore hurriedly sheathed my knife, and laid hold of my rifle, which, according to custom, i had taken the precaution to re-load. i hesitated a moment whether to run to my horse and mount him, or to fire from where i stood. that question, however, was settled by the buffalo. the tree and the horse were to one side of the direction in which he was running, but being attracted by the loud snorting of the horse, which had begun to pitch and plunge violently, and deeming it perhaps a challenge, the buffalo suddenly swerved from his course, and ran full tilt upon the horse. the latter shot out instantly to the full length of the trail-rope--a heavy "pluck" sounded in my ears, and the next instant i saw my horse part from the tree, and scour off over the prairie, as if there had been a thistle under his tail. i had knotted the rope negligently upon the bit-ring, and the knot had "come undone." i was chagrined, but not alarmed as yet. my horse would no doubt follow back his own trail, and at the worst i should only have to walk to the camp. i should have the satisfaction of punishing the buffalo for the trick he had served me; and with this design i turned towards him. i saw that he had not followed the horse, but was again heading himself in my direction. now, for the first time, it occurred to me that i was in something of a scrape. the bull was coming furiously on. should my shot miss, or even should it only wound him, how was i to escape? i knew that he could overtake me in a three minutes' stretch; i knew that well. i had not much time for reflection--not a moment, in fact: the infuriated animal was within ten paces of me. i raised my rifle, aimed at his fore-shoulder, and fired. i saw that i had hit him; but, to my dismay, he neither fell nor stumbled, but continued to charge forward more furiously than ever. to re-load was impossible. my pistols had gone off with my horse and holsters. even to reach the tree was impossible; the bull was between it and me. to make off in the opposite direction was the only thing that held out the prospect of five minutes' safety; i turned and ran. i can run as fast as most men, and upon that occasion i did my best. it would have put "gildersleeve" into a white sweat to have distanced me; but i had not been two minutes at it, when i felt conscious that the buffalo gained upon me, and was almost treading upon my heels! i knew it only by my ears--i dared not spare time to look back. at this moment, an object appeared before me, that promised, one way or another, to interrupt the chase; it was a ditch or gully, that intersected my path at right angles. it was several feet in depth, dry at the bottom, and with perpendicular sides. i was almost upon its edge before i noticed it, but the moment it came under my eye, i saw that it offered the means of a temporary safety at least. if i could only leap this gully, i felt satisfied that the buffalo could not. it was a sharp leap--at least, seventeen feet from cheek to cheek; but i had done more than that in my time; and, without halting in my gait, i ran forward to the edge, and sprang over. i alighted cleverly upon the opposite bank, where i stopped, and turned round to watch my pursuer. i now ascertained how near my end i had been: the bull was already up to the very edge of the gully. had i not made my leap at the instant i did, i should have been by that time dancing upon his horns. he himself had balked at the leap; the deep chasm-like cleft had cowed him. he saw that he could not clear it; and now stood upon the opposite bank with head lowered, and spread nostrils, his tail lashing his brown flanks, while his glaring black eyes expressed the full measure of his baffled rage. i remarked that my shot had taken effect in his shoulder, as the blood trickled from his long hair. i had almost begun to congratulate myself on having escaped, when a hurried glance to the right, and another to the left, cut short my happiness. i saw that on both sides, at a distance of less than fifty paces, the gully shallowed out into the plain, where it ended; at either end it was, of course, passable. the bull observed this almost at the same time as myself; and, suddenly turning away from the brink, he ran along the edge of the chasm, evidently with the intention of turning it. in less than a minute's time we were once more on the same side, and my situation appeared as terrible as ever; but, stepping back for a short run, i re-leaped the chasm, and again we stood on opposite sides. during all these manoeuvres i had held on to my rifle; and, seeing now that i might have time to load it, i commenced feeling for my powder-horn. to my astonishment, i could not lay my hands upon it: i looked down to my breast for the sling--it was not there; belt and bullet-pouch too--all were gone! i remembered lifting them over my head, when i set about cutting the dead bull. they were lying by the carcass. this discovery was a new source of chagrin; but for my negligence, i could now have mastered my antagonist. to reach the ammunition would be impossible; i should be overtaken before i had got half-way to it. i was not allowed much time to indulge in my regrets; the bull had again turned the ditch, and was once more upon the same side with me, and i was compelled to take another leap. i really do not remember how often i sprang backwards and forwards across that chasm; i should think a dozen times at least, and i became wearied with the exercise. the leap was just as much as i could do at my best; and as i was growing weaker at each fresh spring, i became satisfied that i should soon leap short, and crush myself against the steep rocky sides of the chasm. should i fall to the bottom, my pursuer could easily reach me by entering at either end, and i began to dread such a finale. the vengeful brute showed no symptoms of retiring; on the contrary, the numerous disappointments seemed only to render him more determined in his resentment. an idea now suggested itself to my mind, i had looked all round to see if there might not be something that offered a better security. there were trees, but they were too distant: the only one near was that to which my horse had been tied. it was a small one, and, like all of its species (it was a cotton-wood), there were no branches near the root. i knew that i could clamber up it by embracing the trunk, which was not over ten inches in diameter. could i only succeed in reaching it, it would at least shelter me better than the ditch, of which i was getting heartily tired. but the question was, could i reach it before the bull? it was about three hundred yards off. by proper manoeuvring, i should have a start of fifty. even, with that, it would be a "close shave;" and it proved so. i arrived at the tree, however, and sprang up it like a mountebank; but the hot breath of the buffalo steamed after me as i ascended, and the concussion of his heavy skull against the trunk almost shook me back upon his horns. after a severe effort of climbing, i succeeded in lodging myself among the branches. i was now safe from all immediate danger, but how was the affair to end? i knew from the experience of others, that my enemy might stay for hours by the tree--perhaps for days! hours would be enough. i could not stand it long. i already hungered, but a worse appetite began to torture me: thirst. the hot sun, the dust, the violent exercise of the past hour, all contributed to make me thirsty. even then, i would have risked life for a draught of water. what would it come to should i not be relieved? i had but one hope--that my companions would come to my relief; but i knew that that would not be before morning. they would miss me of course. perhaps my horse would return to camp--that would send them out in search for me--but not before night had fallen. in the darkness they could not follow my trail. could they do so in the light? this last question, which i had put to myself, startled me. i was just in a condition to look upon the dark side of everything, and it now occurred to me that they might not be able to find me! there were many possibilities that they might not. there were numerous horse-trails on the prairie, where indians had passed. i saw this when tracking the buffalo. besides, it might rain in the night, and obliterate them all--my own with the rest. they were not likely to find me by chance. a circle of ten miles diameter is a large tract. it was a rolling prairie, as already stated, full of inequalities, ridges with valleys between. the tree upon which i was perched stood in the bottom of one of the valleys--it could not be seen from any point over three hundred yards distant. those searching for me might pass within hail without perceiving either the tree or the valley. i remained for a long time busied with such gloomy thoughts and forebodings. night was coming on, but the fierce and obstinate brute showed no disposition to raise the siege. he remained watchful as ever, walking round and round at intervals, lashing his tail, and uttering that snorting sound so well-known, to the prairie-hunter, and which so much resembles the grunting of hogs when suddenly alarmed. occasionally he would bellow loudly like the common bull. while watching his various manoeuvres, an object on the ground drew my attention--it was the trail-rope left by my horse. one end of it was fastened round the trunk by a firm knot--the other lay far out upon the prairie, where it had been dragged. my attention had been drawn to it by the bull himself, that in crossing over it had noticed it, and now and then pawed it with his hoofs. all at once a bright idea flashed upon me--a sudden hope arose within me--a plan of escape presented itself, so feasible and possible, that i leaped in my perch as the thought struck me. the first step was to get possession of the rope. this was not such an easy matter. the rope was fastened around the tree, but the knot had slipped down the trunk and lay upon the ground. i dared not descend for it. necessity soon suggested a plan. my "picker"--a piece of straight wire with a ring-end--hung from one of my breast buttons. this i took hold of, and bent into the shape of a grappling-hook. i had no cord, but my knife was still sate in its sheath; and, drawing this, i cut several thongs from the skirt or my buckskin shirt, and knotted them together until they formed a string long enough to reach the ground. to one end i attached the picker; and then letting it down, i commenced angling for the rope. after a few transverse drags, the hook caught the latter, and i pulled it up into the tree, taking the whole of it in until i held the loose end in my hands. the other end i permitted to remain as it was; i saw it was securely knotted around the trunk, and that was just what i wanted. it was my intention to lasso the bull; and for this purpose i proceeded to make a running-noose on the end of the trail-rope. this i executed with great care, and with all my skill. i could depend upon the rope; it was raw hide, and a hotter was never twisted; but i knew that if anything should chance to slip at a critical moment, it might cost me my life. with this knowledge, therefore, i spliced the eye, and made the knot as firm as possible, and then the loop was reeved through, and the thing was ready. i could throw a lasso tolerably well, but the branches prevented me from winding it around my head. it was necessary, therefore, to get the animal in a certain position under the tree, which, by shouts and other demonstrations, i at length succeeded in effecting. the moment of success had arrived. he stood almost directly below me. the noose was shot down--i had the gratification to see it settle around his neck; and with a quick jerk i tightened it. the rope ran beautifully through the eye, until both eye and loop were buried beneath the shaggy hair of the animal's neck. it embraced his throat in the right place, and i felt confident it would hold. the moment the bull felt the jerk upon his throat, he dashed madly out from the tree, and then commenced running in circles around it. contrary to my intention, the rope had slipped from my hands at the first drag upon it. my position was rather an unsteady one, for the branches were slender, and i could not manage matters as well as i could have wished. but i now felt confident enough. the bull was tethered, and it only remained for me to get out beyond the length of his tether, and take to my heels. my gun lay on one side, near the tree, where i had dropped it in my race: this, of course, i meant to carry off with me. i waited then until the animal, in one of his circles, had got round to the opposite side, and slipping silently down the trunk, i sprang out, picked up my rifle, and ran. i knew the trail-rope to be about twenty yards in length, but i ran a hundred, at least, before making halt. i had even thoughts of continuing on, as i still could not help some misgivings about the rope. the bull was one of the largest and strongest. the rope might break, the knot upon the tree might give way, or the noose might slip over his head. curiosity, however, or rather a desire to be assured of my safety, prompted me to look around, when, to my joy, i beheld the huge monster stretched upon the plain. i could see the rope as taut as a bow-string; and the tongue protruding from the animal's jaws showed me that he was strangling himself as fast as i could desire. at the sight, the idea of buffalo-tongue for supper returned in all its vigour; and it now occurred to me that i should eat that very tongue, and no other. i immediately turned in my tracks, ran towards my powder and balls-- which, in my eagerness to escape, i had forgotten all about--seized the horn and pouch, poured in a charge, rammed down a bullet, and then stealing nimbly up behind the still struggling bull, i placed the muzzle within three feet of his brisket, and fired. he gave a death-kick or two, and then lay quiet: it was all over with him. i had the tongue from between his teeth in a twinkling; and proceeding to the other bull, i finished the operations i had commenced upon him. i was too tired to think of carrying a very heavy load; so i contented myself with the tongues, and slinging these over the barrel of my rifle, i shouldered it, and set out to grope my way back to camp. the moon had risen, and i had no difficulty in following my own trail; but before i had got half-way, i met several of my companions shouting, and at intervals firing off their guns. my horse had got back a little before sunset. his appearance had, of course, produced alarm, and the camp had turned out in search of me. several who had a relish for fresh meat galloped back to strip the two bulls of the remaining tit-bits; but before midnight all had returned; and to the accompaniment of the hump-ribs spurting in the cheerful blaze, i recounted the details of my adventure. chapter thirty two. the bison. the bison--universally, though improperly, called buffalo--is, perhaps, the most interesting animal in america. its great size and strength-- the prodigious numbers in which it is found--its peculiar _habitat_--the value of its flesh and hide to the traveller, as well as to the many tribes of indians--the mode of its chase and capture--all these circumstances render the buffalo an interesting and highly-prized animal. besides, it is the largest ruminant indigenous to america, exceeding in weight even the moose-deer, which latter, however, equals it in height. with the exception of the musk-ox, it is the only indigenous animal of the bovine tribe, but the latter being confined to a very limited range, near the arctic sea, has been less subject to the observation and attention of the civilised world. the buffalo, therefore, may be regarded as the representative of the ox in america. the appearance of the animal is well-known; pictorial illustration has rendered it familiar to the eyes of every one. the enormous head, with its broad triangular front--the conical hump on the shoulders--the small but brilliantly-piercing eyes--the short black horns, of crescent shape--the profusion of shaggy hair about, the neck and foreparts of the body--the disproportioned bulk of the smaller hind-quarters--the short tail, with its tufted extremity; all these are characteristics. the hind-quarters are covered with a much shorter and smoother coat of hair, which adds to their apparent disproportion, and this, with the long hirsute covering of the breast, neck, hump, and shoulders, gives to the buffalo--especially when seen in a picture--a somewhat lion-like figure. the naked tail, with its tuft at the end, strengthens this similarity. some of the characteristics above enumerated belong only to the bull. the cow is less shaggy in front, has a smaller head, a less fierce appearance, and is altogether more like the common black cattle. the buffalo is of a dark brown colour--sometimes nearly black--and sometimes of a burnt or liver hue; but this change depends on the season. the young coat of hair is darker, but changes as the season advances. in autumn it is nearly black, and then the coat of the animal has a shiny appearance; but as winter comes on, and the hair lengthens, it becomes lighter and more bleached-like. in the early part of summer it has a yellowish brown hue, and at this time, with rubbing and wallowing, part of it has already come off, while large flakes hang raggled and loose from the flanks, ready at any moment to drop off. in size, the american buffalo competes with the european species (_bos aurochs_), now nearly extinct. these animals differ in shape considerably, but the largest individuals of each species would very nearly balance one another in weight. either of them is equal in size and weight to the largest specimens of the common ox--prize oxen, of course, excepted. a full-grown buffalo-bull is six feet high at the shoulders, eight feet from the snout to the base of the tail, and will weigh about pounds. rare individuals exist whose weight much exceeds this. the cows are, of course, much smaller than the bulls, and scarcely come up to the ordinary standard of farm-cattle. the flesh of the buffalo is juicy and delicious, equal, indeed superior, to well-fed beef. it may be regarded as beef with a _game flavour_. many people--travellers and hunters--prefer it to any other species of meat. the flesh of the cow, as may be supposed, is more tender and savoury than that of the bull; and in a hunt when "meat" is the object, the cow is selected as a mark for the arrow or bullet. the parts most esteemed are the tongue, the "hump-ribs" (the long spinous processes of the first dorsal vertebra), and the marrow of the shank bones. "boudins" (part of the intestines) are also favourite "tit-bits" among the indians and trappers. the tongues, when dried, are really superior to those of common beeves, and, indeed, the same may be said of the other parts, but there is a better and worse in buffalo-beef, according to the age and sex of the animal. "fat cow" is a term for the super-excellent, and by "poor bull," or "old bull," is meant a very unpalatable article, only to be eaten by the hunter in times of necessity. the range of the buffalo is extensive, though not as it once was. it is gradually being restricted by hunter-pressure, and the encroachments of civilisation. it now consists of a longitudinal strip, of which the western boundary may be considered the rocky mountains, and the eastern the mississippi river, though it is only near the head waters of the latter that the range of this animal extends so far east. below the mouth of the missouri no buffalo are found near the mississippi, nor within two hundred miles of it--not, in fact, until you have cleared the forests that fringe this stream, and penetrated a good distance into the prairie tract. at one period, however, they roamed as far to the east as the chain of the alleghanies. in texas, the buffalo yet extends its migrations to the head waters of the brazos and colorado, but it is not a mexican animal. following the rocky mountains from the great bend of the rio grande, northward, we find no buffalo west of them until we reach the higher latitudes near the sources of the saskatchewan. there they have crossed the mountains, and are now to be met with in some of the plains that lie on the other side. this, however, is a late migration, occasioned by hunter-pressure upon the eastern slope. the same has been observed at different periods, at other points in the rocky mountain chain, where the buffalo had made a temporary lodgment on the pacific side of the mountains, but where they are now entirely extinct. it is known, from the traditional history of the tribes on the west side, that the buffalo was only a newcomer among them, and was not indigenous to that division of the continent. following the buffaloes north, we find their range co-terminous with the prairies. the latter end in an angle between the peace river and the great slave lake, and beyond this the buffalo does not run. there is a point, however, across an arm of the slave lake where buffalo are found. it is called slave point, and although contiguous to the primitive rocks of the "barren grounds" it is of a similar geology (_stratified_ limestone) with the buffalo prairies to the west. this, to the geologist, is an interesting fact. from the slave lake, a line drawn to the head waters of the mississippi, and passing through lake winnipeg, will shut in the buffalo country along the north-east. they are still found in large bands upon the western shores of winnipeg, on the plains of the saskatchewan and the red river of the north. in fact, buffalo-hunting is one of the chief employments of the inhabitants of that half-indian colony known as the "red river settlements." one of the most singular facts in relation to the buffalo is their enormous numbers. nothing but the vast extent of their pasturage could have sustained such droves as have from time to time been seen. thousands frequently feed together, and the plain for miles is often covered with a continuous drove. sometimes they are seen strung out into a long column, passing from place to place, and roads exist made by them that resemble great highways. sometimes these roads, worn by the rains, form great hollows that traverse the level plain, and they often guide the thirsty traveller in the direction of water. another curious fact about the buffalo is their habit of wallowing. the cause of this is not well-ascertained. it may be that they are prompted to it, as swine are, partly to cool their blood by bringing their bodies in contact with the colder earth, and partly to scratch themselves as other cattle do, and free their skins from the annoying insects and parasites that prey upon them. it must be remembered that in their pasturage no trees or "rubbing posts" are to be found, and in the absence of these they are compelled to resort to wallowing. they fling themselves upon their sides, and using their hunch and shoulder as a pivot, spin round and round for hours at a time. in this rotatory motion they aid themselves by using the legs freely. the earth becomes hollowed out and worn into a circular basin, often of considerable depth, and this is known as a "buffalo wallow." such curious circular concavities are seen throughout the prairies where these animals range; sometimes grown over with grass, sometimes freshly hollowed out, and not unfrequently containing water, with which the traveller assuages his thirst, and so, too, the buffalo themselves. this has led to the fanciful idea of the early explorers that there existed on the american continent an animal who _dug its own wells_! the buffaloes make extensive migrations, going in large "gangs." these are not periodical, and are only partially influenced by climate. they are not regular either in their direction. sometimes the gangs will be seen straying southward, at other times to the north, east, or west. the search of food or water seems partially to regulate these movements, as with the passenger-pigeon, and some other migratory creatures. at such times the buffaloes move forward in an impetuous march which nothing seems to interrupt. ravines are passed, and waterless plains traversed, and rivers crossed without hesitation. in many cases broad streams, with steep or marshy banks, are attempted, and thousands either perish in the waters or become mired in the swamp, and cannot escape, but die the most terrible of deaths. then is the feast of the eagles, the vultures, and the wolves. sometimes, too, the feast of the hunter; for when the indians discover a gang of buffaloes in a difficulty of this kind, the slaughter is immense. hunting the buffalo is, among the indian tribes, a profession rather than a sport. those who practise it in the latter sense are few indeed, as, to enjoy it, it is necessary to do as we had done, make a journey of several hundred miles, and risk our scalps, with no inconsiderable chance of losing them. for these reasons few amateur-hunters ever trouble the buffalo. the true professional hunters--the white trappers and indians--pursue these animals almost incessantly, and thin their numbers with lance, rifle, and arrow. buffalo-hunting is not all sport without peril. the hunter frequently risks his life; and numerous have been the fatal results of encounters with these animals. the bulls, when wounded, cannot be approached, even on horseback, without considerable risk, while a dismounted hunter has but slight chance of escaping. the buffalo runs with a gait apparently heavy and lumbering--first heaving to one side, then to the other, like a ship at sea; but this gait, although not equal in speed to that of a horse, is far too fast for a man on foot, and the swiftest runner, unless favoured by a tree or some other object, will be surely overtaken, and either gored to death by the animal's horns, or pounded to a jelly under its heavy hoofs. instances of the kind are far from being rare, and could amateur-hunters only get at the buffalo, such occurrences would be fearfully common. an incident illustrative of these remarks is told by the traveller and naturalist richardson, and may therefore be safely regarded as a fact. "while i resided at charlton house, an incident of this kind occurred. mr finnan mcdonald, one of the hudson's bay company's clerks, was descending the saskatchewan in a boat, and one evening, having pitched his tent for the night, he went out in the dusk to look for game. "it had become nearly dark when he fired at a bison bull, which was galloping over a small eminence; and as he was hastening forward to see if the shot had taken effect, the wounded beast made a rush at him. he had the presence of mind to seize the animal by the long hair on his forehead, as it struck him on the side with its horn, and being a remarkably tall and powerful man, a struggle ensued, which continued until his wrist was severely sprained, and his arm was rendered powerless; he then fell, and after receiving two or three blows, became senseless. "shortly after, he was found by his companions lying bathed in blood, being gored in several places; and the bison was couched beside him, apparently waiting to renew the attack, had he shown any signs of life. mr mcdonald recovered from the immediate effects of the injuries he received, but died a few months after." dr richardson adds:--"many other instances might be mentioned of the tenaciousness with which this animal pursues its revenge; and i have been told of a hunter having been detained for many hours in a tree, by an old bull which had taken its post below to watch him." the numbers of the buffalo, although still very great, are annually on the decrease. their woolly skins, when dressed, are of great value as an article of commerce. among the canadians they are in general use; they constitute the favourite wrappers of the traveller in that cold climate: they line the cariole, the carriage, and the sleigh. thousands of them are used in the northern parts of the united states for a similar purpose. they are known as buffalo-robes, and are often prettily trimmed and ornamented, so as to command a good price. they are even exported to europe in large quantities. of course this extensive demand for the robes causes a proportionate destruction among the buffaloes. but this is not all. whole tribes of indians, amounting to many thousands of individuals, subsist entirely upon these animals, as the laplander upon the reindeer, or the guarani indian upon the _moriche_ palm. their blankets are buffalo-robes, part of their clothing buffalo-leather, their tents are buffalo-hides, and buffalo-beef is their sole food for three parts of the year. the large prairie tribes--as the sioux, the pawnees, the blackfeet, the crows, the chiennes, the arapahoes, and the comanches, with several smaller bands-- live upon the buffalo. these tribes, united, number at least , souls. no wonder the buffalo should be each year diminishing in numbers! it is predicted that in a few years the race will become extinct. the same has been often said of the indian. the _soi-disant_ prophet is addicted to this sort of melancholy foreboding, because he believes by such babbling he gains a character for philanthropic sympathy; besides, it has a poetic sound. believe me, there is not the slightest danger of such a destiny for the indian: his race is not to become extinct; it will be on the earth as long as that of either black or white. civilisation is removing the seeds of decay; civilisation will preserve the race of the red man yet to multiply. civilisation, too, may preserve the buffalo. the hunter races must disappear, and give place to the more useful agriculturist. the prairies are wide--vast expanses of that singular formation must remain in their primitive wildness, at least for ages, and these will still be a safe range for the buffalo. chapter thirty three. trailing the buffalo. after a breakfast of fresh buffalo-meat we took the road in high spirits. the long-expected sport would soon come off. every step showed us "buffalo sign"--tracks, wallows, fresh ordure. none of the animals were yet in sight, but the prairie was filled with undulations, and no doubt "a gang" would be found in some of the valleys. a few miles farther on, and we came suddenly upon a "buffalo road," traversing the prairie nearly at right angles to our own direction. this caused a halt and consultation. should we follow the road? by all means thought every one. the tracks were fresh--the road a large one-- thousands of buffaloes must have passed over it; where were they now? they might be a hundred miles off, for when these animals get upon one of those regular roads they often journey at great speed, and it is difficult to overtake them. when merely browsing over the prairie the case is different. then they travel only a few miles a day, and a hunter trailing them soon comes up with the gang. ike and redwood were consulted as to what was best to be done. they had both closely examined the trail, bending down to the ground, and carefully noting every symptom that would give them a clue to the condition of the herd--its numbers--its time of passing--the rate of its speed, etcetera. "thur's a good grist o' 'em," said ike, "leastways a kupple o' thousand in the gang--thur's bulls, cows, yearlins, an' young calf too, so we'll have a choice o' meat--either beef or veal. kin we do better than foller 'em up? eh, mark?" "wal! i don't think we can, ole boss," replied redwood. "they passed hyur yesterday, jest about noon--that is the thick o' the drove passed then." "how do you tell that?" inquired several. "oh, that's easy made out," replied the guide, evidently regarding the question as a very simple one; "you see most o' these hyur tracks is a day old, an' yet thur not two." "and why not?" "why how could they be two," asked the guide in astonishment, "when it rained yesterday before sun-up? thur made since the rain, yu'll admit that?" we now remembered the rain, and acknowledged the truth of this reasoning. the animals must have passed since it rained; but why not immediately after, in the early morning? how could redwood tell that it was the hour of noon? how? "easy enough, comrades," replied he. "any greenhorn mout do that," added ike. the rest, however, were puzzled and waited the explanation. "i tells this a way," continued the guide. "ef the buffler had passed by hyur, immediately after the rain, thar tracks wud a sunk deeper, and thar wud a been more mud on the trail. as thar ain't no great slobber about, ye see, i make my kalklations that the ground must a been well dried afore they kim along, and after such a wet, it could not a been afore noon at the least--so that's how i know the buffler passed at that hour." we were all interested in this craft of our guides, for without consulting each other they had both arrived at the same conclusion by the same process of mental logic. they had also determined several other points about the buffalo--such as that they had not all gone together, but in a straggling herd; that some had passed more rapidly than the rest; that no hunters were after them; and that it was probable they were not bound upon any distant migration, but only in search of water; and the direction they had taken rendered this likely enough. indeed most of the great buffalo roads lead to watering-places, and they have often been the means of conducting the thirsty traveller to the welcome rivulet or spring, when otherwise he might have perished upon the dry plain. whether the buffalo are guided by some instinct towards water, is a question not satisfactorily solved. certain it is, that their water paths often lead in the most direct route to streams and ponds, of the existence of which they could have known nothing previously. it is certain that many of the lower animals possess either an "instinct," or a much keener sense in these matters than man himself. long before the thirsty traveller suspects the propinquity of water, his sagacious mule, by her joyful hinney, and suddenly altered bearing, warns him of its presence. we now reasoned that if the buffalo had been making to some watering-place, merely for the purpose of drinking and cooling their flanks, they would, of course, make a delay there, and so give us a chance of coming up. they had a day the start of us, it is true, but we should do our best to overhaul them. the guides assured us we were likely to have good sport before we came up with the great gang. there were straggling groups they had no doubt, some perhaps not over thirsty, that had hung in the rear. in high hopes, then, we turned our heads to the trail, and travelled briskly forward. we had not gone many hundred yards when a very singular scene was presented to our eyes. we had gained the crest of a ridge, and were looking down into a little valley through which ran the trail. at the bottom of the valley a cloud of dust was constantly rising upward, and very slowly moving away, as the day was quite calm. although there had been rain a little over thirty hours before, the ground was already parched and dry as pepper. but what caused the dust to rise? not the wind--there was none. some animal then, or likely more than one! at first we could perceive no creature within the cloud, so dun and thick was it; but after a little a wolf dashed out, ran round a bit, and then rushed in again, and then another and another, all of them with open jaws, glaring eyes, manes erect, and tails switching about in a violent and angry manner. now and then we could only see part of their bodies, or their bushy tails flung upward, but we could hear by their yelping barks that they were engaged in a fierce contest either among themselves, or with some other enemy. it was not among themselves, as ike and redwood both affirmed. "an old bull 's the game," said they; and without waiting a moment, the two trappers galloped forward, followed closely by the rest of our party. we were soon in the bottom of the little valley. ike already cracking away at the wolves--his peculiar enemies. several others, led away by the excitement, also emptied their pieces at these worthless creatures, slaying a number of them, while the rest, nearly a dozen in all, took to their heels, and scampered off over the ridges. the dust gradually began to float off, and through the thinner cloud that remained we now saw what the wolves had been at. standing in the centre of a ring, formed by its own turnings and struggles, was the huge form of a buffalo-bull. its shape indicated that it was a very old one, lank, lean, and covered with long hair, raggled and torn into tufts. its colour was that of the white dust, but red blood was streaming freshly down its hind flanks, and from its nose and mouth. the cartilage of the nose was torn to pieces by the fierce enemies it had so lately encountered, and on observing it more closely we saw that its eyes were pulled out of their sockets, exhibiting a fearful spectacle. the tail was eaten off by repeated wrenches, and the hind-quarters were sadly mangled. spite of all this mutilation, the old bull still kept his feet, and his prowess had been proved, for no less than five wolves lay around, that he had "rubbed out" previous to our arrival. he was a terrible and melancholy spectacle--that old bull, and all agreed it would be better to relieve him by a well-aimed bullet. this was instantly fired at him; and the animal, after rocking about a while on his spread legs, fell gently to the earth. of course he had proved himself too tough to be eatable by anything but prairie-wolves, and we were about to leave him as he lay. ike, however, had no idea of gratifying these sneaking creatures at so cheap a rate. he was determined they should not have their dinner so easily, so taking out his knife he extracted the bladder, and some of the smaller intestines from the buffalo. these he inflated in a trice, and then rigging up a sapling over the body, he hung them upon it, so that the slightest breeze kept them in motion. this, as we had been already assured, was the best mode of keeping wolves at a distance from any object, and the hunter, when wolves are near, often avails himself of it to protect the venison or buffalo-meat which he is obliged to leave behind him. the guide having rigged his "scare wolf," mounted his old mare, and again joined us, muttering his satisfaction as he rode along. we had not travelled much farther when our attention was attracted by noises in front, and again from a ridge we beheld a scene still more interesting than that we had just witnessed. as before, the actors were buffalo and wolves, but this time there was very little dust, as the contest was carried on upon the green turf--and we could see distinctly the manoeuvres of the animals. there were three buffaloes--a cow, her calf, and a large bull that was acting as their champion and protector. a pack of wolves had gathered around them, in which there were some of the larger species, and these kept up a continuous attack, the object of which was to destroy the calf, and its mother if possible. this the bull was using all his endeavours to prevent, and with considerable success too, as already several of the wolves were down, and howling with pain. but what rendered the result doubtful was that fresh wolves were constantly galloping up to the spot, and the buffaloes would likely have to yield in time. it was quite amusing to see the efforts made by the cunning brutes, to separate the calf front its protector. sometimes they would get it a few feet to the one side, and fling it to the ground; but before they could do it any great injury, the active bull, and the cow as well, would rush forward upon them, scattering the cowardly creatures like a flock of birds. then the calf would place itself between the old ones, and would thus remain for a while, until the wolves, having arranged some new plan, would recommence the attack, and drive it forth again. once the position was strikingly in favour of the buffaloes. this position, which seemed in the hurry of the conflict to turn up accidentally, was in fact the result of design, for the old ones every now and then endeavoured to renew it, but were hindered by the stupidity of the calf. the latter was placed between them in such a way that the heads of the bull and cow were in opposite directions, and thus both flanks were guarded. in this way the buffaloes might have held their ground, but the silly calf when closely menaced by the wolves foolishly started out, rendering it necessary for its protectors to assume a new attitude of defence. it was altogether a singular conflict, a touching picture of parental fondness. the end of it was easily guessed. the wolves would tire out the old ones, and get hold of the calf of course, although they might spend a long time about it. but the great herd was distant, and there was no hope for the cow to get her offspring back to its protection. it would certainly be destroyed. notwithstanding our sympathy for the little family thus assailed, we were not the less anxious to do for them just what the wolves wished to do--kill and eat them. with this intent we all put spur to our horses, and galloped right forward to the spot. not one of the animals--neither wolves nor buffaloes--took any notice of us until we were within a few yards of them. the wolves then scampered off, but already the cracking rifles and shot-guns were heard above the shouts of the charging cavalcade, and both the cow and calf were seen sinking to the earth. not so the huge bull. with glaring eyeballs he glanced around upon his new assailants, and then, as if aware that farther strife was useless, he stretched forth his neck, and breaking through the line of horsemen, went off in full flight. a fresh touch of the spur, with a wrench of the bridle-rein, brought our horses round, and set their heads after him, and then followed as fine a piece of chasing as i remember to have taken part in. the whole eight of us swept over the plain in pursuit, but as we had all emptied our pieces on first charging up, there was not one ready to deliver a shot even should we overtake the game. in the quick gallop no one thought of re-loading. our pistols, however, were still charged, and these were grasped and held in readiness. it was one of the most exciting chases. there before us galloped the great game, under full view, with neither brake nor bush to interrupt the pleasure of our wild race. the bull proved to be one of the fastest of his kind--for there is a considerable difference in this respect. he led us nearly half-a-mile across the ridges before even the best of our horses could come up, and then just as we were closing in upon him, before a shot had been fired, he was seen to give a sudden lounge forward and tumble over upon the ground. some of us fancied he had only missed his footing and stumbled; but no motion could be perceived as we rode forward, and on coming up he was found to be quite dead! a rifle-bullet had done the work--one that had been fired in the first volley; and his strong fast run was only the last spasmodic effort of his life. one or two remained by the dead bull to get his hide and the "tit-bits" of his meat, while the rest rode back to recover the more precious cow and calf. what was our chagrin to find that the rascally wolves had been before us! of the tender calf, not a morsel remained beyond a few tufts of hairy skin, and the cow was so badly torn and mutilated that she was not worth cutting up! even the tongue, that most delicate bit, had been appropriated by the sneaking thieves, and eaten out to the very root. as soon as they had observed us coming back, they had taken to their heels, each carrying a large piece with him, and we could now see them out upon the prairie devouring the meat before our very eyes. ike was loud in his anathemas, and but that the creatures were too cunning for him, would have taken his revenge upon the spot. they kept off, however, beyond range of either rifle or double-barrel, and ike was forced to nurse his wrath for some other occasion. we now went back to the bull, where we encamped for the night. the latter, tough as he was, furnished us an excellent supper from his tongue, hump-ribs, boudins, and marrow bones, and we all lay down to sleep and dream of the sports of to-morrow. chapter thirty four. approaching the buffalo. next morning, just as we were preparing to resume our journey, a gang of buffalo appeared upon one of the swells, at the distance of a mile or a mile and a half from our camp. there were about a dozen of them, and, as our guides asserted, they were all cows. this was just what we wanted, as the flesh of the cows is much more delicate than that of the bulls, and were eager to lay in a stock of it. a hurried consultation was held, in which it was debated as to the best manner of making an attack upon the herd. some advised that we should ride boldly forward, and overtake the cows by sheer swiftness, but this mode was objected to by others. the cows are at times very shy. they might break off long before we were near, and give our horses such a gallop as would render them useless for the rest of the day. besides, our animals were in no condition for such exercise. our stock of corn had run out, and the grass feeding and hard travelling had reduced most of them to skeletons. a hard gallop was therefore to be avoided if possible. among those who counselled a different course wore the guides ike and redwood. these men thought it would be much better to try the cows by "approaching," that is, by endeavouring to creep up, and get a shot when near enough. the ground was favourable enough for it, as there were here and there little clumps of cactus plants and bushes of the wild sage (_artemisia_), behind which a hunter might easily conceal himself. the trappers farther alleged that the herd would not be likely to make off at the first shot, unless the hunter discovered himself. on the contrary, one after another might fall, and not frighten the rest, so long as these did not get to leeward, and detect the presence of their enemy by the scent. the wind was in our favour, and this was a most important consideration. had it been otherwise the game would have "winded" us at a mile's distance, as they can recognise the smell of man, and frequently comprehend the danger of being near such an enemy. indeed, it is on their great power of scent that the buffalo most commonly rely for warning. the eyes of these creatures, and particularly the bulls, are so covered with the shaggy hair hanging over them, that individuals are often seen quite blinded by it, and a hunter, if he keep silent enough, may walk up and lay his hand upon them, without having been previously noticed. this, however, can only occur when the hunter travels against the wind. otherwise he finds the buffalo as shy and difficult to approach as most game, and many along spoil of crouching and crawling has been made to no purpose--a single sniff of the approaching enemy proving enough to startle the game, and send it off in wild flight. ike and his brother trapper urged that if the approach should prove unsuccessful there would still be time to "run" the herd, as those who did not attempt the former method might keep in their saddles, and be ready to gallop forward. all this was feasible enough; and it was therefore decided that the "approach" should have a trial. the trappers had already prepared themselves for this sort of thing. they were evidently desirous of giving us an exhibition of their hunter-prowess, and we were ready to witness it. we had noticed them busied with a pair of large wolf-skins, which they had taken off the animals entire, with the heads, ears, tails, etcetera, remaining upon the skins. the purpose of these was to enable the hunters to disguise themselves as wolves, and thus crawl within shooting distance of the buffalo herd. strange to say this is quite possible. although no creature is a greater enemy to the buffalo than the wolf, the former, as already stated, permits the latter to approach quite close to him without making any attempt to chase him off, or without exhibiting the slightest symptoms of fear on his own account. the buffalo cannot prevent the wolf from prowling close about him, as the latter is sufficiently active, and can easily get out of the way when pursued by the bulls--on the other hand, the buffaloes, unless when separated from the herd, or in some way disabled, have no fear of the wolf. under ordinary circumstances they seem wholly to disregard his presence. the consequence is, that a wolf-skin is a favourite disguise of the indians for approaching the buffalo, and our trappers, ike and redwood, had often practised this _ruse_. we were likely then to see sport. both were soon equipped in their white wolf-skins, their heads being enveloped with the skins of the wolves' heads, and the remainder tied with thongs, so as to cover their backs and sides. at best the skins formed but a scanty covering to the bodies of the trappers; but, as we have already remarked, the buffalo has not a very keen sense of sight, and so long as the decoys kept to leeward, they would not be closely scrutinised. when fairly in their new dress, the hunters parted from the company, leaving their horses at the camp. the rest of us sat in our saddles, ready to gallop forward, in case the _ruse_ did not succeed, and make that kind of a hunt called "running." of course the trappers went as far as was safe, walking in an upright attitude; but long before they had got within shot, we saw both of them stoop down and scramble along in a crouching way, and then at length they knelt upon the ground, and proceeded upon their hands and knees. it required a good long time to enable them to get near enough; and we on horseback, although watching every manoeuvre with interest, were beginning to get impatient. the buffalo, however, quietly browsing along the sward, seemed to be utterly unconscious of the dangerous foe that was approaching them, and at intervals one or another would fling itself to the earth in play, and after kicking and wallowing a few seconds, start to its feet again. they were all cows, with one exception--a bull--who seemed to be the guardian and leader. even at a mile's distance, we could recognise the shape and size of the latter, as completely differing from all the rest. the bull seemed to be more active than any, moving around the flock, and apparently watching over their safety. as the decoys approached, we thought that the bull seemed to take notice of them. he had moved out to that side of the herd, and seemed for a moment to scrutinise them as they drew near. but for a moment, however, for he turned apparently satisfied, and was soon close in to the gang. ike and redwood had at length got so close, that we were expecting every moment to see the flash of their pieces. they were not so close, however, as we in the distance fancied them to be. just at this moment we perceived another buffalo--a large bull--running up behind them. he had just made his appearance over a ridge, and was now on his way to join the herd. the decoys were directly in his way, and these did not appear to see him until he had run almost between them, so intent were they on watching the others. his intrusion, however, evidently disconcerted them, spoiling their plans, while in the very act of being carried into execution. they were, no doubt, a little startled by the apparition of such a huge shaggy animal coming so suddenly on them, for both started to their feet as if alarmed. their pieces blazed at the same time, and the intruder was seen rolling over upon the plain. but the _ruse_ was over. the bull that guarded the herd was witness to this odd encounter, and bellowing a loud alarm to his companions, set off at a lumbering gallop. all the rest followed as fast as their legs would carry them. fortunately they ran, not directly from us, but in a line that inclined to our left. by taking a diagonal course we might yet head them, and without another word our whole party put to the spur, and sprang off over the prairie. it cost us a five-mile gallop before any of us came within shooting distance; and only four of us did get so near--the naturalist, besancon, the kentuckian, and myself. our horses were well blown, but after a good deal of encouragement we got them side by side with the flying game. each one chose his own, and then delivered his shot at his best convenience. the consequence was, that four of the cows were strewed out along the path, and rewarded us for our hard gallop. the rest, on account of saving our horses, were suffered to make their escape. as we had now plenty of excellent meat, it was resolved to encamp again, and remain for some time on that spot, until we had rested our horses after their long journey, when we should make a fresh search for the buffalo, and have another "run" or two out of them. chapter thirty five. unexpected guests. we found ike and redwood bitterly angry at the bull they had slain. they alleged that he had made a rush at them in coming up, and that was why they had risen to their feet and fired upon him. we thought such had been the case, as we had noticed a strange manoeuvre on the part of the bull. but for that, our guides believed they would have succeeded to their hearts' content; as they intended first to have shot the other bull, and then the cows would have remained until all had fallen. a place was now selected for our night-camp, and the meat from the cows brought in and dressed. over a fire of cotton-wood logs we soon cooked the most splendid supper we had eaten for a long time. the beef of the wild buffalo-cow is far superior to that of domestic cattle, but the "tit-bits" of the same animal are luxuries never to be forgotten. whether it be that a prairie appetite lends something to the relish is a question. this i will not venture to deny; but certainly the "baron of beef" in merry old england has no souvenirs to me so sweet as a roast rib of "fat cow," cooked over a cotton-wood fire, and eaten in the open air, under the pure sky of the prairies. the place where we had pitched our camp was upon the banks of a very small spring-stream, or creek, that, rising near at hand, meandered through the prairie to a not distant branch of the arkansas river. where we were, this creek was embanked very slightly; but, at about two hundred yards' distance, on each side, there was a range of bluffs that followed the direction of the stream. these bluffs were not very high, but sufficiently so to prevent any one down in the creek bottom from having a view of the prairie level. as the bottom itself was covered with very coarse herbage, and as a better grass--the buffalo--grew on the prairie above, we there picketed our horses, intending to bring them closer to the camp when night set in, or before going to sleep. the camp itself--that is the two tents, with jake's waggon--were on the very edge of the stream; but jake's mules were up on the plain, along with the rest of the _cavallada_. it was still two hours before sunset. we had made our dinner, and, satisfied with the day's sport, were enjoying ourselves with a little brandy, that still held out in our good-sized keg, and a smoke. we had reviewed the incidents of the day, and were laying out our plans for the morrow. we were admonished by the coldness of the evening that winter was not far off, and we all agreed that another week was as long as we could safely remain upon the prairies. we had started late in the season, but our not finding the buffalo farther to the east had made a great inroad upon our time, and spoiled all our calculations. now that we had found them, a week was as much as we could allow for their hunt. already frost appeared in the night hours, and made us uncomfortable enough, and we knew that in the prairie region the transition from autumn to winter is often sudden and unexpected. the oldest and wisest of the party were of the opinion that we should not delay our return longer than a week, and the others assented to it. the guides gave the same advice, although these cared little about wintering on the prairie, and were willing to remain as long as we pleased. we knew, however, that the hardships to which we should be subjected would not be relished by several of the party, and it would be better for all to get back to the settlements before the setting in of severe weather. i have said we were all in high spirits. a week's hunting, with something to do at it every day, would satisfy us. we should do immense slaughter on the buffalo, by approaching, running, and surrounding them. we should collect a quantity of the best meat, jerk and dry it over the fire, load our waggon with that, and with a large number of robes and horns as trophies, should go back in triumph to the settlements. such were our pleasant anticipations. i am sorry to say that these anticipations were never realised--not one of them. when we reached the nearest settlement, which happened, about six weeks after, our party presented an appearance that differed as much from a triumphal procession as could well be imagined. one and all of us were afoot. one and all of us--even to the fat little doctor--were emaciated, ragged, foot-sore, frost-bitten, and little better than half alive. we had a number of buffalo-skins with us it is true, but these hung about our shoulders, and were for use, and not show. they had served us for weeks for beds and blankets by night, and for great coats under the fierce winter rains. but i anticipate. let us return to our camp on the little creek. i have said that we sat around the blazing fire discussing our future plans, and enjoying the future by anticipation. the hours passed rapidly on, and while thus engaged night came down upon us. at this time some one advised that we should bring up the horses, but another said it would be as well to let them browse a while longer, as the grass where they were was good, and they had been for some days on short commons. "they will be safe enough," said this speaker. "we have seen no indian sign, or if any of you think there is danger, let some one go up to the bluff, but by all means let the poor brutes have a good meal of it." this proposal was accepted. lanty was despatched to stand guard over the horses, while the rest of us remained by the fire conversing as before. the irishman could scarcely have had time to get among the animals, when our ears were saluted by a medley of sounds that sent the blood to our hearts, and caused us to leap simultaneously from the fire. the yells of indians were easily understood, even by the "greenest" of our party, and these, mingled with the neighing of horses, the prancing of hoofs, and the shouts of our guard, were the sounds that readied us. "injuns, by god!" cried ike, springing up, and clutching his long rifle. this wild exclamation was echoed by more than one, as each leaped back from the fire and ran to his gun. in a few seconds we had cleared the brushwood that thickly covered the bottom, and climbed out on the bluff. here we were met by the terrified guard, who was running back at the top of his speed, and bellowing at the top of his voice. "och, murther!" cried he, "the savage bastes--there's a thousand ov thim! they've carried off the cattle--every leg--mules an' all, by jaysus!" rough as was this announcement, we soon became satisfied that it was but too true. on reaching the place where the _cavallada_ had been picketed, we found not the semblance of a horse. even the pins were drawn, and the _lazoes_ taken along. far off on the prairie we could discern dimly a dark mass of mounted men, and we could plainly hear their triumphant shouts and laughter, as they disappeared in the distance! we never saw either them or our horses again. they were a party of pawnees, as we afterwards learned, and no doubt had they attacked us, we should have suffered severely; but there were only a few of them, and they were satisfied with plundering us of our horses. it is just possible that after securing them they might have returned to attack us, had not lanty surprised them at their work. after the alarm they knew we would be on the look-out for them, and therefore were contented to carry off our animals. it is difficult to explain the change that thus so suddenly occurred in our feelings and circumstances. the prospect before us--thus set afoot upon the prairie at such a distance from the settlements, and at such a season--was perfectly appalling. we should have to walk every inch of the way--carry our food, and everything else, upon our backs. perhaps we might not be too much burdened with food. that depended upon very precarious circumstances--upon our hunting luck. our "stock" in the waggon was reduced to only a few days' rations, and of course would go but a few days with us, while we had many to provide for. these thoughts were after-reflections--thoughts of the next morning. during that night we thought only of the indians, for of course we did not as yet believe they had left us for good. we did not return to sleep by the fire--that would have been very foolishness. some went back to get their arms in order, and then returning we all lay along the edge of the bluff, where the path led into the bottom, and watched the prairie until the morning. we lay in silence, or only muttering our thoughts to one another. i have said until the morning. that is not strictly true, for before the morning that succeeded that _noche triste_ broke upon us, another cruel misfortune befel us, which still farther narrowed the circumstances that surrounded us. i have already stated that the herbage of the creek bottom was coarse. it consisted of long grass, interspersed with briars and bunches of wild pea vines, with here and there a growth of scrubby wood. it was difficult to get through it, except by paths made by the buffalo and other animals. at this season of the year the thick growth of annuals was now a mass of withered stems, parched by the hot suns of autumn until they were as dry as tinder. while engaged in our anxious vigil upon the plain above, we had not given a thought either to our camp or the large fire we had left there. all at once our attention was directed to the latter by a loud crackling noise that sounded in our ears. we sprang to our feet, and looked into the valley behind us. the camp was on fire! the brush was kindled all around it, and blazed to the height of several feet. we could see the blaze reflected from the white canvas both of waggon and tents, and in a few seconds these were licked into the hot flames, and disappeared from our view. of course we made no effort to save them. that would have been an idle and foolish attempt. we could not have approached the spot, without the almost certain danger of death. already while we gazed, the fire spread over the whole creek bottom, and passed rapidly both up and down the banks of the stream. for ourselves there was no danger. we were up on the open prairie covered only with short grass. had this caught also, we knew how to save ourselves; but the upper level, separated by a steep bluff, was not reached by the conflagration that raged so fiercely below. we stood watching the flames for a long while, until daylight broke. the bottom, near where we were, had ceased to burn, and now lay beneath us, smoking, smouldering, and black. we descended, and picked our steps to where our camp had stood. the tents were like black cerements. the iron work of the waggon alone remained, our extra clothing and provisions were all consumed. even the produce of our yesterday's hunt lay among the ashes a charred and ruined mass! chapter thirty six. a supper of wolf-mutton. our condition was now lamentable indeed. we even hungered for our breakfast, and had nothing to eat. the fire had consumed everything. a party went to look for the remains of the buffalo-bull killed by the guides, but returned without a morsel of meat. the wolves had cleaned the carcass to a skeleton. the marrow bones, however, still remained, and these were brought in--afterwards, the same parts of the four cows; and we made our breakfast on marrow--eating it raw--not but that we had fire enough, but it is less palatable when cooked. what was next to be done? we held a consultation, and of course came to the resolve to strike for the nearest settlement--that was the frontier town of independence on the missouri river. it was nearly three hundred miles off, and we calculated in reaching it in about twenty days. we only reckoned the miles we should have to traverse. we allowed nothing for the numerous delays, caused by marshes and the fording of flooded streams. it afterwards proved that our calculation was incorrect. it was nearly twice twenty days before we arrived at independence. we never thought of following the trail of the indians to recover our horses. we knew they were gone far beyond pursuit, but even could we have come up with them, it would only have been to imperil our lives in an unequal strife. we gave up our horses as lost, and only deliberated on how we were to undertake the journey afoot. here a serious question arose. should we at once turn our faces to the settlement, how were we to subsist on the way? by heading for independence we should at once get clear of the buffalo-range, and what other game was to be depended on? a stray deer, rabbit, or prairie grouse might suffice to sustain a single traveller for a long time, but there were ten of us. how was this number to be fed on the way? even with our horses to carry us in pursuit of game, we had not been able on our outward journey to procure enough for all. how much less our opportunity now that we were afoot! to head directly homeward therefore was not to be thought of. we should assuredly perish by the way. after much discussion it was agreed that we should remain for some days within the buffalo-range, until we had succeeded in obtaining a supply of meat, and then each carrying his share we should begin our journey homeward. in fact, this was not a disputed point. all knew there remained no other way of saving our lives. the only difference of opinion was as to the direction we should ramble in search of the buffalo; for although we knew that we were on the outskirts of a great herd, we were not certain as to its whereabouts, and by taking a false direction we might get out of its range altogether. it so happened, however, that fortune lately so adverse, now took a turn in our favour, and the great buffalo drove was found without much trouble on our part. indeed almost without any exertion, farther than that of loading and firing our guns, we came into possession of beef enough to have victualled an army. we had, moreover, the excitement of a grand hunt, although we no longer hunted for the sport of the thing. during that day we scattered in various directions over the prairie, agreeing to meet again at night. the object of our thus separating was to enable us to cover a greater extent of ground, and afford a better chance of game. to our mutual chagrin we met at the appointed rendezvous all of us empty-handed. the only game brought in was a couple of marmots (prairie dogs), that would not have been sufficient for the supper of a cat. they were not enough to give each of the party a taste, so we were compelled to go without supper. having had but a meagre breakfast and no dinner, it will not be wondered at that we were by this time as hungry as wolves; and we began to dread that death by starvation was nearer than we thought of. buffaloes--several small gangs of them--had been seen during the day, but so shy that none of them could be approached. another day's failure would place our lives in a perilous situation indeed; and as these thoughts passed through our minds, we gazed on each other with looks that betokened apprehension and alarm. the bright blaze of the camp-fire--for the cold had compelled us to kindle one--no longer lit up a round of joyful faces. it shone upon checks haggard with hunger and pallid with fear. there was no story for the delighted listener--no adventure to be related. we were no longer the historians, but the real actors in a drama--a drama whose _denouement_ might be a fearful one. as we sat gazing at each other, in hopes of giving or receiving some morsel of comfort and encouragement, we noticed old ike silently glide from his place by the fire, and after a whisper to us to remain silent, crawl off on his hands and knees. he had seen something doubtless, and hence his singular conduct. in a few minutes his prostrate form was lost in the darkness, and for some time we saw or heard no more of him. at length we were startled by the whip-like crack of the guide's rifle, and fancying it might be indians, each sprang up in some alarm and seized his gun. we were soon reassured, however, by seeing the upright form of the trapper as he walked deliberately back towards the camp-fire, and the blaze revealed to us a large whitish object dangling by his side and partly dragging along the ground. "hurrah!" cried one, "ike has killed game." "a deer--an antelope," suggested several. "no-o," drawled redwood. "'taint eyther, but i guess we won't quarrel with the meat. i could eat a raw jackass jest about now." ike came up at this moment, and we saw that his game was no other than a prairie-wolf. better that than hunger, thought all of us; and in a brace of seconds the wolf was suspended over the fire, and roasting in the hide. we were now more cheerful, and the anticipation of such an odd viand for supper, drew jokes from several of the party. to the trappers such a dish was nothing new, although they were the only persons of the party who had partaken of it. but there was not one fastidious palate present, and when the "wolf-mutton" was broiled, each cleaned his joint or his rib with as much _gout_ as if he had been picking the bones of a pheasant. before the supper was ended the wolf-killer made a second _coup_, killing another wolf precisely as he had done the former; and we had the gratification of knowing that our breakfast was now provided for. these creatures, that all along our journey had received nothing from us but anathemas, were now likely to come in for a share of our blessings, and we could not help feeling a species of gratitude towards them, although at the same time we thus killed and ate them. the supper of roast wolf produced an agreeable change in our feelings, and we even listened with interest to our guides, who, appropriate to the occasion, related some curious incidents of the many narrow escapes they had had from starvation. one in particular fixed our attention, as it afforded an illustration of trapper life under peculiar circumstances. chapter thirty seven. hare hunting and cricket driving. the two trappers, in company with two others of the same calling, were on a trapping expedition to one of the tributaries of the great bear river, west of the rocky mountains, when they were attacked by a band of hostile utahs, and robbed not only of the produce of their hunt, but their horses and pack-mules were taken from them, and even their arms and ammunition. the indians could have taken their lives as well, but from the interference of one of the chiefs, who knew old ike, they were allowed to go free, although in the midst of the desert region where they were, that was no great favour. they were as likely as not to perish from hunger before they could reach any settlement--as at that time there was none nearer than fort hall upon the snake river, a distance of full three hundred miles. our four trappers, however, were not the men to yield themselves up to despair, even in the midst of a desert; and they at once set about making the most of their circumstances. there were deer upon the stream where they had been trapping, and bear also, as well as other game, but what did that signify now that they had no arms? of course the deer or antelopes sprang out of the shrubbery or scoured across the plain only to tantalise them. near where they had been left by the indians was a "sage prairie," that is, a plain covered with a growth of the _artemisia_ plant--the leaves and berries of which--bitter as they are--form the food of a species of hare, known among the trappers as the "sage rabbit." this creature is as swift as most of its tribe, but although our trappers had neither dog nor gun, they found a way of capturing the sage rabbits. not by snaring neither, for they were even without materials to make snares out of. their mode of securing the game was as follows. they had the patience to construct a circular fence, by wattling the sage plants together, and then leaving one side open, they made a "surround" upon the plain, beating the bushes as they went, until a number of rabbits were driven within the inclosure. the remaining part of the fence was then completed, and the rabbit hunters going inside chased the game about until they had caught all that were inside. although the fence was but about three feet in height, the rabbits never attempted to leap over, but rushed head foremost against the wattles, and were either caught or knocked over with sticks. this piece of ingenuity was not original with the trappers, as ike and redwood admitted. it is the mode of rabbit-hunting practised by some tribes of western indians, as the poor shoshonees and miserable "diggers," whose whole lives are spent in a constant struggle to procure food enough to sustain them. these indians capture the small animals that inhabit their barren country by ways that more resemble the instinct of beasts of prey than any reasoning process. in fact there are bands of these indians who can hardly be said to have yet reached the hunter state. some of them carry as their sole armour a long stick with a hooked end, the object of which is to drag the _agama_ and the lizard out of its cave or cleft among the rocks; and this species of game is transferred from the end of the stick to the stomach of the captor with the same despatch as a hungry mastiff would devour a mouse. impounding the sage hare is one of the master strokes of their hunter-craft, and forms a source of employment to them for a considerable portion of the year. our four trappers, then, remembering the indian mode of capturing these creatures put it in execution to some advantage, and were soon able to satisfy their hunger. after two or three days spent in this pursuit they had caught more than twenty hares, but the stock ran out, and no more could be found in that neighbourhood. of course only a few were required for present use, and the rest were dried over a sage fire until they were in a condition to keep for some days. packing them on their backs, the trappers set out, heading for the snake river. before they could reach fort hall their rabbit meat was exhausted, and they were as badly off as before. the country in which they now found themselves was if possible more of a desert than that they had just quitted. even rabbits could not dwell in it, or the few that were started could not be caught. the _artemisia_ was not in sufficient plenty to make an inclosure with, and it would have been hopeless to have attempted such a thing; as they might have spent days without trapping a single hare. now and again they were tantalised by seeing the great sage cock, or, as naturalists call it, "cock of the plains" (_tetrao urophasianus_), but they could only hear the loud "burr" of its wings, and watch it sail off to some distant point of the desert plain. this bird is the largest of the grouse kind, though it is neither a bird of handsome plumage, nor yet is it delicate in its flesh. on the contrary, the flesh, from the nature of its food, which is the berry of the wild wormwood, is both unsavoury and bitter. it would not have deterred the appetites of our four trappers, could they have laid their hands upon the bird, but without guns such a thing was out of the question. for several days they sustained themselves on roots and berries. fortunately it was the season when these are ripe, and they found here and there the prairie turnip (_psoralea esculenta_), and in a marsh which they had to cross they obtained a quantity of the celebrated kamas roots. all these supplies, however, did not prove sufficient. they had still four or five days' farther journey, and were beginning to fear they would not get through it, for the country to be passed was a perfect barren waste. at this crisis, however, a new source of subsistence appeared to them, and in sufficient plenty to enable them to continue their journey without fear of want. as if by magic, the plain upon which they were travelling all at once become covered with large crawling insects of a dark brown colour. these were the insects known among the trappers as "prairie crickets," but from the description given of them by the trappers the hunter-naturalist pronounced them to be "locusts." they were of that species known in america as the "seventeen years' locust" (_cicada septemdecem_), so called because there is a popular belief that they only appear in great swarms every seventeen years. it is probable, however, that this periodical appearance is an error, and that their coming at longer or shorter intervals depends upon the heat of the climate, and many other circumstances. they have been known to arrive in a great city, coming not from afar, but out of the ground from between the bricks of the pavement and out of crevices in the walls, suddenly covering the streets with their multitudes. but this species does not destroy vegetation, as is the case with others of the locust tribe. they themselves form the favourite food of many birds, as well as quadrupeds. hogs eagerly feed upon and destroy vast numbers of them; and even the squirrels devour them with as great a relish as they do nuts. these facts were furnished by the hunter-naturalist, but our trappers had an equally interesting tale to tell. as soon as they set eyes upon the locusts and saw that they were crawling thickly upon the plain, they felt that they were safe. they knew that these insects were a staple article of food among the same tribes of indians--who hunt the sage hare. they knew, moreover, their mode of capturing them, and they at once set about making a large collection. this was done by hollowing out a circular pit in the sandy earth, and then the four separating some distance from each other, drove the crickets towards a common centre--the pit. after some manoeuvring, a large quantity was brought together, and these being pressed upon all sides, crawled up to the edge of the pit, and were precipitated into its bottom. of course the hole had been made deep enough to prevent them getting out until they were secured by the hunters. at each drive nearly half a bushel was obtained, and then a fresh pit was made in another part of the plain, and more driven in, until our four trappers had as many as they wanted. the crickets were next killed, and slightly parched upon hot stones, until they were dry enough to keep and carry. the indians usually pound them, and mixing them with the seeds of a species of gramma grass, which grows abundantly in that country, form them into a sort of bread, known among the trappers as "cricket-cake." these seeds, however, our trappers could not procure, so they were compelled to eat the parched crickets "pure and unmixed;" but this, in the condition in which they then were, was found to be no hardship. in fine, having made a bundle for each, they once more took the route, and after many hardships, and suffering much from thirst, they reached the remote settlement of fort hall, where, being known, they were of course relieved, and fitted out for a fresh trapping expedition. ike and redwood both declared that they afterwards had their revenge upon the utahs, for the scurvy treatment they had suffered, but what was the precise character of that revenge they declined stating. both loudly swore that the pawnees had better look out for the future, for they were not the men to be "set afoot on the parairy for nuthin." after listening to the relations of our guides, a night-guard was appointed, and the rest of us, huddling around the camp-fire, were soon as sound asleep as though we were reposing under damask curtains, on beds of down. chapter thirty eight. a grand battue. the spot we had chosen for our camp was near the edge of a small rivulet with low banks. in fact, the surface of the water was nearly on a level with that of the prairie. there was no wood, with the exception of a few straggling cotton-woods, and some of the long-leafed willows peculiar to the prairie streams. out of the cotton-woods we had made our camp-fire, and this was some twenty or thirty paces back from the water, not in a conspicuous position, but in the bottom of a bowl-shaped depression in the prairie; a curious formation, for which none of us could account. it looked as if fashioned by art, as its form was circular, and its sides sloped regularly downward to the centre, like the crater of a volcano. but for its size, we might have taken it for a buffalo wallow, but it was of vastly larger diameter than one of these, and altogether deeper and more funnel-shaped. we had noticed several other basins of the same sort near the place, and had our circumstances been different, we should have been interested in endeavouring to account for their existence. as it was, we did not trouble ourselves much about the geology of the neighbourhood we were in. we were only too anxious to get out of it; but seeing that this singular hole would be a safe place for our camp-fire--for our thoughts still dwelt upon the rascally pawnees--we had kindled it there. reclined against the sloping sides of the basin, with our feet resting upon its bottom, our party disposed themselves, and in this position went to sleep. one was to be awake all night as guard; though, of course, all took turns, each awaking the sentinel whose watch was to follow his. to the doctor was assigned the first two hours, and as we went to sleep, we could perceive his plump rounded form seated upon the outer rim of the circular bank above us. none of us had any great faith in the doctor as a guard, but his watch was during the least dangerous time of night, so far as indians are concerned. these never make their attack until the hours after midnight, as they know well that these are the hours of soundest sleep. the horse-drive of the previous night was an exception, but that had happened because they had drawn near and seen no horse-guard. it was a very unusual case. they knew that we were now on the alert; and if they had meditated farther mischief, would have attempted it only after midnight hour. we had no apprehensions therefore, and one and all of us being very much fatigued with the day's hunting afoot, slept soundly. the bank against which we rested was dry and comfortable; the fire warmed us well, and redoubled our desire for repose. it appears that the doctor fell asleep on his post, or else we might all of us have been better prepared for the invasion that we suffered during that night. i was awakened by loud shouts--the guides were uttering them. i sprang to my feet in the full belief that we were attacked by indians, and at first thought caught hold of my gun. all my companions were roused about the same time, and, labouring under a similar hallucination, went through a like series of manoeuvres. but when we looked up, and beheld the doctor stretched along the ridge, and still snoring soundly, we scarce knew what to make of it. ike and redwood, however, accustomed to sleep with one eye open, had waked first, and had already climbed the ridge; and the double report of their guns confirmed our suspicions that we were attacked by indians. what else could they be firing at? "this way all of you!" cried redwood, making signs for us to come up where he and his companion already were, waving their guns around their heads, and acting in a very singular manner, "this way, bring your guns, pistols, and all--quick with you!" we all dashed up the steep, just at the moment that the doctor suddenly awaking ran terrified down. as we pressed up, we could hear a mingling of noises, the tramp of horsemen as we thought, and a loud bellowing, as if from a hundred bulls. the last sounds could not well have been more like the bellowing of bulls, for in reality it was such. the night was a bright moonlight, and the moment we raised our heads above the scarp of the ridge we saw at once the cause of our alarm. the plain around us was black with buffaloes! tens of thousands must have been in the drove which was passing us to a great depth on both sides. they were running at a fast trot--some of them even galloping, and in some places they were so thickly packed together, that one would be seen mounting upon the hind-quarters of the other, while some were thrown down, and trampled over by their companions. "hyur, hyur, all of ye!" cried ike, "stand by hyur, or they'll git into the hole, and tramp us to shucks!" we saw at a glance the meaning of these instructions. the excited animals were rushing headlong, and nothing seemed to stay their course. we could see them dashing into and across the little streamlet without making any account of it. should they pour into the circle in which we stood, others would follow, and we might get mingled with the drove. there was not a spot on the prairie where we could have been safe. the impetuous mass was impelled from behind, and could neither halt nor change its course. already a pair of bulls had fallen before the rifles of our guides, and to some extent prevented the others from breaking over the ring, but they would certainly have done so had it not been for the shouts and gestures of the trappers. we rushed to the side indicated, and each of us prepared to fire, but some of the more prudent held their loads for a while, others pulled trigger, and a succession of shots from rifles, double-barrels, and revolvers soon raised a pile of dead buffaloes that blocked up the passage of the rest, as though it had been a barrier built on purpose. a breathing space was now allowed us, and each loaded his piece as fast as he was able. there was no time lost in firing, for the stream of living creatures swept on continuously, and a mark was found in a single glance of the eye. i think we must have continued the loading and firing for nearly a quarter of an hour. then the great herd began to grow thinner and thinner, until the last buffalo had passed. we now looked around us to contemplate the result. the ground on every side of the circle was covered with dark hirsute forms, but upon that where we stood a perfect mass of them lay together. these forms were in every attitude, some stretched on their sides, others upon their knees, and still a number upon their feet, but evidently wounded. some of us were about to rush out of our charmed circle to complete the work, but were held back by the warning voices of the guides. "for yur lives don't go," cried redwood, "don't stir from hyur till we've knocked 'em all over. thur's some o' them with life enough left to do for a ween o' ye yet." so saying, the trapper raised his long piece, selected one of the bulls that were seen on their feet, and sent him rolling over. another and another was disposed of in the same way, and then those that were in a kneeling position were reconnoitred to see if they were still alive, and when found to be so were speedily disposed of by a bullet. when all were laid out we emerged from our hole, and counted the game. there were no less than twenty-five dead immediately around the circle, besides several wounded that we could see straggling off over the plain. we did not think of going to rest again until each of us had eaten about two pounds of fresh buffalo-beef, and what with the excitement of this odd adventure, and the jokes that followed--not a few of them levelled at our _quondam_ guard--it was near morning before we closed our eyes again in sleep. chapter thirty nine. the route home. we awoke more confident of our future. we had now provision enough and thousands of pounds to spare. it only remained for us to make it portable, and preserve it by drying; and this would occupy us about three full days. our guides understood well how to cure meat without salt, and as soon as we had breakfasted all of us set to work. we had to pick and choose amidst such mountains of meat. of course the fat cows only were "butchered." the bulls were left where they had fallen, to become the food of wolves, scores of which were now seen skulking around the spot. a large fire was kindled, and near this was erected a framework of branches, on which was laid or suspended the meat, cut into thin slices and strips. these were placed at such a distance from the fire that it acted upon them only to dry up the juices, and in less than forty-eight hours the strips became hard and stiff, so that they would keep for months without danger of spoiling. meanwhile some employed themselves in dressing buffalo-skins, so as to render them light and portable, in other words to make robes of them that would serve us for sleeping in. at the end of the third day we had arranged every thing, and were ready to set forth on our homeward journey. each was to carry his own rations of the jerked meat, as well as his arms, robes, and equipments. of course, loaded in this manner, we did not expect to make a long daily journey, but, supplied as we were with provisions for thirty days, we had no fear but that before the end of that time we would reach independence. we were in high spirits as we set out, although, before we had walked far, the pressure of our packs somewhat moderated the exuberance of our feelings; and before we had been fifty hours upon the road, an incident occurred that once more reduced us to a new state of despondency, and placed us once more in peril of our lives. many an accident of flood and field, many a "hair-breadth 'scape" are to be encountered in a journey through prairie-land, and the most confident calculations of the traveller are often rendered worthless in a single moment. so we found to our consternation. the accident which befel us was one of a deplorable character. we had reached the banks of a small stream, not over fifty yards in width, but very deep. after going down it for several miles no place could be found that was fordable, and at length we made up our minds to swim across, rather than spend more time in searching for a ford. this was easy enough, as we were all swimmers, and in a few minutes most of the party were safely landed on the other side. but it remained to get our provisions and other matters over, and for this purpose a small raft had been constructed, upon which the packs of meat, robes, as well as our arms and ammunition, were laid. a cord was attached to the raft, and one of the party swam over with the cord, and then several taking hold commenced dragging over the raft with its load. although the stream was narrow, the current was strong and rapid, and just as the raft had got near the middle the towing line snapped, and away went the whole baggage down stream. we all followed along the banks, in hopes of securing the raft when it should float near, and at first we had little apprehension about the matter. but to our mortification we now perceived a rapid just below, and there would be no chance of preventing the frail structure from going over it. the packs, robes, and guns had been laid upon the raft, not even fastened to it, for in our careless security, we never anticipated such a result. it was too late to leap into the stream and endeavour to stop the raft. no one thought of such a thing. all saw that it was impossible, and we stood with anxious hearts watching the floating mass as it swept down and danced over the foaming waters. then a shock was heard--the raft heeled round--and poised upon a sharp rock, stood for a moment in mid stream, and then once more washed free it glided on into the still water below. we rushed down the banks, after an effort secured the raft, and drew it ashore; but to our consternation most of the provisions, with the guns and ammunition, were gone! they had been tossed off in the very middle of the rapids, and of course were lost for ever. only three packs of the meat, with a number of robes, remained upon the raft. we were now in a more serious condition than ever. the provision saved from the wreck would not last us a week, and when that was consumed how were we to procure more? our means of killing game was taken from us. we had no arms but pistols and knives. what chance of killing a deer, or any other creature, with these? the prospect was gloomy enough. some even advised that we should go back to where we had left the buffalo carcasses. but by this time the wolves had cleaned them of their flesh. it would have been madness to go back. there was no other course but to head once more towards the settlements, and travel as fast as we could. on half rations we continued on, making our daily journeys as long as possible. it was fortunate we had saved some of the robes, for it was now winter, and the cold had set in with extreme bitterness. some nights we were obliged to encamp without wood to make a fire with, but we were in hopes of soon reaching the forest region, where we should not want for that, and where, moreover, we would be more likely to meet with some game that we could capture. on the third day after leaving the stream that had been so fatal to us, it began snowing, and continued to snow all night. next morning the whole country was covered with a white mantle, and we journeyed on, at each step sinking in the snow. this rendered our travelling very difficult, but as the snow was only a foot or so in depth we were able to make way through it. we saw many tracks of deer, but heeded them not, as we knew there was no chance of capturing the animals. our guides said if it would only thaw a little, and then freeze again, they could kill the deer without their rifles. it did thaw during the day, and at night froze so hard, that in the morning there was a thick crust of ice upon the surface of the snow. this gave us some hope, and next morning a deer hunt was proposed. we scattered in different directions in parties of two and three, and commenced tracking the deer. on re-assembling at our night-camp, our different parties came back wearied and empty-handed. the guides, ike and redwood, had gone by themselves, and were the last to reach the rendezvous. we watched anxiously for their return. they came at length, and to our joy each of them carried the half of a deer upon his shoulders. they had discovered the animal by his trail in the snow, and pursued it for miles, until its ankles and hoofs became so lacerated by the crust that it allowed them to approach near enough for the range of their pistols. fortunately it proved to be a good-sized buck, and would add a couple of days to our stock of provisions. with fresh venison to our breakfast, we started forth next morning in better spirits. this day we intended to make a long journey, in hopes of getting into heavy timber, where we might find deer more plentiful, and might capture some before the snow thawed away. but before the end of the day's journey we were so stocked with provision, that we no longer cared about deer or any other game. our commissariat was once more replenished by the buffalo, and in a most unexpected manner. we were tramping along upon the frozen snow, when upon ascending the crest of a ridge, we saw five huge forms directly in front of us. we had no expectation of meeting with buffalo so far to the eastward, and were somewhat in doubt as to whether they were buffaloes. their bodies, against the white hill side, appeared of immense size, and as they were covered all over with hoar frost, and icicles depending from their long shaggy tufts of hair, they presented a singular aspect, that for awhile puzzled us. we took them for pine-trees! we soon saw, however, that they were in motion, moving along the hill, and they could be no other than buffaloes, as no other animals could have presented such an appearance. of course they were at a long distance, and this prevented us from at once recognising them. this was an important discovery, and brought our party to a halt and a consultation. what course was to be adopted? how were we to capture one or all of them? had the snow been of sufficient depth the thing would have been easy; but although as it was, it might impede their running, they could get through it much faster than we. the only chance was to "approach" them by stealth; but then we must creep within pistol range, and that upon the plain white surface would be absolutely impossible. the foot of the hunter crunching through the frozen snow, would warn them of their danger long before he could get near. in fact, when every circumstance had been weighed and discussed, we every one despaired of success. at that moment what would we not have given for a horse and a gun. as we talked without coming to any determination, the five huge forms disappeared over the sharp ridge, that can transversely to our course. as this ridge would shelter us from view, we hurried forward in order to see what advantages there were in the ground on its other side. we were in hopes of seeing timber that might enable us to get closer to the game, and we made for a small clump that grew on the top of the ridge. we reached it at length, and to our great chagrin, saw the five great brutes galloping off on the opposite side. our hearts fell, and we were turning to each other with disappointed looks, when a tumultuous shout of triumph broke from redwood and the wolf-killer, and both calling out to us to follow them, dashed off in the direction of the buffalo! we looked to ascertain the cause of this strange conduct. a singular sight met our eyes. the buffalo were sprawling and kicking on the plain below; now rushing forward a short distance, then spreading their limbs, and halting, while some of them came heavily down upon their sides, and lay flinging their legs about them, as if they had been wounded! all these manoeuvres would have been mysterious enough, but the guides rushing forward had already given the key to them, by exclaiming that _the buffalo were upon the ice_! it was true. the snow-covered plain was a frozen lake, and the animals in their haste had galloped upon the ice, where they were now floundering. it cost us but a few minutes' time to come up with them, and in a few minutes more--a few minutes of fierce deadly strife--in which pistols cracked and knife-blades gleamed, five great carcasses lay motionless upon the blood-stained snow. this lucky capture, for we could only attribute it to good fortune, was perhaps the means of saving the lives of our party. the meat furnished by the five bulls--for bulls they were--formed an ample stock, which enabled us to reach the settlements in safety. it is true we had many a hard trial to undergo and many a weary hour's walking, before we slept under a roof; but although in wretched plight, as far as looks went, we all got back in excellent health. at independence we were enabled to "rig" ourselves out, so as to make an appearance at saint louis--where we arrived a few days after--and where, seated around the well-filled table of the planters' hotel, we soon forgot the hardships, and remembered only the pleasures, of our wild hunter-life. the end. images generously made available by microsoft live search books (http://search.live.com/results.aspx?q=&scope=books) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through microsoft live search books. see http://search.live.com/results.aspx?q=&scope=books#q=rover% boys% on% snowshoe% island&filter=all&start= &t=mtkwr de uzvhm te ghw&sq=rover% boys% on% snowshoe% island +----------------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's note: | | | | inconsistent hyphenation in the original document | | has been preserved. | | | | obvious typographical errors have been corrected; | | please see the end of the text for details. | +----------------------------------------------------+ the rover boys on snowshoe island or the old lumberman's treasure box by arthur m. winfield (edward stratemeyer) author of "the rover boys at school," "the rover boys on the ocean," "the putnam hall series," etc. illustrated [illustration: jack and the twins rescue the injured man. _frontispiece--page _] new york grosset & dunlap publishers made in the united states of america * * * * * * books by arthur m. winfield (edward stratemeyer) the first rover boys series the rover boys at school the rover boys on the ocean the rover boys in the jungle the rover boys out west the rover boys on the great lakes the rover boys in the mountains the rover boys in camp the rover boys on land and sea the rover boys on the river the rover boys on the plains the rover boys in southern waters the rover boys on the farm the rover boys on treasure isle the rover boys at college the rover boys down east the rover boys in the air the rover boys in new york the rover boys in alaska the rover boys in business the rover boys on a tour the second rover boys series the rover boys at colby hall the rover boys on snowshoe island the putnam hall series the putnam hall cadets the putnam hall rivals the putnam hall champions the putnam hall rebellion the putnam hall encampment the putnam hall mystery mo. cloth. illustrated. * * * * * * grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york copyright, , by edward stratemeyer introduction my dear boys: this book is a complete story in itself, but forms the second volume in a line issued under the general title, "the second rover boys series for young americans." as mentioned in several volumes of the first series, this line was started a number of years ago with the publication of "the rover boys at school," "on the ocean," and "in the jungle." in those volumes my young readers were introduced to dick, tom and sam rover. the volumes of the first series related the adventures of the three rover boys while attending putnam hall military academy, brill college, and while on numerous outings. these rover boys were, of course, growing steadily older. they met three young ladies in whom they became intensely interested, and, after becoming established in business, three happy marriages followed. presently dick rover was blessed with a son and a daughter, as was also his brother sam, while the fun-loving tom became the proud father of twin boys, who were as full of spirit as their parent had ever been. at first the boys were kept at home, but then it was thought best to send them to a boarding school. at colby hall the young rovers made a host of friends, and also some enemies. they had to work hard over their studies, but they had a thoroughly good time. in the present volume the boys are still at colby hall, but presently the scene is shifted to snowshoe island, where the lads go for a short hunting season. how they ran into a most unusual mystery and helped an old lumberman to establish his claim to the island, i will leave the pages which follow to relate. in conclusion i wish to thank my numerous readers for the many kind things they have said about these rover boys books, and especially about the initial volume in the second series. i trust that all my readers will like jack, andy and randy, and fred as much as they did dick, tom, and sam rover. affectionately and sincerely yours, edward stratemeyer. contents chapter page i fun on the ice ii something about the rover boys iii out of peril iv out hunting v uncle barney stevenson vi deep in the woods vii an unexpected meeting viii the sleighing party ix a mishap on the road x something about two goats xi the joke on asa lemm xii in colonel colby's office xiii asa lemm is dismissed xiv overhearing a plot xv an alarm of fire xvi putting out the flames xvii caught in the act xviii home again xix off for snowshoe island xx caught in a snowstorm xxi an astonishing revelation xxii the first night on the island xxiii unexpected visitors xxiv a war of words xxv facing the wolves xxvi jack frees his mind xxvii the blue tin box xxviii uncle barney's secret xxix the discovery xxx settling accounts--conclusion the rover boys on snowshoe island chapter i fun on the ice "everybody ready?" "sure! been ready half an hour." "wait a minute, frank, till i tighten my skate strap," cried fred rover, as he bent down to adjust the loosened bit of leather. "hurry up, fred, we don't want to stand here all day," sang out his cousin andy gaily. "that's it! i want to win this race," broke in randy rover, andy's twin brother. "now remember, the race is to be to the old white pine and back," announced the starter. "every contestant has got to touch the tree before he starts to come back; otherwise he'll be counted out." "you ought to have a pistol to start us with," came from jack rover. "i guess my old locomotive whistle will do for that," answered frank newberry. he paused to look at the line of skaters. "now then, everybody on the job!" and a loud whistle rent the air. instantly there was a scurry of skates, and off the line started across clearwater lake to where a blasted pine tree reared its naked trunk against the skyline. it was a saturday afternoon in early winter, and the cadets of colby hall military academy were out in force to enjoy themselves on the smooth ice of the lake, near which the school was located. the cadets had been amusing themselves in various ways, playing tag and hockey, and in "snapping the whip," as it is called, when gif garrison, at the head of the athletic association, had suggested a race. "we might as well find out who is the best skater in the school," gif had said. "right you are," had come from his particular chum, spouter powell. "let us get up a race by all means." with so many cadets who could skate well, it was an easy matter to arrange for the contest. to make the matter more interesting, one of the hall professors, mr. brice, said he would give some prizes to the pupils coming in first, second and third. "i'll give a fine book of adventures to the first cadet, and also books to the others," mr. brice announced. he was still a young man, and in hearty sympathy with everything in the way of outdoor sports. among those to enter the contest were jack rover and his three cousins, fred, andy and randy. all were provided with hockey skates, and each felt confident of making a good record for himself. yet they all knew that the school boasted of some fine skaters, one lad in particular, dan soppinger, having won several contests on the ice in years gone by. "we've got our work cut out for us!" cried fred rover, as he skated beside jack. "save your wind, fred," answered his cousin briefly. "believe me, this is going to be some race!" came from randy, who was on the other side of jack, with his twin brother next to him. "i don't care who wins so long as i'm not last," responded his twin merrily. over twenty cadets had started in the contest, and soon the line, which had been fairly even for a few seconds after the whistle had sounded, began to take on a straggly appearance, as some skaters forged ahead and others fell behind. "don't give up! everybody keep in the race until the finish!" cried professor brice encouragingly. "remember, a race isn't over until the end is reached." thus encouraged, those who were in the rear did their best to overtake those ahead. but gradually the skaters divided into three groups; eight in the lead, six but a short distance behind them, and the others several yards further to the rear. in the front group were jack and his cousin randy, while fred and andy were less than ten feet behind. the distance across clearwater lake was about half a mile, but the blasted pine tree was located some distance down the shore, so that the race would be close to a mile and a half in length. spouter powell was in the lead when the first group of skaters came up to the pine tree. dan soppinger was close behind him, with jack and randy following. behind randy came walt baxter, another cadet who skated remarkably well. the others of the first group were gradually dropping back to the second contingent. spouter powell touched the tree with his finger tips, and was followed almost immediately by dan soppinger. as they turned to go back to the starting point, they were followed by jack and randy. "hi, you fellows! what do you mean by skating so quick?" piped out andy rover gaily. "we'll leave the tree to you, andy!" shouted his twin. "i don't think we'll win, but, anyway, we won't be last," came from fred, as he and andy touched the tree. "well, we can't have everything in this world," was the philosophic reply from the other rover boy. it could be seen that the race had now narrowed down to the five who were in the lead. of these, spouter powell and dan soppinger were less than two feet apart, while only a yard to the rear came jack, randy and walt baxter. "go it, randy!" sang out andy, as he dropped still further behind. "go it! i know you can win!" "keep it up, jack!" yelled fred, who, being the smallest of the four rovers, found it impossible to keep up the pace. "don't let spouter and dan hold you back!" there were numerous cries of encouragement for all of the skaters as they swept forward toward the starting point. here a line had been drawn on the ice, and the cadets stood at either end, some with their watches in their hands to time the winners. "i'll bet dan soppinger wins!" cried one of the cadets. "he's the best skater on the lake." "well, spouter powell is a good skater, too," returned another. "huh! what's the matter with the rover boys?" burst out a third cadet, round-faced and remarkably fat--so fat, in fact, that he had not dreamed of participating in the contest. "i don't know much about how they can skate," was the reply. "they weren't here last winter, you remember." "yes, i know that," answered fatty hendry. "here they come!" by this time the skaters were half way on the return from the blasted pine. spouter powell and dan soppinger were still in the lead, but walt baxter was crawling up steadily, while jack and randy were close behind. "say, this is going to be a neck-and-neck race!" cried one of the cadets, ned lowe by name. he had wanted to race himself, but knew that his skates were too dull for that purpose. "stand back! give them plenty of room!" exclaimed professor brice, and he took measures to clear the cadets away from the finishing line. quite a crowd had assembled to witness the contest, not only cadets, but also some folks from the neighboring town of haven point, and also a number of young ladies from clearwater hall, a seminary located some distance away. the skaters had still a distance of several hundred yards to cover when it was seen that spouter powell was gradually falling behind. then jack rover forged forward, followed by his cousin randy. "the rovers are crawling up!" "see, jack rover and his cousin randy and dan soppinger and walt baxter are all in a line!" "this certainly is one close race!" the excitement increased as the racers drew closer to the finishing line. walt baxter was panting painfully, showing that he had used up almost every ounce of his strength. "oh, dear! i do hope the rovers come in ahead," whispered one girl skater to another. she was a tall girl, remarkably good looking and dressed in a suit of brown, with furs. "so do i hope the rover boys win, ruth," answered her girl companion, "now that my cousin dick has fallen behind." "it's too bad, may, that your cousin dick couldn't have kept up," answered ruth stevenson. closer and closer to the finishing line crept the four leading skaters, jack and randy in the middle, with dan soppinger on their left and walt baxter on their right. now spouter powell had fallen back to the second group of racers. "here they come!" "it's dan soppinger's race!" "not much! here comes walt baxter! gee, see him strike out!" "it's the rovers who are coming to the front!" exclaimed ned lowe. "i knew they couldn't hold those rover boys back," was frank newberry's comment. "now then, boys, for a final dash!" he shouted. all four of the leading contestants were bending forward and striking out as powerfully as possible, their arms swinging from side to side like pendulums and their skates ringing clearly on the smooth ice. for an instant all were in a line, then, by a tremendous effort, walter baxter forged a foot ahead. but almost instantly dan soppinger overtook the other cadet. an instant later randy rover came up beside the others, followed by his cousin jack. the finishing line was now less than fifty yards away, and the crowd was yelling all sorts of words of encouragement and cheering wildly, even the girls and older folks present being much excited. then, of a sudden, an exclamation of wonder rent the air. "look at that, will you? did you ever see such striking out in your life?" "he's coming forward like a cannon ball!" these exclamations had been brought forth by the sudden change of tactics on the part of jack rover. coming back from the blasted pine he had managed to hang close to his opponents, but without using up all his reserve force. now he let out "for all he was worth," as he afterwards declared, and, with strokes that could hardly be seen for their rapidity, he forged in front of soppinger and baxter. "it's jack rover's race!" "look! look! here comes his cousin randy!" yelled ned lowe. "no use in talking--you can't hold those rover boys back," was fatty hendry's comment. what the cadets had said was true. following the extraordinary spurt made by jack, randy let himself out, and in a twinkling had passed baxter. then he found himself neck-and-neck with dan soppinger, who was struggling with might and main to catch up to jack, just two feet ahead. "make room for the winners!" "jack rover wins the race!" "yes, and randy rover is second!" "who takes third place?" "soppinger, i guess." "no, i think walt baxter was a little ahead of him." "nonsense! it was a tie between them." "three cheers for the rover boys!" shouted ned lowe, and many cadets joined in the cheering. jack and randy were quickly surrounded by many of their chums and congratulated on their success. "it was a tie race between soppinger and baxter," announced professor brice. "and that being so, i will give each of them a third prize," and with this those two contestants had to be contented. "you made that race in record time, jack," announced gif garrison. "it is better time by twelve seconds than was ever made before on this lake." "well, where do i come in?" demanded randy. "you broke the record by ten seconds," was the reply. "and believe me, that's some stunt!" "i guess i was beaten fairly," announced dan soppinger, a little ruefully; "so there is no use of complaining." "oh, it was a fair and square race sure enough," answered walt baxter. "all the same, if my skates had been just a little sharper i think i might have won," he added a little wistfully. "well, i am glad the honors stay in our family anyhow," announced fred, as he skated up, followed by andy. "and first and second prizes, too!" cried his cousin. "that ought to be enough to hold the other fellows for awhile." jack and randy were both panting from their exertions, but their faces showed their satisfaction, and especially did jack look his pleasure when he happened to glance beyond the crowd of cadets and saw ruth stevenson waving her hand toward him. beside ruth was may powell, who waved gaily to all of the rovers. "fine race, boys! fine race!" was fatty hendry's comment. "just the same, none of you would have been in it for a minute if i had entered," and at this joke there was a general laugh. "say, fatty, you should have gone into it just to lose flesh," was andy's dry comment. "if you tried real hard, you might lose a pound a mile," and at this there was another laugh. the crowd began to gather around jack and randy and the others who had won the race, and many wanted to shake hands with the oldest rover boy. even some of the town folks skated up, and they were followed by some of the girls from clearwater hall. "i say, boys, this may not be safe!" cried professor brice suddenly, when the crowd on the ice had become unusually thick. "this ice isn't as strong as it might be." "yes, and with fatty in the crowd----" began andy rover. then, of a sudden, he stopped short because an ominous crack was heard, followed by several other cracks. "the ice is breaking!" "skate away, everybody, or we'll go down!" instantly there was a commotion, and all of the skaters tried to break away from the spot where the crowd had congregated. the confusion was tremendous, and in the mix-up six or eight persons, including ruth stevenson and may powell, were thrown down. then came another crack, and it looked as if in another instant the ice would give way completely and precipitate the whole crowd into the cold waters of the lake. chapter ii something about the rover boys it was a time of extreme peril, and it is doubtful if any one realized that more than did jack rover. he, too, had been thrown down, and across his legs was sprawled the heavy form of fatty hendry. it was the toppling over of the fat youth which had caused one of the cracks which were now so numerous in the ice. "hi! get off of me!" yelled jack, and managed to pull one of his legs free; and with this he pushed the fat youth to one side. "help! help! we're going down!" came in a scream from may powell. the ice had become depressed where she and ruth stevenson stood, and both were already in a half inch of water. "scatter! everybody scatter!" cried professor brice, and then rushed to one side, to rescue several little boys and girls. "come on, jack, we've got to help those girls!" cried randy, and caught his cousin by the arm, thus assisting him to his feet. then off the pair skated, with andy and fred behind them, all bent on going to the assistance of the girls from clearwater hall. now, i know quite well that to the readers of the former volumes in these two "rover boys series," all of the rovers, both old and young, will need no introduction. but for the benefit of those who have not perused any of the previous volumes in this line, a few words concerning our characters will not be amiss. in my first volume, entitled "the rover boys at school," i told how three brothers, dick, tom and sam rover, had been sent off to putnam hall military academy, where they made a host of friends, including a manly and straightforward cadet, named lawrence colby. from putnam hall, the rovers were sent to brill college, and after leaving that institution of learning they went into business in wall street, new york city, where they organized the rover company, of which dick was now president; tom, secretary; and sam, treasurer. while at putnam hall the three rovers had become acquainted with three charming girls, dora stanhope and her cousins nellie and grace laning. this acquaintance had ripened into loving intimacy, and when dick went into business he had made dora stanhope his life-long partner. a short while after this tom married nellie laning and sam married grace. when first married, dick and his beautiful wife dora had begun housekeeping in a small apartment, but a few years later the three brothers had purchased a plot of ground on riverside drive, overlooking the hudson river, and there they had built three handsome houses, dick living in the middle house, and tom on one side and sam on the other. before the young people had moved into the new homes, dick and dora became the proud parents of a little son, who was named john, after mr. laning. the son was followed by a daughter, martha, so named after her great aunt martha of valley brook farm, where the older boys had spent many of their youthful days. little jack, as he was called, was a bright lad with many of the qualities which had made his father so well liked and so successful in life. about the time jack's sister martha was born, tom and nellie rover came forward with twin boys, one of whom they named anderson, after his grandfather, and the other randolph, after uncle randolph, of valley brook farm. andy and randy, as they were always called for short, were exceedingly clever and active lads, in this particular being a second edition of their father. andy was usually saying things that were more or less funny, and randy thought that playing some trick was the finest thing in the world. "you can't find fault with those kids, tom," dick rover said more than once. "they are chips off the old block." "well, i suppose they are," tom rover would reply, with a twinkle in his eye. "but if they never do anything that is really mean or harmful, i won't care." about the same time the twins were born, sam and grace rover came along with a beautiful little girl, whom they named mary, after mrs. laning. then, a year later, the girl was followed by a sturdy little boy, who was christened fred, after sam rover's old school chum, fred garrison. living so close together--the three stone mansions on riverside drive were connected--the younger generation of rover boys, as well as the girls, were brought up very much like one big family. the winters were spent in new york city, while during the summer the young folks were generally bundled off to valley brook farm, where their grandfather, anderson rover, still resided with his brother randolph and wife martha. at first both the girls and the boys had been sent to private schools in the metropolis. but the boys showed such a propensity for "cutting up," as dick rover expressed it, that the fathers were compelled to hold a consultation. "the best thing we can do is to send them to some strict boarding school," was dick rover's comment, and in this the brothers agreed. some time before, their old school chum, lawrence colby, who had since become a colonel in the state militia, had opened a military academy, which he called colby hall. the place was gaining an enviable reputation as a first-class institution of learning, being modeled after putnam hall, which, in its day, had been run somewhat on the lines of west point. "we'll send them to colby hall," had been the decision of the older rovers, and to that place jack, andy and randy, and fred had gone, as related in detail in the volume entitled "the rover boys at colby hall." the military school presided over by colonel colby was located about half a mile from the town of haven point, on clearwater lake, a beautiful sheet of water about two miles long and half a mile wide. at the head of the lake was the rick rack river, running down from the hills and woods beyond. the school consisted of a large stone building shaped somewhat in the form of a cross, the upper portion facing the river. it was three stories in height, and contained, not only the classrooms and the mess hall, but also the dormitories and private rooms for the scholars. to one side was a brick building, which at one time had been a private dwelling, but which was now occupied by colonel colby and his family and some of the professors. on the opposite side was a new and up-to-date gymnasium. down at the water's edge were a number of small buildings used as boathouses and bathhouses. behind the hall were a stable and a barn, and also a garage; and still further back there were a large vegetable garden and numerous farm fields. on their arrival at colby hall, the rover boys had found several of their friends awaiting them. one of these was dick powell, the son of songbird powell, a former schoolmate of their fathers, a fellow who was usually called spouter because of his fondness for making speeches. another lad was gifford garrison, usually called gif for short, who was at the head of the school athletics. gif was the son of fred garrison, after whom fred rover had been named. they also made friends of a number of others, some of whom we have already met. these included walter baxter, the son of dan baxter, who in years gone by had been an enemy to the older rovers, but who had long since reformed. before coming to colby hall jack rover had had a quarrel in new york with a tall, dudish youth named napoleon martell, and this had almost led to a fight. nappy martell, as he was usually called by his cronies, was a pupil at the military academy, and soon he and his crony, a big, overgrown bully, named slogwell brown, did what they could to make life miserable for all of the rovers. but in one of their dirty tricks they over-reached themselves, and as a consequence they had been exposed and sent away from the institution of learning for the time being. "but they are coming back," walt baxter had told the rover boys; "and they say when they do, they will make it hot for you." "well, when slugger and nappy return we will be ready for them," had been jack rover's reply. "and the next time we won't be as easy on them as we were before," fred had added. all of the cadets formed a battalion of several companies, commanded by one of the older cadets, major ralph mason. the rovers took to the military drill and general exercises readily, and soon learned how to march and how to handle a gun. they enjoyed drilling very much--in fact, they enjoyed it more than they did studying, although all of them were good scholars. as has been stated, colby hall was located about half a mile out of haven point. on the other side of the town was located clearwater hall, a boarding school for girls. during a panic in a moving picture theater in the town, jack and his cousins had become acquainted with a number of these girls, including ruth stevenson and may powell. after that the four boys had taken four of the girls rowing on the lake and on other outings, and through this had become quite well acquainted with a number of the clearwater hall pupils. jack was particularly interested in ruth stevenson, and thought her a very beautiful and entertaining young lady. the others did not seem to have any particular preference, although fred was often seen to side up to may powell, the entertaining cousin of spouter. and now, having introduced these young ladies in a proper manner, let us return to them at the time when they were struggling on the ice and in the midst of the frightened crowd rushing hither and thither, striving to save itself from being immersed in the icy waters of the lake. "oh! oh! what shall we do?" cried may in terror, as she clung to her companion's arm. "come on! we'll have to skate away from here!" burst out ruth. "come! let us see if we can't get to shore," and she started off, her companion still clinging to her. in the meanwhile, jack and randy were skating as fast as possible in the direction where they had seen the two girls. but now a crowd of cadets and town folks swept in front of them, and the next instant randy was hurled flat on his back and went spinning across the smooth ice. by this time one of the spots on the lake had broken through, and the water was rapidly rising all around it and covering the sinking surface. men, women and children mingled with the cadets and hurried in all directions, but most of them toward the shore. "come on! we've got to help those girls somehow!" panted jack, as he skated over to where randy had been flung. he assisted his cousin to his feet just as fred and andy flashed up. "the girls! don't you see them over there? they are going down!" yelled fred. "yes, i see them! come on!" answered jack. as tired as he was because of the race, the oldest rover struck out with all the vigor he could muster. soon he found himself sloshing through water that was several inches deep. the next moment he stood beside the two girls, who had become almost too frightened to move. "come on! don't stand here!" he called, catching ruth by the arm. he looked back and saw that fred and the others were close behind him, and that fred already had hold of may. then he started off up the lake. "oh, jack, hadn't we better head for the shore?" gasped the frightened girl. "no. there is too much of a crowd in that direction already," he answered quickly. "if they don't look out they'll all go in. come on! the best thing to do is to get out where there isn't anybody." he skated on, allowing the girl to rest on his arm as he did so. soon they seemed to be out of the danger zone, and then he looked back. the sight that met his gaze filled him with new alarm. fred had been skating with may close beside him, but their feet had caught in one of the new cracks, and both of them had gone down headlong. andy and randy had been close behind, and now they too went sprawling, while the ice cracked ominously, as if ready to let them down into the water at any instant! chapter iii out of peril "oh look! may and fred have both gone down!" cried ruth. "yes, and there go andy and randy over them!" exclaimed jack. "and look, jack, the ice is cracking everywhere!" continued the frightened girl. she clutched his arm and looked appealingly into his face. "oh! what shall we do?" "spread out, you fellows! spread out!" yelled the oldest rover boy. "spread out! don't keep together!" his cry was heard, and an instant later andy commenced to roll over on the ice in one direction while his twin rolled in another. in the meantime, fred had managed to scramble to his feet, and now he pulled up may. "come on, we'll soon be out of danger," encouraged the youngest rover; and, striking out, he pulled may behind him, the girl being too excited to skate. in less than a minute the danger, so far as it concerned the rovers and the two girls from clearwater hall, was past. all reached a point where the ice was perfectly firm. here ruth speedily gained her self-possession, but may continued to cling closely to fred's arm. "i'm going to see how they are making out in front of the boathouse!" cried randy. "some of the skaters must have gotten in." "i'm with you," returned his twin. he looked back at his cousins. "i suppose you will look after the girls?" "sure!" answered jack quickly. "go ahead." "i don't suppose we can be of any assistance down there?" came from fred. "i don't think so, fred. there is too much of a crowd as it is; they will simply be in one another's way." "oh! oh! suppose some one should be drowned!" moaned may. "let us hope for the best," answered jack. he did not want to add to the girls' fright, yet he was decidedly anxious over the outcome of the unexpected catastrophe. they skated toward the shore at a point between colby hall and the town, and then they worked their way along shore up to the vicinity of the military academy. here men and cadets were rushing hither and thither, some with planks and others with ropes. "six of the cadets broke through," announced spouter powell, as he came up to learn if his cousin was safe. "they are all out, aren't they?" questioned jack quickly. "yes. but there may have been others that went under the ice. professor brice and mr. crews are going to make a thorough search." crews was the gymnastic instructor. the excitement continued for fully half an hour. by that time it was ascertained that every one had gotten off of the ice or out of the water in safety. those who had gone down were rushed to shelter, so that they might not catch cold. gradually the crowd dispersed, and then professor brice had danger signs placed at various points on the ice, so that there should not be a repetition of the accident. "the thing would not have occurred had not the entire crowd happened to congregate around the winners of the skating race," explained professor brice to colonel colby. "you think the ice is thick enough for any ordinary crowd?" questioned the master of the school anxiously. "yes, sir. you can test it for yourself." "well, we must be more careful in the future, mr. brice. we don't want any of our cadets drowned." "we won't have any such crowd again if i can avoid it," was the reply. "it's all nonsense to have such races anyway. it encourages too much rowdyism," was the comment of asa lemm, one of the language professors. lemm was the least liked of all the teachers at the hall. he did not believe in a boy's having any fun, but expected the cadets to spend their entire time in studying. he had once been fairly wealthy, and the loss of his money had made him sour-minded and disagreeable. "i cannot agree with that opinion," returned colonel colby coldly. "the boys must have some exercise. and to be out in the fresh air is a very good thing for them. they will study so much the better for it." "maybe; but i doubt it," answered asa lemm shortly. "you let a boy go out and carouse around, and the first thing you know he won't care for anything else," and he strode away with his chin held high in the air and his lips tightly compressed. he was a man of very positive ideas, which he tried at every opportunity to impress upon others. "aren't your feet wet?" questioned jack suddenly, as he looked down at the skating shoes worn by ruth and may. "well, they are rather damp," answered ruth. "mine are both wet and cold," said may. "i shouldn't mind it if i could dry them off and warm them somewhere." "come on up to the hall," went on jack. "i'm sure they will let you dry them in front of the open fire in the big living-room." "oh, jack, we don't want to go there in such a crowd of cadets!" "don't worry about the cadets," put in fred. when they arrived at the living-room of the military academy, they found it practically deserted, the great majority of the cadets being at the lake front or in the big boathouse, where a pot stove was kept going for the benefit of the skaters. "my, but this is a cozy place!" remarked ruth, after she had become comfortably settled in a big armchair with her feet resting close to the blaze. "i wish i was a cadet here," sighed may. "it's more fun being a boy than being a girl." "how do you know? you never were a boy," returned fred, with a grin. "i know, just the same," may answered. "i'm sure you boys have a much better time of it than we girls." this started quite an argument, in which all of the young people, including spouter, joined. in the midst of the talk andy and randy came in, having been told where the others had gone. "it's all over and everybody is safe," announced randy. "and the only thing lost, so far as we can find out, was fatty's skating cap," put in andy. "well, if that's all, we can chip in and buy him another cap," remarked jack, and at this there was a short laugh. now that the peril was a thing of the past all felt greatly relieved, and their manner showed it. jack and fred had the pleasure of skating all the way to clearwater hall with ruth and may. during that time the young folks grew quite confidential. "why don't you get your sister martha to come to clearwater hall?" said ruth to jack. "i'm sure i'd like very much to meet her." "yes, and why not have your sister mary come too?" added may to fred. "say, that's a great idea!" burst out jack. "let's put it up to the folks at home without delay," added his cousin. "but they might not like to leave the private school they are now attending," he continued, his face falling. "that's true, for they are getting along very nicely," said jack. "just the same, we can put it up to the folks at home and let them know all about what a nice place clearwater hall is--and what awfully nice girls there are here." and at this latter remark ruth and may blushed. "i sent a letter to mary a year or two ago," said may; "but at that time i wasn't here. i think i'll send her another letter." "do, by all means," returned fred quickly. "and let her know all about how nice a place it is. that may help." "it would be a fine thing if they were at this school--it would give us more chances to call here," remarked jack to ruth. "last week i met cousin dick in town," said may, "and he was telling me how that slugger brown and nappy martell had left the hall. he said the pair were terribly down on all you rovers." "yes, they were very much enraged over the way we exposed them," answered fred. "they deserved to be exposed!" cried ruth. "the idea of their shooting two of mr. lacy's valuable cows and then trying to prove that you did it! it was shameful!" "well, their folks had to pay lacy for the cows," answered jack. "and then to think how they tampered with the chains on that lumber raft so that the raft went to pieces in that storm on the lake!" added may. "oh, i think they must be very wicked boys!" "they are certainly no angels." "jack, if they should come back to colby hall, won't you be afraid that they will try to do something more to get you into trouble?" "more than likely they will; but i am not afraid of them." "we intend to keep our eyes wide open, and if slugger or nappy try any funny work, we'll jump on 'em like a ton of bricks," added fred. then the subject was changed, and a few minutes later the cadets bid the girls good-bye, promising to see them again if possible in the near future. "i'll tell you what, jack, they are a pair of mighty fine girls," was fred's comment, as he and his cousin skated back in the direction of the military academy. "i agree with you, fred." "i wish we could persuade martha and mary to go to clearwater hall," went on the youngest rover boy, wistfully. "i'd like first rate to have 'em get better acquainted with may and get acquainted with the other girls there." "we'll have to be careful how we write home about it," cautioned his cousin. "if we aren't, they'll think we want them to come just on account of ruth and may, and then they'll tease the life out of us." "oh, sure, we'll be careful! just the same, it would be a fine boarding school for them. i don't think much of that fashionable private school where they are now going. most of the girls there think more of how they are dressed and what dances they are learning than anything else." "by the way, do you think spouter knows more about what slugger and nappy intend to do than he told?" "what do you mean?" "why, perhaps he heard something, but didn't want to tell all of it for fear of alarming us." "i don't think spouter would do that. he knows well enough that we aren't afraid of that pair." "just the same, fred, if they do come back we'll have to keep our eyes wide open, for they surely will do their best to put one over on us, and any fellows who would be mean enough to do what they have done, wouldn't hesitate to do worse." "i can't understand why colonel colby is going to let them come back at all." "oh, i suppose he feels that he ought to give them at least one more chance. he probably remembers how dan baxter acted toward our fathers and the colonel himself, as well as their chums, and how baxter afterwards reformed." "yes, that may be true. but when one fellow like walt baxter's father reforms, a dozen others remain as bad as ever, or grow worse. to my mind, there isn't much in the way of reform in slugger brown's make-up, or in nappy martell either." "oh, i agree with you there. slugger brown is nothing short of a brute, and nappy martell is as sly and vicious as any fellow i ever ran up against. we'll certainly have to watch them when they get back here." chapter iv out hunting after the excitement attending the skating races, matters moved along quietly at colby hall for several days. the rover boys, as was their custom, paid close attention to their studies. "we've got to make a record for ourselves," was the way jack put it. "if we don't, our folks may take it in their heads to send us to some other boarding school, thinking colonel colby is too easy with us." "and to take jack away from this vicinity when he is getting so sweet on ruth steven----" began randy, when he was cut short by a book flung by his cousin, landing on his shoulder. "you cut out that talk, randy!" cried jack. "let's talk about the weather," murmured andy, who had passed to the window. "say, fellows, do you know, i think it's going to snow!" "hurrah! that means some fun snowballing!" cried fred. the snow came down all that night, and in the morning covered the ground to the depth of several inches. a great many of the cadets rushed out in glee, and half a dozen impromptu snowballing matches were soon in progress. it was almost time to go in for the morning session when several of the cadets noticed a figure, huddled up in a slouch hat and a heavy overcoat, coming up from behind the hall toward a side door. "here comes bob nixon!" yelled one of the cadets, mentioning the name of colonel colby's chauffeur. "let's give him a volley." "right you are!" exclaimed andy gleefully. "stop! can't you see----" commenced jack, but before he could finish his sentence both andy and randy had let drive at the advancing figure. one snowball took the man in the shoulder and the other landed just below his left ear. "here! here! what do you mean by such proceedings?" cried the attacked individual in great wrath, and then, as he held up his head and pushed back his slouch hat, all saw that it was asa lemm. "great watermelons!" groaned andy. "i thought sure it was nixon!" "i knew it wasn't, and that's why i tried to stop you," said jack. "say, he's some mad," whispered randy, as the language teacher strode toward them. "i wonder what he'll do." "how dare you boys attack me?" roared asa lemm, as he shook his fist at the crowd. "how dare you do it?" "it was all a mistake, mr. lemm," said randy meekly. "we didn't know it was you--really we didn't," came from andy. "we thought it was bob nixon. he likes to snowball with us." "i do not believe a word of it!" cried the irate instructor. "how many of you threw at me?" he questioned, glaring at the crowd. to this there was no immediate answer, and then randy stepped forward. "i did, for one," he said. "and so did i," came from his twin. "anybody else?" "no. we were the only ones, professor," answered randy. "and i hope you will overlook it this time," he continued. "we did not know it was you." "both of you report to me after school this afternoon," said the instructor harshly; and then without another word he turned and tramped off into the hall. "now we are in for it, andy," was randy's dismal comment. "oh, well, he can't do any more than kill us," was the light-hearted reply of the other. "do you want to be killed, andy?" quizzed jack. "i know what he'll do," was randy's comment. "he'll keep us both in and give us extra lessons to learn." and in this surmise the fun-loving rover boy was correct. for their rashness in snowballing the teacher they were made to stay in after school for two afternoons, and in addition had two extra pages of latin to translate. "he's a lemon, if ever there was one," was what andy said after his punishment had come to an end. "oh, wouldn't i just like to get square with him!" "we'll have to think something up, andy," answered his twin. following the first fall of snow, came another, but then the sun came out brightly, packing down the snow so that sleighing became quite popular. "if we only had a big sleigh up here, we could go and get the girls from clearwater hall and give them a ride," said fred one day to jack. "i was thinking we might hire a big sleigh in town some saturday afternoon and do just that," answered his cousin. "i'll look into it the first chance i get." fred and jack had not forgotten the sport they had had earlier in the season, when they had gone out with frank newberry and some others on a hunt for rabbits and other small game. "the hunting season is still open, fred," said jack one day. "what do you say if we ask colonel colby for permission to go out." "suits me," answered his cousin quickly. "do you think andy and randy would like to go, too?" "more than likely. they have been wanting to go ever since we brought down that game." when the subject was mentioned to the twins, they quickly agreed that it would be a fine thing if they could all obtain permission to go on a hunting trip the coming saturday. colonel colby was appealed to without delay. "well, boys, i have no objection to your going out," he said. "i know you all understand the use of firearms, and i know, also, that your fathers loved to go out in their day and hunt. and i did a little bit in that line myself," and he smiled faintly. "but i want you to be very careful in what you shoot at; and do your level best to keep out of trouble of all kinds," and he looked at jack and fred as he uttered the latter words. "getting into trouble before, colonel colby, wasn't our fault," answered jack quickly. "i know that." "by the way, colonel colby, if it isn't asking too much, would you mind letting us know if slugger brown and nappy martell are really going to return here?" questioned fred. "they have asked for permission to come back--at least, their parents have asked for them--and i have the matter under consideration," answered the master of the hall. he gazed questioningly at the rovers. "i meant to mention this subject to you, and i am glad you have brought it up. in one way, i don't feel like having them here; but in another way i should like to give them another chance in case they feel like turning over a new leaf and making a fresh start. what do you boys think of it?" for a moment all of the rover boys were silent, looking at each other questioningly. then the others showed that they expected jack to speak. "well, if you want my candid opinion, it's just this, colonel colby," said the oldest rover boy earnestly. "personally i would much prefer to have brown and martell stay away from colby hall. but if you think they ought to be given another chance to make good here, why, i am sure i'm not going to stand in their way. just the same, if they do come here, i'm going to watch them pretty closely so that they won't be able to play any more of their dirty tricks." "i shall not blame you for watching them, rover. after what happened to you and your cousin fred, it is no more than right that you should be on your guard. yet, i trust that you will give brown and martell a chance to prove themselves, provided they really do want to turn over a new leaf and make amends for what has happened." "oh, we'll give them plenty of chances to make good if it is in them; won't we?" and jack turned to his cousins. "sure!" came in a chorus. "then that is settled, and i am glad of it. now you have my permission to go on your hunting trip, and i trust you will bring down all the small game you desire. but, as i said before, be very careful. so far, i have allowed all of my pupils to go out hunting whenever they have so desired, and without any accidents happening. i don't want to break that record." and with these words the master of the hall dismissed them. this conversation took place on thursday evening, and all day friday the boys were anxiously looking forward to the proposed outing and wondering what the weather would prove to be. they obtained permission to take two small rifles and two double-barreled shotguns belonging to the institution, and these they cleaned and oiled so that they would be in prime condition. saturday morning dawned bright and clear, and the four rovers obtained their breakfast as early as the rules of the school permitted. then, with game bags and guns slung over their shoulders, they set out on their skates up the lake shore and then along the rick rack river, the wind of the day previous having cleared large portions of the ice of snow. "come on, let's have a race!" cried andy gleefully. had he not been on his skates he would have attempted a handspring in the exuberance of his spirits. "no racing to-day!" warned jack. "you save your breath, andy. we expect to skate and tramp a good many miles to-day before we get back to the school." "all right, just as you say," answered his cousin, and then he began some horseplay with fred, which came to a sudden end when the youngest rover tripped him up and sent him plunging into a snowbank on the side of the narrow stream. "now let up, i tell you!" warned jack. "you never want to try any horseplay when you are tramping or skating along with a loaded gun. it's too dangerous. remember what colonel colby said," and then andy sobered down a little. all too soon for the boys, the skating on the river came to an end. beyond, the stream was little better than a rocky watercourse, now thickly covered with ice and snow. "why can't we leave our skates here until we come back?" suggested randy. "we could if we were sure we were going to return this way," answered jack. "but we had better take them along, for we may return to the hall by an entirely different route. we'll place our skates in our game bags for the present;" and this advice was followed. after this the rover boys trudged along through the woods bordering the stream. soon they came upon some rabbit tracks, and less than a minute later jack suddenly raised his double-barreled shotgun and blazed away. "hurrah! you've got him!" cried fred, and all of the boys rushed forward to where the game lay--a big, fat rabbit. "say, jack, you're the lucky one!" cried andy. "now you know what you promised?" he added. "all right--it's your turn now to have the shotgun," answered his cousin, for that was the bargain which had been made. "i'll carry the rifle." on and on went the young hunters, getting deeper and deeper into the woods. here they managed to stir up more game, and andy had the pleasure of bringing down the second rabbit, while the others laid low several squirrels. "this is pretty rough ground around here," remarked jack, after they had wound in and out around some exceedingly rough rocks and through some thick underbrush. "we had better keep close to this stream," was randy's suggestion. "if we don't, we may become hopelessly lost in these woods." "huh! i guess we could find our way out sooner or later," retorted his twin. to andy, getting lost in the woods would seem nothing more than a big joke. the young hunters continued to advance, and, during the course of the next hour, brought down several more rabbits, and also another squirrel. then, just as andy had handed back one of the shotguns to jack and the weapon had been reloaded, they heard a strange noise coming from back of some bushes not a great distance away. "now what do you suppose that is?" whispered fred. "i think i know, fred," was jack's reply; "and if i am right, get ready to fire as soon as i do." the two boys with the shotguns went in advance, and soon reached a point where they could look beyond the bushes. then came a sudden whirr, and up into the air went a small flock of pheasants. bang! bang! rang out jack's fowling piece, and bang! bang! came the report of fred's firearm. the strange whirring continued, but then three of the birds were seen to drop to the ground, one dead and the other two seriously wounded. "hurrah! we've got three of them!" cried fred excitedly, and then ran forward, to quickly put the wounded birds out of their misery. "say, that's some luck!" exclaimed randy. "if i----" randy stopped short, and so did some of the others who had started to speak. a strange sound from a distance had reached their ears. "help! help!" came in a low cry. "help! for heaven's sake, somebody come and help me!" chapter v uncle barney stevenson "what is that?" "it's somebody calling for help!" "it's a man's voice; and he must be in pretty bad shape to call like that!" burst out jack. "hello there!" yelled randy. "where are you?" "here! under the fallen tree!" came in a faint cry. "help me, quick!" "i think the cry came from that direction," said andy, pointing with his hand. "and i think it came from over there," added his twin, pointing off at a right angle to the first direction given. "i think andy is right!" exclaimed jack. "anyway, he and i can go off in that direction, while you, randy, and fred can see if you can locate him over yonder." neither of the boys had been exactly right in locating the cry for assistance, which had come from a point about midway between the two places suggested, but it was jack who saw a large fallen tree from a distance and ran quickly toward it, yelling for all of the others to do likewise. the sight which met their gaze filled them with a pity and a strong desire to be of assistance. there, in the snow, lay an elderly man, clad in the garb of a hunter or lumberman, with a shotgun and a well-worn game bag beside him. over the man's legs and one outstretched arm, rested the upper portion of a large pine tree, which had evidently crashed down because of the weight of snow upon it but a short time before. the man lay on his chest, and it was all he could do to raise his head to cry for aid. "say, this is tough!" exclaimed andy, as he reached the spot. "what can we do to help him?" "we've got to pry up that tree somehow," answered jack. "come on; let us see if we can't lift it!" exclaimed randy, and took hold of one of the numerous branches. the others did the same, and all pulled upon the tree with their utmost strength. yet, it was too heavy for them and could scarcely be budged. "we've got to get some kind of pry and pry it up," announced jack. "i wish we had brought a hatchet along. i meant to bring one, so that we could make firewood, but i forgot it." "help me! help me!" moaned the man. "don't leave me here pinned down like this;" and then he seemed to faint. alarmed by the condition of the sufferer, the boys ran around the spot looking for something which might aid them in releasing the man. they found several flat stones, and then discovered a sapling which they succeeded in pulling up by the roots. piling up the flat stones close to the fallen tree, they placed the sapling upon them, using it as a lever, and by this means jack and the twins managed to raise the fallen pine just high enough to allow fred to haul the hurt man from under it. then they let the pine slip back to its original position. "looks to me as if he might have his two legs broken, and maybe his arm," announced jack, after they had placed the man on his back with his head raised on some pine boughs stripped from the trees. the sufferer's eyes were closed, and he breathed heavily. "we ought to get a doctor for him just as soon as possible," said randy. "but where to go for one, excepting back to haven point, i don't know." while the young hunters were wondering what they had better do, the man slowly opened his eyes and gave a gasp. "help me! please help me!" he cried feebly. "don't excite yourself, you're all right now," answered jack kindly. "take it easy. we'll do what we can for you." the man had closed his eyes again, but now he opened them and tried to look around him. "you got me clear of the fallen tree, did you?" he murmured. "good! i was afraid i'd have to stay there until i froze to death." "how about it? can you use your left arm?" questioned jack. "i don't know. i guess so," answered the man, and then tried to raise the arm in question. he held it up for a few seconds, but then let it drop heavily by his side. "it's pretty well lamed i reckon," he said. "you see, i had it right under one of the tree limbs." "what about your legs? can you move them at all?" went on the oldest rover boy. he did not have the heart to mention that the man's lower limbs might be broken. feebly, the man raised up first one leg and then the other. the limbs had not been broken, but they were much bruised and swollen, and the movements caused the sufferer to give a groan. "i'm afraid i'm done up so far as walking is concerned," he said dolefully. "you see, i'm getting old," he went on. "if i was a younger man, maybe this wouldn't affect me quite so much. but as it is----" he shook his head dismally. "i guess you had better let us carry you out of the woods," said jack. "you can't walk, and you certainly can't stay here alone." "do you know where the nearest house is located?" questioned randy. "let me see----" the man mused for a moment, shutting his eyes while he did so. "unless i'm greatly mistaken, bill hobson lives on the edge of the woods just to the north of this spot." "is he a farmer?" questioned fred. "no, he's a lumberman, like myself," was the reply. the man looked from one to another of the youths. "may i ask who you are?" "we're the rover boys," answered the oldest of the four. "i am jack rover, and these are my cousins, fred, andy, and randy." "glad to know you, boys; and doubly glad to think you were up in this section of the woods just when i had this accident. i sha'n't forget your kindness. my name is stevenson, but most all the folks that know me call me uncle barney. i take it from your uniforms that you belong at colby hall." "we do," answered andy. "i don't belong in this neighborhood. i just came over early this morning to see what the hunting looked like around here. my home is on snowshoe island, in the middle of lake monona, about ten miles north of here." "i think you had better rest on some of these pine boughs while some of us try to locate the bill hobson you mentioned," said jack. "can you point out the general direction of his place?" "it's up along this mountain stream," and barney stevenson indicated the rick rack river. "you just follow that watercourse for about a quarter of a mile, and i'm pretty sure you'll come to it." "well, if you're sure it's along this stream, we might as well try to get you there first as last," announced randy. he turned to his cousins. "why can't we take turns in carrying him, either on our backs or on a litter?" "i think we had better try to make some sort of litter of pine boughs," answered jack. "it will be much easier for the four of us to do the carrying than for one." "i've got a hatchet in my game bag, and you can cut some pine boughs with that. and you will find some cord in my game bag, too." "how did the accident happen, if i may ask?" questioned randy, while jack began to trim several large boughs from the fallen pine. "it came quicker'n lightning," was the old lumberman's answer. "i had just spotted a fine, fat rabbit, and was taking aim, when, without warning, the tree gave a sudden snap like the report of a gun, and down it came right on top of me. of course, i tried to jump out of the way, but my foot caught on a tree root, or a rock, or something, and down i went, and the next minute the tree came down on top of me, right across my legs and my left arm, like when you found me. i tried to pull myself loose, but my legs and my arm seemed to be wedged down between the tree and some stones, and i couldn't budge nary a one of 'em." "i guess you can be thankful that you didn't break your arm or your legs." "i suppose that's true, my boy. just the same, i suppose this will lay me up for a week or two, and maybe longer," answered barney stevenson, dubiously. having cut several pine boughs that looked as if they might answer the purpose, the four boys lost no time in twisting them together and then tying them into a rude litter. across this they laid additional pine boughs, and upon these placed the form of the hurt man. when they moved him he shut his teeth hard, evidently to keep from crying out with pain. "i know it must hurt you, mr. stevenson," said jack kindly. "we'll be just as careful as possible." "i know you'll be, my lads. i suppose i ought to have a doctor, but if i can get to bill hobson's cabin, i guess i'll be all right. bill will most likely have some liniment, and that will fix me up." with the old lumberman resting on the litter and the four youths carrying this as carefully as possible, the party made its way along the rick rack river, which at this point was little better than a mountain torrent. they had considerable difficulty in climbing over the rocks and in making their way through the heavy brushwood, but finally they came out to a cleared space, beyond which there were only scattered patches of trees. "i see some smoke!" cried fred presently. "that must be the smoke from bill hobson's place," announced the old lumberman, and then he closed his eyes once more and lay back on the litter, for the pain he was suffering was great. keeping on in the direction where they had seen the smoke, they soon came in sight of a fairly large cabin with a lean-to attached. they marched up to the place, and jack rapped upon the door, which was opened a moment later by a burly man, well along in years. "what do you want?" began the man, and then looked past jack to the litter and the old lumberman lying on it. "what's this? why, it's uncle barney, i declare! what's happened?" "i got hurt by a falling tree, bill," was the reply. "and if it hadn't been for these cadets, i might be layin' down in the woods yet." "he is quite a bit hurt," explained jack. "you had better let us carry him in and place him on a couch or a bed of some kind." "surest thing you know, young man," answered bill hobson. "fetch him right in," and he turned to make a bunk ready for the sufferer. fortunately the cabin was well warmed, so that as soon as they had barney stevenson safe inside, they lost no time in taking off some of his clothing and examining his hurts. the other old lumberman, assisted by jack, did this, and hobson examined the condition of his friend with care. "i can't see that anything is broken," he announced; "but those bruises are pretty bad. i think i'll bathe 'em with hot water, and then put on some liniment and bind 'em up." "i guess i'll have to stay right where i am for a spell, bill," said the hurt man. "that's what, uncle barney. and you're welcome to stay as long as you please," announced the owner of the cabin. the boys had brought along the old lumberman's game bag and shotgun. bill hobson wanted to know the particulars of the affair, and the rover boys related how they had come up into the woods to hunt and heard barney stevenson's cries for assistance, and how they had liberated him and brought him along on the litter. "i'm very thankful indeed to you," said barney stevenson, and his face showed his gratitude. "if i can ever do you boys a good turn, believe me, i'll do it." "didn't you say you lived on snowshoe island?" queried jack. "yes." "i've heard of the place, but i don't know exactly where it is located or why they call it snowshoe island." "it's a big island located almost in the middle of lake monona," answered the old lumberman. "i own the place, and it's called snowshoe island because some years ago a number of indians lived on it and made their living by making snowshoes. the indians are all gone now." "i guess, uncle barney, you've lived on that island a good number of years," put in bill hobson. "twelve years coming this christmas," was the reply. "i went there the day after my wife was buried," and the old lumberman's face clouded as if the memory of what had happened was still bitter. "do you do any lumbering there?" questioned randy, more to change the subject than for any other reason. "oh, yes; i do quite some lumbering during the season. i have a firm in the city that sends up there every year for all the stuff i cut. at this time of year. i like to go out hunting. it's the one sport that i thoroughly enjoy. and i reckon you boys enjoy it, too, or you wouldn't be out with your guns." "yes, we like to go hunting once in a while." "well, now, listen to me, boys. you saved my life out there in the woods, and if i was real well off, i'd try to reward you for it. but, as it is----" "we don't want any reward," broke in jack quickly. "i know you don't--you're not that kind. and i'm not going to offend you by offering it. just the same, if you ever feel like coming over to snowshoe island and paying me a visit, i'll treat you as well as i know how." "maybe we might be able to go over there and do some hunting some time," suggested andy. "yes, you come over some time and stay a few days or a week with me, and i'll give you the best time hunting i can," answered barney stevenson. "by the way, mr. stevenson," said jack curiously, "do you know a mr. frederic stevenson?" jack had learned from ruth that that was her father's name. at this unexpected question, the old lumberman opened wide his eyes and glared at the young cadet. "yes, i know him--very well," he growled. "but i don't want to hear anything about him--not a word! is he a friend of yours?" "he is the father of one of the young ladies who is a pupil at clearwater hall." "oh, i see! humph! well, i don't want to hear anything about fred stevenson, and if you want to be friends with me, you needn't mention his name to me again," went on the old lumberman, much to the surprise of the rover boys. chapter vi deep in the woods "what do you suppose was the reason that old lumberman didn't want to hear mr. stevenson's name mentioned?" questioned randy of jack, about half an hour later, when the four cadets were tramping through the woods again to resume their hunting. "i'm sure i don't know, randy," was the slow reply. "evidently he was very bitter over something." "having the same name, it looks to me as if this uncle barney, as they call him, might be some relative of ruth's family," said fred. "more than likely." "maybe he's some cast-off relation, who got into trouble with them and then took himself off to that snowshoe island," was fred's comment. "i'd have asked him some more questions if he hadn't acted so ugly about it," went on jack. "yes. but he seemed to be a very nice sort of man otherwise," put in andy quickly. "i agree with you there." jack gave a little sigh. "there must be some mystery to it." "why don't you ask ruth about it some time?" "i will, when i get a good chance to do it. of course, if it's some sort of family affair, i'm not going to butt in." before the rover boys had left the cabin of bill hobson, they had been assured by old uncle barney that he was feeling fairly comfortable and that the owner of the place would look after him until he recovered. barney stevenson had mentioned snowshoe island several times, and had told the boys again that he was sorry he could not reward them for coming to his assistance, but that if they ever cared to visit his island, he would do his best to make them feel at home and show them where the best hunting in that vicinity was to be had. he had also mentioned the fact that there was a vacant cabin close to his own on the island, and that they would be welcome to camp out there at any time they chose to do so. "i'd like to visit his place some time," said fred, "just to see how the old fellow lives. i'll bet he's got quite a comfortable outfit there." "he may live in very queer style," returned randy. "according to what he says, and what that bill hobson told me, he must be a good deal of a hermit." "maybe he committed some sort of crime and the other stevensons cast him off," suggested andy. "oh, i can't think that! he didn't look to be a criminal," returned jack. "don't you remember what he said about taking up his residence on the island after his wife died? maybe that loss made him feel as if he didn't want to mingle with the rest of the world." the boys talked the matter over for some time, but could reach no conclusion whatever regarding the way the old lumberman had acted when frederic stevenson's name had been mentioned. then, however, they stirred up some more squirrels and rabbits, and in the excitement of the chase that subject, for the time being, was forgotten. they had brought a lunch with them, and at noon they found a convenient spot and there built a small campfire, over which they made themselves a can of hot chocolate, and this, with some sandwiches and some doughnuts, constituted the repast. andy wanted to take time to clean a couple of the squirrels and cook them, but jack and the others were afraid this would take too long, and so the idea had to be abandoned. "gee! but this tramping through the woods gives a fellow an appetite!" cried andy, after he had eaten his second sandwich and his third doughnut. "i could eat a whole rabbit or a squirrel myself." and then, feeling in fine fettle, he proceeded to pull himself up on a near-by tree limb and "skin the cat," as it is called by acrobatic boys. "you look out, young man, that you don't tumble down on your head," warned jack. "this ground around here is frozen pretty hard." "if i tumble, i know where i'll land," cried andy gleefully; and, swinging himself back and forth on the tree limb, he suddenly let go and came down straight on jack's shoulders. both went down in the snow, and there rolled over and over, each trying to get the better of the other. then fred commenced to snowball the fallen pair, and randy joined in; and a moment later there began a snowball fight on the part of all four which lasted about ten minutes. "cease firing!" cried fred at last, as he dug some of the snow out of his left ear. "if this is going to be a snowballing contest, all right; but i thought we were out to do some hunting." "fred surrenders, and the war is over!" cried jack. "hoist the milk-blue flag and call it off!" burst out andy gleefully. "throw the snowballs into the ice-cream freezer and season to taste!" after that the four young hunters packed up their belongings and saw to it that the campfire was completely extinguished. then they continued on their tramp in the vicinity of the rick rack river. "i'm getting tired of hanging around this watercourse," said fred finally. "i believe the reports of our guns have driven all the remaining game away. why can't we strike off into the woods yonder and come in on the other side of haven point?" they noted the position of the sun with care, and then struck off at right angles to the river. soon they found themselves going up hill and presently struck a lumberman's trail leading down in the direction of the town. here, however, after two hours of hunting, they failed to find any game whatever. "we didn't improve things by coming over here," grumbled andy. "now i guess we had better be thinking of getting back to the school," said jack, as he consulted his watch. they had been told that they must return in time for the evening meal. "all right, i'm ready to go," came from fred. "gosh! i wish i had a horse to ride, or something." the many miles of tramping had wearied him greatly. "my left foot is beginning to hurt me a little," put in randy. "i slipped on the rocks this morning when we were carrying that old uncle barney. i didn't think much of it at the time, but now it's growing quite lame." "you can walk on it, can't you?" questioned jack anxiously. "oh, yes, i can walk; but i can't go any too fast--or any too far, either." the boys had done their best to keep track of where they were going, and now they turned in what they thought was the direction of haven point. but, as my young readers may have heard, it is an easy matter to lose one's sense of direction in the woods, and before they knew it, they found themselves in a locality that was entirely strange to them. "we don't seem to be getting much closer to town," announced fred presently. "i don't see a farmhouse of any sort in sight." they had gone but a short distance when they stirred up several more rabbits, and had the pleasure of bringing two of the creatures down. then they came to a small clearing, and beyond this some farm fields. "now we must be getting to somewhere," announced randy; and a few minutes later a turn of the road brought them in sight of a farmhouse. here they saw a farmer coming from a cowshed with a pail of foaming milk, and accosted him. "sure, you're on the road to haven point," answered the farmer, in reply to their question. "it's about two miles and a half from here. but do you want to go to the point or to colby hall?" he went on, noticing their uniforms. "we want to get to the hall--and by as short a route as possible," answered jack. "then the best thing you lads can do is to come right through my lane here and go across the back field. then you will come out on the road that runs from the hall to carwell. i guess you know that?" "oh, yes; we know that road," returned randy. the cadets thanked the farmer for his information, and lost no time in following his directions. soon they came out on the other highway, and then started forward as rapidly as their somewhat weary legs would permit. when they reached the vicinity of colby hall jack found, by again consulting his watch, that they were almost three-quarters of an hour late. "let's see if we can't slide in without any of the teachers seeing us," suggested andy. "oh, i don't know that we've got to do that, andy," returned jack. "we haven't done anything wrong." "well, we are late, and you know some of the teachers won't stand for that." "we had permission to go hunting, and we couldn't help it getting lost up there in the woods," answered his twin. they were just about to enter one of the side doors of the hall, when it was flung open and they found themselves confronted by one of the younger teachers, accompanied by professor lemm. they stepped to one side to let the teachers pass. "yes, as i remarked before, tompkins, unless you have strict discipline in that class----" asa lemm was saying, when, of a sudden, he happened to glance at the cadets and recognized the rovers. "what are you doing here? where have you been?" he demanded, coming to an abrupt halt. "we've been out hunting, sir," answered jack. "hunting, eh?" and as was usual with him, asa lemm drew down the corners of his mouth. "we had permission from colonel colby to go," put in randy. "ah, well, in that case----" asa lemm paused for a moment. "did he say you could stay out as late as this?" he added suddenly. "we had permission to stay out until supper time," answered jack. "don't you know it is an hour after that time now, rover?" "three-quarters of an hour, professor. we might have been on time, only my cousin here slipped on the rocks and hurt his ankle, and that has delayed us a little." "humph! always some excuse! you boys have got to learn to be on time. you'll never get through life unless you are punctual. i shall mention the fact of your being late to colonel colby. now go in at once, and if you are too late to get anything to eat, it will be your own fault;" and thus speaking, asa lemm moved on with the other teacher. "oh, but he's the sourest old lemon that ever grew!" was andy's comment. "you never said anything truer than that, andy," answered his twin. chapter vii an unexpected meeting "say, fellows, did you ever hear this song?" it was ned lowe who spoke. he sat in one of the rooms belonging to the rovers. on his knee rested a mandolin which he had been strumming furiously for the past ten minutes. "sure we've heard it, ned!" cried andy. "what is it?" "for gracious sake, ned! why don't you let up?" cried fred, who was in the next room trying his best to study. "how in the world is a fellow going to do an example in algebra with you singing about good times on the old plantation?" "that is right, ned. why don't you sing about good times in the classroom when asa lemm is there?" "gee christopher! what's the use of your throwing cold water on this camp meeting?" came from walt baxter, who sat on the edge of the bed munching an apple. "really, it's a shame the way you young gentlemen attempt to choke off ned's efforts to please this congregation!" exclaimed spouter powell, who sat in an easy chair with his feet resting on the edge of a chiffonier. "now, when a man's soul is overflowing with harmony, and beautiful thoughts are coursing through his cranium, and he is doing his utmost to bring pleasure----" "wow! spouter is at it again! somebody choke him off!" cried randy, and catching up a pillow, he threw it at the head of the cadet who loved to make long speeches. "say, fellows, why won't some of you let me get a word in edgeways?" came from dan soppinger, who stood with his back against the door leading to the hall. "i've been wanting to ask you a question for the last ten minutes. who of you can tell me the names of the fifth, tenth, and fifteenth presidents of our country?" "oh, baby!" wailed andy, throwing up his hands in comic despair. "dan is worse than either spouter or ned." "i thought you were going to put a padlock on that question box of yours, dan," remarked fred. "i'll bet there isn't one of you can answer my question," retorted dan soppinger. "sure! i can answer it!" returned andy readily. "what was that question? who was the first laundryman in chicago?" "no; i said, who were the fifth, the tenth, and the fifteenth----" "oh! i remember now--the fifth, tenth and fifteenth discoverers of the north pole. that's easy, dan. the fifth was julius cæsar, the tenth, benjamin frank----" "see here! i didn't say a word about the north pole discoverers!" ejaculated the human question box. "i said the fifth, tenth and fifteenth----" "men to find out how to manufacture oleomargarine out of pure butter," finished andy. "now that's a purely scientific problem, dan, not an ordinary question. you want to take three pounds of oleomargarine and divide them by two pounds of unadulterated butter, then----" "for gracious sake! has that boy gone crazy?" cried dan soppinger in despair. "i come over here and ask an ordinary question in history----" "how do we know it's an ordinary question in history?" broke in randy. "the five, ten and fifteen sounds like a problem in higher arithmetic." "say, dan, just forgive me for what i said, and i'll send you the answer day after yesterday on a postal card," announced andy mournfully. "and i'll prepay the postage, too. now, be a good boy, son, and run along, and maybe some time papa will buy you a lemon stick," and at this remark there was a general laugh, in the midst of which dan soppinger threw up his hands, turned and left the room. it was several days after the hunting expedition, and the rover boys had settled down once more to their studies. this was the off hour in the evening, and, as was usual, a number of their friends had dropped in to see them. "only three weeks more to the winter holidays," announced gif presently. "what are you fellows going to do with yours?" "we haven't decided yet, gif, any further than that we're going home," answered jack. "if you feel like it, you had better come and pay me a visit. i know my folks would be only too glad to have you." "and we'd be glad to have you come down to new york and stay with us, gif," was the reply. during the days that had gone by since the hunt, the rover boys had had several little differences with professor lemm. the teacher had spoken to colonel colby about their coming in late, but the master of the hall had passed this matter over as being of no importance, somewhat to asa lemm's chagrin. "oh, how i love that man!" had been andy's comment. the weather had remained clear, but on thursday of that week came another fall of snow, and by friday this was in good condition for sleighing. "i wonder if we can't get up a sleighing party for saturday afternoon and take out some of the girls from clearwater hall?" said jack. "we ought to be able to get some sort of box-sled down at the haven point livery stable," answered randy. "suppose we call the liveryman up on the 'phone and see what he has to say, and then call up the girls?" this was done without delay, and, as a result, it was arranged that the liveryman should call at the school early saturday afternoon for the four boys and some of their chums, bringing with him a large box-sled drawn by four horses. then the boys were to get the girls, and all were to take a ride until the supper hour. it was arranged that the four rovers should go on the ride, and also spouter powell, gif garrison, fatty hendry, and some others. "of course, fatty, we really ought to make you pay double price," remarked andy to the fat boy, when the arrangements were being made. "nothing doing," grunted fatty. "i don't weigh a bit more than spouter or gif." "oh, no, not at all--only about sixty pounds more!" remarked gif. some of the girls attending clearwater hall had stated that they wished to do a little shopping in haven point before going on the ride, and so all had promised to meet the boys in front of the moving picture theater, which was a resort well-known to all of them. "now if the weather only remains good, we ought to have a peach of a time," announced randy, after all the arrangements had been settled. the weather remained good, and promptly on time the liveryman drove up to the entrance of the hall with his big box-sled, which he had filled with straw and robes. into the sled piled the boys, fatty hendry perching himself up on the front seat beside the driver. some of the lads had provided themselves with tin horns, and they set off on the trip with a grand flourish, a number of the cadets left behind gazing after them wistfully. but these lads were not utterly disconsolate, for the reason that skating and coasting were now both very good around the school. the horses pulling the box-sled were fine animals, and in a short space of time they jangled merrily into haven point, the boys blowing their horns loudly to attract attention. in the meantime, ruth stevenson and may powell, accompanied by alice strobell, annie larkins, and some of their chums from clearwater hall, had arrived in the town and gone to several of the stores on various errands. then, a few minutes before the time appointed for meeting the cadets, they hurried over in the direction of the moving picture theater. several of the girls went into a drugstore close to the theater, leaving ruth and may standing on the sidewalk, looking at the various gaudy billboards which were displayed there. the girls were discussing the picture of a well-known moving-picture actress, when suddenly ruth felt some one touch her arm. turning, she found herself confronted by a tall, heavy-set youth, rather loudly dressed, and accompanied by another boy, wearing a fur cap and fur-lined overcoat. "excuse me, but this is miss ruth stevenson, i believe?" said the big youth, with a broad smile on his coarse face. ruth was not at all pleased by being thus addressed, for she had recognized the fellow as slugger brown, and also recognized nappy martell. nappy raised his cap and bowed pleasantly, both to her and to may. "we just got back to haven point," said slugger brown smoothly. "been away a short while, you know." "and we thought we would go into the movies before going back to school," put in nappy martell. "were you going in, too? if you were, let's go in together. i'll get the tickets," and he opened his coat to thrust his fingers into his vest pocket and bring forth a small roll of bills. "thank you, we are not going into the theater," answered may stiffly. she did not like either slugger or nappy, and was sorry the pair had shown themselves. "how about it?" broke out slugger, taking hold of ruth's arm in a decidedly familiar way. "let's go in. you've got time enough." "thank you, but we have something else to do, mr. brown," responded ruth icily. "you can't do much outside on a cold day like this," went on the bully. "come on in--i'm sure it's nice and warm in there, and they've got some dandy pictures. come ahead." "sure!" broke out nappy. "i'll get the tickets," and he took several steps toward the ticket booth. "thank you, but i said i didn't want to go with you," said may, quite loudly and with flashing eyes. "we pick our company when we go anywhere," added ruth, giving slugger brown a look which would almost have annihilated any ordinary boy. but the bully was proof against anything of that sort. "oh, you needn't get on your high horse about it, ruth stevenson," he sneered. "some day maybe you'll be glad to go to a show with me." "if you won't go, i guess there are other girls just as good, and maybe better," added nappy martell, not knowing what else to say. it was at this moment that the big box-sled containing the cadets hove into sight. with a flourish, the driver drew up to the curb with the boys tooting loudly on their tin horns, but this salute came to a sudden end when the lads caught sight of their former schoolmates. "look who's here, will you!" ejaculated randy. "slugger brown and nappy martell," murmured fred. "say, they are talking to ruth and may!" broke in andy. to all this jack said nothing. but he lost no time in leaping to the pavement and walking up to the girls, who came forward to greet him. "oh, i'm so glad you got here!" exclaimed ruth in a low voice, and she looked at jack appealingly and then let her eyes rove in the direction of the bully and his crony. "those boys are just too horrid for anything!" murmured may, by way of explanation. "what did they do?" demanded spouter of his cousin, he having quickly followed jack from the sled. "they almost insisted upon it that we accompany them into the movies!" "why, they hardly know you!" "that's true, dick. and i think it was awful of them, the way they came up." "that brown boy caught me by the arm, and he had no right to do that," said ruth to jack. "i don't want a thing to do with him." "you get into the sled, girls, and we'll tend to brown and martell," announced spouter, and the tone of his voice showed his anger. the girls did as bidden, being assisted by the others; and, in the meantime the remaining girls came from the store and also got into the sled. spouter and jack strode across the pavement, and caught slugger brown and nappy martell just as they were on the point of dropping their tickets into the ticket box. "come here a minute. i want to talk to you," said spouter, catching martell by the arm. "and i want to talk to you," added jack, as he detained slugger brown. "i won't talk to you," retorted nappy martell, and tried to pass. "yes, you will!" answered spouter. "you listen to me, nappy! after this you leave my cousin, may powell, alone. if you don't, you'll have an account to settle with me." "and you leave both of those girls alone!" said jack to slugger brown. "miss stevenson doesn't want anything to do with you. now, you mind what i'm telling you, or you'll get into trouble the first thing you return to the hall!" "oh, say, rover, you make me tired!" sneered the bully, glaring at jack. "i'm not going to try to take your girl away from you. there are plenty of better girls around haven point. you go about your business and leave me alone;" and, thus speaking, slugger brown passed into the moving-picture theater, followed a moment later by nappy martell. the two others watched them out of sight, and then looked at each other knowingly. "one fine pair, believe me!" was spouter's comment. "i'm mighty sorry colonel colby allowed them to return to the hall," answered jack. "i'm afraid it spells just one thing--trouble!" chapter viii the sleighing party "what did you say to those horrid young men?" asked may, after jack and spouter had returned to the box-sled and the driver had picked up the reins and started through the main street of haven point. "oh, we told them to mind their own business after this," answered jack. "and if they don't, you let me know, and we'll attend to them," said spouter to his cousin. "it's too bad, jack, they came back to colby hall," remarked ruth. "right you are! but colonel colby wanted to give them another chance. he asked us about it, and we didn't want to stand in the way of slugger and nappy turning over a new leaf." "hi there--somebody start a song!" cried andy, who caught a few words of what was said, and thought the occasion was getting too serious. "that's the talk!" exclaimed alice strobell. "what shall we sing?" questioned annie larkins. "oh, sing something that we all know," came from jennie mason. she, too, had seen slugger and nappy, but had refused to recognize them, remembering well the trouble she and ida brierley had had with the pair when all had gone out on the lake in a motor-boat, the particulars of which were given in the volume preceding this. soon the happy young folks were singing one familiar song after another and shouting and tooting the tin horns in great glee. in the meanwhile the turnout had left the vicinity of haven point, and was moving swiftly along in the direction of one of the neighboring towns. "oh, isn't this too lovely for anything!" exclaimed may, as one of the songs came to an end. "i never felt better in my life." "if i felt any better, i'd have to call in the doctor," announced andy with a sudden sober look on his face, and at this little sally all the girls giggled. they were soon passing close to a stone wall, and from this some of the boys scooped handfuls of snow with which they began to pelt each other. then they attempted to wash the faces of some of the girls, and a great commotion ensued. "hi you! be careful back there!" cautioned the driver. "first thing you know, somebody will get pushed out." "oh, that will never happen!" cried gif; but he had scarcely spoken when there came a wild yell from two of the cadets in the back of the box-sled, and the next moment randy was seen to turn over and pitch out into the snow. "stop the sleigh! stop the sleigh!" yelled andy. "one man overboard, and no life-line handy!" "oh, dear! do you think he is hurt?" questioned may anxiously. "he looks it!" answered her cousin. "look out, or you'll get hit;" for scarcely had randy landed in the snow than he picked himself up and began to make snowballs, which he sent after the sled in rapid succession. in the meantime, the driver had brought the turnout to a halt. "stop that, randy," warned jack. "you might hit some of the girls." "no more such horseplay," announced gif. "it's too dangerous, and, besides that, some of the girls might get hurt. you fellows have got to act like gentlemen. ahem!" and gif straightened himself up in imitation of asa lemm. "please, teacher, can't we act like ladies?" piped out andy in a thin, effeminate voice. "you'll remain after school for that, rover, and recite one hundred lines of cæsar backward," commanded gif. "you bet your pink necktie, i'll be backward about reciting the hundred lines!" murmured the fun-loving boy. the cadets had already arranged it between themselves to stop at a town about twelve miles away. there all hands trooped into a candy store to regale themselves with dainty sandwiches and hot chocolate. some of the boys also obtained boxes of candy, and also some popcorn and peanuts, as well as apples, and these were passed around. so far, jack had had no opportunity to speak to ruth in private, but while the others were still at the little tables in the rear of the candy shop, he motioned to her, and the pair walked toward the front. "i want to ask you about the man we rescued in the woods, ruth," he said. "probably you know him. his name is stevenson, although he said he was usually called uncle barney by all who knew him." "why, can that be possible!" exclaimed the girl in astonishment. "uncle barney stevenson! why didn't you tell me this before?" "i'll tell you why," he answered. "i was afraid that possibly it might create some sort of scene. by the way this barney stevenson acted, i knew there was something wrong between him and your folks. when i mentioned your father's name, he said he didn't want to hear anything about him--not a word!" "poor old man! i am so sorry for him;" and ruth's manner showed that she spoke the truth. "why doesn't he want to hear from your father? but, excuse me, ruth--maybe that is a private matter." "i don't know that it is so very private, jack. and, anyway, i'd like you to know the truth,--otherwise you might get a wrong impression--if you heard the story from outsiders. in a nutshell, the matter is this: some years ago my father and his uncle barney were connected with a certain manufacturing company in which both held a considerable interest. the company went to pieces, and my father and uncle barney both lost their money. but my father had other interests which were distantly connected with this company, and in some manner poor old uncle barney, who was not much of a business man even though he was a lumberman, got it into his head that my father had, in some manner, gotten the best of him, because my father had money and he had not. then, in the midst of this trouble, uncle barney's wife died. my father was away in the west at the time with my mother, and could not get back in time for the funeral. this made uncle barney more bitter than ever, and he refused to listen to any explanations my folks might make. he had made some sort of deal to get possession of snowshoe island in lake monona, and he retired to the island and became almost a hermit." "yes, he told us he lived on the island, and he invited us to come over there, and he would show us some good hunting. i suppose it must be quite a place." "my father has tried several times to patch up matters with old uncle barney, but he will not listen to any explanations. he is rather queer at times, and i suppose he has it strongly fixed in his mind that my father is in some manner responsible for his poverty, and that we think ourselves too high-toned to have anything to do with him, when, as a matter of fact, my folks would be very much pleased to have the old man become friends and live with them." "why doesn't your father send him a letter if he won't listen to his talk?" "he has tried that. and mother has written old uncle barney some letters, too, during the last six or eight years. but he is very peculiar, and the letters come back unopened." "and you really feel that you would like to be on good terms with him?" "yes, jack. my folks would give a good deal to smooth the whole matter over. but, instead of becoming reconciled to the situation, old uncle barney apparently is becoming more bitter as time goes by." "if you and your folks feel that way about it, i'd like very much to meet the old man again and have a talk with him. of course, he told me that he never wanted to hear your father's name mentioned; but if i got a good chance i might be able to get him to open up and tell me his side of the story. and after he had done that, he might be more willing to listen to what i had to say." "oh, jack! if you ever do get the chance, try to talk to him, by all means, and do what you can to impress it on his mind that my father had nothing to do with the loss of his money, and that my folks would have gone to mrs. stevenson's funeral had they been able to do so. and tell him, too, that my father and my mother, and also myself, would be very glad to become friends once more, and that our house will be open to him at any time." the others of the sleighing party were now coming up, so there was no chance of saying anything further regarding the strange affair. "let's return to haven point by some other route," suggested spouter. "we'll have to ask the driver about the roads first," said gif. the driver had gone out to look after his horses. when questioned, he stated that they might return by a roundabout way through the village of neckbury, but that it might take half an hour or so longer. "oh, i guess we've got time enough," said fred, consulting his watch. "the girls haven't got to get back to clearwater hall until supper time, and we can get from one school to the other in a jiffy in the sleigh." the liveryman was anxious to please the boys and girls, being desirous of getting more business from them in the future, and he readily agreed to take them home by the way of neckbury, and he also agreed to get them back by the required time. once more all bundled into the turnout, and then, with a crack of the whip and a loud tooting of the horns, they started on the return. "another song now!" cried andy, and commenced one of the ditties which at that time was popular at colby hall. in this the girls joined, most of them having heard it; and thus the crowd continued to enjoy themselves. so far, they had met but few turnouts on the road, but now they found that the other route toward haven point was more popular, and they passed several farm sleds, and also a number of cutters, and even two automobiles, the latter ploughing along through the snow, using their heavy chains for that purpose. they were soon mounting a small hill, and the driver allowed the horses to drop to a walk. from the top of the hill they could see for many miles around, with farms dotting one side of the roadway and the other sloping down gradually toward the distant lake. "i'm afraid we're going to be a little late, after all," announced gif, as he looked at his timepiece. "you'll have to shake it up a bit, old man," he added to the driver. "oh, i'll get you there in time--don't worry," was the ready reply, and then the driver cracked his whip and sent his horses down the other side of the hill at a good rate of speed. about half way down the long hill there was a turn to the right. here, on the outer edge of the road, was a gully which the wind of the day previous had partly filled with snow. just before this bend was gained, those in the box-sled heard the toot of an automobile horn. "somebody coming up the hill," said fatty hendry, who had resumed his seat beside the driver. "confound 'em! and i've got to take the outside of the turn," muttered the liveryman. "better be careful--it's none too wide along here," cautioned the fat youth. the driver was already reining in his steeds, but the slope was considerable, and it was hard to hold them back. the box-sled struck the rear horses in the flanks, and away they went as fast as ever, crowding the horses in front and urging them onward also. then the on-coming automobile hove in sight, and passed so closely that the driver of the box-sled had to pull still further over to the edge of the highway. "look out where you're going!" yelled jack. "i told you to be careful----" commenced fatty, and then clutched at the high seat of the box-sled. there was a wild scream of alarm and a general confusion among all the young people as the back end of the box-sled slewed around. one corner went down into the gully, and an instant later the box-sled stood up on its side, and girls and cadets went floundering forth into the snow. chapter ix a mishap on the road "gracious! where are we going?" "get off my head, randy!" "say, spouter, don't sit down on ruth that way!" "hi! stop the horses, somebody!" screamed fred, and then he leaped up and clung to the partly overturned box-sled, while gif and another cadet did the same. the driver had sensed the coming of the accident, and when the box-sled went over to one side, he had leaped to the other. now he was standing in the snow with the reins still in his hands and doing his best to quiet the somewhat frightened steeds, which were plunging into each other in anything but an orderly fashion. down in the gully the girls and the cadets were having an exciting time of it. some of the party had plunged almost head first into the snow. "come on, boys, help the girls all you can!" came from jack, as he managed, though not without considerable effort, to bring ruth to her feet. fred and randy were already assisting may to arise, and soon the other girls and boys were doing what they could to scramble through the deep snow toward the highway. here there was a slippery slope of several feet. jack was the first boy up, and randy came behind him. then, while the two rovers, assisted by spouter, held fast to each other, they pulled up one girl after another. in the meanwhile, the other cadets made something of a chain, and soon all stood at the spot where the box-sled had overturned. "all here?" queried gif. "i guess so," answered spouter, knocking some snow from his cap. the driver of the box-sled, assisted by several of the cadets, had managed to quiet the horses, some of which were inclined to bolt. the box-sled was all right, and the boys picked up what they could of the dry straw, and also shook out and replaced the robes. "oh, my, what a dreadful experience!" remarked annie larkins. "oh, i don't know that it was so very dreadful," returned ruth. "no one was hurt." "but we might have been," added jennie mason. "oh, i thought it was fun," laughed ruth. "it was the fault of that auto," grumbled the liveryman, thinking he had to defend himself. "he crowded me too close to the edge of the gully." "that's just what he did!" cried fatty. "the fellow who was driving that car ought to be arrested." "did you get his number, fatty?" questioned fred. "get his number? i didn't have time to get anything. he just slid by, and the next thing i knew, i was turning a somersault in the air and diving right down into the bottom of that hole;" and at this remark the other cadets had to smile. the cadets assisted the girls back into the box-sled, and then they moved off once more, jack and gif both cautioning the driver to be careful. now that the danger was past, the young folks soon recovered from their scare, and then, to put all in a better humor, andy started another school song, in which all joined lustily. thus they soon rolled into town, and a little later came up to the entrance of the clearwater grounds. "i've had a perfectly splendid time, in spite of that little mishap," declared ruth, as she bid jack good-bye. "we couldn't have had a nicer afternoon," said may. "you can come around with your box-sled just as often as you please;" and she smiled mischievously, in a way that set fred's heart to bounding. as it was growing late, the boys had scant time in which to bid the girls good-bye. soon they were on the way to colby hall, and they told the driver to hurry as much as possible. "if we're late and asa lemm finds it out, he'll certainly punish us in some way," was randy's comment. "well, we're in luck for once," announced gif. "i heard old lemon say that he was going away right after lunch and wouldn't be back until to-morrow." "it seems to me he has been spending quite some time away lately," remarked spouter. "not but what i'm perfectly willing that he should absent himself at every possible opportunity. the institution of learning can very well dispense with the services of such an individual as professor asa lemm." "a little long-winded, spouter, but you hit the nail on the head," answered fred. "old lemon could quit for good, and i doubt if any of us would shed a tear." although the cadets were half an hour late, neither colonel colby nor any of the professors who saw them found any fault, and for this they were thankful. as soon as he had an opportunity to do so, jack told his cousins about what ruth had said regarding old barney stevenson. they listened to his recital with keen interest. "he certainly must be a queer stick," was randy's comment. "just the same, i'd like to go to snowshoe island and visit him." "yes, and try the hunting around that neighborhood," added fred. "according to what that bill hobson said, uncle barney, as they call him, must be quite a hunter, as well as a lumberman." "i'd like to have the chance to talk with him," resumed jack. "from the way ruth spoke, i'm quite sure her folks are very much put out over the way he is acting." "i'll tell you what!" put in andy, "we're going to have an extra long christmas holiday, and we might get a chance to go over to snowshoe island hunting at that time." "how do you know the holiday is going to be extra long?" queried fred. "i heard professor brice saying so. it seems they have got to fix some part of the heating plant, which is pretty well worn out, and the furnace man said it would take longer than at first expected. so, instead of closing up for ten days or two weeks at christmas, they are going to shut down for about three weeks." "three weeks! that will give us a nice holiday at home and give us a chance for an outing in the bargain," cried jack. late that evening slugger brown and nappy martell put in an appearance and were closeted with colonel colby for the best part of half an hour. what was said by the master of colby hall the other cadets did not learn, but the two new arrivals looked exceedingly meek when they went up to their former rooms. on the following day they met the rovers, but paid no attention whatever to them. "maybe they are going to give us the cold shoulder," remarked fred. "well, that won't hurt me," answered jack. several days went by, and the rover boys applied themselves closely to their studies, realizing that before long the examinations previous, to the christmas holidays would take place. they did very well in their recitations, and got along nicely with all the professors except asa lemm. "there is no use of talking--i can't get along with that man!" said andy one afternoon. he was almost in despair. "if i hadn't just shut my mouth hard when old lemon lectured me, there would have been an explosion, and i'd have told him just exactly what i think of him--and it wouldn't have been anything that he would want to hear." "gif was telling me that lemm is getting more and more anxious about some of that money he lost years ago." "maybe he thought he saw a chance of getting it back, and now it is slipping away from him again, and that is making him more sour than ever," suggested randy. "i don't care what is making him so sour--he needn't take it out of me," retorted his twin. there had been another slight fall of snow, and on thursday afternoon the cadets of colby hall organized a grand snowball match. a fort was built on the top of a little hill in the vicinity, and one crowd of cadets defended this, while the others made an attack. the school flag was hoisted over the fort, and the battle raged furiously for over an hour. major ralph mason was in charge of the fort defenders, while the rover boys, along with half of the school cadets, composed the attacking party. the fort was captured only after a terrific bombardment with snowballs, and it was jack who had the pleasure of hauling down the flag. "some fight that!" remarked fred, after the contest was over. "almost like a real battle," said randy. "just look at my left ear, will you?" and he pointed to that member, which was much swollen. "got hit there twice--with regular soakers, too." "well, that's part of the game, randy," remarked jack. he had been hit half a dozen times, but had not minded it in the least. on the following afternoon the rover boys visited a long hill in that vicinity, which a number of the cadets were using for coasting purposes. with money sent to them by jack's father, they had purchased a fine bobsled, and on this they took numerous rides, along with several of their chums. there were two ways of going down the hill. one was in the direction of haven point, and the other wound around a second smaller hill and ended in the pasture lot of an old farmer. this farmer was an irishman named mike o'toole, a pleasant enough individual, who had often given the boys rides on his farm wagon, and who was not averse to selling them fruit, and also milk, when they desired it. he was such a good-natured old man that very few of the cadets ever thought to molest his orchard. "say, i've got an idea!" cried andy suddenly, when he and the other rovers were riding down into o'toole's pasture. "let's go down and have a look at the old man's goats," and he winked knowingly at his twin. o'toole had once lived in the city, and there had been the proud possessor of several goats, which he had used in one of the public parks, where they were attached to little wagons in which the children could ride for ten cents per person. o'toole had brought his goats to the farm with him, and treated them with as much affection as if they were members of his family. "what have you go up your sleeve, andy?" questioned fred, as they got off the bobsled and dragged it behind them toward mike o'toole's house. the old irish farmer and his wife lived alone, having no children and no hired help. "oh, i thought we might hire a goat or two to pull the bobsled," was the easy answer. "to pull the bobsled?" "to be sure. if those goats can pull wagons, they can certainly pull sleds, too. then, i thought if we could get the goats to pull us all the way to colby hall, it wouldn't be any more than fair to take the goats in out of the cold and treat 'em nicely." "oh, i see!" cried randy, who was listening to his twin's talk. "for instance, we might take the goats into the hall and up to professor lemm's room, eh?" "you've caught the idea, randy. what do you think of it?" "fine! couldn't be better!" chuckled the other. "what's this talk about taking o'toole's goats to colby hall?" demanded jack. "oh, we were thinking professor lemm would like to see the goats." the oldest rover boy looked stern for an instant, but then his mouth relaxed and he broke into a broad grin. "of course, we'll have to be careful how we get the goats into the hall," he began. "hurrah! i knew it would hit you just right, jack!" cried andy, slapping his cousin on the shoulder. "just you wait--we'll make old lemon sit up and take notice this time!" "but mum's the word--remember that," cautioned randy. "if he ever caught us, well--good-night!" chapter x something about two goats the four rover boys were almost up to mike o'toole's place when suddenly jack caught andy by the shoulder. "wait a minute!" he exclaimed. "what's wrong now?" demanded the fun-loving youth. "i've just been thinking, andy. if we take those goats into the hall and get into any kind of trouble, professor lemm will find it an easy matter to learn who got the goats from o'toole." "that's right, too!" broke in fred, in dismay. "maybe we can get the goats on the sly," suggested randy. "i think that would be the better way to do it," answered jack. "we can leave a note behind, stating that the goats will be returned, and we can also pay o'toole something for using his animals." the boys talked the matter over for several minutes, and then it was decided that andy and randy should go ahead and reconnoitre. this they did, and were gone for about ten minutes. "the coast is clear so far as we can see," announced randy. "mike o'toole and his wife are both in the kitchen of the farmhouse preparing supper. "and where are the goats?" questioned fred quickly. "he keeps them in a little shed off of his barn. come on, i'll show you," returned randy. the other cadets followed him, and they soon reached the place he had mentioned. here o'toole kept six goats, and they were found finishing up some food he had evidently given them a short while before. two of the billy goats were quite large, one possessing a very fine pair of horns. this one, the boys knew, was called patrick. the other large goat went by the name of dan. "here is the harness," said andy, bringing it from some pegs on which it was hanging. "we'll have to do the best we can about hitching 'em up." while the others were doing this, jack tore a page from a notebook he carried, and on this, in a large, disguised hand, he wrote the following: "dear mr o'toole: "we have taken the privilege of using two of your goats until to-morrow. they will be safely returned to you." "i think we ought to pay him for the use of the animals," said jack. "a little money will make him feel a great deal better." "let's pin two dollars to the note," suggested fred, and this was done by jack and the note placed where the irish farmer would be sure to find it when he came again to tend to his animals. it was an easy matter for the four boys to get the goats out of the shed, and then they led them to a spot behind some trees where the animals were hitched to the bobsled. soon they started on the way to colby hall. "now that we've got possession of the goats, how do you fellows expect to work this stunt?" demanded fred, as they brought the two goats down to a walk. "i'll tell you one thing," declared jack. "if you want to play this trick without the whole school knowing it, you had better reach colby hall by the lane that comes up behind the barn." "just what i was thinking of doing," answered andy. "i thought maybe we could stable them in that little toolhouse in the cornfield until we had a chance to get 'em into the hall." "that's the talk!" cried randy. "of course, we'll have to watch our chance, and not make a mess of it." the two billy goats had often been harnessed together, so they got along quite amiably on the trip to the military academy. they were strong animals, and consequently the boys reached the field behind the barn in ample time to unhitch the goats and place them in the toolhouse that had been mentioned. then they hurried around to the garage, where they were allowed to store their bobsled, and after that lost no time in getting ready for the evening parade and drill. directly after supper was over, the rovers took spouter, gif and fatty hendry aside and told them of what was in the wind. "oh, say! that's great!" cried fatty. "let me have a hand in it, won't you?" he had had a quarrel with asa lemm a few days before, and was as sore as any of the other cadets. "you ought to let us all have a hand in that, andy," put in spouter. "i believe every one of us feels the same way when it comes to old lemon. he may have a vast amount of learning stored in his cranium, but his font of the milk of human kindness is completely dried up. were he to realize, or have the least conception----" "cut it, spouter!" interposed gif. "we agree with you--asa lemm is the lemon of all lemons, and i for one would like to teach him some kind of lesson." the matter was talked over for some time, and, as a result, a number of other cadets, including walt baxter, ned lowe and dan soppinger, were let into the secret. "some of you will have to keep tab on lemm while others see if the coast is clear during the time we are trying to get the goats upstairs," announced randy. "i don't think we'll have an easy time getting two animals to old lemon's room," remarked fred. "however, we'll get 'em up there somehow!" dan soppinger was detailed to locate and watch asa lemm, and he soon came back and reported that the professor was sitting in a corner of the school library, making notes from several volumes. "well, you watch him, dan," said jack, "and if he starts to come upstairs, you let us know at once;" and to this soppinger agreed. after the supper hour, the cadets had their usual studying to do, and then came another hour for recreation previous to retiring. "now is our time," said andy, as he threw aside his books and leaped to his feet. "come on! everybody on the job!" the lads had already figured out how they expected to get the goats up to asa lemm's room. in the extreme rear of the school building was located an outside fire-escape leading from the third and second floors to the ground. at each floor there was a large doorway with a bolt on the inside. in order to induce the goats to mount the steps of the fire-escape, the boys had provided themselves with some vegetables purloined from the kitchen storeroom. leaving the others to watch on the fire-escape and in the upper hallway of the school, the rovers went out to the toolhouse and released the two goats. "now then, patrick and dan, be good!" said randy, patting the animals on the neck. and then he handed each of them a small carrot. with more vegetables displayed close in front of them, the two billy goats mounted the fire-escape quite nimbly, being rewarded with something more to eat when they stood on the landing in front of the door leading into the upper hallway. "now if they only don't take it into their heads to let out a loud 'ba' when they get into the hall!" said fred anxiously. "we'll feed them something," returned jack. "that will be sure to keep them quiet," and he passed over some bits of celery he had in his pocket. a cautious rap on the iron door, and it was unbolted by walt baxter, who had been assigned to that duty. "how about it--is the coast clear?" whispered andy anxiously. "i think so; but wait a minute and i'll make sure," whispered walt in return. soon he came back with word from fatty and ned that the rear hall of the school was practically deserted. ned had already tried several keys in the door to asa lemm's apartment, and unlocked it. it was by sheer good luck that the boys managed unobserved to get the two goats into the school through two hallways and at last into the room of the hated professor. on one side of the professor's bedroom there was a large clothing closet, and in this the two goats were placed. "now we'll take off their harness," said jack. "there is no use in getting that snarled up or damaged." "i'm going to fix up some new harness for them," announced randy. "come on, andy." his twin understood, and while the others remained on guard in the hallway, randy and andy lost no time in decorating the two goats with various articles of professor lemm's wearing apparel. they buttoned a coat around each goat like a blanket, and got a bright green sweater over one goat's head and around his neck. then they found a number of used neckties in a chiffonier, and these were tied on the goat's legs and horns. "they sure do look like some goats now!" cried andy gaily. then the animals were shoved back into the closet and the door closed. "is the coast still clear?" asked randy, as they came out of the bedroom. "it is. but i don't think lemm will stay downstairs much longer," answered jack. "will you fellows come down again? i've got another idea!" burst out randy. "come on--quick!" not knowing what was in the wind, the others followed him through the hallway and down the fire-escape once more. then he led them to a place behind the garage. here were a number of flat boxes, which, in the springtime, had been used for raising plants. these boxes had had a small amount of water in them, and were now filled with thin sheets of ice. "let's take a few of those sheets of ice upstairs," said randy. "they'll fit in very nicely between the sheets on old lemon's bed." all of the others caught at the suggestion with avidity, and in a very few minutes each of the boys was mounting the fire-escape once again, this time with a large sheet of ice, not unlike a heavy pane of glass, under his arm. "i've got a scheme," suggested andy, with a broad grin. "we'll place three of the sheets of ice in his bed under the sheet, and the others on the floor here right in front of the door. then he'll have a chance to slide into the room." "wow! and maybe it won't be some slide!" chuckled walt baxter. the sheets of ice were soon placed in the bed and covered with some of the bedspreads, and the others were disposed on the hardwood floor directly in front of the door inside the room. then the cadets turned out the lights, locked the door as before, and hurried away. it was less than five minutes later when dan soppinger came rushing upstairs, whistling in a peculiar manner. this was a signal that danger was at hand. "he just put the books away, and he's gathering up his papers," announced dan. "i think he'll be upstairs in a few minutes more." "all right, dan, we're ready for him," announced randy. "now then, fellows, if there isn't some fun when asa lemm enters his room, then i miss my guess." the joke that was to come off seemed to be too good to keep, and as a consequence, after a hurried consultation, about a dozen other cadets were let into the secret. all watched eagerly for the coming of professor lemm, and there was a low whistle of warning went from room to room when the hated teacher was seen to be mounting the stairs. as was quite usual with him, asa lemm was not in good humor. he had been hunting up a number of references in the library without his usual success. "this job of teaching is getting worse and worse," he grumbled to himself. "it's too bad that i've got to waste my time on these boys. if i could only get back some of that money i lost, i wouldn't spend another hour over this tiresome task," and he heaved a deep sigh. the loss of his little fortune was the one great sore spot with him. he came swinging through the hall with long, rapid strides, and as he did so the rovers and their friends watched him from various doorways and side halls. they saw him unlock his door and throw it open. the next instant came a sudden yell of alarm, and then a tremendous bump. asa lemm's feet had struck the sheets of ice on the floor, and they had gone out from under him very suddenly, letting him down flat on his back. "hi! hi! what's the meaning of this?" spluttered the teacher; and then, as his hand struck the icy coldness of what was beneath him, he gave another cry. "ice! what does this mean? can the water pipes have burst and flooded the room?" not without difficulty he managed to regain his feet, and then started to walk to where he could turn on the lights. but again he slipped, and this time he came up against a small table piled high with books and sent this over with a crash. "gee! he's sure enjoying himself!" chuckled andy. "come on, fellows, let's see what all the noise is about!" exclaimed jack in a loud voice. "something dreadful must be going on in professor lemm's room." "what's the matter--is somebody getting killed?" called out randy. "it isn't a fire, is it?" broke in walt baxter, catching the cue. "sounds to me as if somebody was pulling the school down," was spouter's contribution. "everybody to the rescue!" yelled ned lowe. these cries, combined with the noise which was coming from asa lemm's apartment, caused such a commotion that soon fully a score of other cadets showed themselves in the hallway. "what's the matter?" questioned slugger brown, who had just been on the point of retiring, and who was in his pajamas and slippers. "something going on in professor lemm's room," answered nappy martell, who had been with him, and who was similarly attired. by this time professor lemm had managed to regain his feet a second time, but the broken sheets of ice were now all over the floor of his room, and just as he managed to turn on the lights he slipped once more, this time sending a chair spinning against the closet door. "it's ice--it's ice, and nothing else!" he ejaculated, as he gazed in wonder at the floor. "now, how did that come here? i don't see any broken water pipe." then, of a sudden, his face took on a dark look. "it's those boys--confound them! if i can catch them, i'll make them suffer for this!" chapter xi the joke on asa lemm "let's go in and see what's the matter with the poor man," suggested andy. "that's right--maybe he's got a fit." "something has happened to professor lemm!" yelled one of the other cadets. by this time the commotion had attracted the attention of nearly everybody in the school, and teachers and cadets came running from all directions, and even some of the hired help from the kitchen came up the back stairs, wondering what had gone wrong. then the bunch of boys, led by the rovers, suddenly threw open the door which led to asa lemm's room. it was at this instant that the astonished and bewildered professor was making his way toward the closet door. a strange thumping had reached his ears. "i knew it--it's some of those boys, and more than likely one of them got locked into the closet by his fellows. i'll soon find out who he is and make him tell me who is responsible for this outrage!" the door had been locked by randy, but the key was in it, and readily turned. then professor lemm flung the door open viciously. "you rascals, i'll teach you to play tricks on me!" he began, as in the somewhat dim light he made out what he thought were the forms of two crouching boys. then he let out a sudden yell of alarm as one of the crouching figures launched itself forward at him. the figure was that of patrick, the larger of the goats. bewildered by the confinement, and not at all liking the way in which he had been dressed up, the big billy goat hurled himself straight at the teacher. he struck asa lemm fairly and squarely in the stomach, bowling him over as if he were a tenpin. then he made another leap, and landed on the top of the bed, where he gazed around, not knowing which way to turn next. "oh my! look at what professor lemm has in his room!" piped up andy. asa lemm had rolled over and was now trying to get up, but just as he raised himself on his hands and knees, he struck some of the sliding sheets of ice, and down he went once more, this time directly in front of the other goat, which promptly proceeded to leap on top of him. "hi! get off of me, you rascal!" spluttered the professor, and thrashed around wildly. "get off of me! who are you, anyway?" and then, as he got a better sight of the animal, which at that moment leaped up on the bed beside his mate, he turned and sat up in amazement. "a goat! two goats! how did they get here?" "what do you know about this? professor lemm is keeping goats in his room!" cried jack. these and a score of other cries rent the air, while all the cadets crowded into the doorway of the room to see what was going on. in the bunch of boys were slugger brown and nappy martell, and it must be confessed that these two unworthies were enjoying the scene quite as much as anybody. "i'll fix some of you for this!" roared asa lemm, as he struggled to his feet, slipping around and clutching the end of his bed as he did so. "i'll have some of you suspended! where is colonel colby? send for colonel colby at once!" evidently patrick, the larger goat, did not like the looks of the irate teacher, who was now shaking his fists at the grinning cadets. suddenly the goat made another leap, this time striking asa lemm in the shoulder, and once more the professor went down, this time with his feet sliding directly under the bed, so that he became somewhat wedged in from his waist down. then the goat made another leap and charged toward the door to the hallway. "look out!" warned jack, and was just in time to push fred out of danger. then the goat made a rush, and the next minute came full tilt into slugger brown, sending the bully crashing into those behind him. the second goat also leaped from the bed, and made for the doorway, hitting martell as he passed. "look out for the battering-ram!" "this is only a battering goat--but it's just as bad!" yelled andy. "go it, goat! go it!" he added gleefully. both goats did "go it." they raced through the hallway, knocking down cadets right and left. one younger boy, named stowell, but who was always called codfish by the others because of his unusually broad mouth, was attacked at the head of the stairs and sent hurtling down to the bottom. "oh! oh! i'm killed! he has knocked me to pieces!" yelled codfish. with the two goats racing around the school, the excitement increased. but gradually the goats were driven by the rovers to a lower hallway, and then toward a side door, which jack and fred lost no time in opening. "get them out of here as quick as you can. we don't want them to be captured," whispered jack to his cousins. "we don't want old lemon to know they are mike o'toole's animals." "stop those goats! i don't want them to get away!" yelled asa lemm, from the upper hallway. but the goats were already outside. "oh gee! we forgot one thing--i mean several things!" gasped andy. "the goats are dressed up in old lemon's clothes!" "gracious! why didn't we think of that?" gasped randy. "we can't let 'em run away with all that stuff!" "i'll go after them and see if i can stop them," said jack. "want me to go with you?" questioned walt. "if you will, walt. maybe it will take two of us to manage the goats." and then jack and walt hurried off and the others returned to see what would happen next. fortunately for the boys who had gone after them, the goats did not run very far. jack had a few more vegetables left in his pocket, and with these in his hand he walked cautiously up to the animals, which had run down to a corner of the campus. "hurrah! i've got one of them!" cried the rover boy presently, as he caught patrick by the horns. "now, walt, see if you can hold the other, and we'll take these things off of them." now that they were once more in the open air, the goats appeared to be quite docile, and consequently the two cadets had little difficulty in disrobing them. "why don't you return the goats to o'toole while you are at it?" suggested walt, after the wearing apparel had been placed in a small bundle. "i'd do it if i had their harness, walt." "want me to go back for it?" "if you will." "all right, i'll do it. and give me that bundle. i'll smuggle it into the school somehow and watch my chance to leave it in old lemon's room." evidently the son of dan baxter was as bold as his father had ever been before him. so it was arranged, and a minute later walt disappeared into the school building. he was gone the best part of five minutes, and then came running across the school campus, carrying the goats' harness under his sweater. "gee, but they are having a peach of a time in the school," he announced. "asa lemm is quarreling with colonel colby, who came over from his rooms. he wants to have half the school arrested on account of the goats and the ice." "what did you do with the bundle?" "oh, say--that was easy! all the crowd were around old lemon and the colonel discussing the matter, so i slipped behind them and threw the bundle in the corner of lemon's room." the two rovers lost no time in placing a little of the harness on the goats--just sufficient to drive them. "now, you needn't go with me, walt, unless you want to. i can get these goats to o'toole's alone." "oh, i'd just as lief keep you company," answered the other cheerfully. urging the two goats before them, the pair made off down the hill in the direction of the o'toole farm. the animals seemed to know the way home, and kept up a brisk pace. "now then, we had better go a bit slow," announced jack, when they came in sight of the buildings. "maybe o'toole has discovered the absence of the goats, and is on the watch for us." this warning, however, was unnecessary, for the old irish farmer and his wife had retired for the night, doing this without being aware of what had taken place among their live stock. [illustration: the goat came full tilt into slugger brown. _page _] cautiously the two cadets opened the goat stable and led the animals inside. then, while walt lit a couple of matches, jack managed to place the goats where they had been before, and also put the harness away. "i don't think i'll leave that note, or the money either," he said. "maybe it will be as well if o'toole never knows that the goats were out. i don't think the experience did them any harm. if it did, we can settle with o'toole later;" and he pocketed the note he had previously written, and also the money. then the two cadets lost no time in hurrying back to colby hall. in the meantime, what walt had said about the commotion going on at the school was true. "i tell you, sir, it's a perfect outrage!" bawled asa lemm at the top of his lungs. "an outrage, sir, and i demand satisfaction!" "please do not become so excited, professor," responded colonel colby. "we must try to get at the bottom of this matter. you say there is ice on the floor of your room?" "yes, sir; a perfect pond of ice!" "did somebody flood your floor and then freeze it?" questioned the master of the hall in wonder. "i don't know how it was done. but it was done, and i nearly broke my neck the minute i entered the room. it was disgraceful! i never saw anything to equal it!" and asa lemm's face was fairly purple with rage. "and what about those goats?" "they were locked up in my closet and dressed up in some clothing--my clothing, i suppose." "then, when they ran out of the building, they must have taken your clothing with them." "more than likely. oh, it's shameful!" and the irate professor shook his fists in his rage. "where are the goats now?" "i don't know, and i don't care." "one of those goats knocked me flat," growled slugger brown. "yes, and he biffed me one, too," came from nappy martell. "let us go and make an investigation, professor lemm," remarked colonel colby. "i will accompany you to your room," for they were now near the stairway which the goats had descended. the pair proceeded to the apartment, followed by some of the other teachers and nearly all of the cadets. by this time much of the ice on the floor had melted, forming little pools of muddy water. "we had better have this cleaned up at once," said colonel colby, and turned to one of the teachers. "order some of the hired help up here, please;" and the teacher hurried off to execute the errand. while colonel colby was looking at the ice and the water, asa lemm chanced to glance in a corner. then he strode forward and caught up the bundle walt baxter had flung there. "what is that?" questioned the master of the hall. and then, as the professor undid the bundle, he continued: "is that your clothing?" "i--i think it is," faltered asa lemm. "yes, sir." "did they undress the animals before they let them go?" queried the master of the school, and, if the truth must be told, he had all he could do to keep a straight face. he could not help but remember some of the pranks he had played himself while a cadet at putnam hall. "i don't know anything about this, colonel colby. but these are my things," and, catching up the bundle, asa lemm flung it into the clothing closet. he continued to storm around, demanding that some of the boys be punished for what had occurred. while this was going on, two of the hired help came up from the kitchen with pails and mops, and presently succeeded in cleaning up the floor. two rugs which had been lying there were taken away to be dried. "i think we had better let this matter rest until morning," said colonel colby finally. "it is too late to start an investigation now. i wish all of you to retire at once," he commanded, to the amused cadets. "some one is going to suffer for this," growled asa lemm. "i shall do what i can for you, professor," announced the master of the hall, and then he moved away, scattering the cadets before him. most of the boys retired to their rooms smiling broadly to themselves, for nearly all of them had enjoyed the joke greatly. "but it isn't over yet," whispered andy to his immediate friends. "there is more to come. just watch and see!" chapter xii in colonel colby's office as soon as jack and walt returned to colby hall, they hurried up to the rooms occupied by the rover boys. they found jack's cousins present, and also gif, spouter and several others. "we had the best luck ever!" declared jack, and related how they had managed to get the goats back to mike o'toole's stable without the irish farmer being aware of what had happened. "say, that's fine!" burst out andy. "we want to be on the watch," remarked randy. "old lemon will be going to bed pretty soon, and we want to find out just how comfortable he finds his bed," and he grinned. word had been passed around to about a dozen of the cadets, and as soon as the school had quieted down and the others had retired to their rooms, these cadets came forth into the halls on tiptoes and made their way noiselessly in the direction of the apartment occupied by asa lemm. "he's arranging that clothing in his closet," announced andy, after peering through the keyhole in the door. "he's partly undressed, so i guess he'll go to bed pretty soon." there was a short silence, and then the boys heard the bed creak as professor lemm got into it. an instant later came a cry of rage. "what's this? more ice, i declare! the bed is sopping wet! oh, those young rascals!" for asa lemm had thrown himself down beneath the spread under which had been placed several sheets of thin ice. a large portion of the ice had melted, and the sheets were as wet as they were cold. as a consequence, his pajamas were pretty well soaked, and he shivered as he threw the covers back and bounced to his feet. "he's enjoying it all right enough," whispered andy. "hang those boys!" roared the irate teacher. "oh, what i wouldn't do to them if i had them here!" he hopped around the room first on one foot and then on the other, shivering as he did so. as was usual, the steam throughout the building had been turned off some time before, so that the apartment was quite cold. "we had better scatter," warned jack. "he may open the door at any instant and find us here." "right you are!" answered randy, and then, unable to resist the temptation, he bent down and shouted through the keyhole: "pleasant dreams, professor! i hope you enjoyed the ice-water!" then all of the cadets fled to their rooms, and in less than five minutes each of them was undressed and safe in bed. if ever there was an angry man, it was asa lemm at that particular moment. he had to change all his night clothing, and then don a bathrobe and slippers and go down below once more and get some of the hired help to clean up his room and take away the wet mattress of his bed. a dry mattress was substituted from a vacant bedroom, but it was all of half an hour before this work was accomplished; and in the meantime the professor stormed around, threatening about everything he could imagine. "i'll have the law on them! i'll have every one of them locked up!" he said to colonel colby. "it's an outrage that i should be treated in this fashion." "it is certainly a most unpleasant occurrence, professor," agreed the master of the hall. "but boys will be boys--you know that as well as i do. i can remember when i went to school, i loved to play practical jokes, and they were not always kindly jokes, either. but as for having these boys arrested, or anything of that sort, that, i think, would be going too far. we can punish them enough right here--that is, provided we can find out who they are." "i don't believe in such jokes!" "neither do i--now that i have grown older. but i did believe in them when i was a boy." "the trouble with this school is, the discipline is not strict enough," snapped asa lemm. "if we are not more strict, the cadets will degenerate into nothing but rowdies and hoodlums." "i think i am the best judge of how discipline should be maintained in this institution," responded colonel colby, with dignity. "i will take this matter up in the morning and do my best to sift it to the bottom. now i think we had better retire, as it is growing late," and thereupon he returned to his own rooms. "i think that was the best joke we ever played," remarked andy, when he and the other rovers were dressing on the following morning. "it sure did count one against old lemon," chuckled randy. "yes. and to think the way slugger and nappy were knocked over by the goats too!" broke in fred. "i'll bet they're mad over that," observed jack. "more than likely, it will make them take a hand in assisting lemm to find out who was guilty. we'll have to be on our guard against them." "did anybody see you making off with the goats?" queried randy suddenly. "i don't think so," answered jack. but in this surmise he was mistaken; one cadet had seen walt baxter hurrying from the school with goats' harness under his sweater, and this youth had, from a safe distance, watched jack and walt place some of the harness on the goats and drive them off in the direction of mike o'toole's farm. this cadet was codfish, who was always sneaking around, trying to pick up information that did not rightly belong to him. "ha, ha!" said the little sneak to himself, after walt and jack had disappeared. "now i know who was responsible for bringing those goats into the school." at first the sneak thought he would report the matter to either asa lemm or colonel colby, but as he was not in particularly good favor with the professor on whom the joke had been played, he thought it might be as well for him to wait and think the matter over. "maybe i had better tell slugger and nappy first and see what they've got to say about it," he reasoned. he went to the bully and his crony with everything. he dressed early, and then went over to nappy's room, where he found the cronies together, just as he had surmised. they were talking over the affair of the night before and wondering who could be guilty. "i've got some news," announced codfish. "what news?" demanded nappy. "it's very important," went on the little cadet. "if i tell you will you promise not to give me away?" "is it about last night's affair, cod?" demanded slugger quickly. "now look here, slugger! you promised not to call me cod any more," pleaded the sneak. "all right, henry. that was merely a slip of the tongue," returned the bully good-naturedly. he knew exactly how to handle such a fellow as stowell. "now tell us what you've got on your mind." "will you promise not to give me away?" "sure!" came from both of the others promptly. "well then, i know who brought those two goats into the school last night," announced codfish proudly; and thereupon, being urged to do so by the others, he told of what he had seen. "i knew the rovers were mixed up in that!" cried slugger. "and i've noticed that walt baxter has been training with them. more than likely it was the work of the whole rover crowd," announced nappy. "don't you think we ought to let colonel colby know about this?" questioned codfish anxiously. it was his delight to get other cadets into trouble and see them suffer, but he always wanted to keep his own actions dark for fear his schoolmates might turn on him and start in to "square up." "of course we ought to let colonel colby know about this--and professor lemm too," answered nappy. "the question is, how can we do it without getting mixed up in it ourselves?" "we might send a note to colonel colby," suggested the sneak. the matter was talked over for several minutes, and then it was decided that two notes should be written and one delivered to colonel colby and the other to asa lemm. "who is going to write the notes?" questioned codfish. "you can do that, henry," said the bully quickly. he had not forgotten how the anonymous letter he had once sent out had been traced back to him, in spite of the disguised handwriting. "oh, i couldn't do that!" answered stowell in alarm. and he shook his head vigorously. "yes, you can!" broke in nappy. and thereupon, somewhat against his will, codfish penned the two notes in as much of a disguised hand as was possible for him. "but i'm not going to deliver the notes," he warned feebly. "you two have got to do that much." "all right, we will," answered slugger. he turned to his crony. "you slip one of them under professor lemm's door, and i'll place the other on colonel colby's desk." "all right, but be careful." "bet your life!" asa lemm was just finishing his morning toilet and grumbling over the happenings of the night, when he chanced to glance toward the door of his room, and at that moment saw a letter thrust under it. he stared for an instant in amazement, and then rushed forward and threw the door wide open. but his movement, quick as it was, came too late, for nappy martell had already slipped around a corner and made his escape. taking up the letter, the professor read the contents with great interest. the communication ran as follows: "dear professor lemm: "if you want to know more about the trouble last night, ask john rover and walter baxter. they had the two billy goats. i think you will find that all of the rovers and the boys who go with them were in this joke. "yours respectfully, _"one who knows."_ "so that's who is guilty!" muttered the teacher, after reading the letter a second time. "the rovers, eh? i might have known it because of the trouble i have had with them in the classroom. and i remember now that i have also had trouble with that baxter boy. i must see colonel colby about this at once." the professor hurried downstairs, and found that colonel colby had entered his office but a few minutes before, and was perusing the communication left there secretly by slugger brown. "i have found out who was guilty last night," snapped asa lemm, as he flourished the letter in his hand. "did you receive an anonymous communication?" demanded the master of the hall. "i did, sir. but what makes you ask that question?" "i have such a communication myself," and colonel colby indicated the epistle. "we must punish those rascals, sir!" "first i want to find out if there is any truth in these letters," answered colonel colby. "very frequently anonymous communications cannot be relied upon." "oh, i haven't the least doubt but what rover and baxter are guilty!" exclaimed asa lemm quickly. "i've had trouble in the classroom with them, and also with the other rovers. i should not be surprised if the whole crowd had something to do with it." "i will send for rover and baxter." it must be confessed that jack was somewhat surprised when one of the assistants came to him and told him he was wanted immediately in the office. "gee! this looks bad!" cried randy. "want any of us to go with you?" questioned fred quickly. "no; i can face the music alone," answered the oldest rover boy. he arrived at the office just as another assistant was bringing in walt baxter. the two exchanged glances, but said nothing. but the glance given walt meant, "keep mum," and the other understood and nodded slightly. "so here you are, eh?" cried asa lemm, before colonel colby had a chance to say a word. "i thought i'd catch you!" "excuse me, professor lemm, but i wish you would allow me to conduct this examination," put in colonel colby a trifle stiffly. if the truth must be told, the overbearing manner of the teacher was not any more to the liking of the master of the hall than it was to the cadets. yet, asa lemm had come well recommended, and colonel colby did not wish to pass hasty judgment on him. "yes, sir," returned the professor. "but please remember i have suffered greatly, and i demand satisfaction." "i have sent for you cadets in order to clear up the affair that happened last night," began colonel colby, ignoring asa lemm's last remark. "i have been given to understand that you were the two to bring those goats into the hall. am i right?" "i did not bring the goats into the hall," returned walt baxter promptly. "just the same, i guess i'm as guilty as anybody," he added quickly, not wishing to shirk responsibility. "i was one of the cadets who brought the goats into the hall, colonel colby," answered jack promptly. "baxter did not assist in bringing them into the hall?" "no, sir." "but you were not alone, rover?" "no, sir." "who was with you in this escapade?" "i prefer not to answer that question, colonel colby." "make him answer! make him answer!" stormed asa lemm. "you young rascal! i'll teach you to play tricks on me!" and he shook his fist in jack's face. "professor lemm, i'll thank you to be less violent," interrupted colonel colby. "this examination must be held in an orderly fashion. you say you were not alone, rover. will you tell me how many were mixed up in this affair?" jack thought for a moment. "do you mean the whole happening in professor lemm's room?" "yes." "oh, there were eight or ten of us--maybe more. of course, some had more to do with it than others," responded jack. "eight or ten of you!" gasped asa lemm. "as many as that?" and his face showed his surprise. he had imagined that possibly only the rover boys and walt baxter were guilty. "are you quite sure you don't want to mention any names, rover?" asked colonel colby again. "no, colonel. and if you were in my position, i do not think you would want to mention any of them either," added jack, looking the master of the hall squarely in the eyes. "we won't discuss that side of the question." colonel colby turned to walt baxter. "how about you? do you care to say who was mixed up in this affair?" "no, sir," was the prompt response. "make them tell! make them tell!" exclaimed asa lemm. "punish them severely! put them in the guardhouse on bread and water until they are willing to divulge the names of all the rascals who were mixed up in these outrageous proceedings." "i am not going to make them tell if they won't do it on their own account," was colonel colby's answer. as a cadet at putnam hall, he had never had any use for a tale bearer. "then i'll take the law in my own hands!" cried asa lemm vindictively. "i'll go down to haven point and make a complaint and have them both arrested!" chapter xiii asa lemm is dismissed while the examination of jack and walt was taking place in the office, the other rovers and their chums held a meeting in randy's room. "what do you suppose this means--calling jack and walt down to the colonel's office?" remarked fred anxiously. he had just been informed by dan soppinger about walt. "it was jack and walt who took those goats back. maybe somebody spotted them," suggested spouter. the discussion lasted for some minutes and grew quite warm, and then andy leaped up. "i know what i'm going to do!" he said. "i'm going below and try to find out just what it means." "and so am i," added fred and randy quickly. "we'll all stand by him," announced spouter. "of course, you fellows brought the goats here, but i think we had as much to do with the rest of it as any of you." andy hurried off, and lost no time in making his way to the door of colonel colby's private office. the door had been left slightly ajar, so it was an easy matter for him to take in most of what was said. "gracious! this certainly is growing serious," he murmured to himself, when asa lemm made the declaration that he would go down to haven point and have jack and walt arrested. "i guess i had better let the others know about it," and he scurried upstairs again. "oh, andy! do you suppose old lemon will really have them locked up?" questioned fred anxiously, after being told of what was taking place below. "i don't think he would dare to do it," announced spouter. "i move we all go down and take a hand in this!" cried gif. "there is no fairness in letting jack and walt suffer for what we did." several other cadets had drifted in, those who had either been on the watch while the joke was being prepared or who had assisted in placing the sheets of ice on the floor and in the bed, and all agreed that the crowd had better stand together when it came to acknowledging what had been done. "forward march!" cried gif, who, as a leader in athletics, took it upon himself to manage the affair. "come on now--and no shirking!" braced up by numbers, all of the cadets fell in readily with this plan, and as a consequence there were ten boys led by gif and the rovers who marched down to the office. "we'll enter by column of twos," announced gif. "march in in regular military fashion," he added, and then knocked upon the office door. colonel colby was doing what he could to question jack and walt on one hand, while trying to make asa lemm keep quiet on the other, when the others arrived. the master of the hall was having no easy time of it, because professor lemm seemed to be growing more and more excited. "i'll have the law on them, i tell you!" he cried. "they ought to go to state's prison for this!" "please be quiet just a minute, professor," remonstrated colonel colby. then came the knock on the door, and the colonel flung it open, not at all pleased over the interruption. "wha--what does this mean?" gasped asa lemm, as he saw the double row of cadets filing in. "colonel colby, we have come to report," announced gif, saluting. "please allow me to be the spokesman, gif," pleaded randy, stepping to the front. and then, before his school chum could speak, he continued: "colonel colby, we have come to give ourselves up." "give yourselves up! what do you mean, rover?" "we were all in this lark together, sir." "and if there is to be any punishment we want to stand for our share of it," added andy. "i think we rover boys were more to blame than the others," put in fred. "you see, professor lemm is down on us, and we thought we had to do something to get square," andy endeavored to explain. "he doesn't treat us fairly in the classroom!" cried spouter. "if he wasn't here we'd get along without any trouble whatever," piped up a voice in the rear. it must be confessed that the sudden entrance of the ten cadets, and what they had to say concerning the joke that had been played, somewhat stumped the master of the hall. as for asa lemm, for the moment he was dumbfounded; but then his natural antipathy to boys asserted itself, and he glared at them viciously. "so you were all in it, eh?" he snarled. "i might have known as much. you are all a pack of rowdies! you are not fit to associate with respectable people!" "professor lemm, i do not wish you to address our cadets in such a manner," said colonel colby sternly. "these young gentlemen are not rowdies, even though they have played a joke which was not particularly nice. i do not uphold them in the least in what they have done, but, at the same time, i cannot help but remember that they are only boys, and that boys are sometimes very thoughtless." "thoughtless! they think too much! i tell you, sir, they are a pack of rowdies, and unless you punish them, and punish them severely, i shall take the matter in my own hands and have them arrested." "if you do anything of that sort, professor lemm, we will have to dispense with your services in this school," announced colonel colby flatly. he was growing weary of the irate teacher's manner. a strenuous half hour followed, everybody present forgetting all about roll call and breakfast. colonel colby did what he could in questioning all of the cadets regarding the occurrences of the night before, but was continually interrupted by the unreasonable teacher. finally he could stand it no longer, and turned to the professor with all the dignity he could command. "professor lemm, i have stood enough," he said in a cold, hard voice, which instantly commanded attention. "i want no more such language from you. you may go to your breakfast, and i will conduct this examination alone, and will see you about it before we begin the day's session in the school. and, in the meantime, allow me to impress upon you that it is all nonsense to talk about having any of these boys arrested. they have done nothing that warrants arrest, and if you attempt anything of that sort, you will not only make yourself ridiculous, but you might place yourself open to a suit for damages. now, please leave this office." "i'll see about this! i'll see about this!" snapped the unreasonable teacher, and left the office in anything but a dignified fashion. as soon as professor lemm had gone, the master of the hall questioned the boys closely concerning, not only the affair of the night before, but also about the troubles they had had with the teacher, both in the classroom and elsewhere. this was the first time the boys had had a chance to "get one in on old lemon," as andy afterwards declared, and they did not mince matters in telling of the many trials and tribulations which asa lemm had caused them. it is barely possible that some of the complaints were overdrawn, yet there was such a unanimity of opinion concerning professor lemm's harshness that colonel colby was quite impressed. "now i want to ask you boys a question, and i want you to answer it honestly," said colonel colby toward the close of the examination. "would you have played such a trick as this upon any of the other professors?" "i wouldn't," answered randy quickly. "nor i," came from fred and andy. "i'd never dream of playing such a trick on anybody but a man like professor lemm," announced jack. the others also agreed that it was not likely any such joke would have been played on anybody else in the hall. "then, evidently, none of you likes professor lemm," said colonel colby slowly. to this there was no reply, but the look on the faces of the various cadets showed the master of the hall that he had struck the truth. "now i'm going to ask you boys another question," he went on, after a pause, and there was a faint smile on his face when he spoke. "don't you think you ought to be punished for what you have done?" for a moment there was another silence. then jack spoke up. "in one way, yes, sir; but in another, no," he replied. "professor lemm treated us very unjustly in the classroom in making us stay in and making us do extra lessons, and we didn't know of any other way to get square with him." "looks to me as if we got our punishment before we played the joke," said andy, and this reply made some of the cadets grin. colonel colby looked out of the window, which faced the snow-covered campus. although the boys did not know it, he hardly knew what to say or do. he realized that he could not pass over the occurrence without punishing the lads, and yet he could see their point of view--that asa lemm had been the first at fault in not treating them fairly during classes. "order has got to be maintained in this school," he said finally, as he faced them. "if we did not have order, the whole institution would go to pieces. that is my first point. my second is that two wrongs have never yet made a right, and instead of taking matters into your own hands, as you did, after having trouble with professor lemm, you should have come to me and told me what was wrong. "i shall take this matter up later, after i have had an opportunity to make further inquiries concerning your conduct. in the meantime, you may go to breakfast, and then to your classes;" and thus he dismissed them. of course, as soon as the boys were by themselves, they began to discuss the situation from every possible angle. several wanted to know how it was that the master of the hall had learned that jack and walt were guilty. "somebody sent colonel colby a note about us. i saw it on his desk," answered jack. "yes, and asa lemm had another note just like it," added walt. "some sneak in this school must have watched us, and then sent the notes." much to the cadets' relief, they did not see asa lemm in the messroom. nor did the language teacher show himself during the morning session. "perhaps he's having another talk with colonel colby," suggested fred. the youngest rover was right. the unreasonable teacher was closeted with the master of the hall for over an hour, and during that time much of what had been told by the cadets was threshed over. asa lemm was as unreasonable as ever, and finally colonel colby lost all patience with him. "i am afraid, professor lemm, that you are not suited to be a teacher in this institution," he said. "your actions here show that you are very irritable and unreasonable. after you left this office, i questioned all of those cadets closely, and all had practically the same story to tell; namely, that you had required more than was fair of them in your classes, and that, on the slightest pretext, you had punished them by making them stay in and do extra lessons. i went into many of the details, and i am convinced that in a good proportion of the cases the students were right and you were wrong. now, i regret this very much, because i realize that----" "sir, i don't want to be talked to in this fashion!" cried asa lemm, bridling up. "i was not in the wrong at all. those boys are regular imps! they don't know how to treat a teacher decently! i won't stand for their nonsense! i want them severely punished, or else----" "wait a moment, professor lemm," interrupted the colonel, rising and facing him sternly. "i said i was sorry, and i am; but i feel that you are not the man to teach in this institution, and consequently i must ask you for your resignation. i will pay you your salary up to the first of next month, and you can leave this school just as soon as you desire." "wha--what? this! to me?" ejaculated the professor in consternation. "yes, sir. you can draw your pay, and, if you wish, you can leave this morning." "but--but--this is outrageous! i won't stand it! i was hired for the school year!" "you were--on condition that your services were entirely satisfactory to me. they are not satisfactory, and consequently i am giving you this opportunity to resign." "if i have to leave, i'll have those boys arrested!" stormed asa lemm. "i don't think i'd be so foolish, if i were in your place, professor. what they did was nothing but a foolish schoolboy joke, and they did that simply to get square with you for your unreasonable conduct toward them. i think the best you can do is to drop the matter. if you insist on dragging this affair before the public, perhaps the boys, and i, myself, will have something to say that you will not care to hear." "we'll see--we'll see!" cried asa lemm, shaking his head and with his eyes blazing wrathfully. "we'll see about this!" and thus speaking, he stamped away. chapter xiv overhearing a plot "professor lemm has left colby hall!" "what do you mean, jack? left the hall for good?" "yes, randy." "who told you that?" questioned fred eagerly. "i just got it from professor brice. he said that old lemon resigned, took his pay, and left yesterday afternoon while we were in classes." "hurrah! that's the best news i've heard in a year of sundays!" cried andy. "gone for good! just think of it!" and, in high spirits, he began to do a jig, and ended with a handspring across the room, landing with a violent thump on the bed. "hi, you, andy!" remonstrated jack. "just because you are happy is no reason you should bust up my sleeping place." "wow! i feel fine enough to do almost anything," returned the fun-loving rover. "just to think of it! we won't be worried by asa lemm any more!" "don't you be too sure of that," went on his cousin. "asa lemm is gone, it is true; but we may hear from him, nevertheless. when he went away he was an angry as ever, so professor brice said." as was usual, the rovers had congregated in their rooms, along with several of their chums. outside it was snowing once again, the soft particles whirling in all directions and clinging fast to the window panes. it was the off hour of the afternoon, but none of the lads had cared to go outside, or even visit the school library. the news that asa lemm had left the hall was true. following his heated interview with colonel colby, he had written out his resignation, accepted his pay for the month, packed his baggage, and left the school, never to return. only several of the teachers and the man who had driven him away had seen him go; and this was as colonel colby wished it, for he was afraid that if the cadets were present at the disliked teacher's departure, they would make some sort of demonstration against him. strange as it may seem, colonel colby had said nothing further about punishing the cadets. evidently he had taken their word for it that they would not have played the trick on any other teacher in the school, and possibly he remembered what andy had said to the effect that the boys had been punished beforehand for what had been done. a few of the lads were afraid that the matter might be taken up later, but the majority had reached the conclusion that they would hear no more concerning it. "it's too bad it's snowing," said jack, after he and the others had tired of speaking about the departed teacher. "i had an idea we would be able to get in some fine skating before we left for the christmas holidays." the rover boys had not forgotten the fact that both asa lemm and colonel colby had received notes concerning the joke that had been played. they remembered well how slugger brown, as related in a previous volume, had sent an anonymous communication to elias lacy, accusing them of having shot the old farmer's cows. "if slugger was mean enough to send that letter, he'd be mean enough to send these notes," was the way jack put it. "i wish we could see one or both of the letters," remarked randy. "we could very quickly tell if they were in slugger's handwriting, or nappy's either." "oh, you can bet they'd disguise their handwriting as much as possible," said fred. the snow continued the next day, and it was so windy and unpleasant outdoors that the battalion had to dispense with its outdoor parade and spend that time in a drill in the gymnasium. after this was over the rovers and some of their chums amused themselves on the bars, swinging rings, and with the exercising machines the gymnasium afforded. the boys were doing all sorts of stunts, when suddenly fred called randy to one side. "come on with me," he said in a low voice. "i think i've discovered something." his manner showed that he had something unusual on his mind, and randy lost no time in doing as was bidden. the two cousins hurried to a corner of the gymnasium, and then fred led the way up a narrow stairway, which opened up on the second floor of the building, a place which was heated, but seldom used by the majority of the cadets. it was used more as a storeroom, and contained a lot of disused gymnasium paraphernalia and boxes and barrels. "what's going on up here?" questioned randy, when his cousin placed a hand over his mouth. "i just saw slugger and nappy come up here with codfish," whispered fred. "and those three wouldn't come to such an out-of-the-way place if there wasn't something in the wind." "you're right there, fred," was the equally low reply. "when those three get together on the sly there is generally something brewing." before emerging on the second floor of the gymnasium, they looked around cautiously. at the far end, near a steam radiator, they saw slugger and nappy seated on a couple of boxes, while codfish rested on the top of an old nail keg. the two older boys were puffing away at cigarettes, something that was against the school rules. "might as well have a cigarette, henry," slugger was saying good-naturedly, and, at the same time, holding out a box. "i--i don't think i will," answered codfish. "oh, go ahead. it will make a man of you," put in nappy; and, somewhat against his will, the small cadet took a cigarette and lit it. while this was going on, fred and randy had managed to step from the top of the stairs to where a number of boxes were piled up. they moved along cautiously, and soon got to within a few feet of where the other three cadets were seated, without being noticed. "now, then, let's come to business!" remarked slugger, after puffing away at a cigarette for a moment. he blew a cloud of smoke to the ceiling. "i think now is a dandy time to get square with those rovers." "but you want to be careful--they are awful sly," said codfish. "i think you are mistaken, henry. they didn't find out about those notes," and the bully chuckled. "just the same, slug, i think we ought to take cod's advice and be careful," broke in nappy, lighting a fresh cigarette. "i have a hunch that the rovers are watching us like a cat watches mice." "maybe they are. but i guess we know how to fool them," went on the bully swaggeringly. "and now is just our chance to get them into a hole." "explain, please." "it's just like this, nappy. of course, they haven't admitted it, but you know just as well as i do that colonel colby must have punished them pretty severely for the trick they played on lemm. what he did to them, we don't know, but probably he has given 'em some extra lessons to do, and maybe he's punished 'em in other ways." "oh, sure! he must have punished them somehow." "i haven't seen any of them going down to town since it happened," put in codfish. "maybe colonel colby made them promise to stay within bounds." "perhaps. well, as i was saying, being punished, they, of course, are pretty sore on the colonel. now then, if we can only play some dirty trick on colonel colby and make it appear as if the rovers and their crowd did it, they'll sure get into hot water over it." "i'm willing to do anything to square up with those fellows," grumbled nappy. he paused for a moment to puff away at his cigarette. "what do you propose doing?" "that, of course, is something we'll have to figure out. we'll want to be careful, so as not to get our own fingers burnt." "i'll tell you what you might do!" broke in codfish eagerly. "you might drop ashes all over colonel colby's office and his bedroom, and then leave some of the ashes in a box in the rovers' rooms, and somebody might say something about having seen jack rover getting the ashes from the boiler-room." "that's good as far as it goes, henry, but it isn't quite strong enough," returned slugger. "we ought to do something that will make colonel colby hopping mad." "i'll tell you what let's do!" broke out nappy. "we'll use the ashes, and we'll use some other things too. i was down past the kitchen a while ago, and i heard one of the cooks complaining about some of the canned tomatoes which were all spoiled and he was going to throw out. now, suppose we use some of those spoiled tomatoes with the ashes, and maybe a quart or two of ink. how about it?" "great!" exclaimed slugger. "ashes, ink and decayed tomatoes will make one fine combination, believe me!" "oh, you want to be very careful," remarked codfish, his voice shaking a little. "the ink will be sure to spoil some things, not to mention the bad tomatoes." "well, we want to spoil something," returned slugger. "we want to get colonel colby real mad. maybe then he'll send the rovers home." "how soon do you suppose we can play this joke?" questioned nappy, while slugger lit a fresh cigarette. "perhaps we can play it very soon. we'll have to watch our chance," was the answer. slugger held out his box of cigarettes to codfish. "here, henry, have another." "n-n-no, th-thank you," stammered the sneak. "i--i do--don't care to smoke any more. it--it makes my head dizzy." "oh, you'll soon get over that. come on, be a real man and smoke up!" urged slugger; and much against his will poor codfish lit a second cigarette, he having dropped the other behind the nail keg. this talk was followed by an animated discussion between slugger and nappy as to just how the proposed trick might be played. codfish said but little. he was growing pale, and at the first chance threw away the second cigarette. of course fred and randy had listened to every word that was said. ordinarily, the rovers did not favor playing the part of eavesdroppers, but just now they thought they were amply justified in listening to everything that their enemies might have to say. "they are a fine bunch if ever there was one!" whispered randy. "come on away; i guess we've heard enough," answered his cousin. "the best thing we can do is to report to jack and andy, and then make up our minds what we are going to do next." chapter xv an alarm of fire with great care, so as not to make any noise, the two rover boys tiptoed their way back behind the boxes and barrels until they reached the narrow stairway. "come on! but don't make a bit of noise," said randy quickly, and went down the stairs as rapidly as possible, with fred at his heels. reaching the lower floor of the gymnasium, they shut the door, and then lost no time in mixing with the other rovers and their chums at the far end of the building. "where have you fellows been?" questioned jack, who had suddenly noticed their absence. "i'll tell you later," said fred. "now, don't say a word more about our being away--especially if slugger and nappy and codfish come this way. act just as if we had been here right along." "i get you, randy," said jack; and a minute later, as the others who had been mentioned came into sight, he continued in a loud voice: "go ahead, randy, it's your turn. have you been asleep?" "no; i'm not asleep," answered randy, and caught a ball which was being pitched around. fred began to practise on an exercising machine, and acted as if he had been at it for some time. soon slugger, nappy and codfish came down and passed the crowd, eyeing all of them closely. then slugger winked to the others, and the three made their way slowly from the gymnasium building. "now then, i'll tell you fellows something," announced fred; and thereupon he and his cousin related to the others what they had overheard in the upper room of the building. "so that's their game, is it?" cried jack wrathfully. "that's the way they are going to pay us back for agreeing to give them another chance at this school!" "you ought to tell colonel colby about this at once," put in spouter, who had listened to what was being said. "then he can have those rascals watched." "i don't like the idea of going to colonel colby," jack answered. "i feel more like taking the matter in my own hands." "don't you do it, jack," advised gif. "your idea would be all well enough if they were ordinary cadets. but they are not. they should have been dismissed from this school long ago. if i were you, i wouldn't dirty my hands on them. report the matter to the colonel, and let him take charge of it." "what is this you are saying, garrison?" demanded a voice from close behind the cadets, and professor brice appeared in the doorway of the washroom of the gymnasium. "what is this you just said about brown and martell?" "i said they were not fit to be cadets in this institution," answered gif flatly. "from what you young gentlemen have been saying, i should judge that you know something concerning brown and martell," went on the young teacher, with a glance around the crowd. "we do know something," answered walt, after a somewhat painful silence. "that is, two of the crowd here know. we have been urging them to speak to colonel colby about it." "who are the two, and what do you know?" again there was a silence, and then spouter came to the front. "professor brice, i'd like to ask a question," he said. "two of the cadets here overheard a talk between brown, martell and stowell. those three proposed to play a most outrageous trick on colonel colby, and then make it appear as if that trick had been played by some other cadets. in fact, they were going to make all the evidence point to those other cadets. now, do you think those cadets ought to defend themselves by telling colonel colby all they know? they feel that they don't want to be tale bearers." "if the trick was to be played solely to injure their reputation, they certainly ought to expose it," was the teacher's quick response. "it is one thing to tell on another person just for the sake of telling, and it is quite a different thing to defend one's own reputation." following this there was quite a discussion, but in the end professor brice convinced the rovers that they had better tell the particulars of what they had overheard. he listened to their story with close attention. "this is certainly worthy of an investigation," he said, after they had finished. "i'll tell colonel colby about it, and maybe he will send for you. if he does so, kindly take my advice and see to it that when you come to the colonel's office you are not watched by brown, martell and stowell, or that may spoil everything. i think that the colonel will agree with me that the thing to do is to catch those fellows red-handed." "all right, professor, we'll leave everything in your hands," answered fred. even yet he did not feel just right over what had been done. he still felt that he and his cousins should have settled affairs privately with slugger brown and his cronies, even if it had been a matter of fist fights. the young professor lost no time in going to colonel colby. he found the master of the hall in his study looking over the questions which were to be used in the coming examination. "i am sorry to report more trouble, sir," he announced, and, sitting down, he gave colonel colby a rapid sketch of what had taken place at the gymnasium. "too bad! too bad!" and the master of the hall showed his disappointment. he heaved a sigh. "it looks to me, brice, as if i had made a mistake in giving brown and martell another chance." "just what i was thinking, sir," returned the young teacher. "you say the rovers did not wish to report the matter?" "that's it, sir. i had to fairly drag the story but of them. they did not want to have the reputation of tale bearers." "i think i understand their view of it, brice. at the same time, this is too serious a matter to allow them to settle it between themselves. i think the best thing we can do is to have those three cadets watched closely, to see if they really intend to carry out their nefarious plot." "exactly what i was thinking, colonel colby." "first, however, you may send randy rover and his cousin fred to me. i want to question them, so as to make sure of my ground." expecting this call, randy and fred kept themselves in readiness, and as soon as professor brice came for them they hurried off to the office, taking care that none of their enemies should see them. slugger, nappy and codfish, however, were out of sight, having gone upstairs to their rooms. "now, i want you to tell me exactly what was said," announced colonel colby, as soon as the two cadets appeared. they had their story well in mind, and it did not take long to give the master of the hall all of the details. in the midst of the conversation, fred let drop accidentally that the three unworthy cadets had been smoking. "they were smoking?" interrupted the colonel. "yes, sir. but--i--i--didn't mean to mention that," stammered fred. "what were they smoking, rover?" "cigarettes." "all of them?" "yes, sir. although, to tell the truth, codfish--i mean stowell--didn't seem to want to smoke, but slugger--that is, brown--urged him, so that he didn't know how to get out of it. i guess the cigarette made him sick." "i see." colonel colby nodded his head slowly. "now go on;" and then the story of what had been overheard in the upper room of the gymnasium was finished. "it's an outrage! an outrage! if what you say is true; and i have no reason to doubt your word," went on the master of the hall, after the cadets had finished. "i am sorry now that i gave brown and martell this chance to return to our school." to this neither of the rovers made any reply. for an instant both of them thought of the trick they had played on asa lemm. colonel colby seemed to follow their thought. "your trick and this thing are two entirely different affairs," continued the colonel. "in the one case, you, in your boyish fashion, tried to square up for the way you had been mistreated. in this case, however, these cadets are trying to get you into trouble, and if this trick had succeeded, it is just possible that i might have been angry enough to send you and the rest of your family home." "well, don't send brown and martell home on our account," announced randy. "we are not afraid of them." "that may be, rover. but i cannot have such underhand work at this school. now i want you cadets to do me a favor. i want you to act exactly as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. i want you to tell all of the others to keep quiet about this. i want to set a trap, and if possible catch those rascals in the midst of their work. do you understand?" "yes, sir," came from both of the cadets. "then that is all." allowed to leave the office, randy and fred lost no time in hunting up the others, who had gone upstairs to the rover boys' rooms. on the way, they met walt, spouter and gif, and told these cadets to come along. then they closed the door to the hallway. "it's to be kept a secret," announced randy. in subdued voices, so that no one passing in the hallway might hear them, the rovers and their chums discussed the situation. they were in the midst of this when they suddenly heard a wild cry of alarm. then came a rush of footsteps, and less than a minute later the loud clanging of a bell. "hello! what's that?" exclaimed jack. "something is wrong--that's sure!" announced randy. "what's the bell ringing for?" queried fred. "it isn't time for parade yet." "that isn't the parade bell!" ejaculated gif. "that's the fire bell! there must be a fire!" the boys flung open the doors, and ran hastily into the hallway. cadets were pouring forth from every quarter, and there was a tremendous excitement. "is the building on fire?" "take it easy, boys! take it easy!" yelled major ralph mason, as he appeared at the head of one of the stairways. "there is no fire in this building. don't get excited." "where is the fire?" queried a dozen voices in chorus. "it's down at the gym! the upper floor is in flames!" chapter xvi putting out the flames "what do you know about that! the gym is on fire!" gasped fred, and clutched randy by the arm. he looked at his cousin knowingly. "i know what you're thinking, fred. those cigarettes that slugger, nappy and codfish were smoking----" "that's it! they threw them down recklessly, and also threw down the matches they had lighted." "if the gym burns down colonel colby will hold them responsible for the loss," put in jack, who had heard what was said. while this talk was taking place, all of the cadets were rushing down the stairs. soon they were out on the campus and headed through the fast-falling snow in the direction of the gymnasium building. a heavy smoke was pouring from a broken-out upper window, and also from the edges of a scuttle on the roof. as the cadets hurried closer, they saw a thin flame show itself for a moment just inside the window. "it's on fire all right enough, but maybe they can get it under control," announced jack. "come on, fellows! do your duty!" warned by the fate which had overtaken putnam hall, colonel colby had taken every possible precaution against fire. there were several large water towers erected in and near the school buildings, and these were connected with various fire plugs. there were also numerous lengths of hose, with nozzles attached, hung up in the several buildings, and both the cadets and the teachers had been instructed in a fire drill. some of the cadets, who had been in the gymnasium when the fire was discovered, had already brought out the hose in that building and attached it to one of the plugs. now this water was turned on, and a stream of fair size began to play upon the flames, the cadets, aided by one of the teachers, dragging the hose up the narrow stairway for that purpose. "get out hose number three and number eight!" directed colonel colby, who was on the scene; and the cadets went to work with a will, and soon had two more streams in action. despite the thickness of the smoke, two of the teachers and several of the cadets had gone up into the second floor of the building and located the fire. "it's up near the steam radiator, just between the two windows," announced one of the teachers. "it's in some boxes and barrels that contain straw and excelsior." "isn't the building on fire?" queried one cadet. "the flames are going up to the roof, but so far they haven't broken through." the announcement that the fire so far was confined to some boxes and barrels, nerved the cadets and the others to make a greater effort to get it under control, and some began to fill buckets with water in the washroom below, and these were passed up the narrow stairway and the water thrown where it was apparently most needed. randy and andy were in this bucket brigade, while fred and jack worked with one of the hose gangs. it was exciting labor for all of the boys, but this they did not mind. "hurrah! we're getting it under control!" shouted major mason presently. "keep it up, boys, and we'll save the whole building!" in the crowd were, of course, slugger, nappy and codfish. at the first alarm they had run forth from the school and gazed in amazement at the smoke pouring from the gymnasium. "oh, look! it's the gym that's on fire!" codfish had burst out; and then the little sneak had suddenly turned deadly pale, and would have sunk down in the snow had not slugger caught him. "see here, codfish!" hissed the bully, shaking him. "don't you say a word about this, do you understand? not a word!" "don't you dare to admit to anybody that you were upstairs in the gymnasium," added nappy. "i--i ain't going to say nothing!" sniveled codfish, and then, of a sudden, burst out crying. "you fellows let me alone! i didn't want to smoke anyhow!" he wailed. "shut up! don't you mention smoking to anybody, or i'll just about half kill you!" hissed slugger. "now mind! not a word, if you know when you are best off!" and then he gave codfish's arm such a twist that the little cadet screamed with pain. not to be suspected of what they had done, slugger and nappy mingled with the other cadets and did their full share in working on the lines of hose; but there were really more cadets than were needed for this labor, so they had little to do. codfish also tried to take hold, but he trembled so that he soon had to give up, and then he ran back into the hall, where he sat on the stairs, half sobbing. by this time there was little more than smoke to be seen in the upper part of the gymnasium. the teachers and the cadets still continued to play water into the building. some now began to open all the windows, realizing that a draft could not do much harm. then, as the smoke began to clear away, they began an investigation, so that the last spark of the fire might be extinguished. "i guess it's about out," announced professor brice presently. he had worked hard, and his face and hands were streaked with black. "i think you are right, brice," answered colonel colby, who had also mounted to the upper floor. "we may as well bring up a few buckets of water, and then turn off all the hose. there is no use of flooding the building, especially in this cold weather. as it is, i think the boys will have a skating pond below by morning," and he smiled faintly. "do you suppose this started from the heating plant?" questioned the teacher. "not at all!" was the low reply. "but we won't speak about that now, brice," added colonel colby significantly; and thereupon the young teacher understood and said no more about the matter. the cadets were sent below, and colonel colby and professor brice, aided by a couple of the hired men, made a close examination of the spot where the fire had taken place. it had been confined almost wholly to three boxes, loosely filled with excelsior, and two barrels containing straw and waste paper. "it was a mistake to put such inflammable material up here," said colonel colby to mr. crews, the gymnasium instructor. "i realize that now, colonel colby," answered silas crews, and his manner showed how much the fire had upset him. "but, you see, it was this way. we got some of that new gymnasium material in only a couple of weeks ago, and we weren't altogether satisfied with it--if you will remember. i said something about sending it back. well, it came in those boxes and barrels, and so i just put them up here, thinking that maybe we'd want to use them in sending the stuff back. if it hadn't been for that, i'd have cleaned the boxes and barrels out and burnt the stuff up." "i see, crews. well, after this, i want you to be careful and not do anything like that again." "but i don't see how the boxes and barrels caught fire, sir," went on the gymnasium instructor perplexedly. "we had no light up here, and i don't see how they could catch from that little steam radiator over there. why, that radiator hardly gets warm!" it may be mentioned here that the radiator had been placed on the upper floor of the gymnasium because there had once been talk of partitioning this part of the floor from the rest and making of it a meeting room for one of the cadet clubs. "i'll make an investigation later," answered colonel colby. "for the present, as the steam heating plant seems to be in perfect order, you had better start the fire up well, so that we can dry things out here. otherwise, all the pipes may freeze up, and that might give us more trouble than this fire." "yes, sir. i'll see to it, sir," said silas crews hastily. "and i'll have this whole place cleaned up the first thing in the morning. and i'll also have the broken windows fixed." as soon as he returned to the school, colonel colby sent for randy and fred. he questioned them closely about the cigarette smoking indulged in by slugger, nappy and codfish. "you two are quite sure that you were not smoking yourselves?" he demanded sternly. "we don't smoke, sir," answered randy promptly. "did you light any matches while you were upstairs in the gymnasium?" "no, sir. we had no need for a light," returned fred. "have you any idea how this fire started?" "i don't see how it could start unless it was from the cigarettes and the matches those fellows used," answered randy bluntly. "i hate to make that statement, but the truth is the truth." "i believe you are right, rover. now then, i wish you to do me a favor. i want you to keep as quiet about this as you are to keep quiet about that joke those cadets proposed to play. do you understand?" "yes, sir," answered both the rovers. "then that is all for the present;" and, so speaking, colonel colby dismissed the boys. "i guess he's going to save this fire affair until he catches them trying to play the joke," was fred's comment, as they hurried away to join the others. "that's it, fred." randy looked at his cousin knowingly. "there is certainly something coming to slugger, nappy and codfish, isn't there?" chapter xvii caught in the act the news that there had been a fire at colby hall soon spread to the town and to clearwater hall, and there were many anxious inquiries over the telephone and otherwise as to whether anybody had been hurt. "no, nobody was hurt, and the fire didn't amount to much," said spouter, when called up by his cousin may. "perhaps, when we see you girls personally, we'll have something to tell you that will be a surprise." in the middle of the afternoon of the day following the fire, a number of letters were brought in by one of the hired men from the haven point post-office. "here's a drop letter for you, jack," remarked gif, who was distributing some of the mail. "most likely from your best girl," and he smiled good-naturedly. "doesn't look much like a girl's handwriting," answered the oldest rover boy, as he inspected the envelope. wondering what the letter might contain, he tore open the envelope and was considerably surprised to read the following, written on a raggedly-torn half sheet of note paper: "you rovers think yourselves smart, but do not forget that i am not done with you. you have been the means of my losing a very lucrative position. i will not have you arrested, for it would be a hard matter for me to obtain justice in this neighborhood; but i will remember you, and some day i will bring you to book for what you have done. you are nothing but a set of imps and hoodlums, and sooner or later colby will learn the truth." "this is undoubtedly from professor lemm," announced jack, as he allowed his cousins and their chums to read the letter. "he's certainly a sweet-natured man," was andy's comment. "he's real charitable and kind, isn't he?" and this brought forth a smile from the others. "what do you think he'll do?" questioned fred. "i don't believe he'll do anything," answered jack. "fellows who write such anonymous communications are usually cowards. old lemon belongs in the class with slugger, nappy & company." the heavy snowstorm cleared away as rapidly as it had come, and the wind blew the snow from large sections of the lake, so that the cadets could once more enjoy themselves skating. "let's skate up to clearwater hall and see the girls," suggested jack at the first opportunity; and this was agreed to readily by all of the crowd. they found the girls of clearwater hall on the ice, watching out for them, and soon the cadets and the girls were enjoying themselves thoroughly. "you must tell me all about the fire and about how professor lemm happened to leave the hall," said ruth, as she skated away with jack. "i'll do that," he answered. "but you must keep a good part of what i'm going to tell you a secret--at least for the present," he added, and then gave the particulars of the joke which had been played on the disliked teacher. then he told of what had occurred at the gymnasium. "oh, jack! do you really think slugger and nappy and that little codfish set the gymnasium on fire?" cried the girl. "i think they did, ruth--although, of course, it was by accident." "what dreadful boys they must be getting to be," sighed the girl. she had quite a few things to tell about happenings at the hall, and also mentioned what she intended to do during the christmas holidays. "i wish you were coming down to new york," said jack. "i'd like first rate to have you meet my sister martha and my cousin mary." "perhaps i shall get down there some time, jack. are you going to stay at home during all of the holidays?" "no. we have been planning to stay at home about a week, and then, if we can arrange it, we want to visit snowshoe island and do a little hunting before school opens again." "then you're going to accept old uncle barney's invitation!" "that's the idea, ruth. you don't mind, do you?" and the oldest rover boy looked anxiously at his companion. "not at all. in fact, i'm rather glad to hear of your going to the island. it may give you a chance to talk to old uncle barney about my folks. and if you get any such chance, i hope you'll impress it upon him that we want to be friends." when the cadets returned to colby hall, both jack and fred were in unusual good humor, for, not only had ruth said she would try to get down to new york during the holidays, but may had told fred that if spouter came down to the metropolis she would try to accompany her cousin. several days slipped by, and the rover boys applied themselves closely to their lessons, for they wished to make as good a showing as possible during the coming examinations. during that time, they saw slugger, nappy and codfish a number of times, but all of those unworthies seemed to give them a wide berth. although colonel colby had not given the rovers any of the particulars of what he proposed to do, he had not forgotten what randy and fred had told him. he had had a conference on the subject with professor brice, silas crews, and bob nixon, the chauffeur, and nixon and crews were detailed to watch every movement made by the bully and his cronies. it was on the following tuesday, the day previous to the examinations, that silas crews came hurrying to the master of the hall, who had just entered the school library in search of a certain book. "i think brown and martell are at it," he announced in a low tone of voice. "martell just sneaked a quart bottle of ink from the storeroom, while brown picked up some of the cans of vegetables which were cast aside by the cook as unfit to eat. now they have both gone down into the boiler-room, evidently after those ashes." "continue to watch them, crews, and tell nixon to watch them, too. i will notify professor brice, and also captain dale." captain dale was the military instructor of the academy. silas crews hurried off, and colonel colby lost no time in notifying the others of what was taking place. as a result, a guard was established, which took cognizance of every move made by slugger and nappy. why it was that codfish was not with them, nobody knew. the fact was, the poor little sneak had been so terrified at the mere mention of doing anything further that he had burst out crying and locked himself in his room, stating that he was too sick to act. having obtained the bottle of ink and several cans of spoiled tomatoes, slugger and nappy watched their chance and visited the boiler-room under the school. here they found a dozen large cans of ashes, and also an old empty soap-box. "we'll fill the soap box half full of ashes," said slugger, "and then we can place the opened-up cans of tomatoes and the opened-up bottle of ink on top. when we get the stuff over to colonel colby's rooms, we can spread half of everything around where it will make the best showing, then we can skip over to the offices and do the same thing, and after that we'll rush back and leave a little trail of ashes and some ink leading into the rovers' rooms, and place the empty ink bottle and the empty cans in their closets and put the ash-box under one of the beds." "dandy!" replied nappy. "come on!" not knowing that bob nixon was watching them from a corner of the boiler-room, they soon had the box of ashes and other stuff ready. then, watching their chance to see that the coast was clear, they sneaked up out of the boiler-room and then out of the school by a side door. here a path led to the nearby building where colonel colby had his private suite of rooms. "now then, hurry up!" cried nappy, who was beginning to show signs of nervousness. they found the door to the main room unlocked, and both entered and set the box of stuff on one of the easy chairs. then one took up the ink and the other an opened can of the decayed tomatoes. "now make a fine job of it," whispered slugger. both took a step forward to start their nefarious work, when each was almost paralyzed by hearing colonel colby's voice. "stop!" commanded the master of the school, and stepped out from behind a screen which stood near a corner of the apartment. "oh!" ejaculated nappy. "we're discovered!" and, dropping the bottle of ink in his hands, he started to run. "not so quick, martell!" came from the doorway, and then both of the youths were startled to see themselves confronted by bob nixon. behind the chauffeur stood captain dale, while in another doorway appeared the form of professor brice. "wa--wa--what does this mean?" stammered slugger. he knew not what to say or do. "it means that i have found you out," answered colonel colby sternly. "you will both march over to my office at once." chapter xviii home again "good riddance to bad rubbish!" "you told the truth that time, andy. we're certainly well rid of slugger brown and nappy martell." "say! i'd like to know some of the particulars of the interview slugger and nappy had with colonel colby. it must have been a pippin," remarked fred. "one thing is certain--colonel colby must have laid down the law pretty severely to them; otherwise they would never have gotten out of this school in such a hurry," came from jack. "i'm mighty glad i got that one crack in on martell," remarked fred. "some day i'll give that fellow a licking, big as he is," continued the youngest of the rover boys. "the only fellow i'm sorry for is codfish," came from randy. "that poor little rat looks about as miserable as any kid could look." "he ought to be thankful that he wasn't kicked out with the others," said spouter. "he certainly deserved it." "he did," agreed jack. "just the same, now that slugger and nappy are gone, if codfish wants to turn over a new leaf and make a man of himself, i'm not going to stand in his way." twenty-four hours had passed since the events recorded in the previous chapter. they had been filled with both mystery and excitement for the rover boys and their chums. only a little of what had taken place in colonel colby's office had filtered out to the cadets, but it was enough to show them that the master of the hall had dealt severely with slugger and nappy. those two unworthies had come forth looking both cowed and excited, and they had rushed up to their rooms to pack their belongings without delay. in the meanwhile, codfish had come forth sobbing, and had been allowed to go to his room, where he locked himself in and denied himself even to mrs. crews, the matron who looked after the younger scholars. "i--i don't want to see no--nobody!" codfish had cried out. "go away and leave me alone! i--i didn't mean to do anything! it was brown and martell made me do it!" and then he had burst into another fit of weeping. both the rover boys and their chums had wanted to see how the bully and his crony would act after their interview with colonel colby. they met slugger and nappy in the hall as they were on the point of leaving the school, and some sharp words had passed. nappy had threatened fred, and made a savage pass at him with his fist. in return, the youngest rover had landed on the other's chin, and sent nappy staggering up against the wall. in the meanwhile, there had been a set-to between slugger and jack, and although the oldest rover boy was struck on the shoulder, he had had the satisfaction of making the bully measure his length on his back. then the approach of professor brice, backed up by captain dale and bob nixon, had brought the brief contests to a close, and slugger and nappy had lost no time in hurrying below, where the auto-stage was already in waiting to take them and their baggage to haven point. many of the cadets assembled had jeered at the departing youths, and they, in their rage, had shaken their fists at those left behind as the auto-stage departed. "i hope we never see those fellows again," remarked randy. but this wish was doomed to disappointment--the rovers were to see a good deal more of slugger brown and nappy martell. the boys had now to apply themselves to their examinations, and they went at this with a will, resolved to make the best showing possible. "we've got to do it," was the way jack expressed himself. "we want the folks at home to know that we are keeping at our studies. then, if they happen to hear of some of the jokes we play, they will know that we're doing something else here besides having fun." the lads had already written home regarding the christmas holidays and what they would like to do. in return, they received word that they could have gif and spouter down for the week between christmas and new year's if they so desired. and jack's mother also sent a letter to spouter inviting him to bring along his cousin may and her friend, ruth. "all of us, including martha and mary, will be glad to become acquainted with your cousin and her school chum," wrote mrs. dick rover. "the girls are very anxious to learn more about clearwater hall, and it is just possible that we may send them to that school later on." "hurrah! that's fine!" cried jack, when spouter showed him the letter. "if only may and ruth go to new york, i'm sure they'll be able to persuade martha and mary that there is no better girls' school on earth than clearwater hall." "you leave that to me, jack," answered spouter. "i'll tell may just what to do." of course the rover boys were all very anxious after the examinations were over to find out how they had fared. on the following friday afternoon colonel colby read the results. fred and randy had received ninety-four per cent., jack had gotten ninety-two, and andy had reached eighty-eight. as seventy per cent. was the passing mark, it can be seen that the boys had passed with considerable to spare. "my, that's a relief!" sighed andy. "somehow, at the last minute, i was afraid i had fallen down completely. there were a few examples in algebra that were regular stickers for me." "physiology was what got me," observed jack grimly. "how do i know how many bones i've got in my body? i never saw them," and at this there was a general smile. after the examinations there was but little to do at the school apart from the drills. there was an entertainment given by the boys in which both jack and andy took part. then, almost before they knew it, the session came to an end, and the cadets had packed up and were on their way home. "after all, i'll be glad to see little old new york once more," remarked randy, when they and their friends were seated on the train. "right you are!" cried fred. "i think, after the semi-country life at haven point, a big city will look mighty good to us." "say, fellows, do you remember when we came up to the school, how we fell in with asa lemm?" remarked andy. "i haven't forgotten it!" cried his twin, and then he added quickly: "i wonder if old lemon wrote to our folks." "i don't think so," answered jack. "if he had, i think we would have heard of it." when the boys arrived at the grand central terminal, they found martha and mary and tom rover awaiting them. "glad to see you back, boys!" cried the father of the twins, as he greeted them warmly, and then greeted the others. "oh, jack, i declare you're growing awfully tall!" burst out his sister martha, as she embraced him. "well, i guess fred is growing tall, too," put in mary rover. "well, you wouldn't expect any of us to grow shorter, would you?" queried andy gaily, and this made both of the girls laugh. with greetings all around finished, the whole party pushed its way through the crowd to the forty-second street entrance of the terminal, where two of the rover limousines were in waiting. "this looks something like!" remarked jack, when the automobiles were on their way through the busy streets to riverside drive. "i haven't seen so many people since i left." "and how do you like colby hall?" questioned his sister eagerly. "dandy, martha! it couldn't be beat! i can tell you, we boys are mighty glad that our dads picked out such a bully good school for us," and his face showed his satisfaction. "and what about clearwater hall?" "that's a dandy place, too,--at least, the girls who go there say it is. if may powell comes down with spouter, she'll tell you all about it." the home-coming of the rover boys was a gala occasion. dick rover and his brother sam had just come up home from the offices in wall street, and they and their wives, as well as the twins' mother, greeted the lads affectionately. "it's been kind of lonely since you went away," said mrs. tom rover, as she caught each of the twins around the waist. "i suppose you missed our tricks, ma," returned andy slyly. "maybe i did, andy. but i wouldn't mind the tricks so much if only you were here," and she gave a little sigh. "well, we're going to be here for a week, anyway," put in randy, and then both of the twins gave their mother such a hug as she had not received for a long time. jack was already telling his father and his two uncles something about colby hall. all of the men listened with close attention and considerable satisfaction. "i guess larry has patterned it pretty closely after putnam hall and west point," remarked sam rover. "and that's as it should be, to my way of thinking." "he'd have to go a long way to do better," answered tom rover. "everybody knows that west point is an ideal school, and dear old putnam hall was a close second to it." "i hope you lads haven't been playing too many tricks," went on dick rover, as he gazed from one face to another before him. "well, uncle dick, we had to play _some_ tricks," answered andy, a bit lamely. "you couldn't expect us to just sit still and hold our hands," added randy. "we might as well own up to one thing," said jack boldly. "we did play a trick on one of the teachers--a fellow named asa lemm. nobody liked lemm, and when colonel colby had a rumpus with him and made him resign, all of us felt better." fortunately for the boys, an interruption came just at that moment in the way of an announcement that dinner was ready. this was served in the dick rover home, and was participated in by all of the members of the rover family. it made quite a table full. "gee! but it's nice to be here once more!" exclaimed andy, while he was eating. "beats a meal in the mess-room at the hall all hollow, doesn't it?" returned his twin. "and yet you talk about going away on a hunting trip," broke in their father quizzically. "oh, yes! but uncle tom, we are going to spend a whole week in new york before that!" broke in fred. "i want to know a little more about this trip you're planning to snowshoe island," remarked dick rover. "i want to make sure that it's a perfectly safe place for you to visit." "oh, i'm sure it's safe enough," answered jack; and thereupon he and the others told what they knew about the island and barney stevenson. "that old lumberman must be quite a character," was dick rover's comment. "well, we'll see about this trip later," and there, for the time being, the matter was dropped. the boys had gotten home just two days before christmas, and they spent their entire time the next day in shopping for presents. in this they were partly aided by martha and mary, especially when it came to selecting presents for their mothers. then, however, they sent the girls away, so that they might buy something for them. although they did not mention this, jack also wished to get a little reminder for ruth, while fred was equally desirous of obtaining something for may. christmas dawned bright and clear, and many were the cries of joy which rang throughout the three rover households. all the young folks spent over an hour in running back and forth, wishing this one and that one "merry christmas!" then came the distribution of presents. "just what i wanted!" cried fred, as he inspected his pile of gifts. there was a new watch, some gorgeous neckties, several books, and a splendid little double-barrelled shotgun. "don't say a word! it couldn't be better!" came from randy. "the best christmas ever!" echoed his twin. they, too, had numerous gifts, including little diamond stickpins, new skates, some boxing gloves, and bright-colored sweaters, into which their cousins had knitted the initials c. h. "now, i presume, you'll be real colby hall cadets," said their mother, when they had donned the sweaters and were strutting around in them. "this sure is one grand christmas!" said jack. he, too, had fared well, receiving a beautiful seal ring, a new traveling bag, completely equipped, several sets of books for which he had longed greatly, and also a small, but first-class, repeating rifle. "now we've certainly got to go on that hunt," remarked fred, placing his new shotgun beside the new rifle. "right you are, fred!" responded jack. "but first we're going to have one dandy time down here in new york." chapter xix off for snowshoe island "what an awfully large place new york is!" it was ruth who uttered the words while she was taking a ride down fifth avenue in company with jack and his sister and several of the others. it was the day after christmas, and spouter had arrived at noon, bringing his cousin may and ruth with him. the young folks were taking a ride previous to stopping at the grand central terminal to meet gif, who was to come later. "you won't find many places larger," answered dick. he felt very happy to think that ruth was beside him, and more so because ruth and his sister seemed to become good friends from the very moment they met. behind the first auto came a second, containing spouter, may, mary, and fred. they, too, were enjoying themselves, the youngest rover doing what he could to point out the various places of interest to spouter's fair cousin. the rover boys, aided by mary and martha, had laid their plans for the next five days with care. the young folks were to be taken to central and bronx parks, to several well-known theaters, and also to the grand opera, and mrs. dick rover had arranged to give a party at her home in the visitors' honor. mary and martha had been eager to hear about clearwater hall, and the two girl visitors were not slow in singing the praises of that institution. "oh, i think i'd like to go there!" cried martha. "what do you think, mary?" "i think i'd like to go myself, now that we know somebody there," was her cousin's reply. mary had always been a little shy. during those days of pleasure in new york only one thing occurred to mar the happiness of the young folks. that was one afternoon when all of them went over to central park for a couple of hours to enjoy the skating. there, quite unexpectedly, they ran into nappy martell. he favored the rover boys with a black look, and then lost himself in the crowd of skaters. "he certainly has no love for us," was jack's comment. "if he could possibly do us an injury, i think he would do it." but aside from this incident the young folks had nothing to worry them, and they spent a most agreeable time on the ice. they talked a good deal of nonsense, and often laughed when there was no apparent cause for so doing, but that was due entirely to their high spirits. when they returned to the rover homes the girls had a glow in their cheeks and a sparkle in their eyes that made them more beautiful than ever. "that ruth stevenson is certainly a handsome girl," whispered mrs. dick rover to her husband. "so she is, dora," answered dick. "and if you'll notice, our jack has quite an eye for her," he added dryly. "oh, dick! you don't suppose he's smitten with her? why, he's so young!" "i'm not saying anything about that, dora. i can't help but remember that i was smitten with you the first time i saw you," and at this dora rover gave her husband a warm look that meant a great deal. may had not forgotten her promise to her cousin spouter, and during the visit she did all she could to impress on the older folks the charms of life at clearwater hall. she told of what fine teachers there were at the school, how rapidly most of the pupils advanced in their studies, and of the good times to be had there. "and i do hope that you will let mary and martha join us," she concluded. "i am sure they will feel perfectly at home there, and that they will be as well taught, if not better, than they would be if they remained here in the city." "i'll think it over, may," answered mrs. sam rover; and martha's mother said the same. jack and his cousins had already sent a letter to barney stevenson, completing the arrangements for going up to snowshoe island. now came a brief communication from the old lumberman, stating that he would be on the look-out for them, and would do all he could to make their outing enjoyable. "what a nice letter for him to write!" exclaimed ruth, when jack showed her the communication. "oh, i do hope you'll be able to fix up this difference between old uncle barney and my folks! it's dreadful to have him on the outs with our family." "as i said before, ruth, i'll do what i can," jack replied. with so much going on, the holidays sped by swiftly, and all too soon it was time for the visitors to take their departure. spouter and gif both wished they could accompany the rovers to snowshoe island, but this was not to be, as they had already made other arrangements. "but have a good time," said spouter. "don't forget to lay low a few deer and a bear or two," added gif. "good gracious! you don't expect them to shoot bears, do you?" exclaimed may, in some alarm. "i don't believe there are any bears on that island, are there?" came from ruth. "there are very few bears anywhere," answered jack. "gif was only fooling. the biggest game that we may possibly see will be a deer, although even they are growing scarce. we may see nothing bigger than squirrels, rabbits and partridges, and maybe a mink or a fox." the rover boys accompanied the others to the grand central terminal. here jack managed to have a few words in private with ruth, and at the conclusion he gave her hand so tight a squeeze that she blushed. then the visitors boarded the train and in a minute more were gone. "and now to get ready for the trip to snowshoe island!" cried randy. "that's the talk!" returned his twin. the boys were to leave for rockville, the nearest railroad station to snowshoe island, on the day after new year's. they spent several hours in packing their things, being advised in that matter by their fathers, who, as my old readers know, had been on many hunting expeditions before them. "now, there is no use of my giving you any advice on how to handle your firearms," said dick rover. "i have given you that advice before, and you ought to remember what i said." "i do, dad," answered his son. "and i'm sure the others remember, too." "and i want you two boys to keep out of mischief," put in tom rover, addressing his twins. "of course, you can have all the fun you please, but let it be good, innocent nonsense. don't do anything mean, and don't do anything to get somebody else into trouble." "and my advice is, to go slow and be careful," added sam rover. "in other words: 'look before you leap'----" "as the clown in the circus said," finished tom rover, "when he thought he was going to jump through a paper hoop and found instead that it was a solid white barrel-head;" and at this little joke there was a general laugh. the boys had already told their fathers about the doings of nappy martell and slugger brown. "nappy martell is evidently the son of his father," remarked dick rover. "the senior martell is just as domineering, and not one bit more reliable. down in wall street we've been watching him pretty closely." "yes, and he needed watching," put in tom rover. "to my mind, if he isn't a fraud, he's pretty close to it." "you said something about his underhanded work before," came from sam. "if he is a swindler, i certainly hope that sooner or later they expose him." the boys had learned that rockville was a town of considerable importance and boasted of several good-sized stores. they felt certain that they could buy all the supplies needed at that place, so it would be unnecessary to get them in new york. they, however, took along all the clothing that was needed, and likewise their guns and a good supply of ammunition. "now do be careful!" pleaded mrs. tom rover, when they were ready to depart. "i don't want any of you to get shot." "don't you worry, ma. we'll be careful all right enough," answered randy, as he kissed her good-bye. several of the neighboring boys had come to see them off, and there was a little bit of envy as these watched the rovers depart. they went to the railroad station in one of the limousines, only the two girls going with them to see them off. "now don't get hurt, jack," said martha, when it was almost time for him to take the train. "remember, if you do, ruth will never forgive you," and she gave her brother a roguish look which, somehow, made his cheeks burn. [illustration: "what a nice letter for him to write!" exclaimed ruth. _page _] "aw, cut that, martha!" he answered. and then, of a sudden, he continued: "you join those girls at clearwater hall, and i'll pick a fine cadet for you to go out with." "boo!" cried martha, and put out the tip of her tongue at him. "who said i wanted any of your old cadets!" then, as he and his cousins ran for the train, she waved him an affectionate farewell. the boys had obtained seats in advance in one of the parlor cars, and soon they made themselves comfortable. they talked over what had happened while their visitors had been with them, and presently commenced to discuss the expected hunting on and around snowshoe island. "we ought to have a dandy two weeks," was fred's comment. "just think of it! for fourteen days we'll be able to do exactly as we please!" "yum-yum!" added randy. "sleep as long as you please, eat when you please and as much as you please, and shoot all the game you want to! what more could a fellow want?" "and cut all the firewood you want to! and wash all the dirty dishes you want to! and miss all the really good game you want to----" commenced andy. "jump on him!" "throw him out of the window!" "let's make him go without his supper to-night!" so the cries went on as the three others caught andy by the arms and by the coat collar. "hold up! i surrender!" gasped the fun-loving youth. "let up! will you?" "you've got to promise to be good and not throw cold water on our hopes," announced jack. "we're going to have the best time ever on snowshoe island. and not a thing is going to happen to mar our pleasure." but in this last surmise the oldest rover boy was sadly mistaken. many things of which he and his cousins did not dream were to occur, not only to startle and annoy them, but also to place them in extreme peril. chapter xx caught in a snowstorm "next station stop rockville!" "that's our jumping off place, boys! we had better get our baggage together!" exclaimed jack. "i wonder if barney stevenson will be at the station to meet us?" questioned fred. "that depends on whether he got my last message or not," answered jack. "however, if he isn't there, i guess we can find our way to snowshoe island alone." soon the long train rolled into the little station at rockville, and the boys alighted, being assisted by the porter, who had already taken charge of their baggage. he readily accepted the tip they gave him, and, as he had learned that they were off on a little hunting tour, said he hoped they would have every success. "but don't you bring down too many lions and elephants," added the colored man. "no, we'll leave the lions and elephants for you," returned andy, and this made the porter grin broadly, showing two rows of white ivories. "hello, boys! so you've got here at last, eh?" cried a voice from the doorway of the railroad station, and old barney stevenson strode toward them. he looked the picture of health, having recovered entirely from the accident in the woods. he shook hands cordially, giving each hand a squeeze that made the recipient wince. "we're glad to see you, mr. stevenson," began fred, when up went the old lumberman's hand in protest. "'twon't do, boys! 'twon't do at all! if you're going to come over to snowshoe island with me, you've got to drop that mister business. plain uncle barney is good enough for me." "all right, then! uncle barney it is!" answered fred, and the others smiled and nodded. "i just got your message this noon," explained the old lumberman. "billy sanders, the station agent's son, brought it over to me. i see you've got your duffle with you," and he looked at their various bags. "we didn't bring anything along in the way of provisions," answered randy. "we thought we could buy all those things here in town." "so you can--providing you've got the money, lad;" and uncle barney smiled. "oh, we've got the money!" answered andy. "our folks treated us very handsomely." "i brought over my big bobsled," went on the old lumberman. "come ahead--i'll help you carry your baggage. we can leave it all at crumpers' boathouse until we get the other stuff." he led the way, and they soon found themselves at the boathouse he had mentioned. here they placed their traveling bags on uncle barney's bobsled, and then made their way to a nearby general store, where the old fellow was well known. "we've got a list written out here," explained jack, bringing it forth. "i'll read it to you, and then you can tell me what you think of it." the list was quite a long one, and the old lumberman listened attentively as jack read it over. then he nodded approvingly. "you've got it about right, boys," he said. "you must have been out before." "my dad helped me make out this list," explained dick. "he and my uncles have had quite some experience hunting, and, of course, they knew just what to take along." "do you think it will be enough?" questioned randy anxiously. his appetite for eating never seemed to be lacking. "you've got enough there for six or eight," answered the old lumberman. "however, it won't do any harm to add a few more beans and a little extra bacon; likewise a little more sugar, seeing as how boys generally like things sweet." it was an easy matter to purchase the various articles at the general store, and the boys had the clerk pack them securely in several soap boxes. then jack, as the treasurer for the crowd, paid the bill. by this time it was growing dark, and uncle barney told them they had better not waste their time. "i may be mistaken, but it looks a good deal like another snowstorm to me," he explained. "and if it's going to snow, we might as well get to the island before it starts to come down too hard." the old lumberman was right about the snow, and some early flakes came sifting down while they were still at the boathouse packing the bobsled. the old lumberman showed them how to secure the load so that there would be no danger of its falling off. "now then, on with your skates, and we'll be off," he announced. in the winter time he always made the journey between the island and the town on his steel runners. "i suppose skating is a good deal easier than walking," remarked fred, while the boys were putting on their skates. "to be sure. and we can make so much better time." "how far have we got to go?" questioned andy. "to the upper end of the island, where i've got my home, is about four miles." "oh, that isn't so far!" cried fred. "we can skate that in no time." "we could if we could go in a straight line. but we can't," answered uncle barney. "the wind blew the last snow in all sorts of ridges across the ice, and we'll have to pick our way along as best we can." a long rope had been attached to the bobsled, so that they could all assist in hauling it along. on the smooth ice the load proved to be a light one, so that they had little difficulty in progressing. but, as the old lumberman had said, the ridges of snow on the lake were numerous, and some of these were piled up several feet high, and the party had to make long detours around them. "this isn't going to be so easy, after all," remarked fred, after they had skated for almost half an hour. "i thought we would get to snowshoe island in no time." it was now quite dark, and the snow was falling steadily. so far, there had been little wind, but now this, too, sprang up, sending the frozen particles directly into their faces. "gee! this isn't so pleasant!" exclaimed andy, as he pulled down his cap and pulled up the sweater he was wearing. "the wind is increasing," said fred a minute later. "hark to that, will you?" all listened, and from a distance heard the wind stirring through the woods bordering the lake in that vicinity. then the wind bore down upon them, and with it came a heavier fall of snow. "say, this is going to be some snowstorm!" "yes, and some blow too!" "i wish it wasn't so dark!" "uncle barney, are you sure you know the way?" questioned randy, as all came to a halt for a moment to turn their backs to the wind and catch their breath. "oh, yes, my lad! i know the way well enough," was the old lumberman's reply. "but, believe me, i didn't expect any such snowstorm as this when i went after you. i thought it would be just an ordinary fall." "it seems to be getting heavier every minute," declared jack, as he sheltered his eyes with his hand and tried to peer forth into the darkness. "why, the snow is coming down in regular chunks!" the flakes were indeed both heavy and thick, and the wind sent the snow sweeping across the ice, forming new ridges in every direction. "the first thing you know, we'll be blocked completely," declared randy, after they had progressed another quarter of a mile. "just look at that wall of snow, will you?" and he pointed ahead, where a snowdrift was all of five feet high and rapidly growing higher. the rovers could see by his manner that the old lumberman was growing much disturbed. he led the way first in one direction and then in another. then presently he called a halt. "it ain't no use," he declared flatly. "i thought i could work my way around these snowdrifts, the same as i did when i came over to town after you. but the darkness and this heavy fall of snow is bothering me tremendously." "what do you think we ought to do?" questioned fred anxiously. the situation was making the youngest rover boy a little fearful. "i guess about the best thing we can do is to strike a bee-line for the island," answered uncle barney. "it won't be much harder to break through these snowdrifts than it is to try to find our way around them in this wind and darkness." "are you sure you know the way to the island?" questioned jack, who knew only too well that it was the easiest thing in the world to get turned around in such a situation as this. "oh, i'm pretty sure i haven't lost my bearings," answered the old lumberman. "however, to make sure, maybe i had better have a squint at my compass." "oh, say! that puts me in mind!" burst out randy. "what's the matter with using one of our flashlights?" for the boys had brought along two of those useful articles, which were now packed in the baggage on the bobsled. "yes, let's get out both of the flashlights," returned fred. "in this darkness we'll want all the light we can get." sheltering themselves as best they could from the wind, which seemed every minute to be increasing in violence, the boys unstrapped part of their load and managed to bring forth the two flashlights. while this was being done, uncle barney brought from his pocket a small compass. "now, i think north is in that direction," he said, pointing with his hand. with the aid of one of the lights, the compass was inspected, and it was found that the old lumberman was almost right, he having pointed a little to the northwest. "if we'd gone on the way i expected to go, we'd have struck the lower end of the island instead of the upper," he explained. "it wouldn't have made a great deal of difference, but we might as well take the straightest line we know how. come on! follow me, and i'll break the way for you." once more they started forward, and in a minute more the boys found themselves struggling through snow which was several feet deep. "gee! a fellow ought to have snowshoes instead of skates!" panted fred, when in the midst of the drift. "this is the worst ever!" "the drift isn't very wide, fred," announced jack, who was ahead of his cousin, flashing one of the lights around. "here we come to the clear ice again," and a few seconds later they found themselves skating along as easily as before. but this open patch did not last long. soon they came to several more snowdrifts. the first was barely a foot high, but the second was almost up to their arm-pits. the old lumberman was still ahead, breaking a path for them as well as he was able. hampered with the load of the bobsled, the boys made slow progress. "it's no use!" groaned andy at last. "i'm all out of breath. i've got to stop and rest." "we had better not stop to rest here, andy," answered jack quickly. "we must reach some sort of shelter from this wind." "i'm all out of breath myself," came from fred. the exertion of plowing through the snowdrifts had tired him dreadfully, and he was trembling in the legs so that he could scarcely stand. "come on, boys! don't stay here!" called back uncle barney to them. "this snowstorm is getting worse every minute!" the old lumberman had scarcely spoken when all the boys heard a strange whistling in the air. then the wind tore down upon them harder than ever, sending the snowy particles in all directions, so that to make out what was ahead, even with the flashlights, was out of the question. chapter xxi an astonishing revelation the situation was certainly a disheartening one, and the boys huddled close together around the bobsled, both for protection and to talk the matter over. "can you tell us at all how far we really are from some sort of shelter--i mean the nearest shelter at hand?" questioned jack of uncle barney, as the old lumberman came back to see what had happened. "it's about a mile to my cabin," was the reply. "and is that the nearest place?" asked fred, who had sat down on the bobsled load to rest. "no. the nearest place is a little hut that i put up at this end of the island several years ago. it isn't very much of a shelter, but it might do." "do you mean we could stay there all night?" queried randy. "oh, yes. it's plenty large enough for all of us, and there is a rough fireplace where we could start a blaze and cook something." "then let's head for that place, by all means!" cried jack. "this storm is getting worse every minute." with the wind whistling keenly in their ears and blowing the snow across the ice and into numerous high drifts, the little party moved on once more, the boys doing their best to keep up with the old lumberman. this was comparatively easy, for even uncle barney was well-nigh exhausted by his exertions. "if this snow keeps on, it will be one of the worst storms we ever had up here," he announced. "but, somehow, i don't think it will last; the sky didn't look heavy enough this afternoon." "i hope it doesn't last," returned jack. "we don't want to be snowed in while we are up here," added randy. "we want to have a chance to hunt." to make progress against the fury of the elements was not easy, but presently the boys heard uncle barney give a cry of satisfaction. "here we are, lads, in sight of the island!" exclaimed the old lumberman. "now it won't be long before we reach that shelter i mentioned." by the aid of the two flashlights, the boys made out a number of trees and bushes ahead. the bushes were covered thickly with snow, and behind them were sharp rocks, also outlined in white. "this is what i call squirrel point," explained the old lumberman. "it used to be a great place for squirrels." "how much further to that shelter?" queried fred. just then he took no interest whatever in game. he was so tired he could scarcely place one foot in front of the other; and, to tell the truth, his cousins were little better off. "we've got only a couple of hundred feet to go," was the reply. "come ahead. i'll help you pull that bobsled," and now uncle barney took hold, and once again they started forward, this time skirting the lower extremity of snowshoe island. here there were a great number of pines and hemlocks growing amid a perfect wilderness of rocks, now all thickly covered with snow. "now you'll have a little climbing to do," announced the old lumberman a few minutes later. "you might as well take off your skates, and i'll do the same. and we'll have to hoist that bobsled up the best we know how." he had turned toward the island, and soon they were climbing up over the rough rocks and pulling the bobsled after them. in one spot they had to raise the sled up over their heads. the old lumberman assisted them in this task, and then pointed to a small, cleared space between a number of pines. "hurrah! i see the hut!" cried jack in delight, and ran forward, followed by his cousins. uncle barney came with them, and an instant later had forced open a rude door. then one of the lights was flashed inside. the boys and uncle barney had expected to find the little cabin vacant. consequently they were much surprised when they heard a queer little noise, not unlike the snarl of a dog. "by gum! it's a wolf!" ejaculated the old lumberman in amazement. scarcely had he spoken when there leaped into view a full-grown wolf. as he confronted the boys and the old man, he snarled viciously, and his eyes appeared to gleam like two balls of fire. "it's a wolf, sure enough!" "shoot him, somebody! shoot him!" "where's my gun?" "the guns are all strapped down on the bobsled!" such were some of the cries which came from the rover boys when they found themselves confronted by the wolf. they fell back several paces, and uncle barney did likewise. the old lumberman had gone to rockville armed, but he too had strapped his weapon fast on the bobsled, so that he might assist the boys in hauling the load. as the little party fell back wondering what was best to do, the wolf gave another leap, thereby reaching the doorway of the little cabin. then, with a snarl, he whirled around, leaped into the snow behind some hemlocks, and in a moment more had disappeared from view. "well, what do you know about that!" cried fred faintly. "and to think we weren't ready to shoot!" groaned randy. "we're a fine bunch of hunters, we are!" scoffed andy. "well, we didn't expect to find a wolf in possession of this hut," remarked jack. "just the same, i wish we had been able to get a shot at him," he added wistfully. "i should have carried my gun," remarked uncle barney. "it was a mistake to put it on the sled. that's just my luck, confound it! whenever i go out free-handed, i'm almost certain to see something worth shooting," and he shook his head grimly. "you didn't say anything about wolves being on the island," said fred, while the old man was looking around inside the cabin with both flashlights. "there are very few wolves in this neighborhood," was the reply. "the last wolf i saw on the island, outside of this one, was two years ago." as the door to the cabin had been closed, the boys wondered how the wolf had gotten into the place, but uncle barney showed them a small, broken-out window in the rear of the shelter. this window was now partly covered with snow. "i suppose the wolf thought he couldn't get out that way on account of the snow, and consequently he had to come by way of the door," explained the old lumberman. "well, i'm mighty glad he didn't go any damage." an examination revealed the fact that no other living thing was in or around the cabin, and as soon as they were satisfied of this, the boys brought in the bobsled. in the meantime, uncle barney stirred around outside and managed to find some firewood which was fairly dry. then a blaze was started in the rude fireplace, the door was shut, and a blanket was nailed up over the broken-out window. "now this is something like!" remarked jack, when the cabin began to grow warm. the boys had unpacked the contents of the bobsled and brought forth a candle, which was lighted and placed in a rude holder on the wall. now that they were safe from the storm, all of the rovers felt in better humor. uncle barney showed them how they could obtain water by melting some snow and ice, and soon they had enough to make a pot of chocolate and another pot of coffee. in the meantime, the old lumberman, assisted by jack, opened up a box of sardines fried some bacon, and also warmed up a can of green corn which had been among the stores. they had no bread, so they used up one of the boxes of soda crackers which they had purchased. "it's too bad we haven't got some game to cook," observed randy. "let's be thankful that we've got some sort of a roof over our heads, and that we can rest," put in fred. he had not yet gotten over the struggle to get through the snow. with nothing else to do, the boys and the old lumberman took their time over the evening meal, and never had anything tasted better than did this first supper on snowshoe island to the rovers. outside the wind was blowing as strongly as ever, and the snow still came down steadily. to make sure that they would not suffer from the cold, all of the lads went out with uncle barney and brought in a large supply of firewood. then they built up a good blaze, around which they sat in a semicircle on the sled and the boxes brought along, and on a rude bench of which the little cabin boasted. "when i first came to snowshoe island, twelve years ago, i thought i would locate at this end," remarked barney stevenson during the course of the conversation. "but after staying here a short while i concluded that it was nicer at the upper end, so i went there." "did you buy the island as far back as that?" queried jack. "oh, no, lad. in those days i only leased the island. you see, it belonged to an old lady named martinson. she had a son who drifted out to california, and then went to alaska. when the old lady died, luke martinson came back home, and then he came to see me. he wanted to get rid of all his property around here so he could go back to alaska, and he offered this place to me, and i bought it. that was several years ago." "it's nice to own an island like this," observed fred. "a fellow can have a regular robinson crusoe time of it if he wants to." "when i bought the island i thought i'd have no difficulty in holding it," continued barney stevenson. "but since that time i have had a whole lot of trouble. two men claim that luke martinson never had any rights here--that the old martinson claim to the island was a false one. they have tried two or three times to get me off the place, but i've refused to go." "didn't you get a deed to the island?" questioned jack, who had often heard his father and his uncles speak about deeds to real estate. "certainly, i got a deed! but they claim that the old martinson deed was no good. but it is good--and i know it!" grumbled uncle barney. "who are the men who want to take the island away from you?" questioned andy. "some hunters around here, or lumbermen?" "oh no! they are two men from the city--a real estate dealer and a man who used to be interested in buying and selling property, but who lost most of his fortune and then went to teaching, or something like that." "teaching!" exclaimed jack, struck by a sudden idea. "what is that man's name, if i may ask?" "his name is asa lemm, and the name of the other man is slogwell brown," was the reply of the old lumberman, which filled the rover boys with amazement. chapter xxii the first night on the island "asa lemm and slogwell brown!" "what do you know about that, boys?" "that's bringing this matter pretty close to us, isn't it?" "i should say so!" such were some of the remarks coming from the rover boys after barney stevenson had made his astonishing declaration that the father of slugger brown and the ex-teacher of colby hall were the two men who were trying to dispossess him. "why, you speak as if you knew those two men!" exclaimed the old lumberman. "we certainly know asa lemm," answered jack. "and we know the son of slogwell brown," added randy. "yes, and if mr. brown is no better than his son, i wouldn't put it past him to do something crooked," was andy's comment. "tell me what you know," said uncle barney. thereupon the four boys related the particulars of the trouble they had had with professor lemm, and of how he had left the military academy. they also told much about slugger, and, incidentally, nappy martell, and of how the two cadets had been dismissed by colonel colby. "this certainly is wonderful!" exclaimed the old lumberman, when they had finished. "i had no idea you boys knew anything about those men. i reckon your opinion of their honesty is just about as high as mine is," and he smiled grimly. "asa lemm claims to have lost quite a fortune," said jack; "but we certainly did not think that part of it was located in this island." "it isn't located in this island--at least it isn't so far as i am concerned!" cried uncle barney. "if those men bought what they thought were the rights to this island, they were defrauded, that's all! and that has absolutely nothing to do with my rights to this land!" "i should think if you got a good deed to the land from that luke martinson--and his folks had a good deed from somebody else--that ought to be proof enough that you own the island." "well, i've got the deed from martinson, and i've got the old deeds he used to have, too! i've got them placed away in a tin box and in a safe place, too!" answered the old man. "then, if you've got those deeds, why do they bother you?" questioned fred. "as i've said before, they won't admit that the deeds old mrs. martinson had were any good. the fact of the matter is, slogwell brown wants to get those deeds away from me. he has been at me to let him look at the deeds several times, but i've always refused, for i was afraid that if he got the deeds away from me i would never see them again." "i thought they recorded deeds at the court house," said jack, who had heard this fact mentioned between his father and his uncles. "they do record deeds, and i suppose that one was recorded at some time or other; but the court house in this county was burnt down some years ago and all the records went up in smoke." "but you could get the deeds recorded now--i mean have it done over again," remarked randy. "i suppose so. but that wouldn't do me any good, because they would probably try to prove that the deeds i brought in were not the originals. you see, the date when a deed is recorded has a good deal to do with it. anyway, i'm not going to let anybody have those deeds until i am sure of what i'm doing," went on uncle barney. it was easy to see that the old man was peculiar and wanted to do things in his own manner. "did you ever ask a lawyer about this?" questioned fred. "no! i ain't got no use for lawyers!" was the quick reply. "i hired a lawyer in a lawsuit nigh on to thirteen years ago, and i lost the suit and it cost me over a hundred dollars more than i might have paid otherwise." the old lumberman did not add that this was a lawsuit to which ruth stevenson's father was also a party, yet such was the fact. "how long is it since you heard from mr. brown and professor lemm?" asked andy. "the last time they came to see me was in the middle of the summer. they threatened all sorts of things, and they got me so mad that i had to take down my shotgun and warn them away. then they left in a big hurry." "don't you think it's a bad thing to warn them off with a gun?" questioned jack. "they might have you arrested for threatening their lives." "i'm not afraid of them!" was the quick reply. "this is my island, and nobody shall take it away from me!" the boys could see that the subject was becoming distasteful to the old man, and so they started to speak of other things. they questioned him about how they could get to his regular cabin, and also the cabin they were to occupy, and then spoke about the game they might have a chance to bring down. "your going hunting will depend a good deal on how the weather turns out," said the old lumberman. "if this snow keeps on for a day or two, it will make traveling pretty bad. however, i'm in hopes that the storm will clear away by morning." the boys had put in a strenuous day, and they were glad enough when uncle barney suggested that they turn in for the night. "we're pretty short on blankets," he said, "but that won't matter so much so long as we keep the fire going. i've got a good back log started, and that ought to last until morning, if not longer. when i'm at this hut alone, i usually sleep in that corner, and i'll do the same to-night. you can spread yourselves around as you please." with such a limited supply of blankets, it was no easy matter to make comfortable couches, yet the boys had left home to rough it, so nobody complained. they lay down in their clothing, using some of their suitcases and gladstone bags for pillows. "if we had had a chance to do so, we might have brought in some pine boughs to lie on," said jack. "but as it is, i guess we'll manage." "is there any chance of that wolf coming back?" questioned fred, a bit anxiously. "i hardly think so, fred. and, anyway, i don't see how he's going to get in here, with the door closed and the blanket nailed over the window. however, we can keep our guns handy in case he does appear." worn out so completely, it did not take the boys long to fall into a sound sleep, and the old lumberman soon joined them, snoring lustily. thus the night passed, and nothing came to disturb them. of the lads, it was randy who was the first to arise in the morning. he found uncle barney in the act of stirring up the fire. the old lumberman had already brought in some ice to be melted for a pot of coffee. "i ain't really awake in the morning until after i've had my cup of coffee," he explained. "that's the one thing that really sets me on my feet." "how about the storm?" questioned randy, and now the sound of his voice set the others to stirring. "the storm is about over," was the welcome announcement. "in a little while i think you'll see the sun peeping out over the woods on the eastern shore." "hurrah! that's good news!" cried andy, leaping to his feet and stretching himself. "i must have a look!" and, jamming his cap on his head, he started for the door. the other rovers followed him. outside they found the snow covering everything to a depth of from several inches to several feet, but the air was as clear as a bell, and just beyond the woods, on the eastern shore of lake monona, there was a rosy glow, betokening the rising of the sun. "it's going to be a grand day!" exclaimed fred. "i don't think it could be any better, even though the snow is quite deep in spots," returned jack. once more they went over the stores which had been brought along, and took out enough for breakfast. they had with them some flour for griddle cakes, and soon the appetizing odor of the cakes, mingling with the aroma of hot coffee and hot chocolate, filled the little cabin. then they took turns at frying bacon and making more griddle cakes and eating breakfast. "what do you think will be the easiest way of getting to the other end of the island?" questioned jack of uncle barney, while they were eating. "well, as you've got the bobsled and all those stores along, i should say the easiest way would be to climb down to the lake again," was the reply. "that wind must have cleaned off some of the ice, and we can get along a good deal better by skating and by hauling the bobsled over the ice than we can trying to break our way through the woods in this heavy fall of snow." "i was thinking if we walked the length of the island we might stir up some game," remarked randy. "you'll have plenty of chances to go out after game after you're settled at the regular camp," returned the old lumberman. "the game isn't going to run away, you know," and he smiled pleasantly. breakfast at an end, the boys lost no time in repacking their belongings, and uncle barney assisted them in fastening the load to the bobsled. "but i'm going to carry my shotgun this time," announced fred. "then, if any game appears, i'll be ready for it." "you can all carry your guns if you want to," said the owner of the island. "i'll leave my weapon strapped to the sled, so that if any game appears you boys can do the shooting." the little cabin was closed up, and then the party made its way down over the rough rocks and between the trees to the lake shore. it was no easy matter to bring the bobsled along, and once fred slipped on one of the smooth rocks and pitched headlong into a snowbank. "hi you! stop your fooling!" cried andy, and then, in great glee, he picked up a chunk of snow and hurled it at jack. "let up!" cried the oldest rover boy. "this is no time for jokes!" and then, as andy came at him with another chunk of snow, he jumped at his cousin, put out his foot, and made the fun-loving youth measure his length in a drift. "wow! but that snow is cold!" cried andy, who had gotten some down the sleeves of his sweater. "stop! don't bury me! i'll be good!" and then he scrambled to his feet once more, while fred did the same. then the whole party proceeded on its way. reaching the lake, they lost no time in putting on their skates, and then, with uncle barney leading the way, the four rovers followed, dragging the loaded bobsled behind them. on all sides could be seen snowdrifts and ridges of snow piled in curiously fantastic shapes. but the keen wind of the afternoon and night had cleared many long reaches of the ice, and over these reaches uncle barney picked his way, gradually working closer and closer to the upper end of snowshoe island. "we'll turn in here," he announced presently, when they came to where there was something of a cove. "there seems to be quite a cleared space. it won't be very long now before we reach the upper end." as they turned in once more toward the island, jack noticed a peculiar fluttering among some trees not far away. "wait a minute!" he cried out in a low tone. "i think i see some game!" all came to a halt, and then uncle barney looked in the direction to which the oldest rover boy pointed. "you are right, my lad," answered the old lumberman. "there is a fine chance for all of you." "what are they?" questioned fred a trifle excitedly. "wild turkeys! and the best kind of eating--if you can only get close enough to bring them down." chapter xxiii unexpected visitors "oh, say! we've got to bring down at least one of those wild turkeys!" cried andy. "keep quiet," admonished jack, speaking in a whisper. "if those turkeys hear you they'll be gone in a jiffy." "i didn't know there were any wild turkeys around here," remarked randy. "i thought they had been all cleaned out long ago." "they are getting very scarce," answered uncle barney, "but once in a while you will see a small flock of them. i was after that flock about a week ago, but they got away from me. i've a notion that it's about the last flock in this district." while this talk was going on in low tones of voice, all of the rovers had abandoned the bobsled and were moving toward the shore of the island. "you had better come this way and crawl up in the shelter of yonder rocks and brushwood," advised uncle barney. "and don't shoot until you have a good aim and know what you're shooting at," he concluded. it must be admitted that all of the boys were somewhat excited over the prospect ahead. they caught only a brief glance at the game, but felt certain that it was close at hand. "wild turkeys are a good sight better than rabbits or squirrels, or even pheasants," said fred. "they'll make dandy eating." "don't eat them until after you have shot them, fred," remarked andy dryly. "hush," warned jack. "now, make as little noise as possible, and each of you hold his gun ready for use." they had not stopped to take off their skates, but this was unnecessary, for the snow was deep and the skates merely kept them from slipping. they pushed on around some large rocks, and then in between the thick brushwood, where the snow fell upon their heads and shoulders, covering them with white--something which was to their advantage, as it aided them in hiding themselves from the game. not far away they could hear the wild turkeys, one in particular giving the peculiar gobble by which they are well known. "i see them," whispered fred a minute later, and pointed with his gun. there in a little clearing some distance ahead was a tall and long turkey gobbler surrounded by a number of hens. they were plump and of a peculiar black and bronzed color. "let's all fire together. maybe we can bring down the whole flock!" exclaimed randy, and his manner showed that he was growing quite excited. "all right--i'm willing," answered jack. "but let us see if we can't get a little nearer first." "maybe if we try to get closer they'll get away from us," said andy. "keep your guns pointed at them, and if they start to leave fire as quickly as you can," answered jack, and then he moved forward with his cousins ranged on either side of him. the rover boys had advanced but a few paces when the wild turkeys caught sight of them. the turkey cock issued a loud note of alarm, and all started to fly from the low bushes upon which they had been resting. "fire!" yelled jack, and discharged his rifle. the crack of this weapon was followed by the report of fred's shotgun, and then the twins also let drive. then fred fired again, and so did some of the others. at the first report the turkey cock was seen to rise in the air, followed by some of the hens, while two hens dropped lifeless in the snow. the turkey cock, however, was seriously wounded and fluttered around in a circle. "give him another shot!" yelled fred, whose gun was empty; and thereupon jack and randy fired and the gobbler fell directly at their feet. he was not yet dead, but they quickly put him out of his misery by wringing his neck. by this time the hens which had flown away were out of sight. "two hens and one gobbler!" cried jack, as he surveyed the game. "i think we can congratulate ourselves on this haul." "you certainly can!" exclaimed uncle barney, as he plowed up behind the boys. "wild turkeys are no mean game to bring down, let me tell you! i've tried time and again to get a turkey, and somehow or other it would always get away from me." "some size to this gobbler!" remarked fred. "and some weight, too," he added, as he picked the turkey cock up by the legs. "he'll weigh sixteen or eighteen pounds at least," said the old lumberman, as he took the turkey cock from the youngest rover boy and held the game out in both hands. "yes, sir! every bit of eighteen--and he may go twenty. you'll have a dandy meal off of him." "i know what i'd like to do," said randy wistfully. "i'd like to send him home to the folks." "that's the talk!" returned his twin. "why can't we do it?" "i'm willing," answered jack. "the express company ought to know how to pack game like that so it will carry properly." "they'll pack anything you want them to down at the railroad station," said uncle barney. "there is a man there who makes a specialty of that sort of thing for hunters. he'll see that the turkey reaches your folks in new york in first-class shape." "we can send the gobbler home and keep the two hens," said fred. "that will make eating enough for us, i'm sure. they must weigh at least seven or eight pounds apiece." "all of that," came from the old lumberman. much elated over the success of their first effort at hunting on snowshoe island, the rovers picked up the game and made their way back to where they had left the bobsled. they placed the turkeys on the sled, and then resumed their journey once more. "we're coming up to the end of the island now," announced barney stevenson presently, and a minute later they made a turn around some trees lining the shore and came into view of a cleared spot, containing a small boat-landing. beyond the cleared spot, backed up by some tall pines and hemlocks, were two fair-sized cabins, standing about a hundred feet apart. "that's the cabin i use," explained the old lumberman, pointing to the building on the right. "the other is the one you can make yourselves at home in." the setting for the two cabins was an ideal one, and the boys could well imagine how beautiful the place must look in the summer time with the green trees, and the cleared space sloping down to the great lake. now, of course, the ground, as well as the trees and brushwood, was heavily covered with snow, and the snow hung down off the rough roof of each cabin. "i'll take you directly over to the cabin you are to occupy," said uncle barney. "i've got it all in shape for you, with plenty of firewood and everything." he led the way, and they followed, dragging the bobsled behind them. the door to the cabin had been locked, for the old lumberman stated that he did not wish any outside hunters or other people to take possession during his absence. "of course, a good many of the hunters and lumberman are my friends," he explained. "but then there are often strangers, and some of those fellows wouldn't be above carrying off anything that suited their fancy." the boys gave cries of delight when he took them into the cabin which they were to occupy during their stay on the island. they found it a fairly large place, divided into two rooms, one a general living-room and the other a sleeping apartment. in the former was located a fairly well-made table, a couple of benches, and also a swinging shelf, containing quite an assortment of dishes, while at one side there was a big open fireplace, and in a corner a small closet furnished with numerous kitchen utensils. the other apartment contained three regular bunks and a temporary one put in for the occasion; and these bunks were well spread with fresh pine boughs and camp blankets. the opening from one room into the next was so located that the warmth from the fire in the living-room could easily reach the sleeping apartment. "say, this is bang-up!" exclaimed randy. "it's the best ever!" echoed fred. "it's a peach!" was andy's comment. "i certainly didn't expect anything half as good as this, uncle barney," remarked jack, his eyes showing his pleasure. "if we don't have a good time here, it certainly won't be your fault." "then you really like it, do you, boys?" asked the old lumberman anxiously. "i certainly don't know how it could be better," remarked randy. "and just look at the dishes and things to cook with!" "and these fine bunks!" exclaimed his twin, sitting down on one. "why, this is just as good as a hair mattress!" "and how sweet the pine boughs smell!" murmured fred. "if you boys want to send that turkey cock home, you had better let me take it down to rockville to-day," said the old lumberman. "i won't mind the trip at all," he added, as he saw that some of them were going to remonstrate. "fact is, i forgot to get some of the things i was going to buy yesterday. so if you'll just make yourselves at home here, i'll go down there and be back some time before nightfall." "don't you want to wait until after dinner?" questioned jack. "no. i'll get something to eat while i'm in town." the matter was talked over, and it was finally arranged that barney stevenson should return to rockville with the turkey cock and have it shipped by express to the rover boys' folks in new york. jack wrote out a card, which was to be sent with the game, and also another card to be tacked on the box in which it was to be shipped. then the old lumberman hurried over to his own cabin to get ready for the journey. "won't our folks be surprised when they get that box!" exclaimed fred. "i wish i could be there to see them." "they'll know we didn't lose any time going hunting," added andy, with a happy laugh. when the old hunter had departed with the turkey cock, the boys hung up the dead hens and then proceeded to make themselves at home in the cabin which had been assigned to them. they had quite something to do to build a fire and to unpack and stow away the various things which they had brought along, and almost before they were aware it was time for dinner. "shall we eat the game to-day?" questioned randy. "oh, let us wait until to-morrow. then uncle barney will be with us, and he can enjoy it, too," answered jack, and so it was decided. then the boys started in to get such a meal as their stores and the things which the old lumberman had turned over to them provided. it was great fun, and all of them felt in the best of spirits. andy could hardly keep himself down, and had to whistle at the top of his lungs, and even do a jig or two while he moved about. "it's going to be the best outing ever!" he declared over and over again. "yes, and won't we have something to tell when we get back to colby hall!" put in fred. it was over an hour later before dinner was ready. having had such an early breakfast, the boys did full justice to all the things they had cooked, and they spent quite some time over the meal. after that they continued to put the cabin in order, and cleaned their skates, and also looked over their guns. "we'll have to try these snowshoes to-morrow," announced jack, referring to a number of such articles which barney stevenson had hung on the walls of the cabin. "maybe we'll almost break our necks at first, but there is nothing like getting used to a thing." "what do you mean? getting used to breaking your neck?" questioned andy dryly, and this brought forth a laugh all around. about the middle of the afternoon the boys found themselves with but little to do, and fred suggested that they might go out and look for more game. "oh, let's take it easy for the rest of the day, and go out early in the morning," cried randy. "let us go over to the other cabin and take a look around," suggested andy. "i'm sure old uncle barney won't mind. he's a fine old gentleman, even though he is rather peculiar." "i want to talk to him about ruth stevenson's folks some time," said jack; "but i'm afraid i'm going to have a hard time getting at it." andy led the way out of the cabin, and the four boys had almost reached the place used by the old lumberman when suddenly fred gave a cry. "here come two men from the lake!" "maybe it's uncle barney coming back with one of his friends," said andy. "no; neither of the men walks like the old lumberman," announced his twin. "one of those men looks familiar to me," burst out jack. he gazed intently at the advancing pair. "there are two others behind them," broke in fred. "young fellows, i think." "one of those men is professor lemm!" cried jack. "and the two fellows in the rear are slugger brown and nappy martell!" added fred. chapter xxiv a war of words the knowledge that professor lemm, slugger brown and nappy martell were approaching the cabins on the upper end of snowshoe island filled the rover boys with wonder. "professor lemm must have come to see uncle barney about those deeds," remarked randy. "i wonder if that is slugger's father with him?" broke in fred. "maybe," answered jack. "those men were the only two who were interested in getting possession of this island." "i'll tell you what i think we ought to do!" exclaimed andy. "what?" came from the others quickly. "i think we ought to go back to our own cabin and arm ourselves." "that might not be such a bad idea, andy," returned jack. "those men, backed up by slugger and nappy, may want to carry things with a high hand." acting on andy's suggestion, the four boys retreated to the cabin which they had just left, and each took possession of his weapon. "i don't think they'll try much rough-house work when they see how we are armed," remarked randy grimly. "of course, we don't want to do any shooting," cautioned jack. "we only want to scare them, in case they go too far." "jack, you had better be the spokesman for the crowd," remarked randy. "you go ahead and talk to them, and we'll stand back with our guns." still holding his rifle, jack went forward again, and in a moment more found himself confronted by asa lemm and the man who was with him. "rover! is it possible!" exclaimed the former teacher of colby hall in astonishment. "what are you doing here?" "i and my cousins are here to hunt." "humph! i didn't know old stevenson allowed anybody to do hunting around here." "maybe they are hunting here without the old man's permission," suggested the other man. "where is barney stevenson?" he demanded of jack. "mr. stevenson has gone over to rockville on an errand," was the reply. by this time slugger and nappy had come up, and they stared at jack and his cousins as if they could not believe the evidences of their senses. "well, what do you know about this!" burst out the former bully of colby hall. "all of those rovers up here, and armed!" came from nappy. "who gave you the right to come to this island?" went on the bully, glaring at jack. "do you know these boys?" queried the man who was with professor lemm. "sure, dad, i know them! they are the rover boys i told you about--the fellows who helped to have me and nappy sent away from school." "oh, so that's it!" cried slogwell brown. "did you have any idea they might be up here?" he questioned quickly. "not the least, dad. i thought they were down in new york. nappy said he had seen them on the ice in central park." "i did see them, too," answered the lad mentioned. "well, we didn't come here to see you rovers," broke in asa lemm stiffly. "not but what i have an account to settle with you," he continued significantly. "we want nothing more to do with you, professor lemm," answered jack boldly. "but i'm going to have something to do with you, young man!" stormed the former teacher of the hall, beginning to show his usual ill humor. "never mind these boys now, lemm," interposed slogwell brown. "we want to fix up our business with old stevenson first." "if you have anything to say to mr. stevenson, you'll have to come when he is here," answered jack. "when do you expect him back?" "i don't know exactly when he will come--probably before nightfall." "then, all we can do is to wait for him," grumbled slogwell brown. "if we have to wait, we might as well go inside his cabin and do it," suggested nappy. "it's too cold to stay out here." "yes, and i'm all tired out from wading through those snowdrifts," added slugger. he looked past jack at the other rover boys. "had any luck hunting?" for the moment there was no reply. then randy stepped forward. "i don't know as that is any of your business, slugger," he replied coldly. "oh, say! you needn't get on your high-horse," growled the bully. "what nappy and i ought to do is to pitch into you for having us fired out of the hall." "you stay right where you are!" cried fred. "humph! you think you've got the best of us with those guns, don't you?" came from nappy, who had ranged up beside slugger. "never mind what we think," answered andy. "if you know when you're well off, you'll keep your distance." "see here! you boys needn't get too fresh," came harshly from slogwell brown. "i've heard all about your doings at colby hall, and how you got the professor, here, and my son and his chum into trouble. some day i intend to make you suffer for that. but just now we are here on a different errand." "we're going to put old stevenson off this island and take possession!" cried nappy triumphantly. "and then, when he goes, you can go, too!" "why cannot we take possession of these two cabins at once?" suggested asa lemm. "the island belongs to us, and we have a perfect right to do so." "of course we can take possession," answered slogwell brown. "remember--possession is nine points of the law," he added, in a low tone of voice. "we'll show old stevenson where he belongs," growled slugger. "yes, and we'll show these rover boys where they belong, too," put in nappy, his eyes snapping viciously. without further ado, the whole party started toward the cabin which was barney stevenson's home. evidently the men had been there before, and knew that this was the right building of the two. "oh, jack! are you going to let them take possession?" questioned fred, in a low voice. "what do you fellows think we ought to do?" queried the oldest rover boy quickly. "i think we ought to make them keep out until uncle barney gets back," answered randy. "that's my idea, too," added his twin. "they may have the right to this island, but i'd make them fight it out with mr. stevenson," was fred's comment. "that's just the way i look at it, too," answered jack. "come on, randy; we'll guard that cabin while andy and fred can remain here to guard this place." "would you dare to shoot at them?" questioned fred anxiously. "i don't think there will be any necessity for shooting, fred. i think if we merely show we mean business they will keep their distance." the boys exchanged a few more words, and then jack and randy set off on a run for the cabin occupied by uncle barney. they outdistanced the visitors, and soon placed themselves in the doorway. "now, you keep back!" cried jack warningly. "don't come near this place until mr. stevenson returns!" "ha! do you dare to threaten me?" burst out slogwell brown in amazement. "you heard what i said." "every one of you keep away from here," put in randy. "see here, rover!" commenced asa lemm. "this is outrageous! we own this island, and we intend to take possession." "whether you own it or not, you are not going to take possession of anything until after mr. stevenson gets here," answered jack, as calmly as he could. "i don't know anything about your claim. as far as i do know, mr. stevenson is the owner of this place. he left us in charge when he went away, and we are going to remain in charge until he gets back." "huh! do you think we're going to stay out in this cold?" grumbled slugger. "i don't care what you do," answered jack. "you can't come into either of these cabins--and that's final!" "we'll see about that!" stormed nappy, and advanced several steps. "get back there," ordered jack sternly, and made a movement as if to raise his rifle. "stop! stop! don't shoot!" yelled asa lemm, in sudden fright. "keep back, boys, or they'll certainly shoot at us!" and he began to retreat. "do you dare to threaten us?" questioned slogwell brown and the tone of his voice showed his uneasiness. a glance over his shoulder had shown him the other two boys at the doorway of the second cabin, and also armed. "i'm telling you to keep away from here--that's all," answered jack. "you can come back when mr. stevenson returns." "i--i think maybe it would be better for us to retire," stammered professor lemm. "we--er--don't want to run the risk of being shot. those boys are very hot-headed, and there is no telling what they might do if we exasperated them." "i'm not going to give in to a bunch of school boys!" stormed slogwell brown, who, in his manner, was every bit as much of a bully as his son. "but if they should shoot at us----" "i don't think they've got the nerve to do it. they are only putting up a big bluff." "don't you be too sure about that," put in nappy, who was just as much scared as was the professor. "those rover boys are game to do almost anything when they are aroused." "we've got to remember one thing," came from slugger. "there are four of them, and each of 'em has got a gun." "i wish i had brought a gun along myself," said his crony. "we should have armed ourselves," grumbled slogwell brown. "it was a mistake to come over to this island without so much as a pistol. if i only had some sort of a weapon, i'd show those boys a thing or two." "maybe we can get into the cabin by a back way," suggested nappy. "say, that's an idea!" cried his crony. "and if we can do that, maybe there's a gun or a pistol inside that we can use." "you boys can take a walk around to the rear if you want to," answered slugger's father. "i'll see if i can't bluff those fellows into letting us in at the front." slugger and nappy had just started to move away toward the lake shore, intending to sneak behind some rocks and bushes, when they heard fred give a loud shout from the entrance to the second cabin. then andy gave a long whistle. "what's that for?" questioned nappy quickly. "see! they are waving their hands to somebody," announced slugger. he turned to gaze out over the lake. "a man is coming." "what do you bet it isn't old stevenson?" "it is! see, he's coming as fast as he can!" "yes, and he has his gun with him," announced asa lemm somewhat feebly. attracted by the call from fred and the loud whistle given by andy, the old lumberman had noted that a number of visitors were standing in front of the two cabins at the upper end of snowshoe island. he was still a considerable distance out on the lake, but his rapid skate strokes soon brought him to the shore. then, without waiting to unstrap his skates, he came forward through the snow, his shotgun ready for use. "well, i'm mighty glad he's got here," murmured jack, and his cousins echoed the sentiment. chapter xxv facing the wolves "so this is how you treat me, eh?" exclaimed old barney stevenson, as he confronted the visitors. "come here to do as you please while i'm away, eh?" and his face showed his intense displeasure. "they wanted to go into your cabin, but we wouldn't let them do it while you were away," said jack quickly. "good for you, boys--i'm glad you kept 'em out." "see here, stevenson, this nonsense has got to end!" cried slogwell brown. "you know as well as i do that you have no valid claim to this island." "the island belongs to me, brown, and i intend to keep it!" was the quick reply. "i've got my deed for it." "that deed is no good, and you know it," broke in asa lemm. "look here! if you are so sure that mr. stevenson is in the wrong, why don't you go to law about it?" questioned jack, struck by a sudden idea. "see here, boy, this is none of your affair," growled slogwell brown. "we'll conduct our own business in our own way." "and i'll conduct my own business in my own way, too!" interposed uncle barney. "you get off of this island--all of you--just as quick as you can," and he started as if to raise his gun. "now, see here, stevenson----" began slogwell brown. "we have rights----" came from asa lemm. "i've listened to you before. i'm not going to listen again!" interrupted the old lumberman. "you haven't any right on this island, and i'm ordering you--every one of you--to get off just as soon as you can. you're trespassers--nothing else!" and now he raised his gun as if getting ready to shoot. "come on, let us go back!" cried professor lemm in sudden terror, and he retreated several steps, followed by slugger and nappy. "see here, stevenson, you'll be sorry for this some day," growled slogwell brown. he had still too much of the fight left in him to retreat, and yet he was not brave enough to advance. "i'll take my chances!" returned uncle barney. "i've got those deeds, and i know they are all o. k. now, you clear out--and don't you dare to come here again!" "why won't you let me see those deeds?" questioned the other man. "because i won't--that's why!" "i came on purpose to look them over and show you your mistake." "maybe he hasn't got any deeds," came from nappy, who had fallen back still further. "i've got those deeds safe and sound--in a box--and put away where you fellows can't find 'em!" answered the old lumberman triumphantly. "now you get out! i'll give you just five minutes to do it in. jack, you time 'em, will you?" and he glanced at the oldest rover boy. "sure, i will!" was the ready reply, and jack pulled out his watch. "it's now exactly twelve minutes past four." "all right. then you've got until seventeen minutes after four to get off of this island," announced barney stevenson to the visitors. "if you are not off by that time, there'll most likely be some shooting around here." he had taken his place in front of his cabin, and all of the boys were now ranged beside him. as each was armed, they made quite a formidable looking firing squad. much against his will, slogwell brown retreated to where professor lemm and the others of the crowd stood. the four talked matters over in a low tone. "it's too bad we came here unarmed," grumbled slogwell brown. "that's just what i say, dad!" answered his son. "let's go back and get some guns and pistols." "no! no! we don't want any shooting!" cried asa lemm in new alarm. "i'm not going to get mixed up in any gun-play," added nappy. "if we could only get possession of those deeds!" went on the former teacher of colby hall. "i've got a plan," suggested nappy, after a moment's pause. "come on, let's go away now, and i'll tell you what it is." growling and grumbling, the four visitors made their way slowly to the lake shore. as they skated off, slugger brown turned to shake his fist at the rovers, and nappy did likewise. "well, they've gone!" exclaimed fred, and his voice showed his relief. "but there's no telling when they'll come back," said randy quickly. "i don't think they'll come back in a hurry," broke in andy. "we scared them pretty thoroughly with our guns." "what did they say to you before i came?" questioned uncle barney, while the party on the lake was disappearing in the gloom. thereupon the boys related the particulars of all that had taken place, the old lumberman listening closely to the recital. at the end, he shut his teeth and shook his head grimly. "the rascals!" he ejaculated. "if it hadn't been for you, they would most likely have ransacked both of the cabins, and maybe, if they had gotten hold of my extra gun or my pistol, taken possession and made me keep away." "oh, they would have taken possession all right enough!" cried jack. "but if the island is really yours, uncle barney, i don't see why you couldn't have had them arrested for anything like that." "i told you before--i have no use for lawyers or law courts," grumbled the old lumberman. "all i want to do is to stay here and not be disturbed. i've got my deeds, and that's enough." "are you sure they are in a safe place?" questioned jack. "i mean, some place where those rascals can't get at them?" "i've got 'em in a tin box, and put away safe enough." "i hope you haven't got them hidden around one of the cabins," said fred. "they'd be sure to find them if they came here some time when you were away, and made a search." "i haven't got 'em in or near either of the cabins. i've got 'em in a better place than that," was the cunning reply. "you really ought to have them recorded, uncle barney; and then maybe it wouldn't be a bad scheme to put them in a safe deposit box in a bank," said jack. "oh, they're safe enough--don't you fear!" answered the old man. it was plainly to be seen that he was bound to have his own way in everything he did. satisfied that the visitors had left the island for the time being, the boys followed the old lumberman into his own cabin, and there helped him to start up the fire. he told them that he had shipped off the wild turkey as desired. the evening passed quietly, and in the morning the boys found themselves thoroughly rested. "it's a grand day for hunting!" exclaimed fred, as he went outside to view the landscape. the sun was just peeping over the trees on the eastern shore of lake monona, and soon the dazzling shafts of light were streaming over the ice and snow in all directions. "do you think asa lemm and those others will be back to-day?" queried randy. "there's no telling," answered jack. while some of the boys were preparing breakfast, the others walked over to uncle barney's cabin. they found the old lumberman already stirring, and invited him to come over and eat his morning meal with them, an invitation which he readily accepted, for he had taken a great liking to all of the rovers. "we've been thinking of trying those snowshoes, uncle barney," said jack. "no time like the present, boys," was the answer. "i'll show you how to put 'em on, and how to use 'em, too." "won't you go out hunting with us?" questioned fred. "no; i'm going to stay around the cabins, in case those rascals come back. i don't think they will, but there is nothing like being on the safe side." the hour after the morning meal was productive of a good deal of fun. none of the boys had ever used snowshoes before, and consequently in their efforts to move around on them, they got more than one tumble. "great watermelons!" cried andy, as he pitched headfirst into a snowdrift. "and i thought using snowshoes was the easiest thing in the world!" "it's just like plain walking, andy; it's got to be learned," answered jack, who, a moment before, had had a tumble himself. finally, however, the boys managed to remain on their feet fairly well, and then they started off to do a little hunting along the eastern shore of the island. "i don't know as you'll be able to stir up very much to-day," announced uncle barney. "but even a few rabbits and a few squirrels won't be so bad." they carried a lunch with them, not knowing whether they would get back to the cabin by noon or not. they were soon gliding over the snow where something of a trail led through the woods. they tramped a good half mile before they saw anything in the way of game. then several squirrels appeared, and fred and andy had the satisfaction of laying them low with their shotguns. then they tramped on further, and by noon managed to obtain a rabbit and two woodcocks. "not so bad but what it might be worse," announced jack, who had the rabbit to his credit. "we won't go hungry, that's sure!" "and don't forget that we've got those wild turkeys to eat," added andy, who had laid low the two woodcocks. being unaccustomed to the use of snowshoes, the lads were glad to rest. they built themselves a little campfire, and, huddling around this, partook of the lunch they had brought along, washing it down with some hot chocolate from a thermos bottle they carried. the lunch finished, they set off once again, this time going deeper into the woods than ever. "listen!" cried jack presently. "i thought i heard some game stirring." all came to a halt and listened intently. from a distance they heard a peculiar drumming sound. "partridges, i'll bet anything!" cried randy in a low voice. "come on, let's see if we can't get some of them." he led the way over the snow, and the others were not slow in following. they had reached a point where the trees grew sparingly, and where there were a great number of rocks and brushwood. they could hear a strange fluttering, and then a number of partridges arose in the air some distance in front of them. all took hasty aim and fired, but the game sailed out of sight unharmed. "that's the time we missed it," observed jack dismally. "i guess we made too much noise and they heard us." "listen!" interrupted randy. "there is some sort of fight going on ahead." he was right; and, listening, they made out a strange bark mingled with a snarl and several yelps. "let's go ahead and see what it means!" exclaimed andy, and pushed on, with the others close behind him. the boys had to skirt some heavy brushwood, and then came out in a small cleared space surrounded by numerous big rocks and pine trees. the strange noises they had heard had come from between two of the large rocks, and now, of a sudden, several forms, snapping and snarling and whirling this way and that in the snow, burst upon their view. "wolves!" "four of them!" "they are all fighting over the possession of a dead partridge!" four gaunt and hungry-looking wolves had come tumbling out in the snow. one of them was carrying a dead partridge in his mouth, and the other three were doing their best to get the game away from him. as the rovers came into the opening, the wolves, for an instant, stopped their fighting and glared at the boys. then the animal having the game made a sudden leap over the rocks and disappeared from view. the three wolves that remained began to snap and snarl and show their teeth. "gracious! they are certainly hungry-looking beggars!" was randy's comment. "come on, let's shoot them!" exclaimed jack. "they're no good for game," interposed randy. "i know that, randy. but we don't want them on the island, and neither does uncle barney." "i thought he said there weren't very many wolves left. maybe----" fred, who was speaking, got no further, for at that moment the three hungry-looking wolves crouched low, and then sprang straight in the direction of the four young hunters! chapter xxvi jack frees his mind "jump for your lives!" "shoot them!" these cries had scarcely been made when jack's gun rang out and the foremost of the three wolves was hit in the foreleg. he gave a plunge, and rolled over in the snow, snapping and snarling viciously. the report of the weapon was followed by the discharge of randy's gun, but his aim was wild and the charge passed harmlessly over the heads of the wolves. "shoot them!" "club them!" then another shot rang out as fred swung into action. it was at close range, and the charge of shot tore directly into the throat of the leading wolf, causing him to leap high into the air, and then fall over on his back. he plunged for a moment, sending the snow flying in every direction, and then lay still. shocked evidently by the fate that had overtaken both of his companions, the third wolf came to a sudden halt. with eyes glaring fiercely, he snapped and then leaped for the nearest rocks. [illustration: the wolf received a blow that bowled him over. _page _] "shoot him, somebody! we want to get all three of them!" crack! bang! went a rifle and a shotgun almost simultaneously, but the aim of the two marksmen was poor, and only a few scattering shots went through the tail of the wolf. then, with a wild yelp, he disappeared behind the rocks, and that was the last seen of him. in the meantime, the wounded beast was snapping and snarling most ferociously. he sent a shower of loose snow toward the rovers, and then made a desperate leap at jack. it was a time of dire peril, and no one realized it more than did the oldest rover boy. he attempted to retreat, but to do so in snowshoes was too much for him, and over he went on his side in a deep bank of snow, almost disappearing from view. "the wolf is on top of jack!" "shoot him--but be careful and don't hit jack!" "don't fire!" gasped randy. "you'll hit jack sure!" and then, as well as he was able, he sprang to the front, using his gun as a club as he did so. around came the stock with a wide swing, and the wolf received a blow in the side that bowled him over and over. this second attack, coming after he had been wounded in the foreleg, was too much for the animal, and with a yelp of sudden fear he went limping and leaping through the snow, sending the loose particles flying all about him. one of the boys discharged his gun after the beast, but whether he hit the animal or not he could not tell. in another moment the wolf was out of sight. "do you think any of them will come back?" panted andy, who was quite out of breath with excitement. "i don't think so," answered jack. "however, let us reload just as quickly as we can and be ready for them." he had been taught the all-important lesson that a hunter should not let his firearm remain empty. "well, anyhow, i got one of them!" cried fred, with proper pride, as he surveyed the beast he had laid low. the discharge of shot had almost torn the wolf's throat asunder. "what will you do with him?" questioned randy. "i'm going to take him back to the cabin and ask uncle barney about it," was fred's reply. "perhaps we can have the wolf stuffed." the excitement of the encounter with the wolves had taken away the boys' desire to do any more hunting that day, and, strapping the dead wolf fast to a tree limb, they started on the return to the northern end of the island, each doing his share in carrying the dead animal. "what's that? a wolf?" cried barney stevenson, when he saw what they had brought. and then he added quickly. "must be the one that we located in the cabin at the other end of the island." "we can't say about that," answered jack, and then all of the boys told the story of the encounter in the woods. "four of them! why, i haven't heard of any such thing as that around here for years! i'll have to go after some of those wolves myself." "i was wondering what we could do with this wolf," said fred. "do you think i could send him home to have him stuffed?" "you could, my boy. but i wouldn't advise it. who would want a stuffed wolf around anyhow? of course, you might put him in some club-house or furrier's window--or something like that." "oh, i guess i won't bother," answered fred. "i'll tell you what we'll do," suggested jack. "we'll prop the wolf up against a tree, and then take a photograph of fred shooting at him;" and so it was decided, and the boys had much fun taking the picture. several days passed, and no one came near the island. in the meantime, the boys went out hunting every day, and barney stevenson showed them how to fish through a hole in the ice. this was great sport, and they had the satisfaction of adding a number of pickerel and perch to their bill of fare. during those days, they cooked and ate the wild turkeys, and found the meat quite palatable. "we sure are having one dandy time," said fred one evening, when sitting in front of the blazing fire. "i don't see how it could be any better, fred," answered andy. "and just think of what we've brought down in the way of rabbits, squirrels, pheasants, woodcocks and turkeys!" "not to say anything about my wolf," came from fred. "yes, and a shot i got at a brook mink," added jack. he had seen the mink at a distance, but had been unable to bring the game down. uncle barney had been with the boys at supper time, but had taken himself over to his own cabin, to smoke and to read one of several books the boys had given him. "i think i'll go over and see the old lumberman," said jack presently. "you fellows can stay here." "going to talk to him about ruth and her folks?" questioned randy. "yes, if i get the chance." "i wouldn't worry him too much," said fred. "he hasn't gotten over that visit from professor lemm and the others yet." "oh, i'll be careful--don't worry about that." the old lumberman was a bit surprised to have jack walk in on him, but the youth had brought his gun along, and he asked uncle barney to examine the hammer of the weapon. "it looks all right to me," said the old lumberman, after an examination; "but i'll put on a few drops of oil, and then maybe it'll work easier. it won't do to have the hammer stick just when you want to use it." "and now, uncle barney, if you'll permit me, i'd like to speak of something else," said jack, as he dropped into a seat alongside of the fireplace. "i've got something on my mind, and i want to see if you can't help me out." "something on your mind, eh?" returned the old man kindly. "well, if i can help you out, you can depend on old uncle barney to do it," and he smiled broadly. "it isn't exactly my trouble, uncle barney. it's somebody else's," went on the oldest rover boy. "a young lady i know is very much worried over something, and she has asked me if i can't do something to help her get rid of that worry." "must be some young lady you know pretty well, then, jack;" and the old lumberman smiled again. "i do know her quite well. and i think a great deal of her friendship. her folks have some trouble on hand--quite a good deal of it in fact--and it worries the girl a good deal, and that, of course, worries me. you see, there has been a terrible mistake made, and neither the girl nor her folks know how to get at it to remedy it." "i see--i see!" the old lumberman nodded his head several times. "that's the way it is often. things get into a snarl, and a fellow can't see his way clear to straighten 'em out. i've been there myself, and i know." "this young lady i'm speaking about has an old relative--a sort of uncle--that she thinks a great deal of. her folks think a great deal of this gentleman, too. now, years ago, her folks and the old gentleman had a quarrel, and now the old gentleman won't let her come anywhere near him, even though she would love dearly to talk to him and try to explain matters, so that he would understand that it was not her folks' fault that the quarrel had taken place." "see here! what are you talking about?" exclaimed uncle barney, eyeing jack suspiciously. "come now, no beating about the bush!" "well, if you must know, i'm speaking about ruth stevenson, who goes to a young ladies' school not far from colby hall. she and i are very good friends, and she has told me a good deal about this quarrel you had with her father." "it was fred stevenson's fault--it wasn't my fault!" grumbled the old lumberman. "maybe it was, uncle barney. i don't know anything about that. but i do know that ruth has told me that her father never wanted nor tried to do you any injury. he claims that it was all a mistake, and that you should have given him a chance to explain." "it wasn't any mistake--i know just exactly what happened!" "but don't you think you ought to at least listen to what ruth's father has to say? all he wants you to do is to hear his story." "did he tell you that?" "ruth told me. she said both her father and her mother are very much upset over the way you have treated them. they want to be friends with you, and her father is willing to do whatever is right regarding what took place years ago. she said her folks would like nothing better than to have you give up your lonely life on this island and come down and make your home with them." "what! me go down there and live with them after all that has happened! i couldn't do anything like that!" and the old lumberman sprang up and began to pace the cabin floor. "you could do it if you tried, uncle barney. by the way, don't you remember ruth?" "sure i do--as pretty a little girl as ever i set eyes on. i never had anything against her. it was her father i had my quarrel with." "and you liked ruth's mother, too, didn't you?" went on jack slowly. "oh, yes. helen dean always was a nice girl. i knew her long before fred stevenson married her." "and you liked ruth's father, too, didn't you, before this quarrel took place?" "of course. we were very chummy up to that time." the old lumberman took several turns across the cabin floor. "but that's all over now. he didn't treat me fair--that's all there is to it! he didn't even come to my wife's funeral!" "well, if he didn't, he's very sorry for it now. and you can take it from me, uncle barney, that he would like nothing better than to patch up the matter somehow or other, and be friends once more." "yes, but----" "and just think how happy it would make his wife and ruth!" continued jack quietly. "maybe. but i don't see how it can be done. anyway, i ain't going to take the first step," went on uncle barney, somewhat lamely. "you won't have to take the first step!" cried jack. "you just let them do that." he came over and caught the old lumberman by the arm. "will you?" for a moment uncle barney was silent. he bit his lip and rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. "well, i'll see about it," he said slowly. "i'll think it over." chapter xxvii the blue tin box when jack rover returned to the other cabin he was in a happy frame of mind. he had talked to barney stevenson for over an hour, and the old man had at last agreed to listen to what ruth's father might have to say to him. he had admitted that living on the island was rather a lonely existence for him, especially as he was getting old. "i do hope they patch up their differences," remarked jack to his cousins, after he had told them of the conversation held. "i know it will take a great load off of ruth's mind." "are you going to send the stevensons a letter?" questioned fred. "i'm going to do better than that, fred," was the reply. "i'll skate down to rockville the first thing in the morning and send ruth and her folks a telegram. there is nothing like striking while the iron is hot." "exactly so!" put in andy. "it's just like catching a flea while he is biting;" and at this sally there was a general laugh. jack was as good as his word, and slipped off early in the morning, accompanied by randy. it was a beautiful day, and the youths had little difficulty in reaching the town. here the oldest rover boy spent quite some time concocting the proper message, which he sent to the stevenson home address. "i only hope somebody will be there to receive it," he said, after the message had been paid for, and he had urged upon the operator to send it without delay. several more days, including sunday, passed rather quietly for the boys. one afternoon there came another fall of snow, and they grew rather fearful, thinking they might be snowed in. but the fall proved a light one, and in the morning it was as clear as ever. jack had been rather disappointed at not getting the brook mink at which he had shot, and now he asked the others if they would not go to the locality where the mink had been seen. "i'd like to bring one of them down," said the oldest rover boy. "well, we might as well go after the mink as do anything," answered fred. he was growing just a bit tired of going after nothing but rabbits and squirrels. for two days they had seen nothing else at which to shoot. even the wolves and wild turkeys kept well out of sight. the boys found old uncle barney polishing his gun. he told them, however, that he was not going out hunting, but was going into the woods to inspect some of the trees with a view to cutting them down for lumber. "you won't have no easy time of it getting a mink," he said. "the only way i ever got 'em was in a trap. howsomever, go ahead and enjoy yourselves. hunting is a good deal like fishing--you can have lots of fun even if you don't get anything," and he chuckled. nevertheless, his face looked as if he was somewhat worried. "i'll wager he's thinking about ruth's father and that meeting they may have," said randy, when the rovers were alone and preparing to go out on the hunt. "either that, randy, or else he is brooding over the trouble professor lemm and mr. brown are making for him." "there's one thing i can't understand about this," put in andy. "why should those men be so anxious to obtain possession of an island like this? it isn't very large, and the lumber on it can't be worth a great deal. i should think they could pick up a piece of real estate almost anywhere that would be far more valuable than this." "now you're saying something that i've been thinking right along," answered jack. "even if they wanted this place for a summer resort, it wouldn't bring any great sum of money." "one thing is certain," said fred; "they are very eager to get possession." "yes. and another thing is certain, too," added jack. "that is, uncle barney isn't going to let them have it if he can possibly stop them." the boys had had an early breakfast, and now they filled one of their game bags with a well-cooked lunch, and also carried with them a thermos bottle filled with hot chocolate. "we don't want to run short on food," cautioned andy. "gee! what an appetite this fresh air gives a fellow!" "right you are!" answered fred. "i could eat five or six meals a day and never mind it at all." "i'm glad we have managed to bring down so many squirrels and rabbits," put in randy. "if it wasn't for that, we might have run a little short on eating. i'm a little bit tired of squirrel stew and rabbit potpie, although they are a whole lot better than going hungry." barney stevenson came out to see them off. "going down to that brook where you saw the mink?" he questioned, referring to a tiny watercourse, now, of course, frozen up, located near the southern end of the island. "yes. and maybe we'll get away down to the other cabin," answered jack. "we thought we'd like to take a look around there." "and if we don't come back to-night, you'll know that we're staying at that cabin," said fred. "oh, we didn't calculate to stay out all night," put in jack quickly. "i know we didn't. but it's just possible it may get too late for us to come back, and that cabin would be comfortable enough, especially if we managed to drag in some pine boughs for beds." "well, don't shoot more than half a dozen minks--or half a dozen deer, either!" shouted uncle barney after them; and then they started off and were soon out of sight, skating along the eastern shore of snowshoe island. left to himself, uncle barney began to pace the floor of his cabin impatiently. evidently the old lumberman was turning over something in his mind--something which bothered him a great deal. "of course they are safe!" he murmured to himself. "it couldn't be otherwise. the last time i looked, the tin box was just where i had left it. i don't see why i should get so nervous over it." presently he drew out his pipe, filled it, and sat down in front of the fire to smoke. as he did this, a slight noise outside the cabin attracted his attention. "i wonder what that was?" he asked himself, and, arising, looked out of one of the cabin windows. then he went to the door and gazed around. no one was in sight, and he closed the door again. "must have been the wind, or something like that," he murmured. "or else i'm getting more nervous than i ever was before. now that i've got used to those boys around, it seems dreadfully lonely when they are gone;" and he heaved a deep sigh. he remained in front of the fire for the best part of half an hour. then, as if struck by a sudden determination, he leaped up, knocked the ashes from his pipe, and began to put on his snowshoes. he donned his heavy coat and his cap, locked up his cabin, and strode off in the direction of the heavy woods in the center of the island. although barney stevenson was not aware of it, the noise he had heard while seated before the open fire had betokened something of importance. entirely unknown to the old lumberman or to the rover boys, slugger brown and nappy martell had arrived in the vicinity of the two cabins on the northern point of the island. both of the youths were armed, but they approached the cabin occupied by the old lumberman with the greatest of secrecy. "it looks like another wild-goose chase to me," growled slugger brown, when they were close to the place. "we've been here three times now, and the old man hasn't done a thing out of the ordinary." "well, we're sure of one thing, anyway," nappy replied. "he hasn't got those deeds anywhere around that cabin--or at least no place where we could locate them." the bully and his crony had, from a distance, watched the departure of the rovers. as can be guessed from their conversation, they had visited the island several times before, each time taking care that none of the others should discover their presence. on their trips they had been strongly tempted to "rough-house" the cabin occupied by jack and his cousins, but they had not dared to do this, fearing it might cause the rovers to go on guard. "and anyhow, we're not here for that purpose now," slugger brown had observed. "we want to get those land deeds for my dad and old lemon." the two youths had come close to the side of the cabin and peered in at one of the windows, and it was this noise that had attracted barney stevenson's attention. but they had managed to keep out of sight of the old lumberman by flinging themselves down behind some bushes. they watched the departure of uncle barney with interest, and at once resolved to follow him. "of course we haven't any snowshoes; so maybe we won't get very far," said slugger, "but we will do the best we can." unconscious that his movements were being so closely observed, uncle barney plunged deep into the woods, taking a trail which was familiar to him. in some spots the snow lay deep, but in the majority of places the wind had swept the ground almost bare, so slugger and nappy had no great difficulty in following in the old man's footsteps. "he doesn't seem to be going out after any game," observed nappy presently. "i just saw a rabbit running ahead of him, and he never even raised his gun." "i think i know where he's going," answered slugger. "we'll soon find out if i'm right." "you mean that cave your father once spoke about?" "that's it, nappy." "what is there about that cave that makes it so important?" went on the other curiously. "never mind that now--you'll know some day--when my father gets possession of the island," answered slugger rather importantly. the best part of half a mile more was covered, and then barney stevenson left the trail and plunged in among a wilderness of trees and rocks. he had to take off his snowshoes, and he hung them up in a tree. then he went ahead once more, presently reaching the foot of a little cliff. here there was an opening six or seven feet in diameter, and he disappeared into this. "what do you know about that?" cried nappy in a low voice. "is that a cave?" "that's just what it is!" answered slugger triumphantly. "i only hope it's the cave my father wanted to locate." "why does he want to locate a cave on this island?" asked nappy, more curious than ever. "you'll know some day, nap. now come on--let's try to find out what the old man is going to do in that cave." with caution, the bully and his crony made their way over the snow, and then slipped inside the entrance to the cave. ahead of them they saw the flicker of a lantern which uncle barney had lit. the cave was irregular in shape, running back a distance of a hundred feet or more. as the old man advanced he held his gun ready for use, thinking that possibly some wild animal had taken possession; but no animal of any sort appeared. coming to the back end of the cave, the old man set down the lantern on a rock. then he got down on his knees and began to pull away at a large flat stone, close by. he worked rather feverishly, as if growing more nervous every instance. "it must be here! they couldn't have gotten it away from me!" he muttered to himself. as he worked, slugger and nappy approached until they were within plain sight of what he was doing. they did not make a sound, however, and uncle barney never suspected their presence. when the flat stone had been set aside, there was revealed a small _cache_, lined with more stones. at the bottom of this _cache_ rested a fair-sized tin box, dark blue in color, and secured with a padlock. "ha! i knew it was safe!" cried the old man in a relieved tone of voice. "i knew they couldn't find it!" "say! what do you suppose----" began nappy, when slugger clapped a hand over his mouth. the low-spoken words echoed throughout the cavern, and, much startled, uncle barney dropped the tin box and sprang to his feet. as he did this slugger brown shoved his crony behind a projecting rock, and crouched low himself. "who is there?" cried the old lumberman, and caught up his gun. "who is there, i say! speak, or i'll fire!" for reply, slugger picked up a good-sized stone which was handy. taking hasty aim, he hurled it at the old man. it struck uncle barney in the forehead, and slowly the old lumberman sank to the floor of the cave unconscious. chapter xxviii uncle barney's secret "looks to me as if we were going to be stumped, jack." "i agree, andy. it doesn't look as if there were any mink in this neighborhood," answered the oldest rover boy. "don't give up yet," pleaded fred, who sat on a fallen tree, resting. "it's barely noon yet," announced andy, glancing at his watch. "we've half a day before us." the boys had spent the entire time since leaving their cabin in skating along the shore of the island and making their way along the tiny, frozen-up watercourse, where they had hoped to discover at least one brook mink. but the only game to come into sight had been a squirrel, and they had not shot at this, fearing to disturb the other game, were it in that vicinity. "let's have lunch before we continue hunting," suggested andy. "this is as good a spot as any to rest in." the others were willing, and, finding a little cleared space, they built a tiny campfire and proceeded to make themselves at home. they passed a full hour over the mid-day meal, for the constant skating and tramping through the woods and climbing over the rocks was very tiring. "it won't be long before our vacation will be at an end," observed fred. "only a few days more, and we'll have to get into the grind again at colby hall." "don't dare to mention lessons yet, fred!" cried andy. "time enough for that when the school bell rings." "i was hoping mr. stevenson would get up here before we left," said jack. "i want to see how he and old uncle barney get along." "maybe he's staying away on purpose, so that he'll have a chance to see the old man alone," suggested randy. the middle of the afternoon found the four young hunters near the end of the frozen-up watercourse, at a point where it ran in summer over some rough rocks into the lake below. here the ground was very irregular, and once fred slipped into a hollow, giving his left ankle a bad twist. "ouch!" he cried, and made a wry face. "much hurt?" asked the others quickly. "i--i don't think so," answered the youngest rover slowly. he pulled himself up and took a step or two. "i guess it is all right; but it was a nasty tumble, just the same." "we've got to be careful. it won't do for any of us to sprain an ankle or break a leg," cautioned jack. they had gone only a short distance further when randy suddenly put up his hand. "i saw something flit through the snow near yonder rocks," he whispered, pointing. "i see it!" ejaculated jack, and with these words he took hasty aim, and fired. then his cousins saw another movement in the snow, between some nearby rocks, and they, too, discharged their weapons. there was a commotion both in the direction in which jack had fired, and also down between the nearer rocks, and, rushing up, the four young hunters beheld two minks, whirling about in the snow, each badly wounded. "mink, boys! think of it!" "don't let them get away!" these cries mingled with several more rapid reports, as one lad after another fired a second charge. this time their aims were better, and in a moment each of the minks lay stretched out on the rocks, dead. "i think there was a third one," observed randy, "but he must have got away." "well, we've got two, anyway," answered jack with some pride. "what beautiful creatures they are!" each of the minks was over a foot in length, not counting the bushy tail. they were of a soft brown shade, with a ridge of black on the back and patches of white below. each was quite plump, and gave forth a peculiar strong odor. the boys were greatly delighted, and viewed the game with much satisfaction. they placed the minks over their shoulders, and then continued the hunt, presently stirring up half a dozen rabbits. "i guess we had better be starting for the cabin," announced jack presently. "how about going to that other cabin at the south end of the island?" queried fred. "oh, let's give that up!" cried randy. "i feel like getting back to where we have all our things." the others were inclined to do this, and, somewhat against his will, fred agreed to return to the north end of snowshoe island. not without some difficulty, they made their way back to the lake shore, and there put on their skates once again and started. the young hunters had expected to see uncle barney awaiting them on their return, and they were a bit surprised when the old lumberman did not show himself. "he must be putting in a full day sizing up that lumber he spoke about," observed jack, as he gazed at his watch. "it's nearly six o'clock." "he can't see much in this darkness," observed randy. the boys entered their cabin, and after resting a bit proceeded to cook supper. they expected every moment to hear a shout from uncle barney, but none came, and at last they sat down to the meal alone. "i don't like this much," was jack's comment, when another hour had passed, and the old lumberman had failed to show himself. "if he was going to stay away like this he should have left some word." "let's take a look around his cabin," suggested fred. this was done, but it shed no light on the unusual occurrence. the boys sat down and tried to amuse themselves as best they could, but, as another hour went by, their anxiety increased. "something is wrong, i feel certain," announced jack at last. "maybe while he was out in the woods he fell down over some rocks," suggested andy. "he's a pretty old man to be climbing around in dangerous places," added his twin. when the time came to go to bed, none of the boys felt like retiring. a lantern was lit and hung up on a flagpole which stood between the two cabins. this was a signal which had been agreed upon when the rovers had first come to snowshoe island. "there! now if he can see the light he'll be able to locate himself," said fred. the boys took a walk around by the boat landing, and also to the edge of the woods back of the cabin, but all to no purpose. then they finally retired to their own shelter. "we might as well go to bed," suggested handy. "it won't do any good for all of us to stay up. if you say so, we might take turns in staying on guard, in case we should hear a call for help, or anything like that." this was considered good advice, and each youth took two hours at staying awake while the others slept; and thus the night passed. with the first streak of daylight, the boys prepared a hasty breakfast, and then went outside to view the situation. they soon found the tracks of the old lumberman's snowshoes, leading into the woods, and presently saw two other tracks close behind them. "i'm no sleuth, but it looks to me as if uncle barney went into the woods and two persons followed him!" exclaimed jack. "just the way it looks to me, too," answered fred. "let's go and follow up those footprints at once," suggested andy. the others were willing, and in a short space of time they were on their snowshoes and making their way through the woods in the center of the island. "hello! here's something!" cried jack presently, and pointed to the old lumberman's snowshoes, where they still rested among the branches of a tree. then the boys saw where he had climbed between the rocks, and, taking off their snowshoes, they followed the footprints. "a cave!" "what do you know about that!" it did not take the lads long to reach the entrance of the cavern. then jack, who had brought along one of the flashlights, turned it on and entered, followed by his cousins. "hello, uncle barney!" he cried out at the top of his lungs. "uncle barney! are you here?" "help! help!" came feebly from the inner end of the cave, and, guided by the flashlight, the four rovers ran in that direction. they found the old man sitting on a rock with his head resting on his arm. "are you hurt? how did it happen?" questioned jack quickly. "they've robbed me!" moaned the old lumberman. "they came up behind me, and somebody hit me in the head with a rock! then they ran away with my tin box!" "who was it? are you badly hurt?" questioned randy. "i guess i'm not so awfully bad off, even though my head did bleed some," answered uncle barney. "but the worst of it is, they got away with my tin box--the one that's got the deeds to this island in it, and all my other valuables, including my dead wife's jewelry and a thousand dollars in gold." by this time the boys were examining the old man's head. they saw where the rock had struck him, making quite a cut, from which the blood had flowed over one ear. it was much swollen, and over it uncle barney had tied a bandanna handkerchief. "i'll get some snow and wash it off with that!" cried fred, and did so. then the wound was bound up once more, and uncle barney said he felt better. he told his story in detail. "what am i going to do?" he groaned. "those rascals have got my treasure box!" "who were they?" questioned randy. "i don't know exactly. i heard them talk, and faced them with my gun. they were in the dark, so i couldn't distinguish them very good. then one of them threw a big rock, and that is all i can remember. as soon as i became unconscious they must have grabbed the box and run away with it." "it must have been either asa lemm and mr. brown, or else slugger and nappy," said randy. "i don't know what i'm going to do, now those deeds are gone--not to say anything about my wife's jewelry and all that gold!" groaned the old lumberman. "just you take it easy, uncle barney. you mustn't excite yourself now," said jack kindly. "we'll do what we can toward getting the box back." the boys had brought some food along, and they insisted upon it that the old man eat and drink something. this seemed to strengthen uncle barney greatly, and he arose to his feet. "now we'll get after those rascals," he said, with something of the old-time fire in his eyes. "i'm not going to allow 'em to rob me in this fashion!" while the old lumberman had been eating, the rover boys had glanced around the cave curiously. it was a place partly natural and partly artificial. on one side it looked as if a little mining had been done, and jack, who had studied geology, gazed at the surface of rocks and dirt with much interest. "why, uncle barney, this looks to me as if it was zinc ore!" he cried presently. "hush, hush, boy! i don't want anybody to know about that!" answered the old man quickly. "then it is zinc ore, is it?" queried randy, who had also been inspecting a side of the cave. "yes, if you must know," was the surprising reply. "right here, in the middle of this island, is one of the most valuable zinc ore beds to be found anywhere." chapter xxix the discovery "the trouble is, those rascals have a twenty-four hours' start of us," remarked jack. "for all we know they may be miles away by this time." "it's too bad uncle barney didn't take our advice and either have those deeds recorded, or else place them in some bank vault," said fred. "the thing now is to see if we can trail those fellows, whoever they were," put in randy. "that's the talk!" cried his twin. "no use of crying over spilt milk, as the cat said when she tipped the pan over into the well," and at this remark there was a faint smile. the rovers had drawn to one side to talk over the situation while barney stevenson was preparing to accompany them from the cave. the old man was both excited and worried. he cared little about the wound he had received on the head. all he wanted to do was to get back his treasure box, as he called it. the little party soon reached the point where all had left their snowshoes. they looked around with care, and presently made out a trail leading toward the lake shore. "if they went down to the lake, they most likely skated away," remarked fred. it was an easy matter to follow the trail through the snow. it led up to the vicinity of some rough rocks, and here turned southward. "i guess they reasoned that they couldn't get over those rocks," remarked uncle barney. "maybe they were afraid of a bad tumble. i wish they had gone over them and broken their necks!" he added bitterly. "if only they had dropped the treasure box in the snow!" murmured fred. "no such luck for us, fred," responded jack. "i'm afraid that box and its precious contents are far away by this time." they continued to follow the footprints, and at the end of a quarter of an hour found themselves at something of a clearing between the trees. here those who had stolen the box had evidently stopped to rest, for it could be seen where they had been seated on a fallen log, and where they had placed the box. "look here!" cried jack, who was inspecting the ground closely. "just as i thought--those fellows were slugger and nappy, i feel certain." he pointed to several half-burnt matches, and also a number of cigarette stubs. "i guess you're right," returned randy. "i'm quite sure asa lemm doesn't smoke cigarettes, and when he was on the island mr. brown was smoking a black-looking cigar." "well, if those boys stole the box, they will most likely turn it over to the professor and brown," said uncle barney. "oh, if only i could get my hands on them!" and his eyes flashed. the trail now led through a patch of woods and went into something of a semicircle. then there was a little loop, which caused the boys some perplexity, but did not bother the old lumberman. "they lost their way--that's all," explained uncle barney. "but, after moving around in a loop, they headed in this direction," and he pointed with his hand. "come on! maybe they got hopelessly lost further on and are still in the woods. i hope so." the trail led deeper and deeper into the woods and wound in and out among a number of rocks. it was plainly evident that slugger and nappy had lost their way, and had made a number of false turns. "here is where they rested again," announced jack presently, and showed where some rocks had been swept clear of the snow. "yes, and they stopped long enough to have something to eat," added randy. "here are a crust of bread and some cake crumbs." the trail continued to wind in and out among the woods, and the rovers and the old lumberman followed it for fully an hour longer. then they came out on the eastern shore of the island. "i guess this is the end of it," announced uncle barney dismally. "they probably skated away from this point." "no, they didn't!" cried jack, who was making an examination of the footprints. "they went down the lake shore." "i'll tell you what i think!" said randy. "they most likely wanted to get to rockville, and they were afraid that if they attempted to cross to the other side of the island they would become lost again. so instead of going across, they went down to the lower end." "here come two men!" cried randy suddenly. he had been peering out on the surface of the lake. "maybe they are professor lemm and mr. brown," suggested andy. the men were at a great distance, but skating rapidly toward the island. as they came closer, jack saw that they were strangers, and he waved his cap and shouted at them. "they may have seen slugger and nappy, or else they may have some news for us," he said. as the two strangers came closer, uncle barney looked at them curiously. then he drew himself up and his face stiffened. "don't you know those two men?" he questioned rather sharply, turning to the boys. "no," answered jack, and the others shook their heads. "the man ahead is fred stevenson, and the other is mr. powell." "oh, is that so!" exclaimed jack; and then without further ado he ran out on the ice to meet the newcomers. "so this is jack rover, eh?" said mr. stevenson, shaking hands warmly. "i'm glad to know you; and i must thank you for sending me that telegram." "i sincerely hope you can patch up your differences with old uncle barney," answered jack quietly. "he's in a peck of trouble just now." "why, what has happened?" questioned ruth's father. "but excuse me," he added. "this is my friend, mr. powell." by this time the other rovers had come forward, and all told the two men of what had taken place. in the meantime, uncle barney remained behind on the lake shore, resting on his gun and eyeing the visitors speculatively. "i wish you would all do me a favor," said mr. stevenson, in a low tone of voice, so that the old lumberman might not hear. "i wish you would give me a chance to speak to uncle barney alone." "certainly we'll give you that chance, mr. stevenson," answered jack readily. "we are after the two rascals who stole that treasure box. tell uncle barney that we are going to continue the hunt while you are doing your talking. maybe mr. powell would like to go with us." "certainly. i don't want to interfere with this affair between these other men," was the quick reply. leaving ruth's father to talk matters over with the old lumberman, the rover boys and mr. powell began the journey down the side of snowshoe island. as they proceeded, the boys told the man many of the particulars of how professor lemm and mr. brown, accompanied by slugger and nappy, had come to the island to take possession, and then how the old lumberman had been attacked in the cave and how the precious blue tin box had been stolen. "that's certainly carrying matters with a high hand," was mr. powell's comment. "i sincerely trust the old man gets the box back. if he doesn't, it may cause him a great deal of trouble, especially if those deeds have not been recorded since the old courthouse burnt down. i remember well that that fire caused a great deal of trouble among property owners in this county." he told the boys that he and his wife and daughter may had been visiting the stevensons at the time the rovers' telegram arrived. he had left his wife and daughter to continue the visit, and had accompanied mr. stevenson on the trip just for the sake of a little outing. "this quarrel between old uncle barney, as he is called, and the stevensons is all nonsense," he declared flatly. "it could have been cleared up years ago if the old man would only have listened to reason. but he was much upset by his financial losses, and more upset when his wife died, and he wouldn't listen to a word. now that he is willing to talk i am sure they can patch it up." about a mile was covered, and then the rovers and mr. powell found where slugger and nappy had gone ashore again at a point where the island was quite low. "i'll wager they thought they could cross here with ease, and thus save themselves the trouble of going around the south point," said jack, and in this surmise he was correct. once again the trail led into the woods, and now it was fairly straight up to a point where the ground became rougher. here they found the snow scattered around some rocks, and rightly guessed that one of the youths had had a tumble. "and i guess the tumble must have hurt some," announced randy. "look at those footprints further on, will you? one of the fellows did a lot of limping." "maybe he twisted his ankle, or something like that!" cried andy. "it's too bad he didn't hurt himself so severely that he couldn't go any further," grumbled fred. "it won't be long now before we come out near that cabin where we stayed during that awful snowstorm," said jack. it was now well along in the middle of the afternoon, and the rovers rightly concluded that this point had not been reached by slugger and nappy until late the day before. "if one of them was hurt, they wouldn't want to skate away over to rockville in the dark," said randy. "maybe they stayed on this island all night." "there is that old cabin!" exclaimed fred, as they reached a cleared space and could see some distance ahead. the little cabin was thickly surrounded by snow, and looked very much as it had when they had left it. but to their surprise, not to say delight, they saw a thin wreath of smoke curling up out of the chimney. "somebody is there as sure as fate!" exclaimed jack. "come on, let's see who it is!" burst out randy. all hurried forward, making no noise in the snow, and soon reached the side of the cabin. then jack, who was in advance, peered in through a corner of the broken-out window, pulling aside the nailed-up blanket for that purpose. the sight which met his gaze filled him with surprise and satisfaction. on a rude couch at one side of the single room of which the structure boasted, rested slugger brown, his ankle tied up in a rude bandage. in front of the fire sat nappy martell with the old lumberman's treasure box on his lap. nappy had a knife in one hand, and, with the file blade, was trying to file apart the padlock to the box. chapter xxx settling accounts--conclusion "how are you making out?" those outside the cabin heard slugger brown ask. "it's slow work with such a small file," grumbled nappy martell. "if i had a big file i could get the padlock off in no time." "what's the matter with smashing it off with a rock?" growled the bully. he arose to his feet and hobbled to where his crony sat. "give it to me--i'll soon have it off!" "come on," whispered jack to his cousins and mr. powell. "they are in there and trying to open the treasure box!" it took the party but a few seconds to reach the door of the cabin. jack pushed upon it, to find the barrier locked in some manner from the inside. "hello! who's there?" shouted slugger. "maybe it's your father and professor lemm come back," added nappy. the bully came to the door and threw it open. when he found himself confronted by the rovers and a strange man, he fell back in consternation. "you!" he gasped. "how--er--did you get here?" "you let us alone!" cried nappy, in alarm; and, leaping to his feet, he tried to hide the precious box behind him. "so we've got you, have we?" exclaimed jack. "nappy, you hand over that box." "i--i don't know what you mean," stammered the lad addressed. "see here! you haven't any right to come in here in this fashion," blustered slugger, recovering somewhat from his surprise. "haven't we though!" broke out randy. "we've caught you, and we intend to make you suffer for what you've done," said andy. as lame as he was, slugger attempted to edge his way toward the door, thinking he might get a chance to run away. but jack caught him by the arm and sent him flying backward into a corner of the cabin. "you'll stay right where you are, slugger brown!" declared the oldest rover boy. "don't you dare to run away!" by this time randy and fred had approached nappy, and suddenly the youngest rover darted behind the youth and snatched the blue tin box from his grasp. "hi! you give me that box!" stormed nappy. "you've no right to take it from me!" and then he, too, tried to run from the cabin. he got as far as the doorway when andy put out his foot and sent him headlong into the snow outside. then andy quickly sat down on him, and, rushing up, randy did the same. "don--don't smash me!" spluttered nappy, whose face was partly in the snow. "we're not going to let you get away," came firmly from andy. "let's tie his hands behind him and make him a prisoner," suggested his twin, and this the two boys proceeded to do, using some skate straps for that purpose. in the meanwhile, slugger attempted to draw a pistol, but was promptly hurled back by jack and fred. then mr. powell disarmed the youth, and he, too, was made a prisoner. "you'll catch it for treating us this way!" growled slugger, when he realized that he could do no more. "just wait until my father hears of this!" "and just you wait, slugger, until mr. stevenson gets here," retorted jack, and this answer made the bully turn pale. now that the two rascals had been captured, the rover boys felt very much elated, the more so since they had recovered uncle barney's treasure box without the contents having been disturbed. "won't he be glad!" murmured fred, as he looked the box over. "let's go out and see if we can't signal to him in some way," returned randy. he went outside and three shots were fired in rapid succession, a signal which had been agreed upon when the boys had first gone out hunting. after the signal had been given, mr. powell said he would go out and watch for the coming of the stevensons. while he was doing this, the rovers talked matters over with slugger and nappy. "you're a fine pair to act in this fashion," said jack sternly. "don't you know you might have killed barney stevenson?" "oh, we didn't hurt him much," grumbled slugger. "and it was stealing to run off with this box!" said randy. "no, it wasn't! that box has got deeds in it that ought to go to my father!" "i don't believe it, slugger. those deeds belong to barney stevenson." a minute or two later all those in the cabin heard mr. powell give a shout. "a couple of men are coming!" he cried. "it's my dad and professor lemm!" broke out slugger. "now you fellows will catch it!" "be on your guard, everybody!" sang out jack to his cousins, and each of them caught up his gun and waited. a few minutes later, professor lemm and mr. brown appeared in front of the cabin. their arms were full of camp supplies. evidently, this place had been a rendezvous for the entire brown party for several days. it was from here that slugger and nappy had gone up to the other end of the island to spy upon uncle barney. "what is the meaning of this?" demanded mr. brown, when he found himself confronted by the rovers. "it means that we have made your son and nappy martell prisoners," explained jack calmly. "prisoners!" "yes. and i think more than likely we'll have to hand them over to the authorities." "i don't understand this at all," put in asa lemm, and his voice trembled a little. mr. powell had now come up, and the rovers told him who the men were. he at once took charge of matters. "this is a serious business, mr. brown," he said sternly. "your son and this other young man attacked old barney stevenson in a most outrageous manner and robbed him of a box of valuables. what mr. stevenson will do in the matter i don't know. i expect him here very shortly." at once there was a wordy quarrel, mr. brown showing his temper in anything but a dignified manner. he wanted his son and nappy released, and threatened all sorts of things, but all to no purpose. mr. powell was obdurate, and the rovers kept themselves in readiness to use their firearms should the occasion require. asa lemm had little to say. the discussion was growing exceedingly warm when there came another interruption, and uncle barney, followed by frederic stevenson, burst into the cabin. the old lumberman gazed at the assembled crowd, and then at the rovers. "my box? did you find my box?" he questioned quickly. "yes, uncle barney, we've got the box safe and sound," answered jack, and handed it over. "did those young rascals have it?" and uncle barney pointed to slugger and nappy. "yes. and that fellow was trying to file away the padlock when we got here." "you whelps, you!" cried the old lumberman, his eyes blazing. and as he strode toward slugger and nappy they shrank back as far as the corner of the cabin permitted. "don't you hit me--don't you dare!" howled the bully. "i--i didn't mean anything by it!" whined nappy. he was now thoroughly cowed. another war of words followed, and the discussion grew even hotter than before. again mr. brown threatened all sorts of things, but uncle barney simply laughed at him. then frederic stevenson took a hand. "uncle barney," he said, catching the old man by the shoulder, "you let me manage this for you, will you?" "all right, fred. you do as you please--only they can't have snowshoe island," was the old man's answer. evidently the long standing differences between the pair had been patched up at last. "what i've got to say, i can say in very few words," came from ruth's father, as he confronted mr. brown and professor lemm. "you have tried to carry matters here with a high hand, and the result has been that you have laid yourselves liable to a suit at law, while those two young rascals are liable to go to prison." "oh, dad! don't let them have us arrested!" pleaded slugger. "i don't want to bother with the law--i want to be left alone," said uncle barney in a low voice. "this island belongs to my relative here--mr. barnard stevenson," proceeded ruth's father. "he has a free and clear title to it, as i well know. i understand something of your underhanded work, brown. and i understand, too, how you and professor lemm found out that this island contained some very valuable zinc ore beds. but your scheme to gain possession of this place has fallen through." "don't be so sure of that!" snarled slugger's father. "i am sure of it. unless you leave my relative here alone, you are going to get yourself into pretty hot water. and not only that--if you bother him again, i'll see to it that your son and that other young man are sent to prison for what they have done." "say! will you let us go if my dad gives up his claim to the island?" broke in slugger eagerly. "if your father and professor lemm will promise never to bother barnard stevenson in the future, i think he'll be willing to let this case against you drop." "all right then. dad, let's do that. we don't want the old island, anyhow!" "you can't do anything without those deeds," added nappy. "shut up! you boys make me sick!" grunted mr. brown. "but martell is right--we can't do anything without the deeds," whispered professor lemm. he was growing more fearful every moment over the outcome of what had taken place. more words followed, but in the end mr. brown and professor lemm promised to let their so-called claim on snowshoe island drop. then slugger and nappy were released, and all were told to take their departure as soon as possible. "you think you're smart, don't you?" grumbled slugger to jack, when he was ready to go. "you just wait, jack rover! i'm not going to forget you and your cousins in a hurry!" "and i won't forget you, either!" added nappy martell. what these two unworthies did in the future to worry the rovers will be told in another volume, to be entitled, "the rover boys under canvas; or, the mystery of the wrecked submarine." in that volume we shall meet many of our old friends again, and learn the particulars of some out-of-the-ordinary happenings. "well, i'm mighty glad they're gone," said fred, after the visitors had disappeared in the distance. "glad doesn't express it!" added andy. "i could fairly dance a jig for joy!" "and to think we saved the treasure box!" broke in jack. "that's the best of all," came from randy. old uncle barney was exceedingly happy, not only to have the box restored to him, but also because the trouble between himself and his relatives had been completely cleared away. "i guess i was something of an old fool to quarrel with fred and his family," he remarked to jack later on, when talking the matter over. "it shows that a man should not be too hasty and headstrong. if i had only listened in the first place, all this would never have happened." "i'm glad you're friends once more," said jack. "i owe you boys a great deal for this, just as i owe you a great deal for saving the treasure box and saving my life in the woods that time," answered the old lumberman with feeling. the next day was spent by uncle barney and mr. stevenson in going over the matter of the deeds. ruth's father insisted upon it that they be duly recorded and then placed away in a bank vault. it may be added here that later on this was done, and, later still, the zinc ore beds on the island were opened up and found to be fully as valuable as anticipated. old uncle barney became quite a rich man, and took up his home with the other stevensons. while the stevensons were consulting about the deeds, the rover boys went out on another hunt, this time accompanied by mr. powell, who was quite a sportsman. they had considerable luck, bringing in over a dozen rabbits, four squirrels and several partridges. "and now we've got to get ready to go home," said jack, a day or two later. "yes. and get ready for the grind at colby hall," added fred. "but we've had some dandy times on this island!" declared andy. "couldn't have been better!" came in a chorus. and here we will say good-bye to the rover boys. the end the tom swift series by victor appleton uniform style of binding. individual colored wrappers. every volume complete in itself. every boy possesses some form of inventive genius. tom swift is a bright, ingenious boy and his inventions and adventures make the most interesting kind of reading. tom swift and his motor cycle tom swift and his motor boat tom swift and his airship tom swift and his submarine boat tom swift and his electric runabout tom swift and his wireless message tom swift among the diamond makers tom swift in the caves of ice tom swift and his sky racer tom swift and his electric rifle tom swift in the city of gold tom swift and his air glider tom swift in captivity tom swift and his wizard camera tom swift and his great searchlight tom swift and his giant cannon tom swift and his photo telephone tom swift and his aerial warship tom swift and his big tunnel tom swift in the land of wonders tom swift and his war tank tom swift and his air scout tom swift and his undersea search tom swift among the fire fighters tom swift and his electric locomotive tom swift and his flying boat tom swift and his great oil gusher tom swift and his chest of secrets tom swift and his airline express grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the don sturdy series by victor appleton individual colored wrappers and text illustrations by walter s. rogers every volume complete in itself in company with his uncles, one a mighty hunter and the other a noted scientist, don sturdy travels far and wide, gaining much useful knowledge and meeting many thrilling adventures. don sturdy on the desert of mystery; or, autoing in the land of the caravans. an engrossing tale of the sahara desert, of encounters with wild animals and crafty arabs. don sturdy with the big snake hunters; or, lost in the jungles of the amazon. don's uncle, the hunter, took an order for some of the biggest snakes to be found in south america--to be delivered alive! the filling of that order brought keen excitement to the boy. don sturdy in the tombs of gold; or, the old egyptian's great secret. a fascinating tale of exploration and adventure in the valley of kings in egypt. once the whole party became lost in the maze of cavelike tombs far underground. don sturdy across the north pole; or, cast away in the land of ice. don and his uncles joined an expedition bound by air across the north pole. a great polar blizzard nearly wrecks the airship. don sturdy in the land of volcanoes; or, the trail of the ten thousand smokes. an absorbing tale of adventures among the volcanoes of alaska in a territory but recently explored. a story that will make don dearer to his readers than ever. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the radio boys series (trademark registered) by allen chapman author of the "railroad series," etc. individual colored wrappers. illustrated. every volume complete in itself. a new series for boys giving full details of radio work, both in sending and receiving--telling how small and large amateur sets can be made and operated, and how some boys got a lot of fun and adventure out of what they did. each volume from first to last is so thoroughly fascinating, so strictly up-to-date and accurate, we feel sure all lads will peruse them with great delight. each volume has a foreword by jack binns, the well-known radio expert. the radio boys' first wireless; or, winning the ferberton prize. the radio boys at ocean point; or, the message that saved the ship. the radio boys at the sending station; or, making good in the wireless room. the radio boys at mountain pass; or, the midnight call for assistance. the radio boys trailing a voice; or, solving a wireless mystery. the radio boys with the forest rangers; or, the great fire on spruce mountain. the radio boys with the iceberg patrol; or, making safe the ocean lanes. radio boys with the flood fighters; or, saving the city in the valley. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york the railroad series by allen chapman author of the "radio boys," etc. uniform style of binding. illustrated. every volume complete in itself. in this line of books there is revealed the whole workings of a great american railroad system. there are adventures in abundance--railroad wrecks, dashes through forest fires, the pursuit of a "wildcat" locomotive, the disappearance of a pay car with a large sum of money on board--but there is much more than this--the intense rivalry among railroads and railroad men, the working out of running schedules, the getting through "on time" in spite of all obstacles, and the manipulation of railroad securities by evil men who wish to rule or ruin. ralph of the round house; or, bound to become a railroad man. ralph in the switch tower; or, clearing the track. ralph on the engine; or, the young fireman of the limited mail. ralph on the overland express; or, the trials and triumphs of a young engineer. ralph, the train dispatcher; or, the mystery of the pay car. ralph on the army train; or, the young railroader's most daring exploit. ralph on the midnight flyer; or, the wreck at shadow valley. ralph and the missing mail pouch; or, the stolen government bonds. grosset & dunlap, publishers, new york +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | corrections: | | | | page , line : of changed to off. | | page , line : slishing changed to sloshing. | | page , line : strobel changed to strobell. | | page , line : prefectly changed to perfectly. | | page , line : it changed to is. | | page , line : first changed to fist. | | page , line : tht change to the. | | page , line : messsage changed to message. | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ from scans of public domain material produced by microsoft for their live search books site.) the rover boys on a hunt or _the mysterious house in the woods_ by arthur m. winfield (edward stratemeyer) author of "the rover boys at school," "the rover boys on the ocean," "the putnam hall series," etc. _illustrated_ new york grosset & dunlap publishers made in the united states of america copyright, , by edward stratemeyer [illustration: the wolves gave loud yelps of pain.] _the rover boys on a hunt_ introduction my dear boys: this book is a complete story in itself, but forms the fourth volume in a line issued under the general title, "the second rover boys series for young americans." as mentioned in some volumes of the first series, this line was started years ago with the publication of "the rover boys at school," "on the ocean," and "in the jungle," in which i introduced my readers to dick, tom and sam rover. the twenty volumes of the first series related the doings of these three youths while attending putnam hall military academy, brill college, and while on numerous outings. having acquired a thorough education, the three young men established themselves in business and were married. presently dick rover became the father of a son and a daughter, and so did his brother sam, while tom rover became the father of twin boys. the four lads were later on sent to boarding school, as related in the first volume of this second series, entitled "the rover boys at colby hall." from colby hall the scene was shifted to "snowshoe island," where the lads went for a winter outing. then they came back to the military academy, and later on participated in the annual encampment, as related in the third volume, entitled "the rover boys under canvas." in the present volume the scene is shifted from lively times at colby hall to still more livelier times in the woods, to which the lads journeyed for a season of hunting. they came upon a mysterious house in the forest, and there uncovered a secret which i will leave the pages that follow to relate. once more i wish to thank my numerous readers for the many nice things they have said about these "rover boys" books. i trust that the reading of the volumes will do them all good. affectionately and sincerely yours, edward stratemeyer. contents i the bobsled race ii about the rovers iii news of importance iv something about cedar lodge v the defeat of the bully vi at the moving picture theater vii the end of the term viii christmas at home ix the railroad accident x the rescue xi on the way to cedar lodge xii at the frozen-up spring xiii the meeting on the road xiv the first hunt xv a cry for help xvi undesirable visitors xvii new year's day in camp xviii fishing through the ice xix letters from home xx lost in the woods xxi a night under the cliff xxii at tony duval's camp xxiii six big snowballs xxiv a conversation of importance xxv the mysterious house in the woods xxvi what the big barn contained xxvii the coming of the wolves xxviii the man in the grey overcoat xxix what happened at the lodge xxx the exposure--conclusion chapter i the bobsled race "all ready, boys?" "wait a minute, jack." "can't wait; life is too short!" cried jack rover gayly. he was seated at the front of a long bobsled holding six boys. "remember, we've got to be back at the hall in half an hour." "please don't mention it!" pleaded randy rover, his cousin. "hi, you fellows! are you going to race or not?" came from another youth on a bobsled standing close by. "you bet we're going to race!" sang out fred rover, who was at the tail end of the first sled. "and we'll beat you, too, bill glutts!" "you will, like fun!" grumbled the cadet addressed, a rather heavy-set and by-no-means pre-possessing youth. "come on now, unless you're afraid." "we're afraid of nobody!" sang out andy rover, and, leaning sideways from where he sat on the bobsled, he scooped up a handful of loose snow and threw it playfully at glutts. "hi, you! what do you mean?" roared bill glutts in anger, as the snow landed directly behind his right ear. "hello! i guess it must have begun to snow again," cried randy rover, mischievously. "i'll 'snow' you!" retorted glutts. "i guess you fellows are afraid to race. that's why you are cutting up." "never mind--race them anyway, bill," came from a small, pasty-faced youth, who was usually called codfish on account of his broad mouth. "go ahead and show 'em what your new bobsled can do." "that's the talk!" cried another cadet, a newcomer at the academy. "show 'em that the _yellow streak_ can lick anything on this hill." "that's a dream that will never come true!" cried spouter powell. "come ahead, jack, let's start this race," he added to the oldest rover boy. the scene was long hill, a rise of ground located about midway between colby hall military academy and the town of haven point. there was something of a wagon road leading up the hill from the main highway which skirted clearwater lake, and this road had been converted by the cadets of the academy into a slide for their bobsleds. from the top of the hill the slide ran down and over two smaller hills, then crossed the main highway and shot down another road onto the lake, which at this season of the year was covered with ice. it was a saturday afternoon, and, as usual, the cadets of the military academy were making the most of their off time, some with bobsleds and other with ordinary handsleds and what were locally called "bread shovels." for some weeks before this the boys, as well as many other residents in that vicinity, had enjoyed skating on the lake. but a rather wet snow had fallen which the wind had been unable to sweep away, and consequently skating became a thing of the past. then the lads turned to their bobsleds, the rovers getting out one they had used the season before. this they painted and varnished very carefully and christened the _blue moon_. "because, you see," explained randy, with a wink, "it's only once in a blue moon that she'll be beaten." the rovers and their chums, as well as many other cadets and boys and girls from that vicinity, had been using the hill for a couple of hours when the race between the _blue moon_ and the _yellow streak_ was proposed by nick carncross, the new friend of bill glutts. now, as my old readers know, the rovers and bill glutts were by no means on good terms with each other. in the past glutts had proved himself anything but a friend, and they had had more than one personal encounter with this freckled-faced bully. but it was not in the nature of any of the rover boys to refuse a challenge to race, knowing well that if this was done many would think they were afraid of being beaten. so the challenge was accepted, and immediately the details were arranged. each bobsled was to carry six cadets, and they were to start down the hill side by side, the _blue moon_ keeping well to the right and the _yellow streak_ well to the left. the first sled to cross a mark located out on the lake was to be declared the winner. with the four rover boys were their intimate chums, spouter powell and gif garrison. with glutts were codfish, carncross, and three other of the bully's cronies. "gee! i wish i was in that race," came from will hendry, who, on account of his unusual stoutness, was always called fatty. "nothing doing, fatty," remarked dan soppinger, another cadet. "you'd make the rovers lose sure." "all ready?" questioned walt baxter, who had been settled on as the starter of the race. "all ready," answered jack rover, after a glance around to see that nothing was out of order. "been ready half an hour," grumbled bill glutts. "all right, then!" cried walt. "one--two--three--go!" as he finished fred rover, who was at the rear of the _blue moon_, gave that bobsled a quick push and leaped aboard. at the same time carncross sent the _yellow streak_ forward and also sprang to his seat. then, side by side, the two bobsleds moved down the long hill, slowly at first, but gradually gathering speed. it was five o'clock of an afternoon in early december, and consequently quite dark, even on the snow-clad hills. many of the smaller children, and also the girls, had gone home, leaving the place to the cadets and a few others. "i hope we win this," remarked randy, as the two sleds continued to speed forward side by side. "of course we'll win it," came promptly from gif garrison. "we've got to win it!" added fred rover. "if you don't win bill glutts will never stop crowing over you," put in spouter powell. "hi, there, glutts! keep to your side of the run," warned jack suddenly. the _yellow streak_ had swerved over well into the middle of the road. "i know what i'm doing," growled glutts. "you tend to your own business." "well, you know the rules," warned jack. "you keep over on your own side. if you don't there'll be trouble." "humph! you don't have to tell me what to do," growled the other cadet; and then, striking a bit of extra smooth roadway, the _yellow streak_ bounded ahead, much to the delight of its riders. "hurrah! here is where we leave them behind," sang out codfish. "nothing to it but the shouting," added another of bill glutts' cronies. "we'll be a mile ahead by the time we reach the lake," exulted nick carncross. for half a minute it looked as if his prophecy might be true. the _yellow streak_ was gliding over the icy surface of the long hill, and consequently going ahead, while the _blue moon_ struck several soft spots where going was anything but good. "oh, jack! can't you pull out of this?" queried gif garrison anxiously. "pull over to the left where the going is harder. it's too soft here entirely." "i'm sticking to my side of the road, just as i was expected to do," said jack grimly. the _yellow streak_ disappeared over the first rise, and for a few seconds was lost to view. but then the _blue moon_ came along, and beyond this rise found going somewhat easier. slowly but surely they crawled up behind the other bobsled. "keep to your side of the road, glutts!" yelled jack, in a second warning. "if you don't, there'll be trouble." "and you'll get the worst of it," added randy. "i know what i'm doing," retorted glutts. he had found the snow somewhat soft on his side of the road, and was now running near the center, and occasionally crowding to jack's side. "we'll run into 'em sure!" came from spouter powell in alarm. "look out, jack!" "look out!" echoed fred. "over on your own side, or we'll smash you, glutts!" yelled jack, for the _blue moon_ had suddenly found going much easier and was forging forward rapidly. "get out of the way!" the call was so peremptory that glutts felt bound to obey. he swerved to his side of the road, and with not a second to spare, for almost instantly the _blue moon_ shot past and continued down the slope toward the lake. "we win! we win!" yelled andy gayly. "but the _yellow streak_ is just behind us!" cried spouter, looking back. "here they come!" "yes, and on our side of the road, too!" cried fred, in alarm. he turned his head still further around. "glutts, get to your own side!" "aw, dry up!" cried the other cadet, in disgust. "you don't have to act as if you owned the whole road." "you know the rules of the race," flung back fred. crossing the highway which skirted the lake was not so easy, and beyond this the snow was rather deep, and consequently the speed of the _blue moon_ was slackened. the _yellow streak_ came dangerously close, and then bill glutts seemed to lose his head completely. he slued around to his own side of the road, but made such a short turn that in a twinkling the long bobsled was upset and the occupants hurled in all directions. "there they go! they are upset!" yelled fred. and then he lost sight of those left behind as the _blue moon_ shot out on the surface of the lake and beyond the mark set for the end of the race. "we win! we win!" cried andy, leaping from the bobsled, and in the exuberance of his spirits he turned a handspring in the snow. "what happened to the other sled?" asked jack, who had been so busy steering the _blue moon_ he had paid little attention to what had been going on behind. "they had a spill," answered fred. "but before they took it they came pretty close to running into us." "it was up to them to keep to their side of the road," said gif garrison. "why, we might have had a terrible accident if they had run into us!" there were about a dozen boys on the lake who had witnessed the finish of the race, and these, along with those who had come down on the _blue moon_, now turned back to see what had happened to the glutts party. they found the cadets who had been spilled picking themselves up and brushing the snow from their garments. one was nursing a bruised ankle, and another a bruised elbow, while bill glutts was wiping some blood from a scratch on his chin. "well, we won the race," said jack briefly. he had no desire to crow over his opponents. "huh! you didn't win it fairly," growled glutts, glaring at him. "didn't win it fairly!" exclaimed jack. "what do you mean by that?" "i mean you got in our way so we couldn't get past you--that's what i mean!" growled the other. "that is false, glutts, and you know it," retorted the oldest rover boy. "see here, jack rover! you can't talk to me in that fashion," roared bill glutts. he had been in a more or less bad humor all the afternoon, and the defeat had not improved his temper. "i say you got in my way, and that is why i lost the race." "and i say your statement isn't true," returned jack sturdily. "it is true! and i won't let you or anybody else say any different," said bill glutts. and then, in sudden passion, he stepped forward and gave jack a shove which sent the oldest rover boy flat on his back in a snowbank. chapter ii about the rovers the attack upon jack rover was so unexpected that he had no chance to save himself from going down into the snowbank. he went down so hard and the snow was so soft that for the moment he was almost covered and had to flounder around quite some to regain his feet. "see here, bill glutts! what do you mean by attacking my cousin?" cried randy, leaping forward and catching the bully by the arm. "he had no right to talk to me the way he did," retorted glutts. "let go of me!" and he shook himself free. "what jack said was true," put in fred quickly. "i was on the back of our bobsled and watched you nearly all the time. you came over on our side of the road at least three different times." by this time half a dozen of the cadets were speaking at once, carncross and several others upholding bill glutts. in the midst of the discussion jack managed to regain his feet, and, leaping forward, he caught bill glutts firmly by both wrists. "glutts, you listen to me," said he sternly, looking the bully in the eyes. "if i wasn't an officer at the hall, i'd give you a sound thrashing for what you just did. as it is, i expect you to apologize or else take the consequences." "huh! i suppose you mean by that you'll play sissy and report me," said the bully. "no, i won't report you, but i'll see to it that you get what is coming to you," answered jack. "knowing he is an officer and can't fight you, you took a mean advantage of jack," broke in gif garrison. "you ought to be thrashed for it, glutts." "i don't think bill meant to shove him down into the snow," put in codfish, somewhat timidly. "he did mean to do it!" said jack quickly. "and he'll either apologize for his actions or he'll take the consequences." "well, i'll take the consequences, whatever they are," retorted bill glutts, with a sickly grin. "i know that race wasn't a fair one. come on, fellows, let's get back to the hall, it's almost supper time," and with that he trudged away, he and his cronies pulling the _yellow streak_ behind them. "he sure is one sweet-tempered fellow," was spouter's comment. "jack, why didn't you pitch into him, anyway?" questioned andy anxiously. "i didn't have to," returned jack briefly. "just the same, i won't forget the way he has acted. if it wasn't that i am captain of company c, and am expected not to fight, i'd have given him the thrashing of his life." to the many young folks who have read the former volumes in this series, the rover boys will not need an introduction. but for the benefit of new readers a few words concerning my characters will be necessary. in the first volume, entitled "the rover boys at school," i related how three brothers, dick, tom, and sam rover, were sent to putnam hall military academy, where they made a great number of friends, including a cadet named lawrence colby. from putnam hall the boys went to brill college, and, after leaving that institution of learning, joined their father in business in new york city, with offices on wall street. they organized the rover company, of which dick was president, tom, secretary and general manager, and sam, treasurer. during their cadet days at putnam hall the three rovers had become acquainted with a number of charming girls, including dora stanhope and her cousins, nellie and grace laning. when dick went into business he made dora stanhope his life partner, and a short while after this tom married nellie laning and sam married grace. the three brothers purchased a fine plot of ground on riverside drive overlooking the hudson river, and there they built three connecting houses, dick and his wife living in the middle house, with tom on one side and sam on the other. about a year after their marriage dick and his wife became the proud parents of a little son, who was named john after mr. laning. this son was followed by a daughter, named martha, after her great-aunt martha, of valley brook farm. little jack, as he was commonly called, was a manly lad with many of the qualities which made his father so successful in life. it was about this time that tom and nellie rover sprang a great surprise on all the others. this surprise was in the shape of a pair of very lively boy twins, one christened anderson, after his grandfather, and the other randolph, after his great-uncle randolph of valley brook farm. andy and randy, as the twins were always called, were decidedly active lads, taking after their father, "who was never still a minute," to quote grandpa rover. shortly after the twins were born, sam and grace rover came along with a beautiful girl, named mary, after mrs. laning. then, a year later, the girl was followed by a sturdy boy, who was called fred, in honor of sam rover's old and well known school chum, fred garrison. residing so close together, the younger generation of rovers were brought up very much like one big family. they usually spent their winters in new york city, and during the summers often went out to valley brook farm, where their grandfather, anderson rover, still resided with uncle randolph and aunt martha. when the boys and girls grew old enough they were at first sent to private schools in the metropolis. but soon the lads, led by andy and randy, showed a propensity for "cutting loose" that their parents were compelled to hold a consultation. "we'll have to send them to some strict boarding school--some military academy," said dick rover; and so it was decided. lawrence colby, their old putnam hall chum, had since that time become a colonel in the state militia and had then opened a military academy called colby hall. to this institution, jack, fred and the twins were sent, as related in detail in the first volume of my second series, entitled "the rover boys at colby hall." this military school was located about half a mile from the town of haven point on clearwater lake, a beautiful sheet of water about two miles long. the school consisted of a large stone building facing the lake. it was a three-storied structure and contained the classrooms and the mess hall, and also dormitories and private rooms for the students. besides the main building, there was a smaller structure occupied by colonel colby and his family and some of the professors, and also an up-to-date gymnasium and boathouses and bathing pavilions. on arriving at the academy the younger rovers found several of their friends awaiting them, one of these being dick powell, the son of songbird powell, a former schoolmate of their fathers. dick was always called spouter because of a fondness for long speeches. another cadet was gif garrison, a son of fred garrison, after whom fred rover had been named. there was also walter baxter, a son of dan baxter, who, years previous, had been an enemy of the older rovers, but who had since reformed and who was doing well. as mentioned, colby hall was situated about half a mile from haven point. on the opposite side of the town was located clearwater hall, a boarding school for girls. during a panic in a moving picture theatre jack and his cousins became acquainted with a number of these school girls, including ruth stevenson, may powell, alice strobell and annie larkins. they soon found out that may was spouter powell's cousin, and the whole crowd of young people became friends. later on mary and martha rover became pupils at clearwater hall. ruth stevenson had an old uncle barney, who in times past had had a bitter quarrel with ruth's parents. the rover boys, while out hunting one day, had occasion to save the old man's life. for this the old fellow was exceedingly grateful, and as a result he invited them to spend their winter holidays with him, which they did, as related in "the rover boys on snowshoe island." on this island the lads met two of their former enemies, nappy martell and slugger brown, as well as asa lemm, a discharged teacher of colby hall. the boys exposed a plot against old uncle barney, and in the end caused the old fellow's enemies to leave in disgust. "i guess we haven't seen the last of nappy and slugger," said jack when he and his cousins had left snowshoe island. and he was right. nappy and slugger turned up once more, as related in the volume previous to this, entitled "the rover boys under canvas." in that volume i told how the cadets went into their annual encampment, this being after a spirited election for officers in which jack rover had been elected captain of company c and fred had been elected first lieutenant of the same command. among the cadets who wished to become a captain was one named gabe werner, a great chum at that time of bill glutts. having failed of election, werner did all he could to make things uncomfortable for the rovers, and in his actions he was seconded by glutts. but in the end werner and glutts were discovered in some of their nefarious doings, and, becoming alarmed, gabe werner left the school camp early in the morning and did not return. glutts was brought before captain dale, the teacher in charge of the camp, and received a stern lecture and was deprived of many liberties he might otherwise have enjoyed. he laid his troubles at the door of the rovers and vowed that sooner or later he would pay them back for the way he had been treated. while the rover boys were at colby hall the great war in europe had opened and our country was now overrun with german spies and sympathizers. during their time at the encampment the boys made several surprising discoveries, and in the end helped the secret service officers to capture a hidden german submarine. they also rounded up the fathers of nappy martell and slugger brown. mr. brown and mr. martell were sent to prison, while slugger and nappy were marched off to a detention camp in the south, and that, for the time being, was the last the rovers heard of them. "well, one thing is certain--we're well rid of slugger and nappy and their fathers," remarked jack, as this news was brought to them. "yes, and i guess we're rid of gabe werner too," said fred. "he seems to have dropped out completely." but in his remark concerning werner the young lieutenant was mistaken. gabe werner was destined to turn up in their path unexpectedly and cause them not a little trouble. when the call for volunteers came, dick rover and sam had lost no time in enlisting. at first tom rover had been unable to get away. but now the business in new york city had been left in reliable hands, and all three fathers of the boys were in the trenches in europe doing their bit for uncle sam. they had been in several small engagements, and so far had come through unwounded. "but there is no telling if they will come through every time," was the way fred expressed himself anxiously. "right you are," answered jack. "do you know, i dread to look at the lists of the killed and wounded in the newspapers for fear i'll see one of their names." "oh, if only this awful war was over!" put in randy. chapter iii news of importance "battalion attention! shoulder arms! forward march!" boom! boom! boom, boom, boom! the drums beat, and away marched the three companies forming the colby hall battalion. they marched around the school building, as was the custom, and then marched into the place, put away their rifles, and entered the mess hall. the roll call and brief drill and march took place less than half an hour after the encounter on the hill following the finish of the bobsled race. captain jack and lieutenant fred had lost no time in hurrying back to the school, and their chums had gone with them. bill glutts and his cronies had gone ahead, as already stated. and they did not show themselves until the call came to appear on the parade ground. as captain and lieutenant, jack and fred were in rather a delicate position when it came to quarreling with the other cadets. in the past colonel colby had laid down the rule that there should be no fighting at the hall, and this rule was particularly enforced when it came to officers. now that the master of the military academy had joined the army and gone with the older rovers to europe, captain dale, who was in general command, was enforcing this rule with more strictness than ever before. the afternoon spent coasting had given the rovers and their chums good appetites, and they fell to with gusto over the ample supper provided for them. unlike many boarding schools, the table at colby hall was always a bountiful one, and it is needless to say that the growing cadets always did full justice to everything that was set before them. "what are you going to do about bill glutts, jack?" questioned fred, after the meal was over and the two were on their way to get several reference books from the school library. "i don't know yet," was the young captain's answer. "he ought to have a thrashing, but you know how matters stand." "of course. and jack, we can't think of that with the end of the term so near. you don't want to spoil your record, and neither do i." "it's a confounded shame that glutts didn't leave when gabe werner went," continued the oldest rover boy. "they were two of a kind." "did you hear what andy said--that he thought glutts had a lot of german blood in him?" "that might be. his face looks it, and the name sounds a little that way too." "andy and randy both want to pitch into him," continued the young lieutenant. "you warn them not to do it--at least, not until this term comes to an end," warned jack. "they have been cutting up so much since last september that their averages are none too high as it is. they'd be mighty sorry if captain dale sent home a bad report about them. it would just about break aunt nellie's heart, i'm sure." having procured the reference books, the two made their way upstairs to the rooms occupied by them. the rovers had a suite of four rooms, one of which was used as a sitting room and for studying. as they walked through the upper hallway they passed nick carncross and bill glutts. glutts looked sourly at them but did not say a word, and they refused to notice the pair. "i guess you've got their goat, bill," remarked carncross, as they passed on. "that race really belonged to you, and they know it." "of course it belonged to me," returned glutts. "if they hadn't got in my way i'd have won with ease. there isn't a bobsled anywhere around that can beat the _yellow streak_." "i'm glad you shoved him over in the snow, even if he is a captain," continued carncross. "he's got too big an opinion of himself." "he only got to be captain by a fluke, nick. gabe werner should have had that office," continued glutts. "is that why werner left?" questioned carncross curiously. "oh, no. he left because he got sick of the discipline around here. he said there was no chance for any fun," answered glutts. "where is he now? did his folks approve of his leaving school?" "oh, i guess they didn't care one way or the other. old man werner is pretty rich, and he didn't get his money by being educated either. so i guess he doesn't care much for education." "does he let gabe have much spending money?" "quite a little--but, of course, not as much as gabe would like to have. you know gabe is a good deal of a sport." bill glutts' face lit up with satisfaction. "i expect we are going to have a bang-up time together during the holidays." "then you expect to see him?" "yes; we're planning a trip together." "gee! i'll envy you," returned carncross. andy and randy had not yet come upstairs. neither could resist the temptation to have a little fun, and after supper they had gone outside and begun to snowball shout plunger, the school janitor, and bob nixon, the chauffeur. "it's all in fun, you know," explained andy, as he let fly a snowball at the old janitor, who was always called shout because he was so deaf. "hi there! you stop that!" roared shout. and then, when they continued to snowball him, he came after them with a wooden snow-shovel. "look out! here comes the enemy!" cried randy gayly, and let fly a snowball which struck the upraised snow-shovel and sent a shower of loose snow into the janitor's face. "you young rascals!" roared plunger, and then lost his footing on some ice. in endeavoring to keep his balance he sent the snow-shovel whirling through the air. it landed at andy's feet, catching that fun-loving youth in the shins and sending him flat on his face. "hurrah! one down!" came from bob nixon good-naturedly, and then the chauffeur picked up a large chunk of snow and threw it high in the air, to land directly on randy's shoulder. "great pyramids of egypt!" gasped randy. "is that a snowslide?" for some of the snow had filled his ear and gone down his neck. "oh, we didn't begin this, you know," cried the chauffeur gleefully. "come on, shout; let's show 'em what the older generation can do." and then he picked up another chunk of snow and hurled it at andy, nearly burying that youth while he was endeavoring to regain his feet. "hi! hi you!" spluttered andy. "we went in for snowballing. we didn't go in for avalanches." "when you start something, always be sure you can finish it," admonished bob nixon. and then he picked up a third chunk of snow; but before he could make use of it the rover twins had dived out of sight around a corner of the school building. "i guess that's the time we got the worst of it," remarked andy ruefully. "and maybe we deserved it," was randy's ready response. "come on and snowball some of the other cadets." a number were willing, and an impromptu snowballing battle took place which lasted the best part of a quarter of an hour. then one of the teachers came out and ordered the youths upstairs, for this was the study hour. on sundays such of the cadets as desired to do so were permitted to attend one or another of the churches in haven point. all of the rovers went to church, and there met, not only mary and martha, but also ruth stevenson, may powell, and some of the other girls. "well, jack, i suppose this snowy weather puts you in mind of the time you went to my uncle barney's place on snowshoe island," remarked ruth stevenson, with a bright smile at the young captain, who, of course, was dressed in his best uniform. "that's what it does, ruth," he answered. "and, my, what a good time we did have! how is your uncle getting along?" "very well indeed. he is a changed man since he stopped quarreling with my folks and since it has been proved that snowshoe island is really and truly his property." "i'm glad we were able to help the old man." "have you decided on what you intend to do during the coming holidays?" continued the girl from clearwater hall. "not exactly, ruth. more than likely we'll go home with the girls and spend some time with our mothers. they probably feel pretty lonely now that our dads have gone to europe." "yes, i can imagine how that must be." "you girls ought to come down with mary and martha." "we're talking of doing that," put in may powell. "you see, we wanted them to come up to my house first, and then ruth wanted them. but as their mothers are now all alone in new york they thought it best that we should spend the time down there. we could have something of a house party, and that would help cheer the older folks up." "a good idea!" came from fred. "do it by all means!" "yes, you girls can have a fine time in new york during the winter holidays," added randy. "i suppose you boys will want to go off hunting," said may, pouting a little. "i wish i was a boy and could do that!" "gee! i wish we could go off hunting, like we did that time at snowshoe island," cried randy wistfully. "such an outing would suit me right down to the ground." "gif garrison said something a few days ago about going off on a hunt," remarked fred. "he says his father some years ago bought a place known as cedar lodge. he didn't tell me very much about it. in fact, he acted quite mysteriously." "i suppose he didn't want to hurt your feelings, fred," returned jack. "more than likely he knew you would feel bad to have him going off for a good time up in the woods and have you and the rest of us staying at home." two days passed, and the young cadets were so busy getting ready for the examinations previous to the midwinter holidays that they had no time to pay attention to anything else. they heard that bill glutts was openly boasting that the _yellow streak_ could beat any bobsled in that vicinity and that the _blue moon_ had won the contest by a foul. but to this just then they paid no attention. "i'll get at bill later--just wait!" was the way jack expressed himself, and the others knew that the young captain would keep his word. on wednesday the boys received letters from home stating that word had come in that their fathers were still in the trenches in france. no serious fighting had so far taken place in their sector, and none of them had been wounded and all were in the best of health. "that's the best news yet," said fred, with satisfaction, and the others agreed with him. gif garrison had also received a letter, and this he read with tremendous satisfaction. his face was aglow as he called the rover boys to him. "i've got an important announcement to make to you fellows," he said. "let us go up to your rooms and talk it over." "what is the announcement?" questioned andy eagerly. "i'll tell you when we are alone," answered gif. chapter iv something about cedar lodge "oh, go ahead, gif, and get it off your chest!" "don't keep us waiting." "has some one died and left you a fortune?" such were some of the remarks made after gif garrison had said that he had an important announcement to make to the four rover boys. "not another word until we get to your rooms," said gif. "and, andy, won't you please run off and get spouter powell? i just saw him heading for the gymnasium." "all right, gif. but don't you dare to let the others in on the secret until i get back," returned the fun-loving rover boy, and away he sped on his errand. a few minutes later all of the lads mentioned were assembled in the rover boys' sitting room, some on chairs, one on a table, and two on a couch. andy playfully started to throw a pillow at fred, but gif at once put up his hand in protest. "any horseplay, and i'll call it all off," he warned. "i'll be good, gif!" cried andy reluctantly, and got rid of the pillow by using it for a back rest. "this letter is from my uncle louis, who is a partner with my father in the ownership of a large tract of land not far from the seacoast," began gif. "there is a small but comfortable bungalow on it, known as cedar lodge. nobody was going to use the lodge this winter, and i suggested to my folks and uncle louis that they allow us fellows to occupy it during the holidays." "and what did they say?" questioned randy eagerly. "they said i could go there if i wanted to, and i could take you rover boys and spouter with me, provided you could get consent to go." "isn't that dandy!" "of course we'll go, gif. horses couldn't hold us back!" "how is the hunting there? can we get a deer or a moose?" "how do you get there?" these were a few questions hurled at gif after he had made his important announcement. he placed his hands over his ears in despair. "one question at a time, please!" he begged. "what do you think i am, anyhow--an encyclopædia? to get there you go from here to portview, and then along the coast to a place called timminsport. from timminsport you have either to take a sleigh or else hike to the camp, which is about five or six miles away. there is an old fellow, named jed wallop, who lives near the property in a little shack some distance from the bungalow. if we want him to, he will get a sled and drive us to the place, and he will also assist us in getting settled, and in getting what stores we may need--that is, provided you fellows can really go." "you can count of me," declared spouter promptly. "my folks said i could do as i pleased during the holidays, provided i kept out of mischief. and what mischief could a fellow get into in the midst of those grand primeval forests where perhaps the woodsman has never dared to lay his axe to the heart of the sturdy oak, and where the timid deer, in fancied freedom, ambles through the darkening glades, and--" "turn off the spigot, spouter, or you'll have us flooded!" burst out randy. "save your orations for the day before election," came from fred. "you can give us the rest of it, spouter, when we are in camp some night and have nothing to read and don't know what to do," suggested jack. "that's it--always cutting my rhetorical effusions short," remarked spouter reproachfully. "some day, when you are aching to have me make a speech, you'll find me dumb." "tell us more about this camp, gif," cried fred. thereupon gif garrison related all he knew concerning the camp, which was located on a small stream of water that in the summer time ran down to a bay emptying into the atlantic ocean. there was a good deal of timber on the tract, and, so far as gif knew, there was quite some small game. "i don't know about deer," he continued. "more than likely the big animals have gone further north. but one might get a chance at a wolf or a fox, and maybe some brook mink. we'll be sure to get plenty of rabbits and squirrels and ducks, and most likely some partridges and maybe wild turkeys. but, first of all, you rovers have got to make sure that you can go." "oh, we'll arrange that somehow, gif," said jack. "of course, we'll want to go home first and see our folks and cheer them up a bit. they are pretty lonely now that our dads are over in france." "oh, i'm going home myself first. but we can have at least three weeks up there, because the school is going to be closed more than a month before and after christmas." gif's announcement was such a pleasing one that the rovers found it hard work after that to settle down to their studies. letters were at once written to their mothers, and presently word came back that they might go to the camp immediately after christmas if they wanted to do so. then jack telephoned to his sister at clearwater hall and got word back that ruth and may would go down to new york with mary and martha and remain there until it was time to return to the girls' school. "it's too bad we can't be at home while the girls are there," remarked jack to his cousins. he sighed deeply. "you mean it's too bad you can't be there while ruth is there," put in andy slyly. "that's the time you struck the nail on the head!" cried randy. "humph! you needn't rap me about it," returned the young captain briefly. "i guess you'd like to see the girls yourselves." now that they knew what they were going to do during the midwinter holidays, the rover boys and their chums were eager to have the school session come to an end. but they did not neglect their studies, nor did jack and fred neglect their duties as officers. jack had an essay to write on "the real training of a soldier," and he spent a great deal of time over this. "not but what there is a good deal about it that i don't know," said jack to his cousins. "i guess dad could write a better essay than i can turn out. he's seen some of the real side of a soldier's life." "what wonderful things our dads will have to tell when they get back," said fred. "that is, if they ever do get back," he added anxiously. "oh, they've got to come back, fred! they've simply got to!" returned jack. but his face, too, showed his worry. the rover boys did not care to admit it to each other, yet each day every one of them worried over their parents. it was dreadful to think that one's father, or one's beloved uncle, might be killed by the germans, or even badly wounded. on the saturday following the bobsled contest the boys assembled once more on the long hill, and this time they were accompanied by many of the girls from clearwater hall. jack and his cousins gave ruth and the others many rides down the hill, much to their mutual delight. "here comes bill glutts with his _yellow streak_," cried fred presently. "here's a chance to have another race with him, jack," said fatty hendry. "he says you won the other race by a foul." "that's the talk, jack!" cried dan soppinger. "show him and the whole crowd that you beat him fairly." at first jack did not care to pit himself again against glutts. but there was so much talk that at length he consented, but insisted upon it that the whole course of the slide must be policed by the cadets. "all right, we'll do that," said major ralph mason, and then ordered all the cadets he could collect to station themselves on each side of the slide from the top to where it ran out on the lake. "oh, jack, i hope you do win again!" said ruth anxiously. "i intend to do my best," he answered. "you have got to win, jack rover!" cried his sister martha. "if you don't beat that great big clumsy glutts, i'll never speak to you again." with so many cadets stationed along the course, bill glutts felt that his chances of winning the race were diminishing. he had thought that he could crowd jack as he had done before, but now walt baxter laid down the law in such a manner that it could not be misunderstood. "i will toss up a coin," said walt, "and if you guess right, glutts, you can take your choice of sides, and whichever side you or jack rover select, that side you must stick to from start to finish." the coin was tossed up, and bill glutts called out "tails" and won. then he said he would take the right side of the slide, that which jack rover and his chums had previously used. "all right, then, glutts," announced walt. "now then, remember that you have got to keep to the right all the way down; and you, jack rover, must keep to the left. if either of you crosses the middle of the course, that one will be disqualified and the race will be given to the other." "all right, walt, i will stick to the left from start to finish; just watch me and see," declared jack. "and i'll stick to the right," announced bill glutts. but his face showed anything but a happy expression as he spoke. jack had the same crowd on board that he had before, but glutts made several changes. he retained nick carncross and codfish, but for the other three cadets substituted youths who were slightly built, and consequently rather light in weight. "he's saving all the pounds he can," whispered randy. "jack, do you think the right side of the course is better than the left?" questioned gif. "i don't know. one looks about as good as the other to me," was the young captain's reply. professor frank grawson had come up and was quite interested in the proposed contest. "i used to do a lot of bobsledding myself," said the professor, who was well liked by nearly all the cadets. "i used to have a home-made sled which was my pride for several seasons. now, to make this more interesting, i'll put up a prize for the winner." "fine, professor! fine!" was the cry. "what's the prize?" the teacher thought for a moment. "well, every boy likes a good pocket knife," he said presently. "now, to the one who wins this race i'll give a first-class, four-bladed, buck-handled knife. i saw some very good ones down in the hardware store at the point, and i'll get one monday." "that's splendid, professor!" cried jack. "i'll do my best to win that knife." "you'll see that knife coming to me!" exclaimed bill glutts, glaring at the young captain. walt baxter now called for the contestants to get ready. in a minute more the two bobsleds stood side by side, each with its load of passengers, and with fred ready to push one to the front and nick carncross ready to shove the other. "all ready!" shouted walt. "one--two--three! go!" and away both bobsleds dashed, and the great race was on. chapter v the defeat of the bully "go ahead, jack! you've got to win!" "don't let 'em beat you, bill. put it all over those rovers." "oh, jack, don't let them get the best of you!" cried ruth. "you've got to win!" screamed martha. "here is where glutts shows 'em what the _yellow streak_ can do!" so the cries ran on as the two bobsleds slowly gathered momentum and started down the long slope leading to clearwater lake. at the beginning glutts had a little the better of it, because the right side of the slide seemed to be more slippery than the other. he was the first to gain the top of the nearest rise and he shot over this while jack's bobsled was still climbing the slope. "hurrah! bill glutts is ahead!" "he said the _yellow streak_ could beat any thing in this vicinity." "oh, do you really think glutts will win?" questioned ruth anxiously, as she turned to dan soppinger. "well, i should hope not!" answered dan. "if he does win there will be no holding him down," put in ned lowe, another chum of the rovers. "he'll crow to beat the band all winter." forward went the two bobsleds, each steersman doing his best to guide his sled where running might be the easiest. just as jack topped the first rise and started to speed down on the other side, he saw bill glutts start to resume his old tactics. the bully was running close to the center of the course, and now he overlapped the other side by at least six inches. "hi, there, glutts! get over on your side!" yelled one of the cadets who was helping to police the course. "that's right, bill. get over, or you'll be disqualified," added another. "keep to the right! keep to the right!" was the cry from several others. and then, knowing that the eyes of all the cadets in that vicinity were upon him, the bully slowly steered over to his side of the course. and he was not any too quick, for otherwise there might have been a serious disaster. down the slope of the first hill rushed the _blue moon_. jack was on his side, but had not more than six inches to spare. had glutts kept on as he was running the _blue moon_ would have sideswiped the _yellow streak_, and there would undoubtedly have been a serious accident. "here comes the _blue moon_!" "say, but they are gathering some speed!" "hurrah, the rovers are ahead!" "go on, glutts! go on! don't let 'em beat you!" it was true that the _blue moon_ was now ahead and was slowly but surely increasing the distance between the rovers and those aboard the _yellow streak_. "push her ahead, bill! push her ahead!" yelled nick carncross desperately. "we've got to win!" cried codfish. "i'm doing the best i can," muttered bill glutts between his set teeth, and his eyes glowed with hatred as he saw the _blue moon_ vanishing over the second rise of the course. after that, as fatty hendry remarked, "it was all over but the shouting." down toward the highway skirting the lake shot the _blue moon_. then it ran swiftly along the final lap of the course and came out on clearwater lake, shooting several hundred feet beyond the finishing mark. the line was crossed while the _yellow streak_ was still on the roadway beyond the lake shore. [illustration: down toward the highway shot the _blue moon_.] "hurrah! the _blue moon_ wins!" "my, but that was some run, believe me!" "what will bill glutts have to say now?" "he can't say this wasn't a fair race." the run for the _blue moon_ had certainly been a swift one, and while jack was congratulated on his victory, he was also praised for the way in which he had handled his speedy bobsled. "we certainly came down fast," remarked randy. "i thought my ears were going to blow right off my head," and this remark caused a general laugh. glutts had finished the race twelve seconds behind his opponent and was in anything but a happy frame of mind. "there were a number of sticks and stones on my side of the slide, and they held us back," he protested lamely. "i guess some of the fellows who didn't want to see the _yellow streak_ win put 'em there." "i can't believe that, glutts," answered major mason flatly. "i looked over the course, and it was just as clear on one side as it was on the other." "don't be a sorehead, bill, just because you lost," put in fatty hendry. "be a good sport and shake hands with jack over your defeat." "i'll do as i please," roared the bully. "i don't need any advice from you. you fellows are all against me." and with this remark he turned his back on the crowd, and soon he and his cronies were making their way up along the lake shore, dragging the _yellow streak_ behind them. "it was a well won race, captain rover," said professor grawson. "you can be proud of being the possessor of such a speedy bobsled. on monday i shall take great pleasure in getting that knife for you." "thank you, professor. and i'll take great pleasure in accepting the knife," said jack, with a grin. "well, that's the time you squared up with bill glutts," remarked spouter, after the fun on long hill had come to an end and the boys had said good-bye to the girls and were on the return to colby hall. "you certainly paid him back for shoving you into that snowbank." "i don't know whether i did or not," answered the young captain. "evidently glutts doesn't know when he's had enough. i suppose he'll be more bitter now than ever against me." "oh, i wouldn't worry about glutts," put in gif. "he's nothing but a great big overgrown butcher boy." he said this because it was a well-known fact that bill glutts was the only son of a wholesale butcher who had made a small fortune in manufacturing and selling frankfurters. "i don't see how a fellow like nick carncross can take up with him," remarked fatty hendry. "i know why he does that," came from ned lowe. "bill has had plenty of money to spend lately--an uncle or somebody sent him quite a wad--and nick's pocketbook, i imagine, is rather thin." "say, ned, come around to our rooms to-night and give us some music just to celebrate this glorious event!" cried fred, for ned lowe was quite a performer on the mandolin and usually had some very funny songs to sing. "all right, i'll be glad to come," answered the mandolin player. "any eats?" "oh, maybe we can scrape up something," answered randy. the idea of a little spread on the quiet appealed to him. the idea of a little spread appealed to the others, too, and as a consequence it was arranged between the rovers and their chums that two of them should go to haven point for some things for the spread. this task was delegated to andy and fred, and they hurried off early in the evening, returning with several packages containing sandwiches, cake, candy, nuts and a large hand of bananas. in the meantime, the other rover boys and ned lowe had gathered in gif garrison's room, and there enjoyed themselves singing and listening to ned's playing of the mandolin. as soon as the monitors had gone their rounds to see that everything was quiet for the night, spouter, gif, fatty, ned, dan, walt and several others found their way to the rover boys' suite. "now, don't make too much noise," admonished fred, who let them in. "remember bill glutts and his gang will be only too glad to find out what is going on and report us." "and we don't want to get any black marks when it's so near the end of the term," added jack. "right-o," came from andy. the new arrivals proceeded to make themselves at home, and then the rovers passed around the good things which had been obtained. "say, this is all right," declared walt, munching a tongue sandwich. "couldn't be beat," came from gif, who had his mouth full of layer cake. "here, fatty, have some nuts!" cried andy gayly, and let several almonds slide down the fat youth's collar. "hi, there! let up!" cried fatty. "i don't eat nuts that way," and he made a pass at andy with a pillow. "no horseplay, now! cut it out, andy," warned jack. after that the cadets conversed in low tones and at the same time enjoyed the many good things to eat. "what are you going to do with those banana skins, andy?" questioned his twin, as he saw the youth place several of the skins in a bit of newspaper. "oh, i've got a plan to use them," was the answer. "well, if there is any fun on foot, let me in on it," went on randy promptly. "i was thinking we might send some of these good things over to bill glutts, codfish and nick carncross," went on the fun-loving rover. "it might make 'em feel better over their defeat." "what! give up some of these good eats to them?" demanded fred. "well, i don't know whether they would be very good eats or not," answered andy, closing one eye suggestively. "do you see what i've got in this little package?" he went on, bringing a small paper bag from his pocket. "smell it." fred did so, but with caution. then he gave a sudden sneeze. "cayenne pepper!" "right you are, freddie boy! how did you guess it?" and andy grinned broadly. "say, that's the talk!" burst out randy. "let's send them over a few sandwiches and a couple of slices of cake, all well doctored with cayenne pepper." "they'll be suspicious, especially if you take them over," remarked jack. "we ought to get some outsider to do the job." "i'll do it if you want me too," responded walt baxter promptly. "i don't love those chaps any more than you do. you just fix up some sandwiches and the cake, and i'll go around and explain that dan and ned and fatty, and some of the rest of us, are giving the rovers a little spread in honor of the victory and that we don't think it any more than right that they should have some of the good things." so it was decided, and a little while later the cover of a pasteboard box was fixed up as a tray, containing several tempting looking sandwiches, some slices of layer cake, and two bananas. then walt baxter marched off with the things in the direction of the room occupied by bill glutts. "come on and listen to what happens," said andy, and presently, having slipped off their shoes, he and the others followed walt down the corridor, but kept well in the background. when baxter arrived at bill glutts' room he heard low voices, and was much pleased to learn that glutts was talking to nick carncross. when he knocked lightly on the door there was an uneasy stir within. "maybe it's one of the monitors come back," whispered carncross uneasily. "who is there?" questioned glutts sharply. "it's i--walt baxter," was the answer. "open the door, glutts. i've got something good for you fellows." the door was opened cautiously, and walt explained his errand, at the same time holding out the improvised tray. "i don't know that we want anything," said glutts rather sourly. "oh, well, we might as well take it," put in carncross hastily. he was a growing cadet, and always hungry. "we'd like to have codfish have some of this, too," said walt. "will you see that he gets some?" "sure!" answered carncross readily. "he's right across the hall. i'll call him." in a few minutes more codfish came from his room clad in his pajamas and slippers. he sneaked over into the room occupied by glutts and carncross, and then the three began dividing the things walt had brought for them. "i'll have to go now," said walt hastily. "remember, this is with regards from our whole crowd," he added significantly. "thanks," muttered carncross briefly, while glutts and codfish said nothing. then the bully closed the door and he and his cronies prepared to enjoy the things which had been brought to them. chapter vi at the moving picture theatre "there'll be something doing in a minute or two," murmured randy, as he and the others came to a halt before bill glutts' door. "you fellows be careful and don't step on any of these," whispered andy, as he bent down and laid the banana skins he had saved on the floor. "splendid doormat for them when they come out," he added, grinning. fortunately, those within the room were so busy dividing the sandwiches and cake that they paid no attention to what was going on outside. "rather nice of them to remember us," remarked codfish. "thank you, i don't think i care for any sandwiches, but i'll take that piece of cake instead." "me for a sandwich, bill," murmured carncross. "i'm quite hungry." then the three began to munch away on the sandwiches and the cake at a lively rate. all had their mouths full when suddenly codfish began to splutter. "hello! what's the matter?" cried glutts. "trying to swallow too much at once?" "you don't want to make a pig of yourself, codfish," admonished carncross. "oh! oh!" cried the sneak of the school. "oh!" "what's wrong?" "oh, i'm burning up! oh, they must have poisoned me!" "gee! do you suppose they put something in that cake?" cried carncross, in sudden alarm. "oh, my mouth is on fire!" groaned codfish. to this neither glutts nor carncross made any answer. each was beginning to feel a sudden strange sensation on his tongue and in his throat. both began to feel as if their mouths were burning up. "it's something they've put in the eats!" exclaimed glutts. "they're trying to poison us, or something!" "it's pepper! that's what it is--cayenne pepper!" came from codfish. "oh, give me a drink of water, or something! this is dreadful!" the sneak made a dash across the room to where a water pitcher stood on a stand with a glass beside it. but the pitcher proved to be empty. "my gracious, this is terrible!" spluttered carncross, and began to cough. in the meantime glutts smelled of the food that remained on the improvised tray, and suddenly gave a loud sneeze, followed by several others. "hurrah! they are enjoying it all right enough," remarked jack, in a low tone. "i've got to have a drink!" yelled carncross recklessly. "gee! i'm burning up clean from my mouth to my stomach!" "you're no worse off than i am," spluttered glutts. "oh, just wait until i get hold of that walt baxter!" "it was the whole bunch that did it. i'll bet the trick was gotten up by those rovers!" the door was flung open, and all of the occupants of the room dashed out into the hallway, bent upon getting to the nearest bathroom or water cooler for a drink. not one of them noticed the slippery banana skins spread out on the floor, and on the instant bill glutts went sliding along and came down flat on his back. carncross did likewise, codfish tripping over him and pitching headlong. "say! what's this?" exploded glutts. "oh, my back! i guess i've broken my shoulder." "they must have soaked the floor," came from carncross. "no! it's banana skins," he added, in deep disgust. "say, codfish, take your feet off my stomach, will you?" "i--i couldn't help falling over you, you went down so suddenly," apologized the sneak. "oh dear! let me get a drink of water--i'm all on fire inside." the rovers and their chums had retreated to a distance, and this was wise, for, had glutts and carncross been able to get hold of them, there would certainly have been a fight. but as it was, the bully and his cronies passed down a back corridor to the nearest bathroom, where they proceeded to wash out their mouths and get a long drink. "now we'd better get back to our rooms and get into bed as soon as possible," said jack. "they may report us, and some of the professors may come around to investigate." "let them come! we'll all be asleep like so many innocent lambs," remarked randy. "they'll find that i've been asleep for the last two hours," added walt baxter, and at this the others had to smile. the crowd separated, and the four rovers returned to their rooms, where they lost no time in getting rid of all the evidences of the feast. then they undressed, turned out the lights, and crept into their beds. "i don't believe they'll dare to report this," whispered andy to his twin. and in this surmise the fun-loving rover was correct. glutts and his cronies did a good deal of grumbling, but there the matter, for the time being, ended. "but i'll get square some day! you just wait and see!" glutts told the others. the school term was now drawing to an end, and it was definitely announced that, owing to the war conditions, colby hall would remain closed for a period of six weeks for the winter holidays. this would give the rovers and their chums a full month's vacation after new year's. "and what a good time we will have up at cedar lodge!" cried fred. "it certainly was grand of gif to ask us to go up there with him and spouter," added jack. the rovers and their chums, and especially walt baxter, kept a close eye on bill glutts and his cronies. but beyond scowling at them whenever they passed, the bully did nothing regarding the peppered food which had been presented. "he's laying low for something, i suppose," said walt. "however, i'm not going to worry." one day he received a "soaker" of a snowball in his left ear while hurrying to the gymnasium. he did not know who threw the missile, but was satisfied in his mind that it came from either glutts or carncross. the examinations for the term were held, and much to the rover boys' satisfaction all acquitted themselves creditably. spouter and gif did very well too, and were equally elated. "let us go down to town this evening and celebrate," suggested jack that afternoon. "i think captain dale will let us go, and i understand they are giving a very good war picture at mr. falstein's moving picture theater." "that will suit me," answered fred. the matter was talked over by a number of the cadets, and they went to see captain dale about it; and as a result nine of them set out for haven point, where was located the moving picture theater at which jack and his cousins first met the girls from clearwater hall. "this looks like a pretty good picture," remarked gif, as he pointed to one advertised on the billboards. "a real war play with some of the scenes taken at the front." "either at the front or on the hackensack meadows," remarked randy dryly. "they tell me that more than three-fourths of those so-called war pictures are faked up." "well, you wouldn't expect the moving picture actors to go right out in the middle of a battlefield and perform, would you?" queried jack. "here's a good comic, too!" put in fatty hendry. "that suits me all right. i like a good laugh." "fatty, you ought to go in the movies," remarked fred. "you would make a hit as the living skeleton." "he would unless his face broke the camera," added ned lowe. "i understand some of those fat fellows in the movies get a couple of hundred dollars a week for acting," said fatty. "i wouldn't mind doing some of those stunts myself at that price." the cadets purchased their tickets and were soon inside the showhouse. an educational film was being thrown on the screen, and they were much interested in seeing the details of tanning leather and making leather belts, handbags, and shoes. "gee! how easy it is to learn about these things in a moving picture," remarked gif. "what a pity it is they can't teach a fellow algebra and geometry in the same way," sighed randy. the educational film was followed by the war play, and whether this was given with faked-up backgrounds or not, it proved to be a very interesting production, especially to the rover boys. there were pictures of life in the soldiers' camps and on the transports bound for europe, and then scenes of life in the french trenches, culminating in a terrific bombardment by big cannons, and then a thrilling charge over no-man's land. "gee, isn't that immense!" murmured fred. "think of dad being in such a charge as that!" "it brings the war pretty close, doesn't it, fred?" asked jack. the scenes of the mighty conflict not alone thrilled the rover boys but also sobered them, especially when there came a picture of the dead and the dying, with the ambulances rushing hither and thither to take the wounded to the field hospitals. poor fred felt the tears coming into his eyes, and was glad that the moving picture house was rather dark, so that he might use his handkerchief without being noticed. the war picture was followed immediately by one depicting the trials and tribulations of a fat man who obtained a position as a bell-boy in a country hotel. he did some wonderful stunts, and managed to break up a great deal of crockeryware and innumerable pies, and this set all the cadets, as well as the majority of the audience, to roaring with laughter. "i guess those fellows earn their money," remarked spouter to fatty. "just think of being slammed around in front of the camera like that!" "yes. and think of having three or four pies plastered all over your face," returned the stout youth. "i guess, after all, i'd rather go into ordinary business." "i imagine some of those so-called stunts are only trick pictures--i mean those things like climbing up the side of a house and holding on to the top of a church steeple," remarked jack. "just the same, those moving picture actors have to risk their lives more than once, especially when they take wild rides on horse-back or in automobiles, or get in railroad smash-ups." immediately following the comic picture, all the lights in the theater were turned on and a gentleman stepped on the stage to address the audience. "i wonder what he's going to talk about," whispered randy. "liberty loan, or something like that, i suppose," answered his twin. he was right. there was a new drive on to raise money for the government to be used for war purposes, and this gentleman, as a member of the local committee, had come forth to urge every man and woman in the audience to invest in liberty bonds. "that is what my father was doing in and around new york before he went to war," explained andy to walt baxter. "he made quite a success of it, too. he was on a whole lot of committees." "and he did a lot of work for the red cross, too," added randy. while the lights were turned on the cadets had a chance to look around the showhouse. they thought that possibly some of the girls from clearwater hall might be present, but they were disappointed. the talk about liberty bonds had come to an end, and several men and women were passing through the audience trying to get subscribers for the bonds when half a dozen newcomers entered the moving picture theater. one of the number was in cadet uniform, and as he came down the aisle and took a seat on the other side of the showhouse, jack caught fred by the arm. "look who's here, will you?" he whispered excitedly. "why, it's bill glutts!" returned fred. "exactly! and do you see who is with him?" "no. i can't make out. who is it?" "gabe werner!" "gabe werner! are you sure, jack?" "positive! i saw him full in the face just before he sat down." soon the lights in the showhouse went out once more, and the moving picture performance continued. chapter vii the end of the term "what can gabe werner be doing around here?" questioned randy, who had heard the conversation between his two cousins. "i'm sure i don't know," answered jack. "he doesn't live anywhere in this vicinity, and i thought after he left the school he went home." "evidently glutts must have known about his being here, otherwise they wouldn't be together," said andy. jack stood up so that he might get a better view of the other side of the showhouse. he noticed several vacant seats directly behind those occupied by glutts and werner. "i'm going to slip over there just as soon as the lights are turned down," he said to fred. "if they are hatching out any mischief perhaps we'll hear something worth listening to." "i'll go with you," was the ready reply. the pair explained to the others what they were about to do, and then slipped out of their seats and made their way to the back of the moving picture theater. then, when the lights were being turned out, they moved forward and slipped into two seats directly behind glutts and werner without being noticed by the two bullies. the educational film was now being shown again, and this caused glutts to give a snort of disgust. "i don't care for that sort of stuff," said the wholesale butcher's son. "i wish they would put on the war play. tell me some more about this scheme you've got for spending the winter holidays." "oh, it's a dandy scheme, all right, bill," responded werner. and then he began a description of a winter's camp and told how he had permission to go there and how he wanted glutts to go with him. while gabe werner was speaking some people sitting next to him had arisen and were trying to get out. gabe and bill arose, and as they did so the former turned around and caught sight of the two rovers. "say! what do you know about this?" he cried in astonishment. "jack rover and fred rover!" murmured glutts, and his face likewise betrayed astonishment. "did you fellows follow us into the theater?" demanded werner. "we certainly did not," returned fred quickly. "we were in the theater long before you came in." "huh!" werner was stumped for a moment. "i didn't notice them here, did you?" he questioned his crony. "if i had i should have taken a seat elsewhere," was glutts' ready reply. he glared at the rovers. "i suppose you have been listening to everything we said." "if you don't want to be heard you had better not talk in a place like this," replied jack. "i don't care what they did hear," grumbled werner. "i'm not ashamed of what i am doing or intend to do." "if i were you, glutts, i'd cut werner," advised fred. "captain dale won't give you any credit for sticking to him after what happened at the encampment." "i suppose you are going to tell captain dale you saw me with him," retorted glutts. "i shan't say a word unless i am questioned." "i haven't forgotten what happened at the encampment," said gabe werner, turning to jack. "some day i'm going to square accounts with you." "when that time comes i think i'll be able to defend myself, werner," answered the young captain coldly. by this time a number of people in the audience were turning around, evidently annoyed by the conversation. one heavy-set man turned back and tapped werner on the shoulder. "say, if you fellows want to hold a talk-fest, go outside and do it," he growled. "we want to look at the pictures." "come ahead, jack," whispered fred. "it won't do us any good to stay here, now that glutts and werner have discovered our presence." "right you are," was the answer. and a moment later the two rovers slipped out of their seats and made their way to the rear of the showhouse. here they were joined by the others of their crowd; and all went outside and across the street to a drugstore, where jack treated the others to hot chocolate soda. "they are hatching out something, that is sure," remarked jack. "as near as i could make out, werner is going off into the woods on a hunt and wants glutts to go with him," returned fred. "i wonder where they are going?" no one could answer that question, and presently the crowd began to talk of other things, and especially of the war play they had just witnessed. "gosh! but a play like that brings the war pretty close to a fellow," said randy, with a sigh. "makes a fellow think of how our dads are making out over there, doesn't it?" said fred. "when they showed those ambulance scenes with all the dead and dying lying around it gave me the cold shivers," came from andy. "i tell you what--war is a terrible thing." "yes, and you have got to see something like that to realize how really terrible it is," put in jack. several days later the term at colby hall came to an end. there was something of an entertainment, with prize speaking in which spouter distinguished himself, and then came the final drill and parade around the campus. following this the cadets indulged in several snowball fights and in quite some horseplay, and then rushed off to their rooms to pack their suitcases and other baggage so as to be ready to depart for home in the early morning. "wow! but it feels good to know i haven't got to look at a grammar or an algebra for the next few weeks," cried randy, with satisfaction. "say! it makes me feel as happy as a clown in a circus," declared andy, and, in high spirits, he began a jig and ended by turning a flip-flap over one of the beds. then he and his twin indulged in a pillow fight, in which fred joined. "hi, you fellows! stop your rumpus," cried jack, who was trying to pack his suitcase. "you keep on, and you'll have the ceiling of the floor below down." "can't help it!" cried andy gayly. "we've got to break loose once in a while," and he playfully landed a cake of soap in the open suitcase. "i'll soap you!" cried the young captain, and, taking the article in question, he made a leap over the bed, caught his cousin by the neck, and allowed the cake of soap to slip down andy's back. "great salt mackerel!" ejaculated the fun-loving rover, and, pulling his coat tight, he arched his back. "anybody notice the camel's hump?" "it isn't a hump, andy. it's only a wart on your backbone," answered his twin. "well, hump or wart, it isn't going to stay there very long," remarked the other, and immediately proceeded to stand on his hands, shaking his body in such a manner that presently the soap rattled out on the floor. then quietness was restored for the time being, and the rovers continued their packing. a conference was held with gif, and it was decided that all of the crowd were to go home for christmas. several days later the rovers were to meet gif and spouter at portview, and then all would proceed to cedar lodge. "and don't forget to bring your guns and all your other traps," said gif. "you trust us for that!" responded fred. "we'll be there with everything that is necessary outside of the provisions. those, of course, we can get at portview or at timminsport." "i hope we get a chance at a moose," sighed randy. "gee! why don't you make it a lion or an elephant or a polar bear while you are at it?" cried his twin. "might as well wish for everything in the menagerie. it doesn't cost any more," and at this there was a general smile. "i know what i'd like to get," said jack. "i was reading about one in the paper the other day. they must be beautiful creatures." "what's that?" questioned gif. "a silver fox." "oh, say, jack! that would be fine. but i imagine silver foxes are exceedingly rare." "oh, i know that. just the same, i'd like to bag one. the fur would make a very fine piece for some lady to wear." "ruth stevenson, for instance," murmured andy; and at this his cousin made a playful pass at him with his fist, which the fun-loving rover easily dodged. the next morning the cadets had an early breakfast, and a short while later saw many of them on their way by carriage and automobile to haven point. many girls were also coming in from clearwater hall, so that the railroad station present an unusually lively appearance. in the crowd was bill glutts, but he took care to keep away from the rovers. gabe werner was nowhere to be seen, and the rovers rightfully conjectured that he had left the town. the boys had hardly arrived when a carry-all came in from clearwater hall containing mary and martha, as well as ruth and may and a dozen other girl students. there was a general handshaking, and then all took a stand on the station platform to wait for the coming of two trains which were to bear the various students in opposite directions. everybody had already procured a ticket, and the trains which were expected were extras, for it would have been impossible for the ordinary locals to have taken care of such heavy traffic. "i am sorry you're not going to travel with us to new york," said jack to ruth. "well, i'm sorry you're not coming my way," answered the girl, with a smile. "but you'll be down to our house directly after christmas, won't you?" "yes, we'll be down the day after--may and i." "well, that will give us a whole day together, anyhow, before us fellows start for cedar lodge," went on the young captain. then he nudged ruth in the elbow. "come over here," he whispered. "i want to show you something that i don't want the others to see." together they slipped out of the crowd and around the corner of the little railroad station. then jack brought out a large flat package from an inner pocket of his overcoat. "i had these taken as a christmas surprise to mother and martha. what do you think of them?" and he brought forth several photographs of himself taken in his cadet uniform. they had been taken by the leading photographer of haven point who made a specialty of work for the two schools, and they certainly showed the young captain at his best. "oh, how lovely, jack!" cried ruth in genuine pleasure. "i declare, they are splendid pictures." "then you like them?" he queried anxiously. "i certainly do! i don't think they could be better." she looked at the three poses presented critically. "if it's all the same to you, i'll keep this one," she said finally. "oh, ruth, you don't want my picture, do you?" he questioned, and there was a trace of wistfulness in his voice. "of course i do, jack. i can keep this one, can't i?" and the girl looked full at him in a manner that spoke volumes. "why, sure! if you want it," he answered quickly. "but, say! don't i get one of yours in return?" he added. "well, i'll see about that," she hesitated. "oh, now, ruth--" "i haven't had one taken in an awfully long time, jack." "never mind, you will let me have one of them anyhow, won't you?" "i--i guess--maybe so. i'll give it to you for a christmas present. only don't tell the others." "i won't, ruth. and you can keep about my picture to yourself, too," added the captain. and thereupon the decidedly interesting conversation between the pair had to come to an end as one of the trains came puffing in--that which was to carry ruth and some of the other girls, as well as many of the cadets, away. chapter viii christmas at home "well, here we are at last. i wonder if anybody will be at the station to meet us," said martha rover. "oh, i'm sure somebody will come down," answered mary. the six rovers had had a long and uneventful train ride from haven point to the grand central terminal, forty-second street, new york city. they had had to change cars at the junction, where some months before they had had such fun with mr. asa lemm, the discharged teacher of the hall, as related in detail in the volume previous to this. the train had been crowded with passengers, but the rovers had managed to get seats together, much to their satisfaction; and they had also managed to get pretty fair accommodations when it came time to go into the diner. they had telegraphed ahead concerning their coming, and found two chauffeurs employed by dick rover and tom rover on hand to receive them and take charge of their baggage. then they went out to the street, where they found two automobiles awaiting them, one containing jack's mother and the other the mothers of fred and the twins. "hello, ma!" cried the young captain, as he rushed forward to embrace his parent. "how are you? you are looking pretty good." "oh, i am feeling quite fair," answered mrs. dick rover with a smile. "home again, and glad of it!" exclaimed fred, as he embraced his mother. "my, my, but i'm glad that that term at the school is at an end!" cried andy, as he gave mrs. tom rover the hug he knew she would be expecting, a hug which was speedily duplicated by his twin. "hope you've got a good big dinner waiting for us. traveling has made me hungry." "not but what we had a pretty good meal on the train," added his twin. "you'll get all you want to-night," answered mrs. tom rover affectionately. in the meantime mary and martha had come up and joined their parents. there was a good deal of kissing and questioning, and while this was going on the chauffeurs assisted the young people to their seats and stowed away their handbaggage. there were no trunks to come, for all the young folks had left a large part of the belongings at the schools. there was only one thing which saddened the home-coming of the young people, and that was the absence of their fathers. although jack had said that his mother was looking well, still he had not failed to notice that her face showed a certain paleness and some lines of care. "don't worry, mother. i'm sure dad will come back all right," he said later on, in an endeavor to comfort her. "i am hoping so, jack. but, oh! how i wish this awful war would come to an end," and mrs. dick rover sighed deeply. all too quickly the next few days passed. young folks and old folks were busy doing their shopping for christmas, and in addition to this, the boys went out to purchase a number of things they thought they might need while at the camp. "i'm afraid we're in for it," said randy dismally, on the afternoon before christmas. "this looks like a regular blizzard." it certainly did look like a blizzard, with the snow coming down thickly and the wind blowing it first in one direction then in another. by nightfall the streets were almost impassable, and in the morning traffic along riverside drive was practically suspended. "merry christmas!" shouted randy, who was the first to get up. "merry christmas!" replied andy. "and how do you like to live at the north pole?" he added, as he glanced out of the window at the storm-bound street and the river and the palisades beyond. there was a grand reunion of the three families in the dick rover residence, and presents were exchanged all around. the boys had purchased a number of small but appropriate gifts for their mothers and the two girls, and also for the various servants of the families. in return they received a number of gifts, both useful and ornamental, including gold-mounted stylographic pens, which each one had desired, and also some new hockey skates and story books. martha had knit a bright sweater for her brother, and mary had done the same for fred, and the girls between them had likewise knit sweaters for the twins. "we sure are the lucky kids," remarked andy, when all of them were looking over their gifts. "this sweater suits me to a t. and, my! just wait until i get on those hockey skates. there won't be a thing in new york or on clearwater lake that will beat me." "i see you doing some tall skating to-day," replied his twin, with a grin. "what you will need is a snow shovel if you want to get anywhere." the storm kept up until noon of christmas, and then cleared away almost as rapidly as it had come, the night being clear and cold, with a beautiful moon and twinkling stars shining from above. "i hope it stays clear so that may and ruth will have a chance to come down," remarked fred during the course of the afternoon. "i guess we all hope that," answered jack. with so much to think of in connection with their proposed trip to cedar lodge, the rover boys put in a busy time all of that day and part of the next. then they went down to the grand central terminal with the girls to meet the expected visitors. "there they are!" cried martha, after the long train had rolled into the station. and a moment later she and ruth were in each other's arms, while mary was embracing may. then the boys shook hands, and all drove away to the rover residences. "did you get that picture for me, ruth?" questioned jack, as soon as he could get a chance to speak to the girl in private. "oh, you don't want any picture," she declared mischievously. "aw, come now," he pleaded, "don't try to put me off that way. you know what you promised." "well, can't you wait until we get to the house?" "oh, sure! but i wanted to make certain that you had brought the picture along." "you'll be scared when you see it," declared ruth. "i look a perfect fright. the man snapped the picture before i was half ready." but later on, when jack received the gift, he declared that the picture was a very good one indeed, although it did not look half as pretty as ruth did herself. the two had quite a little fun over the picture, and then jack placed it in his pocket. "now you've got it, what are you going to do with it?" questioned ruth curiously. "i'm going to carry it right here," he declared, for he had it in an inside pocket over his heart. "oh, you big goose!" cried ruth, but then she blushed and looked pleased nevertheless. it was announced that part of the lake in central park had been scraped clear of the snow, and the following day the young folks went skating and had a most glorious time. then in the evening all attended a theatrical performance at one of the leading theaters. "oh, my! but i am having a splendid time," said ruth to martha. "it's too bad the boys are going away," was the answer. "but i don't blame them for wanting to go on a hunt. if i were a boy i'd like to go on a hunt myself." on the following morning came a letter from dick rover, stating that matters were still somewhat quiet in the sector in france where they were located, but that word was being passed around that they were to make an advance in the near future. "hurrah! i guess they'll show those huns what americans can do," cried jack. "oh, i dread to think of their going into battle!" said his mother. "ma, while we are away don't forget to send us any news that may come in," said jack quickly. "you can telegraph to timminsport, and we will leave word there at the telegraph office so that any important message will be delivered to us." "i'll certainly do that, jack." and later on mrs. tom rover and mrs. sam rover promised to do the same thing. "there is no telling what may happen to our dads if they get into a regular first-class battle," remarked fred, that night when the four boys were holding a little conference among themselves. "well, we've got to take what comes," returned randy briefly. "however, i'll be as much worried as ma until this war is at an end or until our dads come home." the boys had looked over their traps with care and examined their rifles and shotguns, and had even gone down into the cellar of one of their residences to try out the weapons to make certain that they were in working order. with a shotgun in his hand andy wanted to have some fun with one of the servant girls, but randy quickly stopped him. "nothing doing, andy," he said. "you'll only make ma nervous, and she is nervous enough already, thinking about dad. you save your tomfoolery until we are on the way or up at the camp." at length came the time for the boys to take their departure. jack hated to think of running away from ruth, and fred was equally sorry to leave may powell behind, yet the thought of what was ahead brightened all of the lads considerably. "we ought to have the time of our lives," declared fred. "that is, if hunting is half as good as gif garrison said it was." "and if i can get that silver fox," added jack. "nothing but a moose for me," declared randy. "either a moose or a six-legged jack rabbit." "wouldn't you like to shoot a bear that weighed about a thousand pounds?" questioned jack. "and lug the carcass to camp yourself?" came from fred. "speaking about carrying a thousand-pound bear puts me in mind of something," cried randy quickly. "a fellow was telling me of a man here in the city who carried twelve hundred pounds." "twelve hundred pounds!" exclaimed his twin. "it can't be done." "why, that's more than a half a ton!" said jack incredulously. "never mind, the fellow carried the twelve hundred pounds," went on randy. "a whole lot of people saw him do it." "where was this?" questioned fred. "it was down at one of the broadway banks," answered randy innocently. "the fellow was an english army officer. he had twelve hundred pounds in english money that he was exchanging for good old u. s. a. coin." "fooled!" cried fred, and this was followed by a general laugh. chapter ix the railroad accident the four rover boys journeyed from new york city to baxton and there changed from one station to another nearby and took the next train for portview. arriving in portview they took a taxicab to the leading hotel, and were there met by gif and spouter, who had come in a few hours earlier and had already signed for their accommodations. "mighty glad to see you got here," declared gif. "i read about the awful storm you had down around new york, and i thought you might be delayed." "well, i see they have had some of the snow up here," answered jack. "although it isn't as heavy as it was down our way." "don't worry about snow, jack. you'll get all you want of it after we reach cedar lodge." the rover boys were tired out from their all-day trip, and as gif and spouter had likewise had their fill of traveling for the time being, all were glad enough to retire for a good night's rest, even andy being too worn out to play any of his jokes. but the following morning found the youths as bright and fresh as ever and eager to continue their journey. "we can get a train for timminsport at ten-thirty," announced gif. "that will give us plenty of time for breakfast and to do a little shopping if we need anything. portview has as good stores as many big towns. when you get to timminsport, you will find it nothing but a one-horse country town." they had a substantial breakfast, and then wandered down the main street as far as a small park, and then came back on the other side of the thoroughfare. they made a number of small purchases, including some cakes of choice chocolate and a bag of almonds, of which spouter and randy were particularly fond. "when we get to timminsport don't forget to add a good big bag of sugar to our stores," said randy. "then, if we are snowed in sometime, we can spend a few hours making some home-made candy." "yes, and we can try our hands at some cookies," added fred. "i've watched our cook make them quite a few times, and i think i could make some myself if i tried real hard." "anyway, you might be able to turn out some sinkers," said andy, with a grin. "and if we couldn't eat 'em we could take 'em back to colby hall and present 'em to some of the teachers for paperweights." and at this there was a laugh. with the bundles the boys returned to the hotel, paid their bill, and with their suitcases in hand, returned once more to the depot. here in the smoky trainshed the cars were already waiting, and they climbed aboard; and a few minutes later were on their way to timminsport. the coast in this vicinity is very irregular, so that the train did not run close to the shore. they skirted a bay, and then branched off at a small place called leeways for the town for which they were bound. at leeways they met several heavy lumber trains, and also met a gang of men bound for one of the lumber camps. "we are certainly getting away from the big towns now," remarked fred. "i just saw a few hunters with their guns!" cried randy. "that looks interesting to me!" there was no diner on the train, but around noon it stopped at a way-station where there was a lunch counter, and here the young travelers had ten minutes in which to satisfy their appetites. "maybe we'd better take a few sandwiches along," remarked jack. "we may not have another chance to eat until we get to the lodge." "oh, there is a little restaurant at timminsport," declared gif. "it's not a very nice place, but we'll be able to get as much as we want there." soon the train was on its way again, having backed up at leeways to drop a passenger car and take on one of mixed freight. the character of the passengers had largely changed, and most of them were now country folks, lumberjacks, and city people bound for a season of hunting. the steam heat had died out in the car which the boys occupied, and it was growing colder and colder. "the train doesn't go any farther than timminsport," explained gif, "and i suppose the engineer is saving on steam." "say, gif, i didn't think you were going to give us such a cold reception!" cried randy. "never mind the cold reception!" exclaimed spouter, who was gazing out of the window at the scenery. "just look at this truly wonderful picture! see those hillsides with massive pines, and those clusters of bushes, all bent down with their weight of snow. and see how the sunshine sparkles, making each snowdrop look like a diamond. it's a wonderful sight, and it fills one's soul with a feeling of awe and admiration for--" "hurrah! spouter has come into his own again," cried andy. "that's right, spout, warm up good, and maybe you'll help warm this car." "if those snowdrops were really diamonds, spouter, what do you thing they'd be worth a dozen?" came from randy. "aw, that's just like you fellows!" grumbled the would-be orator, in disgust. "you haven't any poetry in your souls." "haven't any poetry in my soul?" cried andy. "you bet i have--tons and tons of it! just listen to this," and he chanted gayly: "i love to see a snowdrop ahanging on a tree, aglistening in the sunshine as happy as can be." "great red-headed snakes!" burst out jack. "andy has turned poet!" "don't you think you ought to take something for it, andy? cough mixture, or measles eradicator, or something like that?" questioned fred. "i think what he needs is a good dose of codliver oil, served hot," came from gif. "no codliver oil for me!" cried the fun-loving rover. "you deal that out to spouter. it will help oil his tongue and make his flow of oratory better." "speaking of cough mixtures, i think i'll get a bottle of some sort when we get to timminsport if they have a drugstore," said jack. "some of us may catch cold and need it." with such talk going on, the journey continued. they were now running for a small station named enwood, where they were to pick up two extra cars from a small side road coming down from the north. in this section there was a good deal of snow, and the train, consequently, had to run rather slowly. "i think i could get out and walk almost as fast as this train is moving," remarked spouter presently. "it isn't as bad as that, spouter," returned jack, looking out of the window. "we are making at least fifteen miles an hour, and you couldn't hoof it as quick as that." "it certainly seems awfully slow," remarked fred. he was beginning to grow sleepy, and now he rested his head on the back of the seat and closed his eyes. "perhaps we won't be able to get through to timminsport," came from randy. "that would be a fine state of affairs, eh?" "i don't see any houses along the line. we'd have one sweet job finding a place to go to if the train became snowbound," said andy. "they generally manage to keep this road open, no matter how bad the storms are," declared gif. "you see, the hunters are coming and going all the time, as well as the lumbermen and the folks that live in and around timminsport and enwood. they don't like to be cut off from the rest of the world, even for a day or two." "i hope we don't have to wait for that other train when we get to enwood," said spouter. "that may be awfully late, you know." "i asked the conductor awhile ago, and he said they hoped it would be on time. it comes down hill most of the way, and that is in its favor. if they had to pull uphill much, they might get stuck." presently they passed a small lumber camp, and one of the other passengers told the boys they were now within half a mile of enwood. "and that is only twelve miles from timminsport," said gif. "we ought to be there in about half an hour or so." they had struck a portion of the track which was comparatively free of snow, and the engineer of the train was now trying to make up some of the lost time. the boys were congratulating themselves on this when they suddenly heard a shriek of the locomotive whistle, followed instantly by the sudden application of the steam brakes. the train shuddered and shook, and two seconds later there came a crash from the front, and then the train came to a sudden stop. the rover boys and their chums had leaped to their feet at the first shock. the second threw spouter headlong, and randy went down almost on top of him. fred was awakened from his brief nap by having his forehead bumped upon the seat ahead of him. "what's the matter?" "what did we strike?" "are we going to upset?" "let me get out of here! i don't want to be smashed up!" such were some of the cries which rent the air while the train was still in motion and after it came to a standstill. every passenger had been shaken up, and not a few were knocked down. fortunately, however, no one in that particular car seemed to be much hurt, although several were bruised and every one was more or less nervous. "are you hurt, fred?" questioned jack quickly, as he saw his young cousin feeling of his forehead. "well, i got a pretty good bump," answered the youngest rover, "and i guess i'm going to have a lump there as a consequence." "we'll get out and see what's doing, and then you can put some snow on it." some of the passengers were already leaving the car, and the rover boys and their chums quickly followed. the trouble was all ahead, and they had some difficulty in wading through the snow alongside the track to get to the front of the train. here it was plain to be seen what had happened. the train from the north had come in and tried to take the siding, as was the custom. but the switch had become blocked with snow, and the train had been thrown out on the main track, which at this point, crossed the track on which the train from portview was coming. the big locomotive of the latter train had ploughed through the middle of the train from the north, hitting the latter between two of the cars and sending those cars in either direction to the sides of the track. "gee! this is some wreck!" exclaimed gif. "i should say it was!" declared jack. "it looks to me as if somebody might be killed." from the two wrecked cars came cries of pain and yells for help. one of the cars still stood up, but at a dangerous angle, while the other had turned completely over and rested on its top in the snow. all was excitement, and for the time being everyone seemed to be so dazed that but little was done. passengers were leaping from both of the wrecked cars, some coming through the doorways and some through the broken-out windows. jack and randy ran to one of the cars, and were able to assist a woman with a little girl to alight and reach a place of safety. in the meanwhile, the other lads assisted two elderly men. one had his foot hurt, and they carried him into the railroad station, where they laid him on one of the benches. "look! look!" cried fred suddenly, forgetting all about his hurt forehead. "look! that car over yonder is on fire!" the car he mentioned was that which had turned over and was resting on its top in the snow. from the interior thick black smoke was coming, and this was presently followed by a tongue of flame. the car was a combination baggage and smoker, and it was afterwards learned that one of the passengers had been carrying a can of kerosene which had broken open in the smash-up, and had evidently become ignited by some thrown-down cigar or cigarette. "those people will be in danger of burning up!" gasped randy. "they will be unless they get out in a hurry," answered spouter. from the interior of the car came more cries, and presently all outside heard a man yelling in a tone of agony: "help! help! somebody save me! my leg is caught fast, and i can't get out! save me!" chapter x the rescue "there's a man left in there!" "he says his leg is caught fast!" "help! help!" came more faintly from the interior of the burning car. "help, or i'll be burnt to death!" only a few passengers seemed to hear these cries, for most of the men who had come from the other train were gathered near the car which was still standing. the rover boys and their chums listened in horror to the call for assistance. jack was the first to leap forward. "we'll have to save that fellow if we can," he cried determinedly. "i think he is close to one of these windows," said randy, pointing to several broken-out windows through which some other passengers in the car had climbed. "wait! i've got an idea!" exclaimed fred. "see that stick of wood? why can't we place that against one of the windows and climb up on it?" he had pointed to a plank one end of which, in some manner, had become torn up from the roadbed. all of the boys rushed for this plank and turned and twisted it until they had the fastened end under the snow loose. then they rushed over to the burning car and placed the plank on a slant from the snow to the broken-out window which, because the overturned car was not on a level, was two or three feet above their heads. jack was the first to get on the plank, and speedily crawled up to the window. fortunately a draft was taking most of the smoke to the other side of the car, so that he could see into the interior quite plainly. a scene of great confusion met the eyes of the young captain. a number of broken seats had fallen down on the ceiling of the car and in the midst of this wreckage lay a short, stocky man with several cuts and bruises on his face from which the blood was flowing. the man had his arms and one leg free, but several seats and some handbaggage were wedged in across his left leg and his stomach in such a manner that he seemed unable to extricate himself. the fire was creeping up to within a few inches of his caught foot, and this had caused him to raise his wild cry for assistance. "help! help!" he repeated, as soon as he caught sight of jack's face framed in the broken-out window. "get me out of here before the fire reaches me!" "we'll do it!" answered jack. "come on, randy. i think the two of us can do the trick," he added to his cousin, who had come up behind him on the plank. "want any more help?" questioned the others simultaneously. "if we do we'll let you know quick enough." jack dropped down into the car, and randy followed. they landed among a mass of broken glass and other wreckage, but to this paid no attention. "here, randy, take hold of this seat and pull it back," ordered jack; and between them they set to work with vigor. but it was no mean task to get all of the wreckage off of the trapped passenger. there were half a dozen heavy suitcases among the broken seats, and these the boys hurled through the broken windows, where they were picked up by those outside and carried to a safe place. in the meanwhile the flames were creeping closer, and now a sudden change in the air caused a heavy volume of smoke to drift toward them. "gee! this is getting fierce," spluttered randy, and began to cough, while the tears started from his eyes. "don't leave me! please don't leave me!" pleaded the passenger under the wreckage. "i don't want to be burnt up!" and then he said something in a foreign tongue which the others did not understand. the last bit of wreckage was the hardest of all to get away from where it rested across the man's stomach. this was wedged in between the ceiling and the side of the car, and the boys had to use all their strength before they could dislodge it. but at last it came loose, and then the man was able to sit up. "here, we'll help you," cried jack, as the passenger seemed to be too weak to regain his feet. he and randy caught the fellow under his arms and, standing him upright, dragged him to the window upon which the end of the plank rested. they shoved him out, and he went rolling and sliding down the plank into the snow. randy followed him quickly, and then came jack. [illustration: he went rolling and sliding down the plank into the snow.] the rescue had occurred none too soon, for the wind was now coming up, and soon the overturned car was a mass of smoke and flames from end to end. the boys left the plank where it was, and assisted the rescued passenger to the little railroad station, where all the others who had been injured had already been taken. the short, stocky man was very much excited and he thanked the lads over and over again for what they had done. "i wish i was a rich man," he said sadly, and now they noticed that he spoke with a decided accent. "if i was rich i would pay all of you well for what you have done. it was very noble--very noble indeed! i shall never forget it." "we don't want any reward," answered jack. "you young gentlemen do not look as if you needed any reward," said the man, with a little smile, as he noted how well dressed the youths were. "i am a poor man, so i can offer you nothing but my thanks, but those i give you with all my heart. and now may i ask your names?" they told him, and all shook hands. he said his name was herman crouse, and that he was a farmer working a small place some miles away. he was plainly dressed and evidently far from wealthy. while the boys were assisting herman crouse to the little railroad station, others had gone into the burning car and picked up such baggage and other things as could be gotten out. then the car, which was nothing but an old rattletrap affair, was allowed to burn up. of course the accident had caused a great deal of excitement, and telegrams were at once dispatched to leeways and timminsport for assistance. "i think i'll send word home that we are all right," said jack. "the folks may hear about this accident and worry over it," and as soon as he had an opportunity he sent a message, and gif and spouter did the same. as the trains from the north ran no farther on that branch than enwood, all of the passengers on board had been bound for either that place or timminsport. consequently many of those who were injured remained in the town, while the others were made as comfortable as possible on the other train and taken to timminsport. fortunately, no one had been killed or fatally hurt. herman crouse remained at enwood. he thanked the boys again most heartily when they left him. "maybe some day i shall be able to pay you back for your goodness to me," said he. "if it comes that way, i shall certainly do it," and then he shook hands once more. "i guess he's a german all right enough," remarked jack, when the boys were once again in the train and it was moving forward, the track having been cleared. "he spoke with a very strong german accent." "yes, and his name is undoubtedly german," said randy. "but he was a pretty decent sort, anyway." "oh, a good many of the german-americans, so-called, are all right," said gif. "why, there are thousands of them in the army and in the navy, as well as in the air service. and they are fighting just as hard and loyally for uncle sam as anybody." "sure!" declared andy. "look at hans mueller, who used to be a great chum of our dads at putnam hall. he's as loyal as they make 'em, and he's in the army too, and will undoubtedly give a good account of himself." "oh, i don't doubt but what a lot of the germans are loyal to this country," came from spouter. "just the same, it's a good thing to keep your eyes on them." "right you are!" cried andy. "don't forget those german spies we ran into at the offices in wall street--the same chaps who were in with mr. brown and mr. martell." "i tell you one thing," remarked gif, changing the subject. "this accident is going to get us into timminsport very late, and i don't know whether jed wallop will be there to meet us or not." they had sent word ahead for the old fellow who lived near the cedar lodge property to come with his boxsled for them and their traps. "probably he was hanging around the railroad station waiting for the train to come in, and, if so, he must have heard about the accident, and he would be very anxious about you, gif," remarked jack. "well, we'll see when we get there. but if jed isn't there, i don't know what we can do for the night. i don't believe timminsport has any hotel fit to stop at, and it wouldn't be a very nice hike of five or six miles to cedar lodge in the dark and through the snow." with so many hurt passengers on board, the engineer was careful, and so did not run very fast, and as a consequence it was well after dark by the time they rolled into timminsport. quite a crowd was collected at the depot, anxious to get the particulars of the accident, and also to meet those who needed assistance. the two doctors living in that vicinity had been summoned and were on hand to give all the aid possible. "there is jed wallop now!" cried gif presently, and pointed to a tall, angular individual wrapped up in a shaggy overcoat and wearing an equally shaggy cap with the eartabs tied down under his chin. "hello, jed!" he cried cheerfully, and shoved his way forward to greet the man. jed wallop proved to be so excited that he hardly paid attention to gif's greetings nor to his introduction to the other youths from colby hall. "i'm lookin' fer a cousin o' mine--tim doolittle," he exclaimed. "i heard as how he was in the accident. did you see him?" "i don't know the man, jed," answered gif. "the hurt ones are all in the forward car." jed wallop pushed his way through the crowd and soon found the man he was seeking. the poor fellow had one arm in a sling and had several cuts on his face, and declared himself very much "shook up" and rather weak. "well, by gosh! i'm mighty glad you wasn't killed, tim," declared wallop. "now, what you goin' to do with yourself? you can't go up to burke's camp in that condition." "no, i can't," answered tim doolittle. "i've got to rest up fer a spell and git this sprained arm o' mine fit fer work agin. i was thinkin' i might ride over to uncle joe's place if i could git anyone to take me." "i can take you there myself. i can git a sleigh from hank miller and do it--that is, if these young fellers would be willin' to drive over to cedar lodge alone," added jed wallop, looking anxiously at gif and his companions. "i suppose i could do that," answered gif slowly. "i don't know the way very well, but i think i could make it." "oh, it's a putty straight road, gif," said wallop. "you can't miss your way if you keep your eyes open. whenever you strike the crossroads keep to the right every time, and then you won't git left," and he chuckled a little over his joke. "how are the team and the boxsled?" "all right. you know them horses--mary and john, a very reliable team. they won't run away, and they'll make good time." "all right then, jed. just show me where the sled is, and then you can go off and take care of your cousin," said gif. "we'll have to stay in town for a while and see if we can't pick up some grub and at least enough supplies to last us for a few days." so the matter was arranged, and a few minutes later jed wallop went off to see what he could do about caring for his injured cousin. "it's all right for him to look after his cousin," remarked gif. "but that leaves us to go on alone. i hope we find everything at cedar lodge all right." "oh, it will be a lark to go on all alone!" cried fred. "we don't want that fellow along. we can get along alone very well." "i know what i want to do first of all," declared andy. "i want to get a bite to eat. that sandwich i had didn't satisfy me at all." "all right, we'll go to that restaurant i spoke about," said gif. "then we'll get our provisions and be on the way to the lodge." chapter xi on the way to cedar lodge the restaurant gif had in mind was a small affair located on a side street directly behind the railroad station. leaving their handbaggage at the station in a pile with numerous other bags, and their guns with the station-master, they made their way to this resort. ordinarily at this time of night the restaurant was doing very little business, but on account of the accident many people had dropped in, so the tables presented a lively appearance. "we'll have some difficulty in finding seats, i guess," remarked jack, looking around. "there are a couple of small tables over in the alcove," came from spouter. "we might shove them together, and i guess they'll hold us all." this was done, and after a wait of several minutes a girl came to take their orders. "what have you got ready?" questioned gif. "there is no use of our waiting to have anything cooked to order," he continued to his chums. the girl named over a variety of things, including hot pork and beans, roast beef with potatoes and turnips, and also several kinds of sandwiches and pies, and also tea and coffee. "those things will do first rate, i guess," cried fred. "me for a dish of pork and beans and a good hot cup of coffee!" it did not take the cadets long to give their orders, and the girl bustled off to serve them. while the lads were waiting for the things to be brought, andy happened to glance across the restaurant at the other patrons and suddenly gave a low whistle of surprise. "look who's here, will you!" he exclaimed. all looked in the direction pointed out, and there, at a side table, saw bill glutts, gabe werner and henry stowell. "my gracious! what do you know about that?" ejaculated randy. "glutts, werner and codfish!" "what can those fellows be doing in timminsport?" demanded spouter. "say! i think i know the answer to that question," returned jack quickly. he looked at his cousin fred. "don't you remember what bill and gabe said in the moving picture theater about going up to some camp to hunt? i wager that camp is located somewhere in this vicinity." "that must be it!" answered fred. "however did they get poor codfish to come along with them?" queried andy. "they'll plague the life out of that little sneak." "they'll make a regular servant of him, that's what they'll do!" answered his twin. "if they came up here to hunt, i hope they are not going to settle down anywhere near cedar lodge," remarked gif. "i'd hate to have those fellows saddled on me while i was trying to have some fun." "i wonder if they saw us?" questioned fred. "let's not take any notice of them," advised jack. "i'd rather go my way and let them go theirs." to this the others readily agreed. they were soon served with the things they had ordered and lost no time in making away with the food. then they hurried out of the resort, leaving glutts, werner and codfish still at the table which they occupied. the two bullies had lighted cigarettes. "now let's skip over to one of the general stores and see what we can get in the way of provisions," said gif. "we'll have to hurry up, or the storekeeper may close up on us." "i've got the list here, gif," declared jack. "show us where the store is, and then you bring around the team with the boxsled. by that time maybe we'll have most of our things bought." the store proved to be a low, rambling affair filled with a hundred and one varieties of goods, some looking quite fresh and others with the appearance of having been in stock for some years. the storekeeper was pleased to serve them, especially when he realized that their purchases would be for cash. jack and the others knew exactly what they wanted, and picked out everything with care. "i guess you young fellows have been up in the woods before," remarked the storekeeper, with a shrewd look. "we have been, although not around here," answered jack. "thought you had by the way you're ordering. some of them fellows that come up here have no more idee about what is wanted in a camp than nothing at all. they take along the most ridiculous things, and sometimes leave out coffee and sugar and salt and bacon and things like that which a feller has jest got to have." gif had brought around the boxsled, and into this the storekeeper's assistant piled the various boxes and bags which contained the provisions they had purchased. the things made quite a load, so that the six cadets had about all they could do to get in themselves. "we sure would have been crowded had jed wallop been along," remarked fred, who was squeezed in on top of some boxes with randy on one side of him and spouter on the other. gif was up in front driving, with jack and andy beside him. "let her go!" cried andy gayly. "hurrah for cedar lodge!" "hold on!" exclaimed jack suddenly. "are you fellows going up there without your suitcases and guns?" at this there came a groan from nearly all of the others. "gee! i forgot all about those suitcases and firearms." "where in the world are we going to place them?" "if we put the suitcases in, we'll surely have to walk!" "oh, we'll stow 'em in somehow," declared gif. "you fellows don't know how to load a boxsled." "i know what we can do!" cried jack. "let us get a few loose packing-case boards and stand them up around the back of the sled. we can place the boxes against them, and then pile the suitcases on top, and the tops of the boards will hold them in. the guns can go in anywhere." "that's the stuff!" said spouter and he and gif and andy hurried back to the store to get the boards and arrange them as suggested. in the meantime, jack, fred and randy hurried in the direction of the railroad station to get the six suitcases and the guns which had been left there. they found the crowd had thinned out somewhat, although quite a few people were still present. it did not take the three lads long to find the six suitcases, and, armed with two each and with all the guns, they trudged back to where they had left the boxsled. then the suitcases were piled up and tied fast to the upright boards and to the boxsled itself, so that they might not be jounced off. the guns were placed in the bottom alongside the boxes. "now then, pile in, and we'll be getting to the lodge," cried gif. "i can tell you fellows i am mighty anxious to see the old place, to see if it looks like it did when i was here last." the youths were just stowing themselves away on the sled when there came a cry from out of the darkness, and three fellows came hurrying through the snow from the direction of the railroad station. "hi, there! stop!" called out the foremost of the trio. "stop, i tell you!" "why, it's gabe werner!" exclaimed randy. "what can he want of us?" in a moment more the big bully was beside the sled, and glutts and codfish followed him. "thought you were mighty smart, eh?" cried gabe werner angrily. "another minute, and i suppose you would have been gone!" "what do you want, werner?" demanded jack. "what are you fellows doing in this neighborhood?" questioned fred. "what we are doing here is our business," answered werner sourly. "what i want of you is my suitcase." "your suitcase?" queried several of the others. "yes, my suitcase! oh, you needn't play the innocent! i know you've got my suitcase somewhere on this boxsled. but you're not going to get away with it. hand it over, or i'll call a policeman." gabe werner was very much in earnest, and his face was red with anger and resentment. he reached up and caught hold of the lines which gif held in his hands. "drop those lines, werner!" cried gif quickly. "drop them, i say!" "i want my suitcase! you had no business to touch it!" "i don't know anything about your suitcase," declared gif. he turned to the others. "we haven't anything but our own bags, have we?" "i don't think we have," declared jack. "i know better!" grumbled werner. "i'll bet they've got it and are hiding it away," declared bill glutts. "they took a whole lot of bags away just as we were coming up. the baggage master saw 'em." "i'm glad they didn't get my bag!" cried codfish, who was lugging a good-sized gladstone. "if we took your bag it must have been by mistake," said randy. "i looked at the markings pretty carefully though." "so did i," said fred. "well, we'll make sure," remarked jack, and brought out a flashlight which he had taken from his own suitcase for possible use on the road. he flashed the light in the direction of the six suitcases, and he and his chums looked over all of the markings with care. "how is your bag marked?" questioned gif. "g. a. w.," answered werner. "well, you can see for yourself that there is no such marking on any of these bags," declared jack. "there is my own. these two belong to andy and randy. this is fred's, and here is gif's and that one is spouter's." "maybe they've got it hidden under the blankets, or something like that," suggested glutts. "there are no other suitcases in this boxsled," declared gif flatly. "we'll take a look and make sure." "you'll do nothing of the sort, gabe werner!" and now, with flashing eyes, gif raised his whip as if to bring it down over the bully's head. "hold on, gif! don't do anything like that," advised jack. "let them look around the sled if they want to. then they will know we're telling the truth. if we go off without giving them a chance to look, they may complain to the authorities here and make a lot of trouble for us." "all right, then, go ahead and look," answered gif, leaping from the boxsled. "but don't you harm any of our things, or you'll hear from me." jack flashed the light into the sled, and werner and glutts made an examination of the contents. of course, they found no other baggage, and so drew back in disgust. "i don't understand it," said werner lamely. "i left that bag there in the station master's care while i and the others went to get something to eat. now my bag is gone." "well, that is none of our affair," answered jack. "come on, fellows, it's getting late. let's be on the way." "i'll get that bag back, or i'll make the station master pay for it," grumbled gabe werner, and then he and his cronies turned on their heels and walked back in the direction of the railroad station. "gee! somebody must have walked off with his bag while he was eating," remarked fred. "rather tough luck if he had anything of real value in it." "serves him right--for being so cross and cranky," was andy's comment. but the bag had not been stolen. it had been simply misplaced, as was afterwards proven. once more the boys adjusted themselves on the boxsled, and then gif took up the reins and spoke to the team. off they started at a walk, but soon broke into a slow trot as the sled began to go down a long slope leading in the direction of cedar lodge. the way was little more than a woods road, winding in and out among the trees. they had to mount several small hills, and on these the horses settled down to a very slow walk. "i guess jed wallop was right about mary and john not running away," came from randy. "i don't think anything short of an earthquake could start 'em into a gallop." "they are lumber-camp horses, used to drawing pretty heavy loads," explained gif. "they may not be very much on speed, but on the other hand you can depend on their pulling us out of any tight hole where fancy horses might get stuck." chapter xii at the frozen-up spring on and on went the boxsled carrying the rovers and their chums, deeper and deeper into the woods. occasionally the road was so narrow that they brushed the snow-laden bushes on one side or the other. "hi there, gif, look out!" cried randy presently. a bush had been turned aside by those ahead, and now it slipped back, covering randy's face with loose snow. "i'm sorry, randy," returned gif. "but we've got to take this road as it comes. you'll have to watch out, just as the others are doing." there was a smoky lantern dangling from the front of the boxsled, but this gave little light. the moon was down beyond the trees, and only the diamond-like stars glittered overhead. "how much further have we got to go?" questioned jack presently, after they had passed a crossroads and kept to the right, as jed wallop had directed. "i think we have covered about half the distance, jack," was the reply of the young driver. "still, i'm not sure. you know a boxsled isn't like an auto--it doesn't carry a speedometer." "gee! an auto would have been there and back two or three times since we started," was fred's comment. "not in this snow," came from spouter. "i think you'd get stuck in some of these deep places." "they do use a few cars up here in the winter, but not many," said gif. "it's too uncertain." to make the time pass more quickly, jack started one of the old school songs, and the others joined him. then they ended with the well-known colby hall cry: "who are we? can't you see? colby hall! dum! dum! dum, dum, dum! here we come with fife and drum! colby! colby! colby hall!" "i wonder what the neighbors will think if they hear us," remarked randy. "i don't think there are any neighbors very close," answered gif. "there was a house some distance back, but i don't know of any others between here and cedar lodge. the other places are beyond the point where we turn off to go down to the bungalow." they had now to make several sharp turns, and at these spots the road was unusually rough. one runner of the boxsled went up on some rocks, and for a moment it looked as if the turnout would upset. "look out there, gif!" "you'll have us in the snow with the sled on top of us!" "git along there, mary and john!" cried the young driver. "git along!" and he cracked his whip, and soon the team had pulled the boxsled from the rocks, and then going became better. "we ought to be coming to a signboard soon," declared gif a few minutes later. "i remember there used to be one on the road, pointing to a number of camps north of this place." in a few minutes they came to the spot he had mentioned, but to his disappointment there was no signboard to be seen. "someone must have taken it down, or else it fell of itself," he remarked. "are you quite sure you're on the right road?" questioned andy. "it would be fierce to have to turn back this time of night," added his twin. "oh, i'm pretty sure this is the right road," answered their chum. nevertheless, his face showed a doubtful look. not to find the signboard which had been a landmark in that vicinity for many years puzzled him. a little later they came to where the road branched out in three directions, the road on the right being narrow and running directly into a thick patch of woods. "whoa!" cried gif to the team, and then he looked around more puzzled than ever, and shook his head. "what's wrong now?" asked jack. "i guess i'm stumped," was the slow reply. "i can't remember this spot at all." "oh, gif, don't tell us we're on the wrong road after all!" exclaimed andy. "jed wallop told us to keep to the right," announced spouter. "we've been doing that, and we might as well do it now." "but that road doesn't look as if it leads to anywhere," declared fred. "it's a mighty narrow road, too," returned gif. "we might get down in among the trees and be unable to turn around, and then what would we do?" "better stay here, gif, while i walk ahead and investigate," said jack. "better take a gun along, in case you stir up something you don't want to meet," warned fred. "not a bad idea," and, reaching down into the boxsled, jack brought out one of the weapons that had been placed there. "if you see a moose shoot him on the spot!" cried randy. "what spot?" queried his twin gayly. "a spot on the end of his tail or the tip of his ear wouldn't be of much account." "i don't see how you can joke, andy, when we're lost away out here in the woods and it's past midnight," came ruefully from fred. "i'd give as much as a dollar to be at the lodge and lying down in front of a roaring fire. i'm getting pretty cold." they were all cold, for since nightfall the thermometer had been going down steadily. more than this, the wind was rising, and this in the open places was anything but pleasant to the cadets. "i'll go with you, jack," announced spouter, and he, too, armed himself with his gun, a double-barreled affair of which he was quite proud. holding his flashlight so that they might see where they were walking, jack led the way, and spouter came close behind. they walked a distance of several hundred feet, and here found that the road came to an end among some rocks which were now covered with ice. "it's a road to a spring, that's all," said jack. "the water is frozen now, but i suppose in the summer time the lumbermen and the other folks around here occasionally travel in for a drink. we may as well go back." "well, it's a mighty good thing we didn't drive in here. we might have had a job turning around on that rough ice," answered spouter. the frozen-up spring was a beautiful sight, the water standing out in columns and waves as if made of milky glass. behind the columns there was still a trickle of water. to get a better view of the sight, jack swept the rays of the flashlight first to one side and then to the other. as he did this he caught a glimpse of a pair of gleaming eyes from the brushwood and snow behind the spring. the eyes looked full of curiosity and fright. "look, look, spouter!" he cried, and then dropped the flashlight into his overcoat pocket. "what is it?" "i just saw the eyes of some wild animal back there. see! there they are now!" as jack spoke he raised his gun and blazed away. this shot was followed by one from spouter. the reports were followed almost immediately by a snarl and a whining cry, and they heard some animal thrashing around wildly in the bushes behind the spring, sending the loose snow flying in all directions. "we hit it, whatever it is," announced jack. "what do you suppose it can be?" questioned spouter quickly. "it wasn't a deer, was it?" "i don't think so, spouter. it was too low down for that. maybe it was a fox, although it didn't sound like it." "perhaps there are brook mink around this spring." "maybe." "are you going back there to find out?" went on spouter, for the sounds in the brushwood had now ceased. "sure, i'm going back there! you don't suppose i'm going to let any game get away from us!" "be careful, jack. that animal may be playing possum, you know, and may spring out at you." "don't worry; i'll be on my guard," answered jack. he had slipped another charge into his gun, and spouter quickly did likewise. then, with their weapons ready for use and with the flashlight held so that it cast its rays ahead, they cautiously moved around to one side of the frozen spring and made their way in the direction of the bushes and rocks in the rear. "hello there! what are you shooting at?" the cry came from where the pair had left the boxsled. it was gif who was calling. "we don't know yet," answered jack. "we saw a pair of eyes, and we shot at them," added spouter. "gee! what do you know about that?" exclaimed fred. "hunting before we even reach the lodge!" "let's go ahead and see what they struck," came from randy. "that's the talk!" added his twin. gif was willing, and in a moment more the four lads had scrambled down from the boxsled and were making their way along the road leading to the spring. by this time jack and spouter had advanced through the brushwood and over the rocks close to the spot where they had last seen the gleaming eyes. as they went on jack imagined once or twice he saw something moving through the snow, but of this he was not certain. "here is where we hit it, whatever it was," declared spouter, when they reached the point directly behind the spring. "see how the snow is dug up?" "yes, and here are some drops of blood," said jack, as he turned the flashlight on the snow. "but whatever it was, it got away," he added disappointedly. "what have you got?" sang out gif, for he and the others had come up on the opposite side of the spring. "we haven't got anything," answered spouter dolefully. "we hit something, but it got away from us." "it wasn't a moose, was it?" queried randy with great interest. "no, i think it was a three-horned elephant," replied jack, who was not then in the best of humor. he hated to have the first thing he shot at get away from him. "well, this seems to be the end of this road," remarked gif, looking around. "yes, it only led down to this frozen-up spring," answered spouter. "i move we go on," said fred. "i'm cold, and i'm sleepy too." "i think we're all that way," answered gif. "come on, you fellows. no use of remaining around here. if that animal got away it probably moved off quite a distance." "that would depend on how badly it was wounded," answered jack. "just wait a minute, and i'll see if i can't find its trail." aided by the flashlight, he looked around carefully, and presently made out some tracks in the snow leading in the direction of a nearby thicket. he moved to this, coming presently to several low-hanging trees. "see anything?" questioned fred impatiently. "not yet. but the trail is here as plain as can be." "maybe those are only rabbit tracks," remarked randy. "or tracks of the animals that came down to the spring for a drink," put in gif. jack did not answer. he was flashing the light around carefully, inspecting all the trees and bushes in that vicinity. suddenly the light was flashed upward, and as the rays ran along one of the branches of the tree directly in front of the youth there came a sudden snarl of rage and protest. "it's a wildcat!" ejaculated spouter, whose eyes had also been following the rays of light. "a wildcat!" "yes, and it's the animal we wounded," answered jack. "see how it is holding up one of its front paws." "be careful!" sang out gif, in alarm. "a wounded wildcat is no beast to play with." scarcely had he uttered the words when the wildcat gave another snarl of rage. then the tail of the beast began to quiver, and suddenly, with a cry, it leaped down from the tree, striking the ground directly in front of the surprised boys. chapter xiii the meeting on the road that the wildcat was in a savage mood and prepared to fight to a finish, there could be no doubt. evidently the wounded paw had made the beast more savage than usual, and hardly had it struck the ground than it tried to make a leap forward at jack. "look out, jack!" "he means to claw you to death!" bang! went spouter's gun, but he did not dare to take too close an aim for fear of hitting jack, and as a consequence the charge of shot merely damaged the wildcat's tail. it must not be thought that the oldest rover was slow in moving. had this been true, the wildcat would undoubtedly have fastened its claws and its teeth into the youth and done serious damage. as the animal came forward, the young captain leaped to one side and the wildcat landed in the snow, facing the others who had come up. "shoot him! shoot him!" came from fred excitedly. "plug him quick!" added andy. none of those who had followed jack and spouter were armed, so the fight rested entirely upon the shoulders of that pair. circling around so as to avoid the others, jack pulled the trigger and fired. the wildcat began flipping and flopping on the snow, badly wounded. then spouter discharged his firearm once more, and after this the creature lay quiet where it dropped. "is--is he dead?" questioned fred, who was the first to speak. the youngest rover was very much excited, and with good cause. "wait! don't go forward!" ordered jack, as he stepped back a few paces. "he may be playing possum. anyway, we had better load our guns first," he added to spouter. this advice to load immediately after discharging a weapon was one which had been well drilled into the cadets, and so now the pair lost no time in putting new charges into their weapons. then they approached with caution, and jack turned the wildcat over with the barrel of the gun, keeping his hand meanwhile on the trigger ready for action. but the beast was quite dead, the charges from the two guns having gone completely through its body. "what are you going to do with the carcass?" questioned randy, after all had made an inspection. "might as well leave it here," declared fred. "it isn't good for anything. even the skin is all torn from the shot." "no, we might as well take it along. we can hang it on the back of the boxsled," said gif. "perhaps we can use the meat to trap some other wild animals." a strap which one of the boys happened to carry was fastened around the neck of the wildcat, and then they carried it from the spring to where they had left the boxsled. the excitement for the time being had caused all of the cadets to forget how late it was and how cold and windy it was growing. but now, when they were once more ready to drive off, several of them began to shiver. "it's going to be mighty cold before morning," announced randy. "yes, and i wish we were at that bungalow in front of a good log fire," added andy. "now that we've discovered that wasn't the road, which way do you propose to go, gif?" questioned jack. "we won't count that as a road, and we'll take the other one on the right," was the reply. "i don't know of anything else to do," gif added, somewhat helplessly. none of the others could give advice, for the reason that this territory was entirely new to them. even spouter, who had visited the woods a number of times, had never been in that vicinity. onward they went once more, up a gentle hill and then down the slope on the other side. at the foot of the hill the road became rougher and rougher, and presently the horses had all they could do to make any progress. "gif, this can't be the right road," declared jack at last. "if it was as rough as this, jed wallop would have told us about it. he said we wouldn't have any trouble at all in reaching cedar lodge." "yes, and besides, we must have come at least five or six miles," added spouter. "i'll bet we've come all of eight miles," broke in fred. "that's just what i think," declared randy. "i'll bet an elephant against a mouse we're on the wrong road." "well, i won't dispute that, randy," answered the young driver of the boxsled. "but you'll all bear witness to it that i followed directions and kept to the right." the road now ran along the side of a hill. here the heavy fall of snow had slid down over the rocks and the going was anything but safe. the faithful old horses had all they could do to keep their footing. "we'll upset the first thing you know!" exclaimed fred, and he had scarcely spoken when the runner on the up side of the road struck a series of rocks, and the next minute all of the boys, including gif, went tumbling from the boxsled, and some of their provisions followed. "whoa there! whoa there, mary and john!" called gif to the team. but this command was not needed, for the tired old horses were only too glad to stop, and had come to a halt the moment the youths tumbled off. all had landed in the snow, which at this point was rather deep; so none of them was seriously hurt, although somebody stepped on one of randy's hands and spouter got a scratch on his ear from some nearby bushes. "well, here's a mess!" exclaimed fred, as he picked himself up. "now we are in a pickle." "oh, it might have been worse," declared jack, as cheerfully as he could, because he could easily see that gif was in a state of mind bordering on desperation. "nobody is seriously hurt, i hope?" all scrambled up, and then looked at the roadway immediately ahead. here was a somewhat level spot, and to this the sled was driven, and the lads picked up the stuff which had fallen off in the snow and replaced it, this time tying it down with some ropes and straps which were handy. "i don't believe i'll drive any further on this road," said gif. "it doesn't seem to lead to anywhere, and i'm quite certain now that it isn't the way to cedar lodge." "what will you do?" asked andy. "go back to that other road?" everybody was stumped, and for several seconds nobody made any reply. "might as well go back," said spouter. fred and randy walked on ahead, trying to determine where the road led to. but all they could see was the blackness of the forest, and the roadway seemed to grow rougher and more perilous at every step. it was no easy task to turn the team and the boxsled around without spilling everything again. but it was accomplished at last, and then slowly and painfully they climbed along the hill until they reached the point where there had been another split in the road. here they came to a halt. "listen!" cried randy suddenly. all did as requested, and from a distance heard the low musical jingle of sleigh bells. "there's a sleigh!" exclaimed gif. "and unless i'm mistaken, it's coming this way!" they listened again, and were overjoyed to note that the sounds were gradually coming nearer. then they stepped out behind the boxsled, and presently discerned a large two-seated sleigh, drawn by a powerful pair of horses, approaching. the steeds were making good time, despite the roughness of the road and the depth of the snow. "hi there! hi there!" called out gif, and then jack sent the rays of his flashlight toward the on-coming turnout. there were exclamations of astonishment from those in the sleigh, and for a moment it looked to the boys as if the occupants were bent upon passing them without paying any attention to their call. but then gif, spouter, and fred took a position directly in front of the on-coming horses, and the driver brought them snortingly to a sudden stop. "what do you fellows want?" demanded a heavy guttural voice from the sleigh. the words were uttered in a german accent, and by the look of his face the speaker, who sat on the front seat beside the driver, was evidently of teutonic origin. he glared suspiciously at those in the roadway, and jack and gif afterward declared that they saw the gleam of a pistol in the man's hand as it was thrust in the flap of his overcoat. "we've lost our way," said gif, coming a few steps closer. "we thought maybe you folks could direct us." "huh! i don't know about that," said the man in his thick german accent. "where do you want to go?" "we want to go to cedar lodge. it's located somewhere up here, about five or six miles from timminsport." "cedar lodge!" said one of the men who were seated on the rear seat of the sleigh. "do you mean the hunting lodge that is owned by the garrisons?" "yes." "then you are on the wrong road to get to that place," said the man. "you'll have to go back the way we came for about half a mile, and then take the road to the left. it is in from this road, i think, about a quarter of a mile." "is it the first road we shall come to from here?" questioned gif, bound to fix matters so that he could not make another mistake. "yes." "thank you. that is all we want to know." "what are you young fellows going to do at that place?" queried the german who was on the front seat. "we came up here for a season of hunting," answered jack. "the place belongs to my father and my uncle," explained gif. "my name is gifford garrison." "i see. well, have a good time," said the man on the front seat of the sleigh. but he did not seem to be particularly pleased. "have you a hunting lodge around here?" questioned fred curiously. "no. we are just taking a little trip to visit some friends up here," answered the man on the back seat who previously had not spoken. "we shall stay only a day or two," he added. then the man on the front seat spoke to the driver, and away they went once more, and were soon out of sight, taking the road the cadets had just been thinking of pursuing. "well, i'm mighty glad we met those men," declared gif. "now i know where i am. thank goodness! we are not so very far out of the way after all." "don't crow, gif, until you are out of the woods--or at least until we are in sight of the lodge," cried andy. "i didn't like the looks of those fellows," declared jack. "they were a bunch of germans, and not very nice germans at that," said fred. "isn't it queer that we are running into so many germans?" remarked spouter. "first that herman crouse on the train, and now these chaps." "oh, hurry up, fellows! don't stand here and gas!" ejaculated randy. "let's see if we can't find that lost lodge. i want to get warmed up, and i want to go to bed." then the boxsled was turned around once more and the journey to cedar lodge was resumed. chapter xiv the first hunt the six cadets from colby hall found the side road the germans had mentioned with ease; and after that it was not long before they came to a spot which looked familiar to gif. "thank fortune! we're on the right road at last," cried the young driver of the boxsled. "see those peculiar trees over there?" he pointed to three all growing together. "i know those very well. we ought to come in sight of the lodge now in a few minutes." "well, you can't get there any too quick for me," declared fred, as he gave a deep yawn. the way was over a small bridge which spanned the river gif had mentioned to the rover boys, and then they passed through a patch of woods and to a clearing about half an acre in extent. in the center of this clearing was located the lodge. it was a substantial and artistic log structure, a single story in height, with a broad veranda running the length of the front. right at either end of the lodge was a huge cedar tree, and more cedars were at the edge of the clearing. behind the bungalow was a small barn and also a fair-sized woodshed and close by was a small building which gif explained to them was used in the summer time for a kitchen. gif was the first out of the boxsled, and he lost no time in unlocking the front door for the party. jack brought his flashlight into play, and they lit two lamps after filling them with oil which had been brought along. "now we'll get the stuff in from the sled, and then i'll have to put the team away," said gif. "let me do that, gif," said jack. "just show me where they are to go, then you and the others can light the fire." "yes, and we'll fix something to eat, too!" declared randy. "i'll go out to the stable with jack," came from spouter, who was no shirker when it came to doing his share of the work. it was not a hard task to transfer the baggage and provisions, as well as the guns and team was driven around to the stable, where ammunition, to the lodge, and, this done, the sled was run in under a shed. then jack and spouter proceeded to make mary and john at home for the night. in the meantime all of the others had gone to the woodshed and returned to the lodge with sticks of various sizes for the fire. the building of this was left to gif, as it was felt that he was, in a certain sense, the host. yet all were ready to help, and soon they had a big blaze roaring up the wide chimney and gradually filling the bungalow with its warmth. the arrangement of the lodge was very simple. the living room occupied the center, with a sort of winter kitchen and entryway behind it. to each side of the living room were located two bedrooms, one in the front and the other in the rear. above the living room was a loft which could be reached by a rustic pair of stairs, a loft which could be used only for a storeroom, since it was less than five feet high in the center, sloping to the eaves, front and back. the big chimney was in the rear of the living room, and behind it, in the kitchen, was a stove for cooking. "say, this is just all right," declared fred, after he had warmed up a bit and taken a look around. "we ought to be as snug as bugs in a rug here." "we'll have to arrange about sleeping quarters," remarked gif. "two of the rooms have a double bed each, and the other rooms have two single beds each." the doors to the various rooms had been left open so that the heat from the fire might draw through the entire lodge. it was great sport for the boys to divest themselves of their heavy overcoats and caps and then get to work preparing the lodge for occupancy. all of the bedclothes had to be shaken out and warmed, and they also had to get out some linen which had been packed away. gif, assisted by andy and randy, did this, and meanwhile jack, spouter, and fred brought out the dishes and other things and set the table and also began to boil water for some hot chocolate, which they had decided to have, along with some smoked beef and cheese sandwiches and some doughnuts that had been brought along. soon the boys were seated around the big square table the living room contained enjoying themselves to their hearts' content. the steaming chocolate and the things to eat put them in the best possible humor, and their troubles with bill glutts and gabe werner, and also with the wildcat and on the road, were, for the time being, forgotten. outside the wind was rising, making a mournful sound as it swept through the cedars and the other trees in that vicinity. but inside the fire crackled merrily and the heat of the fitful flames as they roared up the chimney filled the lads with satisfaction. "we sure had a tough time getting here," declared randy, "but it was worth it." "isn't this just peachy!" cried his twin, as, with a final doughnut in hand, he sank deep in a rocking chair at one side of the fireplace. "this suits me right down to the tips of my toes." "i should think it would suit anybody," declared spouter. "why, this whole surroundings has the most artistic setting i ever beheld. just think of this rustic bungalow nestling away in the midst of this gigantic forest, and think of this deep-throated fireplace with the flames soaring upward, casting their flickering shadows hither and thither over the bright faces--" "of six well fed and sleepy young fellows who ought to be in bed this minute," broke in jack. "i move we adjourn for the night and let spouter finish his oration in the morning." "that's it! always cutting me short when i have some beautiful sentiments to express," grumbled the would-be orator. "never mind, i'll get square with you some day." "never mind, spout. don't take it too hard," broke in andy. "remember that even slipping down on a banana peel is a good deal of a skin game." "to bed it is," announced gif. "unless, of course, andy and fred want to remain up to wash the dishes." "nothing doing," yawned fred. "i could go to sleep sitting in this chair. i'll wash the dishes to-morrow morning before breakfast." it was decided that the twins should occupy one of the rooms with a double bed. gif and spouter took the other double bed, and fred and jack went into one of the rooms containing two single beds. "we'll keep the fourth room for possible visitors," announced gif. "you know, glutts and werner may call on us," he added quizzically. "of course they'll call--when they are invited!" declared jack. "not but what it's your house, gif," he added quickly. "they'll never come here on my invitation," was the ready response. their previous experience in camping out stood the six cadets in good stead, and they knew exactly how to leave their fire so that it would keep burning until morning without doing any damage. then, one after another, they speedily shoved off to bed and soon all of them were slumbering peacefully after a long and arduous day's traveling. in the morning jack was the first to arise and he was speedily followed by gif and spouter. "might as well let the others sleep for a while," said the oldest rover boy. "they were pretty well tired out, fred and andy especially." "sure, let 'em sleep as long as they want to. our time is our own, and there is no use in hurrying. just the same, i bet fred wakes up pretty quick when he smells boiling coffee and pancakes." some pancake flour had been brought along, and soon the appetizing odor of the cakes, along with the odor of steaming coffee, filled the lodge. then came a call from one of the bedrooms, and, sure enough, it was fred speaking. "hi there! don't you eat all those good things up before i get there," he called out. "say! this air certainly gives a fellow an appetite." by the time breakfast was ready all of the boys were dressed. jack and spouter had gone outside for more wood, and they reported that it had begun to snow hard. "all right, let it snow," said randy. "now that we are here, what do we care?" "well, we don't want to get snowed in," remarked spouter. "oh, i don't think the storm will be as bad as that," returned gif. "just the same, i'm glad we didn't get caught last night in a downfall. we might have had worse luck than ever in getting here." by the time breakfast was finished it was snowing heavily. there was a fairly strong wind blowing, and this sent the fine particles flying in all directions. when they went out to feed the horses they found the snow already an inch or more in depth. "i think this is going to add quite a little to what is already on the ground," said jack. "if it keeps on for any length of time it will make hunting rather difficult." "why can't we go out and do some hunting before the storm gets too bad?" questioned fred. now that he had reached the lodge he was exceedingly anxious to try his skill with a gun. "when i was here before there was quite a rabbit run on the other side of the cedars behind this bungalow," declared gif. "it isn't a long way off. we could easily go that distance even through the snow." "there wouldn't be any chance of our losing our way?" queried spouter. "oh, no. it's not far enough off for that." "then let's go before the storm gets any worse," cried andy. "yes, but how about the dishes to be washed?" asked gif. "oh, gif, can't we do them just as soon as we get back?" questioned fred. "last night's dishes are still standing in the kitchen," declared jack, looking somewhat sternly at his cousins. "we'll get at them the minute we get back from our hunt for rabbits!" exclaimed fred. "won't we, andy?" "that's a contract," declared the fun-loving rover. "all right then, see that you keep your word," answered jack. "remember, gif, no more grub for anybody until the dishes are washed." "it's too bad we didn't bring some wooden dishes with us," remarked randy. "then, after we had used them, we could put 'em in the fire." "lazybones!" called out spouter. "you are as bad as the tramp who said he didn't care to eat prunes because it was such a job to spit out the pits;" and at this there was a general smile. a little later the boys were ready for their first hunt. they had discarded their overcoats for a number of hunting jackets of which the bungalow boasted, and had also donned leggings and caps. each looked to see that his weapon was in first-class order and that he had a sufficient supply of ammunition. "we'll take only the shotguns along," said gif. "you won't find any big game in this immediate vicinity." fixing the fire so that it would keep until they returned, they locked up and then started away. the snow was still coming down steadily, and they were glad when they reached the shelter of the woods. "you don't suppose jed wallop will come here during our absence?" questioned jack. "if he does he'll know what to do," answered gif. "he knows where the key to the bungalow is, and i left a note for him in the stable, stating that if he wanted to take the team away he could do so. he usually keeps the horses up at his place, which is about half a mile from here." forward they trudged along a narrow trail leading through the woods. gif was at the front, with spouter and jack close behind and the others following. feeling that the rabbits might be on the alert, they relapsed into silence, making practically no noise as they advanced. they had covered a distance of several hundred feet when jack, happening to glance overhead, saw something that interested him very much. a flock of wild ducks was circling about, and he pointed them out to gif. "i have often seen 'em around here," whispered gif. "but you'd have to go a long distance to get 'em unless you could shoot 'em on the wing. they never settle down in the vicinity of the bungalow." "some day i'm going to take a crack at them," said jack. "that is, if they fly low enough." presently gif slowed his pace and motioned for the others to do likewise. they had come out to where there was a small clearing. here all gazed around sharply, trying to find some trace of the rabbit run gif had mentioned. "i see one!" exclaimed spouter presently. "see him? over yonder," and he pointed with his hand. "yes! and there is another!" answered jack. "i see four or five of them," put in gif. "oh, say! there is our chance," ejaculated fred excitedly. "let's get busy at once," and he made as if to raise his shotgun. "don't fire yet," cautioned jack. "we're not close enough." "come on! i'll show you a place where we'll have a good chance to get at those rabbits," said gif. "come, follow me." chapter xv a cry for help making as little noise as possible, the other lads followed gif back into the woods and then along a snow-laden trail skirting the clearing. less than two minutes' walk brought the young hunters to a spot where were located a series of rough rocks, and here gif motioned for his companions to halt. "i think you will find the rabbits in the hollow just on the other side of these rocks," he whispered. "now get you guns ready before you show yourselves." slowly and cautiously they mounted the rocks and then lay down in the snow on top. they peered into the hollow below, and presently made out the forms of at least a dozen rabbits running to and fro, evidently trying to find something among the trees and bushes opposite that would be fit to eat. "we might as well fire all at the same time," said jack. "because after the first shot those bunnies will do their best to get to cover." it was quickly decided that some of the hunters should shoot at the rabbits directly ahead, while others were to shoot at those to the right or to the left. it must be admitted that fred and andy were trembling with excitement, and randy was also agitated. the others were quite calm, or else they did not allow their real feelings to show. it was decided that jack should give the order to fire. "all right," said the oldest rover boy. "now take aim, and when i say three, shoot." there were several seconds of silence during which all of the young hunters got in readiness to shoot. then, while they were still aiming their weapons, one of the rabbits suddenly stopped running around and sat upright, directly facing them, with his long ears pointed skyward. "quick!" exclaimed jack excitedly. "they see us! one--two--three! fire!" the six shotguns spoke almost as one piece, and as the reports echoed across the clearing and through the woods, several of the rabbits were seen to leap into the air and then fall back lifeless. several others were seriously wounded, and these were speedily put out of their misery by a second shot from gif and spouter. "hurrah! seven rabbits!" exclaimed fred, running forward. "that's what i call a pretty good start." "come on, let us go after the others! leave these where they are," cried jack, and plunged into the wood where he had seen several of the rabbits seeking refuge. he managed to bring down one of them, and randy brought down another. the others got away. "nine rabbits is by no means a bad haul," was gif's comment, after the boys had brought the dead game together. "enough for a splendid potpie, and then some," came from spouter. "do you suppose we can get any more?" exclaimed andy. he was quite certain he had brought down one of the bunnies. "we can try, andy," answered gif. "it isn't late yet, and the snow isn't so deep but what it might be deeper." having divided the rabbits between them, so that each lad might carry some of the game, they moved forward, across the little clearing, and then through the woods for the best part of a quarter of a mile. during that time they saw several squirrels, but were unable to get a shot at the frisky animals. "a squirrel is as quick as they make 'em," declared gif. "you've got to act like lightning to catch 'em." by this time it was snowing so heavily that all concluded it would be a wise move to return to cedar lodge. the wind was rising, shaking the tops of the trees violently and causing a strange moaning sound through the thickets which was anything but pleasant. "i'd hate to be caught out here all alone and in the darkness," remarked randy to fred, as they trudged along. "would give a fellow the creeps, wouldn't it?" was the reply. as they continued on their way they kept their eyes wide open for the possible appearance of more game. but no animals showed themselves, nor did they see any birds circling through the snow, which seemed every moment to be coming down thicker than ever. "if this snow continues and the wind keeps on rising, we'll have a regular blizzard before morning," announced gif. "don't say a word about the wind," panted andy, who had dropped a few paces behind, "my nose and my ears are almost frozen." "well, thank goodness, andy, we're not very far from the lodge. you'll soon be able to warm up." they were still deep in the woods when from a distance they heard a peculiar whistle twice repeated. "that's jed wallop's whistle," announced gif. "he must have just come in." he whistled in return, and presently they came out at a point where the cedars fringed the clearing in the midst of which was located the bungalow. they saw jed wallop standing outside the little stable and waved their hands to him, and he waved in return. "thought you might have gone out huntin'," announced wallop, when they came up. "had some luck, too, i see." "nine rabbits," said fred, a bit proudly. "good enough! i guess that means some good, old-fashioned rabbit stew to-night," and jed wallop grinned. he had not seen gif's note, and so the lads explained the situation, to which the man listened with much concern. "well, by gum! what do you know about that?" he ejaculated. "i certain did mix it when i give you them directions. i might o' told you about turnin' to the left when it come to the road past this lodge. you see, i got all twisted up in my mind as soon as i heard about my cousin, tim doolittle, bein' hurt." "that's just the way i figured it, jed," answered gif. "however, as we got here at last it doesn't matter." "goin' to have a pretty good fall o' snow, boys;" and jed wallop looked anxiously at the sky. "do you think we shall be snowed in?" questioned randy. "might be--if the storm keeps up long enough. but you got plenty o' provisions, ain't you?" "oh, we've got enough to last us for a week or ten days," answered gif. "then i guess you'll be all right. but say! maybe you fellers would like me to stay here with you?" continued jed wallop. "not but wot you're big enough to take care of yourselves." "we'll get along all right, jed. don't worry," answered gif. "then i'll be a-takin' the team and gettin' over to my own place," announced the man. "and i won't lose no time, nuther. i don't want to git stuck on the road with mary and john. they are a purty good team, but they are apt to loose heart if the wind gits to blowin' too strong agin 'em." "how is your cousin getting along?" questioned jack kindly. "oh, he's a-doin' tolerable. i took him over to our uncle joe's, you know, and the women folks over there will give him the best o' care." the boys assisted jed wallop to hook up the team to the boxsled, and in a few minutes more the man was off with a crack of his whip, which sent the team away at a fairly respectable pace. "now, have a good time!" he called back to the boys. "and don't shoot all the game in the state." "when will you be back?" sang out spouter. "in a few days. if you want me before that time give the signal;" for it had been arranged that when the boys wanted jed wallop to come over from where he lived they were to shoot a gun two times twice in succession. "he won't have any sweet job of it getting to his place," announced fred. "fortunately, it isn't a great distance off," answered gif. "if he had several miles to go, i doubt if he would be able to make it." shutting up the stable and loading their arms with firewood from the shed, the six cadets made their way into the lodge. when they opened the door the wind rushed in, causing the sparks and the ashes from the smouldering fire to fly in all directions. "shut that door!" gif cried quickly. "my, how that wind is rising!" "maybe it'll blow the bungalow over," remarked randy. "oh, i don't believe it will get as bad as all that, randy," said jack. "this looks as if it was a pretty substantial building." "you're right," came from gif. "those logs are good and heavy, and they were put together by some of the best workmen around here. this house won't go down unless the woods go down with it. but i am mighty glad we are under shelter where we can take it comfortable." "do you know what i think?" said fred. "i think we ought to bring in more of that firewood. there is no telling if we'll be able to get any of it by morning if this snow keeps coming down." "a good idea, fred," said jack. "let us go out at once and pile all the wood we can in the entryway beside the kitchen." leaving gif to stir up the fire so that the lodge might get warm once more, the others hurried out to the woodshed. they made four trips from that place to the entryway beside the kitchen, each time bringing in all the logs they could carry. "there! that wood ought to last us for two or three days," declared jack, when the task was done. "now i know what i'm going to do," said fred, as they re-entered the main building. "what's that?" queried spouter. "i'm going to get at those dishes." "so are we!" declared andy and randy in a breath. water was heated, and it did not take long to dispose of the dirty dishes. while the three boys were doing this, the others cleaned up the living room of the bungalow, and also straightened out their beds. from time to time all gazed out of the small-paned windows, to see that the snow was coming down as thickly as ever. "we're in for it, and no mistake," said gif finally. "i don't think we'll be able to do much hunting for a day or two." "well, that will give us a good chance to rest," declared jack. "i don't know but what i would just as lief take a nap after lunch. that tramp in the wind after the rabbits made me sleepy." all were rather tired, and as a consequence the lunch was an informal affair, the boys warming up and opening a large can of pork and beans and making themselves a large pot of steaming chocolate. "we'll have dinner to-night," said gif, and to this the others agreed. then they cleared the dishes away and took it easy, some resting in front of the fire and others on the beds in the rooms. "if it gets much colder we'll have to pull some of those beds out into the living room and close the doors to the bedrooms," announced gif. "i remember we did that one time when i was up here." by five o'clock the boys felt rested, and then began preparations for a regular dinner. several of the rabbits were cleaned and cooked, and they also boiled some potatoes and onions. then gif and jack prepared a pan of biscuits and a pot of tea. "some day i'm going to take a few hours off and make some pies and cakes," announced randy. he had always had a great liking for desserts. "yes, and don't forget we're going to make some candy, too," added his twin. in the evening the boys read some magazines they had brought along, and jack and spouter played checkers. before retiring, they looked out of the windows, to find that it was snowing and blowing just as furiously as ever. "it's going to be a wild night, believe me," announced spouter. "i don't believe there will be many people traveling around in this vicinity." they retired as they had done the night before, and soon, despite the whistling of the wind, all of the lads were sound asleep. suddenly jack awakened with a start. how long he had been asleep he did not know. he sat up quickly, for he realized that some sound from without had awakened him. "help! help!" came from outside the bungalow. "help! let us in! we're freezing to death!" chapter xvi undesirable visitors "wake up, fred! there is somebody at the door trying to get in!" called out jack, as the cry from outside was repeated. "what's that? what's the matter?" came sleepily from the other rover boy. from outside came a feeble kicking and pounding on the main door to the lodge. two boys were calling piteously for assistance. "get up, everybody!" sang out jack, as he jumped up and stuck his feet into a pair of slippers which were handy. his call and the noise from outside aroused gif and spouter, as well as fred, and soon the four cadets were hurrying into the living room. they wore nothing but their pajamas, and slippers, but now each slipped hastily into his overcoat. "who is it?" demanded gif, for he had no desire to have the lodge overrun by a crowd of noisy and possibly half-drunken lumberjacks. "it's us--bill glutts and gabe werner," was the faint reply. "please leave us in before we are frozen to death." "werner and glutts!" ejaculated fred. and now the continued noise brought andy and randy on the scene. "what can they be doing out here this time of night?" demanded fred. "say, let us in, won't you?" came pleadingly in gabe werner's voice. "you don't want to let us freeze to death, do you?" "what brought you here this time of night?" demanded jack. "we're on our way to tony duval's place," answered gabe werner. "but the storm is so fierce we couldn't get any further. our horse is completely winded." "you are sure you are alone?" demanded gif. "yes, yes! please let us in. my nose and ears are frozen." "and i don't know whether i've got any feet left or not," broke in bill glutts piteously. the main door to the bungalow had not only been locked, but also barred. now the door was unfastened, and gif, with the others beside him, allowed the portal to swing open a few inches. a terrible scene met their eyes. the snow was piled up against the door to the depth of two feet or more, and the wind was swirling the white particles in all directions, so that the snow came into the living room in a perfect cloud. in this mass of white stood bill glutts and gabe werner, their heavy clothing covered with a ghost-like mantle. behind them was a one-seated sleigh drawn by a horse that looked ready to drop from exhaustion. "come in," said gif briefly. no such invitation was needed, for as soon as the door was opened wide enough bill glutts staggered into the living room, followed by his crony. a swirl of snow followed them, and continued until gif and jack managed to close the door once more. "gee! i'm all in," gasped glutts, as he sank down on a chair close to the smouldering fire. "i thought we'd drop before we got you fellows up," added werner. "you sure are some sleepers," he grumbled, as he too sank down on a seat. ordinarily the rovers and their chums would have treated these two bullies with scant courtesy. but now glutts and werner appeared to be suffering so much from the cold that they had not the heart to find fault with their enemies. "i'll stir up that fire a little," said gif, and did so while andy and randy went out into the entryway, to bring in some additional sticks of wood. "we can't leave that horse out there," remarked jack. "he'll be frozen to death." "well, i'm not going out to take care of him," declared gabe werner quickly. "i wouldn't go out in that storm again for a thousand dollars." "neither would i," growled glutts. "the nag can look after himself." "that's a shameful way to treat any animal, glutts," declared gif. "but as you fellows seem to be so exhausted, we'll look after him," he continued. "if you go out, gif, i'll go with you," said jack quickly. "but we had better slip some of our clothing right over our pajamas. i'll bet it's as cold as greenland's icy mountains around that stable." while the newcomers continued to make themselves comfortable before the fire, and spouter and fred prepared a pot of hot tea for them to drink, gif and jack hurried into their clothing and then went outside. the blast that struck them as they hurried toward the exhausted horse was terrific, and for the moment they thought they would have to turn back and abandon the animal. but then they took another grip on themselves, and finally managed to turn the horse in the direction of the stable. they saw that the sleigh was filled with provisions and other things, and so managed to haul it under the shed where it would be partly protected. then they placed the horse in the stable, gave him a drink, and likewise left some hay for him to chew on. "we may not be able to get here in the morning," said gif; "so we'll leave him some supper and some breakfast at the same time." "i don't much like the idea of glutts and werner loading down on us in this fashion," remarked jack, as the pair prepared to go back to the lodge. "like it!" exclaimed his chum. "i should say not! but what are we going to do about it, jack?" "oh, we'll have to make the best of it." "if this storm keeps up we may have those fellows on our hands for some days." "well, if they stay here that long they can pay their own way," declared jack. "they have some provisions in that sleigh, and there is no reason why we should feed them for nothing. if we divide up our stuff they can divide up theirs." "it wouldn't be any more than fair." "where is this tony duval's place they mentioned?" continued the oldest rover boy. "it's about two miles from here, off to the eastward--in fact, the road on which this lodge is located ends at duval's place. he is a french-canadian, and he hasn't a very good reputation in these parts. some of the old hunters used to think tony was a good deal of a thief--that he would go around in the night or early morning and empty their traps. he came from down east." "what do you suppose werner and glutts are going to do there?" "of late years duval has made a specialty of hiring out his place to hunters. there are two or three shacks on his land, and he lets the various crowds have those buildings, and then, if the hunters want it, he cooks for them, for he is said to be quite a handy man with a coffeepot and a frying pan. more than likely, from what you heard at the moving picture theater, gabe werner has a chance to use one of those shacks and has got glutts to go with him." "i wonder why codfish isn't with them--he was at that restaurant in timminsport." "i'm sure i don't know, except that codfish may have got cold feet when it came to traveling up this way in such a snowstorm. you know there is nothing brave about that little sneak." and in this surmise gif was correct. stowell had found a boarding place in the town and had said he would remain there until the storm cleared away and the others returned to get him. in the meantime glutts and werner were seated at the living-room table drinking the hot tea which had been prepared and eating some doughnuts which fred and andy had offered. the bullies had become thawed out, and their usual aggressiveness was beginning to assert itself. "of course we could have kept on until we got up to tony's place; but what was the use on such a wild night as this when we knew this place was handy?" remarked werner. "i'm afraid you're going to be snowed in with us," said spouter. "huh! i don't know as that will be very pleasant," grumbled glutts. "have you fellows got enough for all hands to eat?" he demanded eagerly. "we've got some provisions," answered fred cautiously. "we shot nine rabbits to-day," he added proudly. "nine rabbits!" exclaimed werner. "how did you do it?" "they must have driven the poor rabbits together in a bunch and then slaughtered them," was glutts' comment. "we did not!" cried fred. "i'm sure we'll get all the rabbits we want when we reach tony duval's place," continued werner boastfully. "i believe hunting up there is much better than it is around here." "and they tell me tony is one of the best guides in these parts," added glutts. "we expect to get a deer or two and a whole lot of other game." "say, have you fellows got a place where we can sleep?" questioned the other bully, looking around the living room. "there is a bedroom here that is not being used," answered spouter. "but you'll have to ask gif about that. this bungalow, you know, belongs to mr. garrison and his brother." when gif and jack returned the situation was explained to them, and gif said that for the balance of the night the two newcomers could occupy the bedroom which was not in use. "and then we'll see what can be done to-morrow morning," he added. "of course we'll pay for our accommodations," said werner, in his most lordly manner. "we don't want any pay, werner," declared gif. "but if you have to stay here very long you'll have to divide your stores with us. it is quite a task to get new stuff all the way from timminsport; so if you've got anything in the sleigh outside it won't be any more than fair for you to divide with us." "what did you do with the sleigh and the stuff?" "we placed it under the shed next to the stable and covered your stuff with a horse blanket. the snow is sifting in there some, but i don't think anything will get hurt; unless, of course, you've got some stuff that might freeze." "let it freeze," grumbled glutts. "i'm not going out again, now i'm comfortable here." as there was no love lost between the newcomers and our friends, the conversation languished after this. gif showed glutts and werner where they might sleep in the bedroom which had not been occupied, and gave them the necessary bedding and some extra blankets. then the pair shoved off without even saying good-night and closed the door behind them. "real loving and thankful--i don't think," whispered randy. "i don't see why those fellows were wished on us," growled his twin. "i'd just as lief have a skunk in the place as to have either of that pair." "well, we couldn't leave them out in the storm to perish," answered jack, in a low tone; "so we'll have to make the best of it." "just the same," whispered fred, "i'm going to keep my eyes and ears wide open while they are here." chapter xvii new year's day in camp when randy and andy retired it was a long while before the merry twins could get to sleep again. "we ought to play some good joke on them," was the way andy expressed it. "something they would remember." "i'd do it in a minute, andy, if it wasn't that they are so worn out," responded his twin. "but i don't think jack and fred would like it at all if we disturbed 'em. and, besides, you must remember that while we are here we're gif's guests." gif and jack were the first to get up in the morning, and they had the fire revived and breakfast underway before any of the others showed themselves. "where are glutts and werner?" questioned spouter, when he appeared. "they haven't showed themselves yet, spouter," answered jack. "might as well let them sleep as long as they want to. they can't leave here in such a storm as this." the snow was still coming down and the wind was blowing almost as fiercely as it had during the early part of the night. gazing through the windows, the cadets saw that all of the cedars were bent down with the weight of the fine white crystals. the snow had swept up along one side of the little barn until there was an unbroken line reaching up to the very top. "well, i never!" ejaculated jack, turning around suddenly to his chums. "happy new year, everybody!" "happy new year!" came from the others, including fred and the twins, who had just got up. "gosh! i forgot all about it's being new year's," exclaimed fred. "this looks like a real new year's day, and no mistake," remarked randy. "look outside! isn't it just like a picture on a new year's card?" "it is assuredly a spectacle to fill one with awe and reverence," came from spouter. "just gaze upon that magnificent stretch of snowy mantle and those tall cedars bending low before the wintry blasts! can you imagine what this must be in the solemn depth of the mighty forest, where not a footfall is heard nor a--" "jack rabbit can get as much as a turnip to eat?" finished randy gayly. "spouter, if you are going to orate, why don't you stand on the table when you turn on the spigot?" "let us have a regular new year's dinner!" cried gif, "and then spouter can do the speech-making--" "while we do the eating," finished randy. "say, spout, how about it?" "nothing doing," was the prompt reply. "i want my share of the eats every time." "we'll make a regular rabbit potpie to take the place of turkey," announced gif. "and for dessert, how about that canned plum pudding we brought along?" queried fred. "great thought, fred!" answered randy. "and we can have some of those nuts, too. and to-night we'll try our hand at some candy making." "one thing you fellows are forgetting," remarked gif. "and that is that we have werner and glutts with us. they'll certainly want their share of the good things." "what! plum pudding and all?" questioned fred, with a gloomy look settling over his face. "we can't deny them anything that we have ourselves, fred," replied jack. "i don't think glutts or werner deserve it!" exclaimed randy. "i think as soon as this storm clears away they ought to be sent about their business. it isn't so very far to that tony duval's place, and with their horse and sleigh they ought to be able to make it somehow." randy had scarcely finished speaking when the door to the bedroom the two bullies occupied was flung open and werner strode into the living room. "fine way you have of talking about us, rover!" he said, with a sour look on his face. "we didn't come here because we wanted to. we came because it was necessary." "and we said we would pay for whatever we had to eat or drink," added glutts, who had followed his crony. "i told you before that you wouldn't have to pay a cent," broke in gif. "just the same, glutts, we might as well come to an understanding. you know as well as i do that there is no love lost between you fellows and our crowd. you are welcome to stay here and have your dinner, and if you think you can't get out to-day you can stay here for supper and sleep here again to-night. by that time i think the storm will have cleared away, and you will be able to get over to tony's place without trouble." "you can take it from me, we won't stay here an hour longer than we have to," declared werner. and then he turned back into the bedroom to finish his dressing, closing the door behind him. the presence of the two bullies put a good deal of a damper on our friends, and as a consequence the breakfast was rather a silent one. then gif suggested that glutts and werner go out and look after their horse, and this they agreed to do. "if you won't take any pay we'll stand for our share of the grub," announced werner just before he went out. "we've got some goods in the sleigh, as you know. what shall i bring in?" "bring in whatever you think is fair," said gif, after a few whispered words to jack and spouter. the two bullies were gone the best part of an hour, and during that time the rovers and their chums cleaned several of the rabbits and also got ready some potatoes and turnips for dinner. "that will give us quite a meal, along with the dried lima beans that i put to soak last night," said gif. "of course, we'll have the plum pudding, well steamed, as fred suggested." "and we'll make a pan of biscuits, too," added spouter. "gee! by the time we get through up here, fellows, we'll be able to get jobs as chefs in some of the first-class new york hotels." when glutts and werner returned they carried two packages which they threw on the living-room table. "there are some dried apricots and a package of rice," said werner. "they ought to help out for a new year's dinner." "very well, we'll cook what we need for the meal, werner," said gif briefly, "and the rest you can take with you." gif and spouter made a small rice pudding, and also stewed some of the apricots. all told, the new year's dinner proved to be quite a bountiful affair, and after all of the lads had eaten their fill, it must be confessed that everybody felt in better humor. the plum pudding especially came in for a large share of their attention, as well as did the nuts and the small amount of raisins which followed. "i think we'll go and take a nap," announced werner presently. "i didn't get very much sleep last night." "and i'll do the same," added glutts. "what about washing those dishes?" remarked fred, with a significant look at the two bullies. "that's right, glutts and werner!" cried jack. "you ought to be willing to do your share of the dish-washing." "me wash dishes!" roared bill glutts. "i never did anything like that in my life!" "you washed your own dishes at the encampment," answered spouter sharply. "oh, well, that was different." "oh, don't gas," grumbled werner. "we'll wash our own dishes, anyway," and he went to work without another word, although with very bad grace, and presently glutts followed him. gif and the other boys also took hold, so the dish-washing and the pot cleaning did not take very long. the majority of the boys felt sleepy, so the rest of the day was spent in taking it easy or in reading. then, toward night, they had a light supper, and fred and the twins started to make some home-made candy. by this time the storm had cleared away; no more snow was coming down and the wind had also ceased. overhead the stars glittered like so many diamonds. "it will be a great day to-morrow," announced gif. "perhaps we can get out and get on the track of a deer!" cried fred. "say, fred, you must think the deer in this vicinity are standing around just waiting to be shot," came from jack, with a smile. "i don't care, jack. i'm going to get a crack at something worth while before i go home," announced the youngest rover. declining to partake of the taffy and the nut candy the twins and fred had made, glutts and werner retired early. "we'll be going in the morning if the storm will permit it," said werner to gif. and then he added curtly: "much obliged for taking us in." "don't mention it, werner," answered gif, just as briefly. "remember, we'll pay you if you'll tell us how much it is," added glutts. "you can't pay me anything, glutts." "just as you say." then the door to the bedroom was closed as before, and gif and his chums were left to themselves. "some new year's day, believe me," was fred's whispered comment. "the presence of those fellows is about as cheering as a funeral." randy and andy had their heads close together and were whispering. presently randy got up and stretched himself. "now that it has stopped snowing i am going to go out and get a little fresh air in my lungs," he remarked. "and i'm going along," responded his twin quickly. "so am i," broke in fred. "and that means we can wash the dishes," said jack. "all right, there are only a handful anyway. go ahead, only don't walk too far and get lost." the three lads were soon outside, ploughing around through the deep snow. then randy caught fred by the arm. "come on down to the stable," he said. "andy and i have a little something up our sleeves." "just what i thought," chuckled fred, "i bet you're planning to play some trick on glutts and werner." "can you blame us?" demanded andy. "certainly not. i'm with you. what do you propose to do?" "we want to find out first what those fellows are carrying in the way of provisions. quite something, i imagine." reaching the stable, the three rovers passed around one corner to where was located the shed. here they found the sleigh and its contents just as it had been left by glutts and werner when they had procured the rice and the apricots. randy carried a flashlight, and this was turned on so they might see what was stored there. "a pretty complete lot of stuff," was randy's comment, after they had looked over the various bundles and packages, each one of which was marked. "here is a bag of sugar and another bag of salt," announced andy. "i think the flavor of each will be vastly improved by mixing them up a bit," and he grinned. "and here's a bottle of vinegar and two bottles of catsup and maple syrup," came from randy. "i think a little mixing up here will help matters also." "say, don't go too far!" cried fred in alarm. "too far!" exclaimed randy. "you couldn't go too far with gabe werner and bill glutts! just remember what they did to us at colby hall and at the encampment. both of those fellows are nothing but rascals. they didn't deserve to be taken in." after that fred joined the twins in "doctoring up the provisions," as andy expressed it. the three had quite some fun doing this, and all returned to the bungalow grinning broadly. "there will be something doing when they start to use those stores," chuckled andy. "my, won't glutts and werner be mad!" "they won't know we did it," returned his twin. "they won't know it," answered fred, "but they'll take it for granted, nevertheless. i'll tell you, fellows, i don't know about this," he added dubiously. "oh, don't worry," answered andy gayly. "gabe werner and bill glutts deserve all that they are getting, and more too." chapter xviii fishing through the ice with nothing of importance to do and nobody to awaken them, the rover boys and their chums slept late the next morning. gif was the first to get up, and, seeing that the others were still asleep, he made as little noise as possible when he went out into the living-room to stir up the smouldering fire and place upon it a couple of extra logs. "hello, gif! up already?" came from spouter, when the other cadet came back to finish his dressing. "what sort of a day is it?" "clear as crystal, spouter. it couldn't be better." "then perhaps we'll get a chance to go out hunting." "perhaps." gif looked doubtful for a moment. "i don't know that i care to leave this place until glutts and werner have gone." "i don't blame you, gif. it would be just like those mean chaps to try to do some damage before they left. they are not the kind to appreciate in the least what we have done for them." "hardly--after the way they kicked up about washing a few dishes. it made me sick." gif and spouter began preparations for breakfast, and while they were at this the four rovers appeared, one after another. the door to the room turned over to glutts and werner remained closed. "those fellows are certainly putting in some sleep," was jack's comment. "shall i wake 'em up?" questioned fred quickly. "no. let them take their own time," answered gif. "with such fine weather they ought to have no trouble in getting away, and there is no use of another row before they start." the lads prepared a generous breakfast of pancakes and some sausage meat that had been brought along from timminsport, washed down with a copious supply of hot coffee. as they ate they cast sundry glances at the closed bedroom door, but saw no sign of glutts or werner. "gee! they must be sleeping like rocks," was andy's comment. "you'd think the smell of the pancakes and sausage would wake 'em up on such a cold morning as this," added his twin. "my! but it's good!" "perhaps they thought they wouldn't bother us about breakfast and take it out in sleep instead," suggested fred. "say, did any of you fellows get up during the night to get something to eat--crackers or cheese, or anything like that?" questioned gif quickly. all of the others shook their heads. "what makes you ask that question, gif?" remarked jack. "why, i saw a lot of crumbs scattered over the kitchen table and on the floor." "maybe glutts and werner got up to get something--" began fred, and then a sudden idea came into his mind and he gave a start. "gee! what would you say if they were gone?" "gone!" echoed the others. "maybe they're not in that room at all!" added jack. "i'll soon find out!" answered gif, and, leaving the breakfast table, he went over and tried the bedroom door. it was unlocked, and he opened it and went inside. "they're gone, all right enough," he called out, and immediately the others followed him into the room. here they found the beds mussed up and empty. all of the things belonging to glutts and werner were gone and the single window of the room was wide open. "that's a fine way to leave, i must say," grumbled gif. "yes, and to leave this window wide open so the room can get as cold as a barn!" added spouter, as he pulled down the sash. "some mean fellows, believe me!" "let's see if the horse and sleigh are gone too!" cried randy. in a few minutes he and fred were ready to go out, and they lost no time in hurrying down to the barn and the shed. sure enough, the horse and sleigh were gone, and the barn door had been left wide open. "i wonder when they went," remarked fred. "most likely as soon as it was daylight. they probably had this all fixed last night. that's why they went to bed early." "well, it doesn't hurt my feelings to have them missing." "i'd like to know if they took any of our things with them." the two rovers returned to the lodge, and there told of what they had discovered. a search around the lodge was immediately instituted, the boys looking over their clothing and firearms and then their stores and the regular belongings of the bungalow. "as far as i can make out, there is only one flannel blanket from the bed missing," said gif. "i suppose they took that along to keep warm on the ride. they didn't have but one small robe in the sleigh." "i don't know about these stores," announced spouter, who had been going over them carefully. "it seems to me we had more canned stuff than this--some green corn and asparagus, and also some canned salmon and sardines." "i wouldn't put it past 'em to take anything they thought they needed," declared fred. "they are just that sort, and everybody here knows it." "all i can say is, 'good riddance to bad rubbish,'" said randy. "and may we fail to see 'em again while we're in this vicinity," added his twin. "my! but it's a real relief to have them gone," announced jack. "now we can do as we please and have the best times ever," and his face showed his pleasure. everybody felt glad to think the two bullies were gone, and soon they were chatting gayly. then, after the breakfast dishes had been put away, all went outside and there indulged in a snowball fight which lasted the best part of the morning. after such a glorious time in the open, all the cadets ought to have felt in the best of spirits, but it was observed by jack at dinner time that fred and the twins looked rather preoccupied. they were whispering together, and presently randy spoke. "i and andy and fred have been thinking that perhaps it would be best for us to let you other fellows know how matters stand," said he. "maybe you won't approve of what we did. just the same, we think glutts and werner deserve it." and thereupon he and the others related what had been done the evening before down at the shed. all of the others had to grin at the recital, yet jack and gif shook their heads. "i don't blame you," said the oldest rover boy. "just the same, it may lead to more trouble." "if they find out that you did it, they'll probably come here and try to pay us back," was gif's comment. "let them come," announced spouter. "i guess we can hold our own against them. i am glad we did something for them to remember us by, especially if they walked off with some of our stuff." that afternoon the boys went hunting again, but on account of the heavy fall of snow did not go any great distance. they managed, however, to get two more rabbits, and also two squirrels, and two quail. "well, that's something, anyhow," declared fred, who had laid one of the squirrels low. "a bird and squirrel potpie won't go bad for a change." "right-o!" cried andy. "say, gif, what's the matter with trying our hand at fishing through the ice?" questioned jack. "the deep snow ought not to interfere with that sport." "just as you say. we can go down to the river to-morrow if the crowd is willing." the day passed without their seeing or hearing any more of werner and glutts, nor did anyone come to disturb them through the night. once andy awoke to hear a noise at a distance, but he soon figured out that this was nothing more than a hoot owl. ten o'clock of the next day found them on the river bank. they had brought their fishing tackle with them, and also an axe with which to chop some holes through the ice. "pretty thick, i'm thinking," announced jack, as they came out on the ice. "we'll have our own troubles making holes." "how foolish we were not to bring our skates along!" cried randy. "we could have a dandy skate." their skates had been left up at the lodge. "never mind, we'll skate some other time," said spouter. "we're out for some fish to-day." it took over half an hour to knock several fair-sized holes through the ice, and then the boys began their fishing, following directions that had been given to gif by some of the older hunters. "if i catch a whale i don't see how i'm going to bring him up through this hole," remarked andy, with a grin. "oh, that's easy," returned his brother gayly. "all you'll have to do will be to jump in and push him up through the hole where i can get hold of him." "thank you, you can do the jumping in yourself. this water is about twenty degrees below cicero." "i was thinking that we could enlarge one of the holes and keep it open," said jack, with a serious look on his face; "then all you fellows can come down here every morning and take a dip." at present they were obtaining water from a deep well directly outside of the kitchen. they fished for a long time without getting even a nibble. but then jack felt a gentle tug, and, after some little excitement, managed to bring out a fair-sized catch. "hurrah! the first fish!" he cried, holding it up proudly. "and may he be the forerunner of many more," proclaimed spouter. "i want a whale," declared randy. such a catch was an incentive to all of the others to do their best, and as a result inside of three hours the lads had eleven fish between them, some of fair size and others quite small, one, in fact, so tiny that it was thrown back into the stream, "so it might grow a little," as fred expressed it. "one o'clock!" announced gif, looking at his watch. "i think we had better go back to the lodge and have some of these fish fried for dinner." "second the commotion!" cried randy quickly. properly fried, the freshly-caught fish proved delicious eating, and the boys lingered over the repast while a scrap of those which had been served was left. half of the catch was packed away in snow to be served at another time. the day had just come to an end when the boys heard a jingle of sleighbells on the road, and then came a whistle. "it's jed wallop," announced gif. "yes, and he's coming from the direction of timminsport!" cried fred. "he must have been down to the town." "look! he's holding up some letters!" ejaculated jack. "letters!" "letters! letters!" was the general cry, and then the whole crowd of cadets rushed down to meet the old hunter. chapter xix letters from home while gif was sorting out the mail, which included not only letters but also several packages which had been sent by parcel post, jack and spouter told the old hunter about the coming of the two bullies to the lodge, and how they had sneaked away at daybreak. "accordin' to that, them fellers can't be very good friends o' yourn," remarked the old hunter dryly. "they are our enemies," answered spouter. "they did all sorts of mean things at colby hall, and when they were found out werner got so scared that he ran away and never came back." "i guess their folks ought to take 'em in hand. if they don't they'll be sorry fer it later on," said wallop. "but i must be gittin' on now, fer i've got to git ready to-night fer a big day's work to-morrow." "some day we want you to come down here and go out hunting with us," said jack. "can't you show us where we can get a chance at a deer, or something else that is worth while?" "wot's the matter with stirrin' up a bear?" replied the old hunter, with a grin, his eyes twinkling. "that would suit me to a t!" exclaimed randy. "trot out your bears and we'll polish 'em off!" added his twin. "not many bears 'round here," announced jed wallop. "but you might strike something jest as bad, especially if the snow keeps on gittin' deeper. the wolves in this neighborhood git mighty pestiferous when they can't git nothin' to eat." "wolves!" exclaimed fred. "gee! i don't know that i want to run up against a savage wolf." after promising to come down and see them during the following week, jed wallop drove off, leaving the boys to return to the lodge and look over their letters and parcel post packages. "here is a letter from mother, and it encloses a letter from dad!" cried jack, as he glanced over the epistle. "i've got a letter from mary," said fred. "and here is one from may powell, too." "who is your second letter from, jack?" queried spouter. "oh, never you mind about that." "looks as if it might be in ruth stevenson's handwriting," said andy, with a grin. there were letters for everybody. two of the packages were from the rover boys' homes, and the third had been sent to spouter by his mother. "a fruit cake!" exclaimed fred, as he opened the package addressed to him. "i'll tell you! it takes my mother to remember what us fellows like," and he smacked his lips. the other package, addressed to andy and randy, contained a box of home-made sugar cookies, while that which spouter had received contained a long loaf of ginger cake and a box of hard candies. "well, one thing is sure--they haven't forgotten us," was spouter's remark, as he passed the candies around. all the boys were anxious to read their letters, and for the time being everything else was forgotten. mrs. dick rover wrote that nothing of importance had happened at home since they had gone away. ruth stevenson and may powell were still with them, but all of the girls expected to go to the stevenson homestead to finish their school vacation. the letter from dick rover had been sent from the battlefront in france. in it he related how he and his brothers, as well as some of their old school chums, had been in a number of small engagements. in one of these tom and sam rover had been slightly wounded by the fragments from a shell, and he himself had been in a gas attack, but had escaped without serious injury. all had been sent to the field hospital to be treated, but now they were once more at the front in what were called their winter quarters. * * * * * "the boches are watching us like a cat watches a mouse, and we are equally on the alert," wrote dick rover. "there have been no big battles, but sniping is going on constantly, and several of our men have been killed or wounded. we are all anxious to have the cold weather break up, so that we can go forward and finish this war. we feel that we can wallop the enemy, if only we have a chance to get at them." * * * * * "that's dad, all right," murmured jack admiringly. he had read the letter aloud for the benefit of the others. "oh, dear! i hope dad wasn't seriously hurt," murmured fred. "i think if our fathers were very badly hurt uncle dick would let us know," answered randy. "he isn't one to hold back news--he knows we want the truth." "if only this war was over!" remarked andy, and now there was little of his usual light-heartedness in his tone. "i won't feel at ease until our soldiers are bound for home." the six cadets talked over the letters they had received for some time. they had brought stationery with them, and they spent the evening writing letters in return. "i don't see how we're going to get these down to timminsport unless we walk down there," remarked jack. "and a walk of five or six miles through this snow each way wouldn't be an easy job." "i know what we can do," replied gif. "we can skate down the river to a place called henryville. there is a post-office there, and letters are sent over to timminsport at least once a day." "how far is it to henryville?" questioned randy. "oh, not more than three miles." "do you suppose the skating is any good?" "i don't see why it shouldn't be." "let's do it!" broke in spouter. "we wanted to have a skate anyway. we can take our guns along, in case we see any game." and so it was arranged. the next day dawned bright and clear, and after breakfast the boys got their letters and their skates and started for the river. "i'll wager we'll find the ice covered with snow in some places," remarked randy. "i don't know about that," answered gif. "i was hoping the high wind had swept it pretty clean." they were soon on the ice, their skates ringing merrily as they struck out into an impromptu race. they swept down the river and around a broad bend, and were soon well out of sight of the tract of forest land upon which the lodge was located. "i hope glutts and werner don't visit the bungalow during our absence," remarked spouter. "well, that's a risk we've got to run," answered jack. "we can't remain at home all the time." "exactly so!" put in gif. "and it would be no fun for some of us to stay behind on guard while the others were off enjoying themselves." for the most part they found the river swept clear of snow, although here and there were drifts more or less deep over which they had to plough their way as best they could. this, however, was nothing but fun for the lads, and nobody complained. arriving at henryville, they found that the mail for timminsport would go out in less than an hour, and also learned that the mail from that place came in twice daily, morning and evening. "let's have all our mail re-addressed from timminsport to henryville," suggested fred; "then we can come down here on our skates any time we feel like it and get it." and this was done. they found a fairly good general store at henryville, and made a few purchases of such things as they thought they could use to advantage during their outing. they were about to start up the river again when jack's attention was attracted to a large sleigh drawn by a pair of powerful horses. the sleigh was driven by a man who looked as if he might be a german, and on the back seat, wedged in by a number of packages, were two other german-looking individuals. "one of those men on the back seat is that herman crouse, the fellow we rescued from the burning car," said jack to the others. "yes, and that driver and the other man are two of the fellows we met on the road when we were trying to locate the lodge," added randy. "it's queer that that herman crouse should be up here," said fred. "oh, i don't know. he said he worked a small farm somewhere in this vicinity." "i thought it was down near enwood," remarked spouter. "one thing certain--i don't like the looks of those other germans," came from gif. "they look like mighty suspicious characters to me." even had the boys wished to do so, they got no opportunity to speak to the man they had rescued from the burning railroad car. the sleigh had stopped at a house in henryville, and now it passed on around a corner of the road, and was soon lost to sight in the woods. now that they knew their letters were on the way, the cadets were in no hurry to get back to the lodge. they had brought along a few sandwiches and now purchased some fresh doughnuts, in case they stayed away from the lodge during the lunch hour. "let's take our time and skate up one or two branches of this river," suggested gif. "it will be easier than walking, and we may have a chance at some game." all were willing, and it was suggested that gif led the way, which he did. they left the main stream and started up a smaller watercourse leading directly into the forest. "i just saw a rabbit!" exclaimed randy presently. "there he is now!" and, raising his gun, he fired quickly. but his aim was not good, and the bunny hopped behind a tree and out of sight. "too bad you had to take a shot for nothing," remarked fred. "that may put the other game in this vicinity on the alert." soon they came to a point where skating was not so easy. at first they thought to go back, but then it was suggested that they tramp along the frozen-up watercourse on foot. "i was thinking we might run across some brook mink up here," said gif. "or some ducks." "oh, i'd like to get a mink or a duck if there are any in this vicinity," answered jack. on they tramped until a good quarter of a mile had been covered. then they caught sight of several rabbits, and brought down two of them. later still they saw a squirrel, but though spouter shot at the frisky creature, it managed to elude him. "well, we can't expect to bag everything we shoot at," consoled jack. "i think i know of a short cut from here to the lodge," said gif. "so if you would rather tramp through the woods than go back by way of the river, we might do so and get a chance at some other game." "all right, gif; lead the way," said jack, and they went forward under gif's guidance. they were deep in the forest when they heard a whir overhead. they looked up quickly to see a number of partridges sailing past close to the tree tops. "quick!" yelled jack, and blazed away, while all of the others did the same. chapter xx lost in the woods there was no time wasted in shooting at the partridges which were flying along so close to the tree tops. the six cadets did their best but four of the charges went wild. the aim of jack and gif was effective, and one wounded partridge came fluttering down to the snow while another dropped dead on the branches of a nearby cedar. "hurrah! we've got two of them, anyhow," cried gif, as he reached forward and quickly put the wounded bird out of its misery. "we've got two provided we can reach that one up in the tree," answered jack. "i'm afraid it's going to be some climb to get it down." "that's so," said randy. "oh, i can get up there in no time!" cried andy gayly. "here, take my gun," and with his usual agility he was soon mounting the branches of the big tree, taking particular delight in shaking down great masses of loose snow on the heads of those below. as is usual with cedars, the branches were close together, and andy soon found he would have his own troubles in reaching the point where the dead partridge rested. however, he kept on, worming his way upward as best he could, until he was within a few feet of the prize. "some climb, believe me!" he called out to those below. "this tree is almost as close-grown as a cedar bush." up went andy, and presently managed to get hold of the dead partridge and drew the game toward him. just as he did this he heard a peculiar sound a few feet below him on the other side of the tree. "hello! is somebody following me?" he questioned, looking down to see what the movement among the branches below meant. there was no reply to his question, and andy came to the conclusion that the branches must have become crossed in some way and then loosened themselves. he continued his descent, but just as he reached a branch two feet further down a peculiar cry came to his alert ears, a cry not unlike that of an angry cat. "hello! something is up in this tree, that is sure," he told himself. he listened, and then heard another cry, this time less than two yards below him, coming from one of the larger branches of the big cedar. at once he sent up a shout. "what's wanted?" questioned his twin. "why don't you hurry up down so we can do some more hunting?" "there is some wild animal in this tree!" answered andy. "i don't know what it is, but it sounds like a wildcat." "a wildcat!" burst out several of the others. "and andy hasn't any gun!" cried gif. "come on, let us see if we can't shoot the thing!" "go slow there," cautioned jack. "let us see if we can't locate it and find out what it is first. we don't want it to attack andy while he is unarmed." "are you in any danger, andy?" called out fred. "where is the cat--or whatever it is?" asked randy. "it's just below me somewhere. i can't see it, but i can hear it plainly enough. it's moving around in those lower branches. i guess i had better stay up here for a while;" and as he spoke andy mounted to a higher limb. with no weapon handy, he had no desire to face any wild animal. those below slowly circled the big cedar, keeping their eyes on the alert for a view of whatever might be prowling around among the branches. they had their guns ready for use, but realized that they must fire with great caution, or otherwise they might hit the lad who was in peril. "i suppose the wildcat, or whatever it is, was up in the tree and didn't know what to do when andy started to come up. the beast knew we were down here, or otherwise it would probably have jumped down and run off." "squirrels don't cry like a cat, and i heard that beast just cry," said jack. "all squirrels do is to chatter." "there's another danger," said gif. "if we come too close to that tree we'll probably drive the wildcat, or whatever it is, up to where andy is." "here's the bird!" shouted andy from above, and threw the partridge down and away from the tree. jack and andy's twin took a few steps closer to the big cedar, at the same time holding their guns ready for instant use. they peered upward among the snow-laden branches, and presently caught sight of a slinking form resting in a crotch of the tree. "there it is!" exclaimed randy, and was on the point of firing when the wildcat--for such it had proved to be--dropped out of sight and leaped to a branch on the other side of the tree trunk. "hi there! don't drive that beast up here," called out andy. "andy," called back his twin suddenly, "weren't you carrying that flashlight?" "no, i left it at the lodge. i didn't think i would want it on the trip to henryville." "i've got my flashlight," remarked gif. "here it is," and he brought it forth. the light was flashed up into the tree and around from branch to branch. as the rays traveled through the cedar there was a sudden wild cry from the animal, and then came a swish and a whirr as the wildcat sprang to the outer end of a limb and then down into the snow. bang! bang! bang! went the guns in the hands of gif, randy, and spouter. but whether they hit the wildcat or not, they could not tell. there was a whirl in the snow, and then in a twinkling the beast had disappeared into the forest behind them. "well, it's gone, anyhow," declared jack, in a tone of great relief. "you can come down, andy." andy was soon out of the tree, and, having picked up the two partridges, the six young hunters continued on their way, as they supposed, in the direction of cedar lodge. presently they came to another clearing, and on the far side of this noted some animals hopping about which they felt certain must be rabbits. "let's go over there!" cried fred excitedly. "maybe we can make a good haul." "it's a pretty good tramp around to the other side of this clearing," remarked gif. "and it looks to me as if it might begin to snow again," he added, with a glance at the sky which was now heavily overcast. but all of the others wanted a chance to get more game, so in the end the six cadets tramped around one edge of the clearing until they reached a point close to the spot where the rabbits had been seen. here the bunnies were out in force, trying to find something to eat, and they had but little difficulty in bagging four of the creatures. "well, that's not so bad but what it might be worse," announced jack. "we should have had more than four," grumbled randy. "there were at least fifteen or sixteen rabbits to be seen." he had missed what he had thought to be a comparatively easy shot. "well, we can't have everything," declared spouter philosophically. they trudged on once more, gif, as before, taking the lead. but presently the tall cadet called a halt. "what's the matter now?" questioned randy. "see any more game ahead?" "no." gif was staring around first to the right and then to the left. "hang it if i know whether we are on the right trail or not!" "do you mean to say, gif, you don't know in what direction the lodge is located?" questioned spouter quickly. "i think it's off in that direction, spouter," was the reply, and gif pointed with his hand, "but i'm not dead sure of it. circling that clearing threw me off the track." "well, were you sure of the trail before we came over here?" questioned jack. "if you were, we can go back you know, even though it is quite a tramp." "i thought i was sure, jack. but now i'm not sure of anything," answered gif helplessly. "someway or other, i seem to be completely turned around." "gee! then we're in a pretty pickle," groaned fred, who was beginning to grow tired of tramping through the snow. "if we could only get down to the river again we'd be all right," came from randy. "i wonder if i could locate the lodge from the top of one of these trees," remarked jack. "it would be quite a climb to get such a view, but it would be better than tramping around without knowing where one was going." "i'll do the climbing," answered gif quickly. "i got you fellows into this mess, and it's up to me to get you out." "oh, don't think i'm complaining," returned spouter quickly. "none of us is complaining, gif. we all know it's the easiest thing in the world to get lost in a big woods like this--especially when there is snow on the ground to cover up the landmarks." a tall pine was selected, and the others boosted gif upward as far as they could. then he mounted from branch to branch, and the others waited below as patiently as possible for what he might have to report. in the meantime a few flakes of snow came drifting downward, and soon it was snowing steadily. "well, what can you see?" called out jack, after those below had waited quite a while for their chum to make a report. "i can't see very much on account of the snow coming down," announced gif. "i can see the edge of a clearing that might be the one where cedar lodge is located, but i am not certain of it." "well, take another good look," advised spouter. "wish we had field glasses," he added. it was a full fifteen minutes before gif rejoined the others. he had located but one place that looked like the clearing surrounding the lodge, but, as he had said before, he was by no means certain that this was the right location. "well, we might as well try it anyway," announced jack. "we can't stay here all night." [illustration: bang! bang! bang! went the guns in the hands of gif, randy, and spouter.] "it's too bad it began to snow so heavily just as i was climbing the tree," remarked gif. "if it hadn't been for that i might have gotten quite a view and maybe located the bungalow without difficulty. however, this may prove to be the right trail after all. come on, before it gets dark." "wish i had something more to eat," remarked andy. the few sandwiches and doughnuts they had brought along had long since been eaten. as they walked on the way seemed to grow more difficult. they soon found themselves at a point where there were a series of rocks backed up by low-hanging bushes thickly covered with snow. there was no wind, but the snow was now coming down more thickly than ever. "gee! it looks to me as if we were lost," remarked fred. all gazed around them, but saw little to give them satisfaction. behind them lay the thick forest, and in front of them the rocks and bushes. it was now growing dark, and this added to their uneasiness. "well, what shall we do next?" questioned gif. nobody answered that question. they were undoubtedly lost, and what was to be done about it was a serious problem. chapter xxi a night under the cliff "one thing is sure," said jack presently. "we can't stand out here in this snowstorm all night." "let's go on at least a short distance further," broke in spouter. "maybe we'll come to some sort of trail that gif will recognize," put in randy. "i'm getting dead tired. i can't tramp more than a mile or two further," said fred. "i don't believe any of us care to go any such distance as that, fred," returned jack kindly. "here, give me your gun. i'll carry it for you," for it was plainly to be seen the youngest rover was becoming exhausted. all were tired out from their skate and their tramp, and climbing among the rough rocks covered with snow was by no means easy. soon they reached another line of rocks, this time much higher than those they had been crossing. at one end of the rocks was a small cliff. at the top of this several cedars had once stood, but the winds of the winter before had blown them over, so that, while the roots were still imbedded in the cliff, the tops rested in the snow below. "great salt mackerel!" cried gif in dismay. "well, now i have spilled the beans!" "what's up now?" questioned randy quickly. "i heard my uncle tell about this place. he visited it just after those trees fell over. he said the spot was about three miles from the lodge." at this there was a groan from the twins and fred. "we can't walk that distance in this snowstorm," said the latter decidedly. "not over those rough rocks, anyway," added randy. "i feel as if my ankles were getting twisted out of shape." "do you know in what direction the lodge is from here?" questioned spouter. "i do not, except that you have to be on the top of the cliff to get to it. we were evidently headed the right way, although we must have walked in a big semicircle since we left the river." "i'm going to climb to the top of the cliff and have a look around," declared jack. "here, take these guns and the game." it was no easy matter to mount to the top of the cliff which at this point was at least fifteen feet over their heads. but jack finally made it, and was followed by spouter and gif. here, however, the view was no better than from below--the thickly falling snow hiding the landscape on every side. night was coming on and it was growing colder, and the boys could not help but shiver. "i guess the best thing we can do it to try to make ourselves comfortable for the night," remarked jack. "how can we make ourselves comfortable without anything to eat?" questioned spouter. "we've got the game. we can start a fire and cook some of that." "and besides, you must remember we have the things we bought at henryville," said gif. the three rejoined the others, and the question of what to do was put to the younger rovers. fred and andy declared they could not tramp much further, and at once agreed that it would be best to try to make themselves comfortable for the night. "it looks as if there might be some kind of shelter under those fallen cedars," said randy. "hanging down from the top of the cliff, they form a sort of lean-to." "i was thinking of that," said jack. "let us get under them and investigate." "beware of more wildcats," cautioned andy. "we'll use my flashlight," said gif. this was done, he and several of the others investigated the spot under the fallen cedars with care. no trace of any wild animal, not even a rabbit or a squirrel, was found. then the boys began to size up the situation, trying to determine how they could make themselves at home there for the night. "first of all i think we had better build a fire," suggested gif. "then, after we have warmed up and rested a bit, we can prepare supper." with so much wood at hand it was an easy matter to start a campfire. this was placed at one side of the opening under the fallen cedars, the boys taking care that the flames should not reach the trees. with their hatchet they cut off some of the cedar boughs and scattered these over the ground for a flooring. the driest they placed to one side to use for bedding later. fortunately while at henryville they had purchased a fair-sized box of cocoa. this box was of tin, and jack suggested that they dump the cocoa out on a sheet of paper which he had in his pocket and then use the tin for a pot in which to boil water. "it won't make a very large cocoa pot, but it will be better than nothing, and we can fill it as many times as we please." the boys had several collapsible drinking cups with them, and these they would take turns in using. "i'm mighty glad we bought that cheese," remarked spouter. "that will help out quite a little," for they carried a piece weighing almost two pounds. of the other things purchased at henryville, only a box of fancy crackers could be used. there were two dozen all told, and these were divided by randy, four crackers to each cadet. "we'll clean a couple of the rabbits and see what we can do about broiling them over the flames," said gif. "now you fellows can show what you can do," he added, with a grin. "it's all well enough to work when you've got the tools to work with, but quite another story when you've got next to nothing." water was obtained by melting a quantity of the snow, and soon they had the first can of hot cocoa ready. in the meanwhile several of the lads were broiling the rabbits as best they could. "i know how i'm going to heat the next can of water," declared andy. "i'm going to do as the indians did--drop a clean, redhot stone into it." and this he did later on and got his boiling water in short order. it was not a very satisfactory meal, but the lads had fun eating it, and they did not complain when they found portions of the broiled rabbits slightly burnt and found that four fancy crackers with cheese each did not take the place of a big pan of biscuits or a good-sized loaf of bread. "one thing is in our favor, anyhow," said fred, with a sigh of satisfaction, after they had finished their scant meal. "we won't have to wash the dishes." the can was dried over the fire, the cocoa was replaced, and then the lads proceeded to make themselves comfortable for the night. they missed their blankets, and it was therefore decided that they should take turns in sitting up and guarding the fire, so that all might keep warm without running the danger of setting fire to the cedars under which they were resting. it proved to be a long and wearisome night for most of them. the resting places were anything but soft, and a fitful wind often blew the smoke of the campfire toward the would-be sleepers, causing them to cough and shift their positions. but neither man nor beast came to disturb them, for which they were thankful. "going to bother about breakfast?" questioned jack, as he sat up and saw that gif and spouter were already stirring. "i don't think so," was the answer. "if you fellows are willing, we'll strike right out for the lodge. we can get a better meal there." the others agreed, and almost before daylight they were on their way again. they climbed to the top of the cliff, and, after moving around cautiously for several hundred feet, reached a well defined trail running in the direction gif thought they ought to take. the storm had cleared away, and soon the sun came peeping over the treetops. "gee! i won't do a thing to a good hot breakfast when we reach the lodge," remarked randy to his twin. "i'll be with you," returned andy. "a big heaping plate of pancakes with maple syrup for me, flanked by a couple of good-sized sausage cakes and washed down with a big cup of that cocoa!" "say, andy, you make me hungry clean down to my shoes!" burst out fred. "i think we'll all be able to eat a good breakfast by the time we get there," announced gif. "are you sure you are on the right trail, gif?" questioned spouter anxiously. "yes, i know where i am now. it's queer how i got mixed up before." "how much further?" questioned jack. "about half a mile." they crossed another small clearing, and on the edge of this caught sight of several more rabbits. jack and randy fired simultaneously and were lucky to bring down two of the bunnies. "they will help out the larder just so much more," announced gif, after they had tried for several minutes to stir up more of the rabbits, but without success. "i wish we could get a chance at some other kind of game," remarked jack. presently they caught sight of cedar lodge at a distance, and then all hurried their pace. "looks mighty good to a fellow after he's been away all night," declared spouter. "look, look!" burst out gif. "what can that mean? every window and every door of the lodge is wide open!" "sure as you're born, gif is right!" ejaculated fred. "something is wrong, that's sure." all set off on a run, to ascertain as quickly as possible what had occurred at the lodge during their absence. gif was the first to enter the place, but he was quickly followed by the others. "gee! what do you know about this?" ejaculated andy. "this is the work of our enemies!" murmured jack. the doors and windows had evidently been open for some time, for the lodge was bitter cold inside and not a little snow had drifted in through the openings. the wind had likewise entered, blowing the ashes of the dead fire in all directions. "i'll bet glutts and werner did this!" cried spouter. "just what i think," answered jack. chapter xxii at tony duval's camp the six cadets lost no time in making a thorough examination of the lodge. in the bedrooms they found everything topsy-turvy, the bed clothes having been hauled near the windows where the incoming snow might fall upon them. in the kitchen they found many of their cooking utensils in the sink, and over them had been poured a mixture of flour, catsup, maple syrup, and condensed milk. in the storeroom many other things were upset, and not a few of the supplies appeared to be missing. "this is certainly the worst yet!" groaned fred, as he looked at the mussed-up and ruined food. "i said glutts and werner would get back at you for meddling with their supplies," remarked jack sharply. "they have certainly paid us back with interest." "i wish we had those two fellows here now. i'd hammer them good and proper," declared randy. "just the same, i suppose this is our fault, and i'm mighty sorry for it," he added, looking at jack, gif, and spouter. "they either took a large share of our supplies away, or else hid them," said gif, after another look around. "my, what a mess they did make!" "well, as we are largely responsible for this, it's up to us to take hold and clean up the best we can," announced randy to his twin and fred. "right you are," answered andy. "come ahead! we'll clean up the living-room first and get a fresh fire started." "all right, you fellows do that, and we'll tackle the bedrooms," said jack. "we'll have to dry out that bedding before night." soon the whole crowd was busy, breakfast, for the time, being forgotten. all went at the task with a will, and before long everything was straightened out but the kitchen. doors and windows had been closed, a fresh fire had been lit, and then the roaring logs sent a grateful warmth through the entire bungalow. "now we'll get breakfast, and then we'll clean up this mess in the kitchen," announced gif. "and what are we going to do after that?" questioned jack. "what do you think we ought to do, jack?" "square accounts with glutts and werner, if they are the guilty parties." "they only paid us back for what fred and the twins did," said spouter. "i don't know but what we might as well call it quits." "well, we'll go over there, anyway, and see what they've got to say for themselves," said jack. "perhaps at the least we'll be able to scare them so that they'll leave us alone in the future." "all right, we might do that," answered gif; and so it was decided. the boys came to the conclusion that glutts and werner, accompanied possibly by codfish, must have visited the lodge some time in the middle of the previous afternoon. evidently the marauders had been afraid that the bungalow's occupants might return at any moment, for they had worked with great speed. "they took a big chance with that fire," remarked randy. "if the wind had blown the sparks too far--into the bedrooms for instance--the whole place might have gone up in flames." at first the lads thought to go over to tony duval's place without delay. but by the time they had straightened out the bungalow and gotten their breakfast, the older cadets were in a different frame of mind. "more than likely they'll be on their guard to-day, looking for us to come over," said jack. "let us wait two or three days and try to catch them unawares," and this change was made in their plans. several days, including sunday, passed, and the six cadets took it easy. it snowed part of the time, so that they went out hunting only once. on that trip they managed to get several more rabbits and four quail, but that was all. "i thought i saw a fox," said gif on the morning following. "i heard him bark during the night too." "was he a silver fox?" questioned jack eagerly. "i didn't see him well enough to find out, and i can't tell the color of a fox from his bark," was gif's somewhat dry reply. and at this there was a laugh. then the storm cleared away once more, and on the following morning the boys resolved to tramp in the direction of tony duval's place and see if they could locate werner and glutts. "i don't believe this tony duval is a very nice fellow to meet," remarked gif, when they were on their way. "i saw him twice, and he looked like anything but a pleasant character." the middle of the forenoon found them on the grounds occupied by the various shacks belonging to the french-canadian. they were small structures, built for the most part of slabsides, and each contained but two windows and a door. "i wonder which shack is that used by glutts and werner," remarked randy, as they looked around. nobody was in sight. there were five of the shacks located several hundred feet apart, and each with some timber around it. "we'll try the nearest place," said gif, and, going up to it, he knocked sharply on the door. he waited for fully a minute, but there was no reply. "seems to be empty," remarked jack, after looking in through one of the windows. "there is no sign of a fire in the fireplace." they tramped on to the next shack, and found that was likewise vacant. "i think we'll find somebody at home in the third shack," announced spouter. "anyway, i see smoke coming from the chimney." they were approaching the doorway of this rude structure when it was suddenly flung open and a man stepped into view. he wore a hunter's outfit, and carried a double-barreled shotgun in his hands. "who are you?" he questioned, and his tone had a strong french accent. "what do you want here?" "we are looking for a fellow named werner who hired one of these shacks," answered gif. "who are you?" repeated the man sharply, and then gif recognized tony duval. "i am the son of one of the men who own cedar lodge. we want to find werner and the two fellows who are with him." "aha! so you are the young fellows from cedar lodge who made so much trouble for mistaire werner and his friends," cried tony duval. "he has told me all about that." "did he tell you what he did down at cedar lodge?" demanded jack. "he say he would square the account. why should he not do that? you have no right to destroy his things and hurt his horse." "we didn't touch his horse!" answered fred quickly. "his horse is gone lame, and he say you do that," cried tony duval. "i do not want such people as you around my place. you can go back, and you must stay off my property," and tony duval emphasized his words by handling his shotgun suggestively. "if werner and his friend are here we want to see them," cried jack sharply. "which shack do they live in?" "they live there." duval pointed with his thumb. "they are not at home now. they go on a hunt. but you shall not make more trouble for them or you will hear from me," and again he handled his gun suggestively. the man's face was very red and looked as if he had been drinking. evidently he was in an ugly humor. after that the cadets attempted to argue with tony duval, but all to no purpose. he was very stubborn, and he insisted upon it that they had already made a great deal of trouble for his patrons. he finally ordered them away, and acted so threateningly that they retired. "well, we've had our walk for nothing," remarked fred, when they were in the woods again. "i don't know about that," answered randy. "let us keep our eyes open. maybe we'll run across werner and glutts." the four rovers and their chums walked leisurely through the woods, keeping their eyes open for the possible appearance of their enemies, and also for any game that might present itself. thus the best part of an hour went by, and they managed to bring down one more rabbit and also a squirrel. then they heard some shooting at a distance, and walked cautiously in that direction. "there they are!" cried randy presently, and pointed out of the woods and across a small clearing. all looked in the direction indicated, and there saw werner, glutts, and codfish. each had a gun, and the three had been shooting at a number of rabbits. only werner had been successful, the others shooting wide of the mark. "let us circle the clearing and surprise them," said jack, and to this the others immediately agreed. with caution they made their way around the clearing, doing their best to remain hidden from the other boys. they had no desire to be mistaken for game and shot at, so they had to keep their eyes on the alert as they advanced. werner and his cronies had passed into the woods, and now were making their way down a hillside into a hollow where they had built a fair-sized campfire. as the rovers and their chums came closer they saw the three sitting around the campfire and evidently getting ready to have a midday lunch. "come on! we're six to three, so we ought to be able to manage those fellows with ease!" cried fred. "wait a minute! i've got an idea!" exclaimed randy, holding his cousin back. "what is it?" questioned spouter. "do you see how much higher the other side of the slope is?" went on andy. "well, that slope runs right down to where they are sitting and have their fire. now a few big snowballs started down that slope--" "i've got you, andy!" burst out his twin, with twinkling eyes. "it will be great! come on, fellows, we'll smother 'em with snow!" chapter xxiii six big snowballs it did not take the four rovers and their chums long to reach that part of the slope pointed out by andy. as he had said, this was much higher than the spot where they had stood before and the slope was much steeper, leading directly down to where werner, glutts, and codfish were now busy over their campfire preparing the midday meal. the bully and his cronies were good feeders, and had brought a considerable quantity of food for their lunch. some of this was now spread out on a napkin resting on the snow, and the rest of it was being warmed over the campfire. "it's the chance of our lives," said randy softly. "come on, fellows, let's make the biggest snowballs we can." all of the others were willing, and soon they had rolled six snowballs, each of which was two feet or more in diameter. of course, our friends were well out of sight of those in the hollow, and as they spoke in low tones their enemies had no suspicion of what was coming. "now then, place all the snowballs in a line on the very edge of the slope," said jack. "and, gif, you give the word when we are to push them down." soon the six massive snowballs were lined up side by side. those behind them looked below to make sure that none of the trio was close to the fire, because they did not wish anybody to be burnt. "now then," whispered gif suddenly, when he saw the three lads sit down with the cooked stuff between them. "all ready? go!" everybody gave a shove, and over the edge of the slope went the six snowballs, slowly at first, but gradually gathering both size and speed. through the snow they rolled and over the bare rocks until almost to the foot of the slope. "hi! what's this coming?" roared glutts, happening to glance around as a strange noise reached his ears. "it's a snowslide!" screamed werner. "oh, oh! let me get out of the way!" shrieked codfish. all three attempted to spring to their feet, glutts knocking over a pot of hot coffee as he did so. but the movement came too late, for the next instant the six snowballs bowled over the three boys, hurling them in all directions. one ball rolled through the lunch, carrying most of this along, imbedded in the snow. another snowball went directly through the campfire, smashing that flat and leaving the embers hissing and blackened. "don't let them see you," called jack, as the twins were about to dash down the slope. "get back there out of sight." "oh, they'll know we did it, all right enough," answered spouter. "come on down and have it out with them." this was what the majority desired, and before glutts and the others could recover from their astonishment and dismay gif and his crowd were down the slope. "huh! so you were the fellows to roll those snowballs down on us," growled bill glutts, as he rubbed his leg where some of the hot coffee had been spilled upon it. "that's a fine way to treat a fellow," said werner, digging some snow from his ear. "and you spoiled all the lunch!" wailed codfish, looking around for his cap, which had been knocked off. "oh dear! i wish i hadn't come to this out-of-the-way place!" "shut up your whining!" roared werner. "you make me sick!" "i don't care. i told you yesterday i wanted to go home," answered codfish complainingly. "i hate it up here!" "well, go home then!" snapped werner. "go home this minute if you want to. i'm sick of having you around." "you'd do much better, codfish, if you wouldn't train with fellows like werner and glutts," remarked jack. "if i leave them will you fellows show me the way back to timminsport?" questioned the sneak of colby hall pleadingly. it was plainly to be seen that he had had no easy time of it since he had come up into the woods. "that depends," said gif, and caught the youth by the wrist. "tell me, codfish, were you at our lodge the other day--the day the whole place was rough-housed?" "no, i wasn't, gif. really and truly i wasn't!" cried the sneak, in alarm. "were werner and glutts alone?" "yes, yes! i had nothing to do with it!" "see here, codfish, you keep your mouth shut!" roared glutts, and he moved forward as if to strike the small youth who cowered before him. "you keep your distance, glutts," admonished jack. "if codfish is tired of staying with you fellows, he's going to leave, and you're not to say anything about it." "what right had you fellows to smash those snowballs down on us?" questioned werner, with an angry look in his eyes. "what right had you fellows to come and upset cedar lodge, destroying some of our stores, and walking off with some of the others?" questioned jack sternly. "we didn't walk off with anything," answered werner quickly. "what we did we had a right to do--to pay you back for what you did to our stores in the sleigh." "we didn't take any of your things," put in fred quickly; "and a whole lot of our stuff is missing." "we didn't take a thing away--not a thing," put in glutts, and he smiled grimly to himself as he spoke. "i know what they did!" cried codfish quickly. "if you'll take me along with you, and see that i get to timminsport safely, i'll tell you where your things are." "you say a word, codfish, and i'll lambaste the life out of you!" yelled werner. "you won't touch codfish!" broke in jack sturdily. "and if he wants to go with us, he'll go." "i want to go!" wailed the sneak. "i don't want to stay with them another minute. but how am i to get my things that are up at their shack?" he questioned helplessly. "well go up there with you," answered gif. a war of words followed, and then in uncontrolled rage werner and glutts attacked jack and gif. half a dozen blows were exchanged, and then glutts attempted to run away while werner attempted to use the butt of his gun as a club. andy tripped glutts up, and spouter caught werner from behind, and as a consequence of the general mix-up the two bullies received a well-deserved drubbing. then their weapons were discharged and their ammunition was taken away from them, and they were told to march back to tony duval's shacks. here, as they expected, our friends had another set-to with the french-canadian. tony duval wanted to take sides with werner and glutts, but the others would not listen. "this young man is going with us, and he is going to take his things with him," announced gif, pointing to codfish. "if you make any trouble for us, duval, i'll at once notify my father and my uncle, and likewise the authorities at portview. your reputation around here is already none of the best, and i'll see to it that you are treated as you deserve." "bah! what do i care for you or your father or your uncle?" cried tony duval, in a rage. "this is my property. you will leave it at once." "we'll leave when this young man has his things, and not before," answered jack, and now he, too, fingered his gun in a suggestive manner. tony duval realized that he was outnumbered and that the boys from cedar lodge meant business. he grumbled a good deal and talked in a whisper with werner and glutts. in the meanwhile, codfish hurriedly gathered together his few belongings, and presently announced that he was ready to leave. "now, one thing more," said gif, turning to the two bullies. "don't you dare to show your faces anywhere near cedar lodge again. if you come on our property, you come at your own peril." "oh, you don't know how to take a joke," grumbled glutts. "we'll do as we please," added werner, but it was plainly to be seen that he was much disturbed. the boys were about ready to leave the shack when they heard the sound of sleigh bells, and soon a two-seated sleigh came into sight drawn by a pair of powerful horses. the turnout drove directly to the front of the shack occupied by tony duval. "hello! there are those men again," cried gif. all looked and saw that he referred to the germans they had met on the road when looking for cedar lodge. the newcomers paid no attention to them, but leaped out of the sleigh and entered the duval shack. "i must go," said tony duval abruptly. "and i want you to go, too, and never come back here again," he added, and then hurried away. "who are those men?" questioned jack, turning to werner and glutts. "that's none of your business," answered werner sourly. "you clear out of here and never come back." there seemed nothing to do but to leave the premises, yet the rovers and their chums were curious to know who the germans were and what their errand to tony duval's shack could be. yet they had no excuse for lingering longer, so presently they took their departure, werner and glutts looking sourly after them as they walked away. "do you know, i'd give a good deal to know more about those germans," remarked jack, as they trudged along. "i wonder what they want here? they can't be hunters, because they haven't any hunting outfits." "they certainly couldn't be up here for business," returned spouter, "because there is no business to speak of in this vicinity. why, there isn't even a farm or a farmer around here, and the nearest logging camp is miles away, so they told me at henryville." "i'll tell you what we might do," said gif. "we might pass into the woods and then turn around and come back again up behind tony duval's shack. we can watch and see what the germans do, and maybe we'll hear what they and duval have to say." "that's an idea!" cried jack. "i don't know but what we had better act on it." chapter xxiv a conversation of importance "do you know anything about those germans?" questioned fred, turning to codfish. "i know they came to see tony duval once or twice before," answered the sneak of colby hall. "they and duval seem to have some secret business between them." "do you know what it is?" asked jack. at this codfish shook his head. "did werner and glutts have anything to do with it?" came from gif. "they went to duval's cabin once when the germans were there. i asked to go along, but they wouldn't let me. after that bill and gabe took some kind of a message down to timminsport for them. it was on their way back from the town that they stopped and made a mess of things at your lodge. they were laughing and joking about it when they got back, and that is how i know what took place." "you said you would tell us where the things that were taken away are," came from spouter. "they are all in the barn under the hay--at least that is what bill and gabe said. they took 'em out there in one of the bed sheets." "i guess that's right," came quickly from gif. "i noticed that one of the sheets was missing." they had now reached the shelter of the forest, and here, after a little talk, it was decided that the twins and fred should return to cedar lodge at once, taking codfish with them, while jack, gif, and spouter took a roundabout course leading to the rear of tony duval's shack. "we've got to be careful," announced jack. "for all we know, those germans may be desperate characters." "and on the other hand they may be the most innocent fellows in the world," added spouter. "remember, not all the german-americans in this country are unpatriotic." the three soon reached a point where they could catch sight of duval's shack. they approached with caution so that they might not be seen from the single back window of which the rough building boasted. as the boys drew closer they saw that the window had been raised several inches. evidently there was a good fire going inside of the shack, and with so many occupants the place had become overly warm. "then it's all settled, and you'll attend to the matter?" they heard one of the germans remark, as they crawled up close to the building. "yes, i'll do it," answered tony duval. "but i'll be running a big risk." "not if you are careful," said another of the germans. "and don't forget that you are being well paid for your work," added a third german, "and that you are doing this for the country in which your mother was born." "i should not want to be caught," grumbled tony duval. "if i was, the authorities might hang me." "poof! be not so chicken-hearted," said the german who had first spoken. "now it is all arranged, be careful that you do not disappoint us," he added sternly. the three cadets had listened to this talk with intense interest. now jack could not resist the temptation to peer in at one corner of the window. he saw one of the germans returning a wallet to his pocket, and saw tony duval take up several bank bills from the table and place them away in his hunting jacket. all of the germans were on their feet, and now turned to the door, which one of them flung wide open. "it's all over; get back as far as you can to the woods," whispered the oldest rover boy, and led the way with the others at his heels. when the cadets gained the shelter of the trees they saw the germans get into the sleigh once more, and a few seconds later they drove away, tony duval watching their departure. "now what do you make of that, jack?" questioned gif. his face showed that he was puzzled. "it looks to me as if those fellows were up to no good," returned jack. "did you notice what they said about tony duval's mother?" cried spouter. "that seemed to me as if his mother might have been a german woman." "that's the way i took it, too," returned jack. "and then, don't forget what duval said--that the authorities might hang him if he was caught. that sounds as if they were asking him to do something which was against the law." "yes, and a big crime at that," put in gif. "i wonder where the germans live?" "most likely at a distance. otherwise they wouldn't be using a sleigh." "we ought to look into this, and without delay," said jack decidedly. "let us make it our business to find out all about the germans to-morrow," said gif. and so it was decided. when the three arrived at cedar lodge they found the others were already there and had uncovered the goods hidden by glutts and werner under the hay in the barn. there they likewise found the bedsheet and the blanket which had previously been taken. "well, anyway, they didn't rob us," was randy's comment. "i guess they were afraid to do that," answered his twin. "they thought we might bring the law down on them." "i don't like those fellows any more, and i intend to have nothing more to do with 'em," said codfish. "i guess they got you up here simply to make you toady to them." "that's what they did, andy. they made me carry all the things for 'em, and made me cut the wood and wash the dishes and everything. i was a big fool to leave home, where i might have had a splendid time during the holidays." that evening came the first real drawback of the outing. in returning from the barn spouter slipped on some ice and fell down with his foot under him. when he got up he found that his ankle was sprained, so that he could scarcely walk upon it. the others assisted him into the bungalow and did what they could to make him comfortable. "i guess i'll be all right in a day or two," grumbled spouter. "but this will prevent me from going out with you to-morrow to find out about those germans." "well, anyway, spouter, you'll have codfish here to keep you company, and i'm sure he'll be glad enough to get something to eat for you," said jack. "i'll do that willingly if only you won't call me codfish any more," pleaded the cadet mentioned. "all right, henry. we'll have to call you by your right name after this." and at this the sneak of the school seemed much relieved. secretly, he hated the nickname of codfish exceedingly. early in the morning came a surprise. the boys heard a well-known whistle and beheld jed wallop approaching, this time on foot. the old hunter had his gun with him. "thought i'd make a day of it with you," he announced. "that is, unless you've some other plans." "we were thinking of coming over to your place," answered jack. "we want to get some information." "all right. i'm the walkin' dictionary and cyclopædia of this hull district," answered jed wallop, with a grin. "go on and fire all the questions at me that you want to." the old hunter listened with interest to what the cadets had to say concerning the germans and tony duval, and also about the message glutts and werner had carried to timminsport for the strangers. "that don't look right to me, at all," he said, shaking his head gravely. "i've seen them germans a few times myself, drivin' around in that big sleigh of theirn. sometimes there's only two of 'em, and then agin the four are in a bunch. someone once told me that duval had german blood in his veins, and i guess that's right." "and i'm sure glutts is german, and maybe werner too," said randy. "my idee is that them germans are holdin' out at an old house up river bend way. it was the old parkingham estate, but it hasn't been used for years. it's a mighty lonely place, too, right in the midst of the woods." "how far is that from here?" questioned fred. "about three miles, i should say." "is there a pretty good road?" questioned jack. "the way by the mountain road would be all of five miles. but i know a fair trail through the woods that we might take." "then let's get there as soon as possible!" cried gif. "will you go with us, jed?" "o' course i will! if them germans are traitors to this country, or anything like that, i want to know it," answered the old hunter decidedly. "i'm too old to enlist for the war, but i ain't too old to do my duty by uncle sam." "we might combine business with pleasure," remarked jack. "we can take our guns and game bags, and also a substantial lunch. then if we see any signs of game going or coming, we can take our time about getting back here." "one thing that brought me over was this," went on jed wallop. "i heard one of you young fellers sayin' you wanted to get a crack at a silver fox. well, i know a holler about two miles from here where quite a few foxes are hangin' out. i've heard 'em barkin' around there more than once. i saw a silver fox up that way, too, and if he shows himself you might git what you are wishin' fer." "fine!" exclaimed jack, with enthusiasm. "but is that hang-out of the foxes on the way to the old mansion you mentioned?" "no, it ain't. but we might work around that way comin' back." a substantial lunch was prepared and packed, and then, after seeing to it that their guns were in good order, the five cadets and jed wallop left the lodge. "mighty sorry i can't go along," said spouter dolefully. "however, i wish you all the best of luck, not only in getting some information about those germans, but also in locating the foxes." "and you can depend on me taking good care of dick," said henry stowell. "all right, henry," answered gif; for he and all of the others had been told how codfish hated his nickname, and they had decided to do what they could toward dropping it, although, as andy had remarked, "it might be pretty hard to stop calling a donkey a donkey all the time." "we'll give the little sneak a chance to turn over a new leaf," was what jack had said in return. "i don't believe codfish is bad at heart--he's only been traveling in the wrong company." it was a fair day with the sun coming up clearly over the treetops. it was still intensely cold, but there was little or no wind, for which the lads were thankful. "i suppose you have thinned out the game a good deal right around this lodge," remarked jed wallop. "you know rabbits and squirrels don't like to hear the bangin' of a gun. they know mighty well it spells trouble fer 'em." a mile was covered before they sighted anything that looked like game. then a big fat rabbit ran directly across their path. to give the boys a chance, jed wallop did not fire, and as a consequence the bunny got away, none of the cadets being quick enough to get a shot at it. "you've got to have your eyes open if you want to lay low all the game in these woods," chuckled the old hunter. "he was too close to us," grumbled gif. "why, he was out of sight before i could think of raising my gun!" "you mustn't think, gif. jest fire and let it go at that," and jed wallop grinned broadly. he was a man who loved company, and he thought it great sport to be out in the woods with the cadets. after this they trudged along in silence, each of the lads keeping his eyes wide open for the possible appearance of any game. but nothing came to view. "now we'll soon be in sight of that old house," announced jed wallop presently. "it's on the other side of this hill." they topped the rise, and there saw before them a small clearing, beyond which was a rough mountain road. on the other side of the road was a thick patch of timber, and in the midst of this stood a long low house with a wide veranda in front. "there is the parkingham house," said jed wallop. "and unless i'm greatly mistaken that's where them germans are hangin' out." chapter xxv tee mysterious house in the woods "we don't want anyone to see us," remarked jack, as they came to a halt on the edge of the clearing. "oh, them germans won't know but what you're simply out huntin'," answered jed wallop. nevertheless, the boys were anxious to approach the old house unobserved, and so skirted the clearing and crossed the mountain road, which at this point was lined with thick pines. then they entered the forest again, coming up presently at a point in the rear of the building where there was a small barn and also several sheds. the parkingham house was a rambling structure which had seen better days. one end sagged, and here a porch post had fallen away, along with several steps. but the other end of the long building had evidently been put in some kind of repair, for some boards on the piazza were new, as were also several window sashes. all the curtains were drawn down. "somebody mast be living here," remarked randy. "otherwise they wouldn't have gone to the trouble and expense of making repairs." they looked around the old house carefully, but could see nobody. then they peered into the barn. "no horses here," announced gif. "and that big sleigh isn't here either." "then, if those germans live here, they must be away on a trip," remarked jack after a pause. "i don't see anything suspicious around this place," said andy. the barn showed signs of use, and so did the other outbuildings, and there were numerous tracks in the snow leading from the barn to the house. at the well some water had been spilled, and this had not yet had time to freeze. "they can't have gone away so very long ago," was gif's comment. he turned to the others. "well, what's the next move?" "i don't see why you don't walk right up and knock on the door, and if them fellers are around have a talk with 'em," declared jed wallop. "if they are above board, they won't hesitate about answerin' questions." "let us wait around the barn for a while and see if anybody comes in or goes out," suggested jack. he could not get it out of his mind how queerly the germans had acted, and he felt certain that something was wrong and that the fellows ought to be reported to the authorities. "gee! it's rather cold around here," remarked fred, as they walked up and down in the big barn to keep warm. "i'm going to cover myself in the hay if you fellows are going to stay here any length of time," cried andy, and in a playful mood he and his twin made a dash for what looked to be a large quantity of hay at one side of the barn. both burrowed down in this, and then randy set up a cry of surprise. "hello! this isn't a pile of hay at all. it's bundles of wire!" "bundles of wire?" queried jack. "what kind of wire?" asked gif. "looks like fence wire, or telegraph wire, to me," said andy, who was holding some of the hay to one side so that he might get a better look at what was underneath. "it looks brand new, too." there were numerous coils of the wire, and these the cadets and jed wallop looked at with interest. then they found several packing cases, all nailed up tightly and marked in english and in german. "this is certainly queer," said jack. "say, what's the matter with opening one or two of the cases and seeing what's in 'em?" suggested fred. "have we any right to do that?" asked gif doubtfully. "we'll take the right," decided jack. "i'm satisfied that those fellows are up to no good. you know what tony duval said when they asked him to do something." not far from the barn was a woodshed, and here the cadets procured an axe and a hammer. with these implements they managed to pry open one of the packing cases. inside was what looked to be electrical machinery, but just what it was they could not make out. "looks like that telephone or telegraph line all right enough," remarked randy. "but what are those fellows going to do with any such line as that away up here?" "it's a riddle, ain't it?" remarked jed wallop. "jest the same, that stuff looks mighty suspicious to me." they continued their investigation, and behind the packing cases found some machinery. all of it was new and strange to them. "if they've got so much queer stuff out here in the barn, how much more do you suppose they've got in the house?" questioned fred. "if i was sure no one was at home i'd be strongly tempted to find a way inside and take a look around," said jack. "come ahead and do it!" burst out randy. "i don't believe there's a soul around." "i'll tell you what i'll do," said jack finally. "you keep out of sight, and i'll go out on the road and walk toward the house and knock on the door. then, if anybody comes, i'll say that i'm out hunting and would like to buy a bit to eat. they can't refuse me a bite, and that will give me a little chance to look around while i'm inside." "i don't think you ought to go alone," said gif. "they know there are a bunch of us at the lodge and they would be rather suspicious if you were by yourself. why not let me go with you?" so it was arranged, and, leaving the others hidden in the barn, the two cadets started to walk through the woods to the road. "keep your guns with you," advised jed wallop. "and if you git into anything like a tight place, shoot off one of the guns as a signal and we'll be to the rescue in no time." the two boys were soon out on the lonely mountain road, and then they headed for the old house. boldly mounting the main piazza, they knocked sharply on the door. at first there was no response, and the lads were just congratulating themselves on the fact that the premises were deserted when they heard shuffling footsteps. then came the tremulous voice of an elderly woman speaking in broken english. "who ist der? vat you vants?" "we are a couple of boys out hunting," answered jack. "we would like to know if we can buy something to eat." "i haf nodings for you. you besser go somevhere else." "can't we come in and get warm?" asked gif. "_nein._ you go avay." "who lives here?" questioned jack loudly, for the woman had made no attempt to open the door. "dis ist mister bauermann's house." "is he in? i'd like very much to speak to him. i am sure he would let us have something to eat," went on jack in the smoothest tone he could command. "do you know mister bauermann?" questioned the woman cautiously. "isn't he the gentleman who has been riding around here in his sleigh with two or three other men?" asked gif. "if he is," he continued, "we have met him near my father's place." "i think you might at least let us have a little to eat. we're willing to pay well for it," broke in jack. "just a little bread and butter, and maybe a cup of hot coffee or tea if you have it." "i can't open de door for you," said the woman firmly. "mister bauermann he gifs orders not to let anypody in de house. you haf to go avay unt get somedings to eat somevhere else." "when do you expect mr. bauermann back?" asked gif. "dot i can't say. maybe he was come back by dinner time, unt maybe not bis night." "all right then, we'll go. but i think you are rather mean not to sell us something to eat," said jack. to this the woman did not make any reply, but they heard her fumbling at the door, evidently making certain that the lock and bolt were secure. as there seemed nothing else to do, the two cadets retired, and, feeling that the woman must be watching them from behind the tightly drawn curtains at the windows, walked on down the rough road until a bend hid the house from view. then they came up through the woods again and rejoined those at the barn. "well, we found out one thing, anyway," declared jack. "there is a woman keeping guard in the house, and the menfolks are all away and won't be back until noon or to-night." "evidently those chaps are very secretive," said gif. "i agree with jack that the whole thing looks mighty suspicious." "do you intend to wait around here until those germans come back?" asked fred a bit impatiently. "why not go out on a hunt and come back later?" suggested randy. "that's the talk!" broke in andy. "i'm getting tired of hanging around here doing nothing." to him it had been a long wait while the others had gone to the house. "i suppose we might as well go on a hunt," announced gif. "anyway, i'm willing to do whatever the others say." so it was decided that they should go off on a hunt, to return to the house either later that day or else on the day following. this suited jed wallop, for the old hunter did not feel in the humor for investigating the old mansion or the germans staying there. "come on, come on," said he, "and maybe we'll git a chance at a fox or two." "now you're saying something!" cried fred. leaving the old parkingham house and outbuildings behind, they struck off through the woods, crossed the mountain road and a small frozen-up watercourse, and then mounted one of the hills lying to the northwest of cedar lodge. here they found traveling rather difficult, and more than once the old hunter said he wished they were on snowshoes. "purty hard to use 'em at first," said he. "but after a while travelin' that way gits to be as easy as the reg'lar way." "oh, we know something about snowshoes," said jack. "but we didn't think we'd need any on this trip." they tramped around for the rest of the forenoon, managing to stir up several rabbits, and also a partridge, which fred was fortunate enough to bring down. then they built a small campfire and made themselves a pot of hot chocolate and had this with the lunch they had brought along. the middle of the afternoon found them in the location jed wallop had had in mind when speaking of foxes. the old hunter told all of them to be on the alert. "you know mr. fox ain't goin' to stand still to be shot at," said he quizzically. "as soon as he spots you he'll be off quicker than greased lightning." they advanced with caution, and had hardly proceeded a hundred yards when jed wallop suddenly put up his hand for silence. they were coming to a series of rocks, and beyond this was a small clearing, backed up by brushwood still thickly covered with snow. they looked over toward this brushwood in the direction which jed wallop pointed out, and there saw a fox standing on a high rock, gazing expectantly at the woods beyond. chapter xxvi what the big barn contained "there's your chance," whispered wallop to the cadets. "quick, now; or he may leap away before you can say jack robinson." "go ahead, gif," said jack quickly, for he felt that their host should have the first chance to shoot. there was no time to argue the matter, and, raising his gun, gif took hasty aim and fired. his aim was not of the best, for only a few of the scattering shot pierced the fox's side. the animal wheeled around in evident astonishment, and for a second did not know which way to escape. "fire at him! fire at him!" called out jed wallop quickly. "fire, or he'll git away." this time all of the others blazed away, one after another. several of the charges went wild, but randy managed to catch the fox directly in the shoulder, and he leaped high in the air, and then came down, floundering around and kicking the loose snow in all directions. "hurrah! we've got him!" cried randy. "mebbe you have and mebbe you haven't," answered jed wallop. "better run in and finish him." gif was the first to do this, and a final charge caused the fox to cease his struggles. "a purty good-sized animal," remarked the old hunter, when they were inspecting it. "that skin is worth some money." the old hunter said he would carry the dead fox for them, and again they went forward. they spent the best part of the afternoon looking for more foxes, but in this they were disappointed. however, deep in the woods they came upon a covey of partridges. all banged away at a lively rate, and had the satisfaction of killing three of the birds. "a pretty good haul, after all," remarked fred, with satisfaction. "don't you think it about time that we returned to that old parkingham house?" questioned jack, after the game had been placed in their bags. "we might as well work around that way," answered gif. "remember, we'll have quite a tramp after that getting back to the lodge." they turned in the direction of the old house in the woods and on their way kept their eyes open for more game. but all they sighted were two small squirrels, and these they thought not worth shooting at. they were just about to cross the mountain road not far from the old house when they heard a pair of horses hitched to a long boxsled approaching. the sled was piled high with several boxes and three bales of hay. "get back!" cried jack quickly. "that may be one of those germans coming, and i don't think it would be wise to let him see us." they stepped behind some trees and brushwood, and soon the boxsled came closer. then another surprise awaited them, for the driver of the sled, who was alone, was none other than the farmer they had rescued from the burning railroad car. "it's that fellow crouse," whispered gif. "what do you know about that?" "shall we go out and speak to him?" questioned andy. "i don't see that it would do any harm," said jack. "we have a perfect right to be out hunting in this neighborhood." accordingly they stepped out in the roadway almost directly in front of the on-coming boxsled. the driver, who was crouched down with the big collar of his overcoat turned up around his ears, had evidently been in deep thought, for when he noticed them he straightened up in surprise and brought his team to a sudden halt. "why, if it isn't our friend from the railroad train!" remarked jack, with a smile. "well, i never!" declared herman crouse, with a momentary look of pleasure on his face. "how did you young gentlemen get up here?" and then, of a sudden, a cloud came over his features. "can't you see we're out hunting?" answered fred, pointing to the guns and game in their bags. "yes, yes! to be sure! i forgot that you came up here to go hunting. have you had much success?" "a little," answered gif. "we've got a fox, and we've had quite a few rabbits, squirrels, quail and partridges." "not so bad." herman crouse looked anxiously at the boys and jed wallop. "where are you staying?" "at cedar lodge. it's several miles from here," answered jack. and then he continued: "you belong around here? i thought you said you had a farm near enwood." "so i have. but during the winter i make a little extra money trucking. that's what i am doing now. i am feeling pretty good again." "where are you bound?" questioned randy. at this question herman crouse seemed somewhat disturbed. "oh, i've got to go up the road quite a distance," he answered evasively. "i might offer to give you a ride, only you can see i am loaded down as it is." and this statement was correct, for the boxsled was carrying about all the team could haul. "we met some other germans around here--four men who drive around in a big sleigh," said jack boldly and looking herman crouse full in the eyes. "yes, yes! i know!" the eyes of the man fell for an instant. "i am not a german," he said somewhat lamely. "that is, i was born on the other side, but i came to this country before i was twenty-one, and now i am an american." "then you don't side with germany in this war?" "i don't side with the kaiser. i am sorry for the common people, for they have had no say-so in this awful slaughter that is going on." "well, i'm glad to hear that you stick up for the good old u. s. a.!" cried jack. "you know there are a good many germans and german-americans here who are the other way." "i want nothing to do with them and nothing to do with war!" answered herman crouse. "i am only a hard-working man who wants to be left alone." he paused for an instant. "don't imagine that i have forgotten what you did for me," he continued, with a little smile. "you were my very good friends, and i shall never forget it. now, if you please, i must hurry on, because i want to get back home before it gets too dark. i wish you all the best of luck with your hunting;" and he took up the reins again. "do you know anything about the hunting in that direction?" questioned randy, pointing to where the old parkingham house was located. "i do not think it is very good up there," was the quick reply. "and, anyway, if i were you gentlemen i would not go anywhere near the old house up there." "why not?" demanded jed wallop. "the people who are staying there are very queer. they do not like any strangers around." "then you know them?" questioned gif. "yes, i know them, but not very well. some of them are german-americans, like me, but they are not my friends. i would advise you to stay away from them. the hunting, anyway, is better elsewhere. now good-bye and good luck." and thus speaking, herman crouse urged forward his team and continued on his way. "i'll bet a new hat against a lemon that he is bound for the old parkingham house!" exclaimed randy, when the german was out of earshot. "let us follow him and make sure," returned his twin. "all right," said jack. "but we had better keep out of sight among the trees." with so much timber standing around, this was an easy matter. following crouse, they saw the man at last turn in at the old house and drive around to where the barn was located. then he got out of the boxsled and walked to a back door of the residence. "now i guess we'll find out if those germans are back or not," announced gif. they waited for several minutes, and then the door was again opened and herman crouse came out, followed by two of the men the boys had previously seen. all three hurried down to the barn and there began to unload the boxsled. then the boys saw the unknown germans give crouse some money. the three talked together for a few minutes in german, and then the owner of the boxsled drove away and the other germans returned to the house. "this is getting interesting," remarked jack. "of course, that hay was meant for the horses, but what do you suppose can be in those packing cases?" "come on around to the back of the barn, and maybe we can learn something further," said fred. "it's gettin' purty late, boys," announced jed wallop. "if you want to go home, don't let us keep you," returned gif, quickly. "well, i don't want to see any of you lads git into trouble," answered wallop. "at the same time, i hate to leave my family alone after dark." "well, you go on, then," put in jack quickly. "there are five of us, and i guess we can take care of ourselves, especially as we have our guns with us." "o' course, everything may be perfectly reg'lar here," continued jed wallop. "although, like you, i have my doubts. but unless you want me to stay, i'll git home." and a little later he took his departure. left to themselves, the rovers and gif watched their chance, and, unobserved, entered the big barn. here they found that all of the packing cases which had been brought in by herman crouse had been placed out of sight under the hay. "one thing is certain--they don't want any outsiders to know about these cases," remarked jack. suddenly fred, who was looking out of the doorway toward the house, uttered a low cry of alarm. "get under cover, fellows, just as quick as you can!" he said. "three of those germans are coming down here!" chapter xxvii the coming of the wolves fred's announcement came as a surprise. the germans were coming from the house so rapidly that there was no time to leave the barn, the back door being closed and having some packing cases and hay against it. "come on up in the loft!" cried jack. "be quick now!" "why not hide down here in the hay?" suggested andy. "because they may try to get at those packing cases, and then they would probably discover us," was the reply. "quick! this way!" gif was already acting on the oldest rover boy's suggestion and going up a ladder nailed to one side of the barn. randy and the others followed, fred being the last. at the top of the ladder was an opening to a large loft. here there was more hay, and also some old farm implements which had evidently been hoisted there by means of a block and tackle. "hush now," warned gif, and the five cadets tiptoed their way toward the hay, bent upon secreting themselves should it become necessary to do so. the germans carried two lanterns, for it was now quite dark in the barn. they were talking volubly in their native tongue, so that the cadets could understand very little of what was said. one man, a tall, burly individual, who was evidently more prosperous than the others, was addressed as herr bauermann, and he was the man mentioned by the woman who had refused to open the door and let jack and gif in. herr bauermann had come out to inspect the contents of the packing cases brought in by herman crouse. he had the two other men open the cases and take out layers of excelsior so that he might look at what was underneath. he gave a grunt of satisfaction and nodded his head approvingly, at the same time continuing to speak in german. all of the cadets were anxious to see what the boxes contained, and looked cautiously down the ladder opening and through some cracks in the loft flooring. all they could make out was some machinery, apparently electrical and similar to that in the other cases. there was also a large round package covered with heavy bagging, and this was found to contain more coils of wire of various sizes. while the men were looking around one of them suddenly stooped and picked up something from the floor. he passed this to the others, at the same time making some remark which, of course, the lads could not understand. "he's got a glove," whispered jack. "it's one of my gloves! i dropped it when we climbed the ladder," returned randy in sudden alarm. the finding of the glove interested the germans very much. they looked all around the barn, and for a few minutes the cadets were fearful that they would come up in the loft. but then they evidently concluded that the glove had been dropped by herman crouse, and placed it on a shelf. it was a good half hour before the germans left the barn and returned to the house, and by that time the five cadets in the loft were almost frozen. they had been unable to move around and thus keep warm, and with the coming of night the thermometer was going down steadily. "come on! let us get out of here," said fred, his teeth chattering. "if we don't move soon i'll be frozen stiff." the boys came cautiously out of the barn and looked toward the house. every curtain was tightly drawn, and lights shown only from the kitchen and the dining room of the old dwelling. "those fellows are going to get supper," said randy, "and i move we go home and do likewise. we can't learn anything more standing here, and if we went to the door and showed ourselves those men might get very suspicious." "all right! let's go back to the lodge then," announced jack. "just the same, i'm going to investigate this matter further, and i'm not going to wait so very long either." "oh, i guess we all want to investigate these germans," said fred quickly. "don't you remember how we helped to round up those submarine rascals?" he added, referring to an affair which has been related in detail in the volume entitled, "the rover boys under canvas." losing no more time, the five cadets hurried down the rough mountain road, and then struck off through the woods on a bee line for cedar lodge. this time gif took good care that they should not become lost. but it was a long wearisome journey, and before the lodge was reached every one of the lads was almost ready to drop from exhaustion. they were bitterly cold, and some of them thought their ears or noses must be frozen. "there's the light!" cried fred at last, and he pointed to a candle which spouter had had stowell place in one of the windows. "spouter must have done that to help us to find the way," said jack. "very thoughtful of him." as soon as they were a little closer they set up a ringing shout, and at once henry stowell came to the door and flung it open. all were glad enough to troop in and throw themselves down in comfortable seats before the blazing fire. "me for a big hot supper!" announced randy. "and i can't get it inside of me any too quick!" "ditto right here," added fred. "and don't forget to pass me a large portion, please," came from andy. under spouter's directions, stowell had already set a pot of water to boiling, and had likewise baked a large pan of pork and beans and made another pan of biscuits. even though he had asked the sneak of colby hall to work, spouter had spoken kindly to stowell and given him some first-class advice, and this was evidently having its effect. "i've got my skates, and i'm going to skate down to henryville to-morrow," said stowell. "from there i can take the public sleigh to timminsport, and go home that way. wish i was there now!" soon supper was under way, and, while eating, the other cadets related to their chum what they had seen and heard around the old house in the woods. "there sure is something wrong up there," declared spouter, whose sprained ankle was much better. "those fellows are up to no good. i think, jack, we ought to notify the authorities." "we talked that over, spouter; and we have concluded that we will take another look around the place first," was the reply. the others questioned stowell again, but could get little further information from the young cadet. he was satisfied, however, that werner had been doing some queer things for tony duval, and that bill glutts had assisted his crony. "there is something strange about the whole business," said he. "once or twice i asked bill or gabe about it, but i never could get any satisfaction. i sometimes think carrying that message was only a bluff, and that the germans were merely trying to test out bill and gabe, to see if they could not get them to do something else." in the morning came a big surprise. it was snowing and blowing furiously, and to go hunting or to do anything else outside was practically out of the question. the windows were coated with ice. "i guess i'll have to stay with you fellows for awhile," remarked stowell dolefully. "i wouldn't dare to try to get to henryville in such a snowstorm as this." "you stay right where you are, henry, and make yourself comfortable," said gif. "as long as you're willing to do your share of the work around here, you shall have your share of whatever there is to eat." "it's very nice of you fellows to treat me this way after all that has happened," said the young cadet. "of course i'll do my full share of the work. when i was with bill and gabe they always wanted me to do everything." the storm continued all that day, the wind, if anything, increasing in violence. all the boys could do was to keep the fire going and make themselves as comfortable as possible inside the lodge. they read, wrote letters, and played games, and also tried their hands at more candy-making, and also the baking of some pies and cookies. "gee! those pies are pretty good," announced spouter, after a piece of one of them had been passed to him. "they ought to be good," returned fred. "my face was nearly burned off baking them." "and please don't ask me to make any more doughnuts," announced randy. "if i had to run a bake shop, i'd charge about twice as much as the regular bakers do." "he'd charge for the hole in the doughnut," came from his twin, with a grin. during the day they had once or twice heard a sound outside that was new to them. they were not sure, but jack thought it might be a wolf, and to this gif agreed. "there are wolves prowling around here," said the latter. "but i never knew of any to come close to the lodge." "more than likely he's hungry and wants something to eat, and has smelled our stuff cooking," ventured fred. they had an early supper, and then gif said they would have to get in another supply of wood from the shed before retiring. "and we might as well get in a good supply while we are at it," he added. "if this snow keeps coming down we may not be able to get out at all to-morrow unless we do a lot of shoveling." it was no easy job to get to the woodshed, for the wind was still blowing furiously. when they opened the back door of the lodge the snow came swirling in, almost blinding them. "no use of you fellows trying it," announced jack to fred and stowell. "that's it," said gif. "four of us going out will be more than enough. you fellows can push the snow away from the door if you want to." with their overcoats buttoned up tightly and their caps pulled well down over their ears, gif, jack and the twins sallied forth in the direction of the woodshed, which was about fifty yards away. they had all they could do to make any progress, and when the shed was gained they were almost winded. "say, we were foolish not to get this wood before," panted gif. "well, there is no use of finding fault now," answered jack. "come on. now we have packed down the path a little it won't be quite so hard." the four boys made two trips to the woodshed, each time bringing all the logs they could carry. then randy wanted to call a halt. "i'm about played out," said he. "let us get the rest in to-morrow." "that's just what i say," gasped his twin. "no use of killing ourselves." "i'm going to make one more trip," said gif. "and so am i," added jack. the pair stepped out of the house with the others watching them. in a minute more they disappeared from view in the storm and the darkness. "gee! but it's going to be one awful night," cried fred. "you've said it!" returned randy. then, of a sudden, he gave a start. "what's that?" he ejaculated. what he referred to was a long mournful howl which arose on the storm-laden air. this howl was followed by another, and then by a third. "it's wolves!" cried fred. "look! look!" ejaculated andy. "look out there, will you? a whole pack of wolves!" "yes, and they're coming right for the house!" wailed stowell. "shut that door quick, or they'll jump in on us!" chapter xxviii the man in the grey overcoat "don't shut the door!" cried randy. "remember, gif and jack are outside." "hello out there!" yelled spouter, hobbling to the door in the excitement. "beware of the wolves!" whether his voice carried to jack and gif through the storm they could not tell. then came another howl from the wolves, this time in concert, and suddenly two of the slinking forms appeared close to the open door. the eyes of the beasts appeared so baneful to the cadets that they quickly slammed the barrier shut and bolted it. "but we can't leave jack and gif out there!" cried fred. "remember! they are unarmed." "get the guns!" ordered spouter. "hurry up! we'll give those wolves all they are looking for." he hobbled across the floor to his own weapon, resting against the wall in a corner, and looked to see if it was loaded. the others also made a wild dash to arm themselves. in the meanwhile the howls of the wolves kept increasing. two more of the beasts had come up close to the lodge, so that the total number was now five. "oh, oh! do you think they'll break into the house and eat us up?" wailed stowell. "if they break in they'll get one mighty warm reception," answered andy. "come on! let us open that door and go after them," he continued boldly. now that they were armed the rovers and spouter felt much safer, and they lost no time in getting back to the door which they had just closed. "oh, dear! don't open the door," pleaded stowell. "they'll jump right in on top of us!" "not after we give 'em a few doses of shot," answered spouter. "here, henry, you stand behind the door along with fred. you, andy and randy, fire as soon as you catch sight of the wolves. i'll reserve my shot for any beast that tries to enter." "wait!" called out randy suddenly. "when you shoot at the wolves be sure to aim low. otherwise the shots may carry through the storm and hit gif or jack." the door was opened cautiously by fred, stowell being too frightened to assist. those ready to fire saw several of the wolves in a bunch less than fifteen feet away. the beasts had found some scraps of food which had been thrown out of the bungalow and were pawing for more in the snow. "bang! bang!" went the shotguns in the hands of the twins. the wolves gave loud yelps of pain, and one leaped high in the air. another uttered a fierce snarl, and then, seeing the young hunters, made a dash directly for them. it was a moment of great peril, for the wolf had been wounded just enough to make it tremendously ugly. its eyes gleamed wickedly, and it showed every tooth in its wide-open mouth. but spouter was on guard. he waited until the wolf was less than five feet from the door, and then blazed away. the charge of shot was so heavy that the beast fell back, its neck completely shattered. "now give 'em a second barrel, boys!" cried spouter, and a moment later three more reports rang out. then, unable to resist the temptation to get into the fight, fred caught up his gun and also fired, managing to catch one of the fleeing beasts in the hind quarters. "i guess that's the last of those wolves," remarked spouter. "i don't believe they'll come around here again all winter." the wolf shot through the neck was dead, while at least two of the others were so badly wounded they could scarcely drag themselves away through the storm. the others disappeared as if by magic, racing along at the top of their speed. "hello there!" came from out of the storm. "how did you make out with those wolves?" it was jack who was calling, and a moment later he appeared with gif following. "there is what is left of the pack!" cried randy, pointing to the dead wolf. "spouter brought that one down, and we managed to wound at least two others." "and those that could do it left quicker than them came," added his twin. "good for you, spouter!" cried jack. "evidently spraining your ankle didn't interfere with your marksmanship." "huh! anybody could hit a target if he was right on top of it," answered the other cadet; nevertheless spouter was immensely pleased over his success in laying the big wolf low. the carcass of the dead beast was dragged into the entryway, and then gif and jack brought a few more sticks of wood from the shed. "we'll have to skin that wolf," said gif. "spouter, you can get a very nice rug out of it, or maybe use the fur for some kind of a garment." "i'll send it home," said spouter. "i know it will please the folks very much." it was not until some days later that the storm cleared away sufficiently for the boys to go out once more. then, as they were running short of supplies, they decided to accompany stowell down to henryville, going as before on their skates. "i must say i rather hate to leave you fellows," declared the little cadet. "you've treated me very nicely--much better than i was treated by bill and gabe. when we get back to colby hall i won't forget it." "well, you turn over a new leaf, henry, and join the right crowd, and you'll get along much better," answered jack. "it will never do a fellow any good to train with chaps like glutts and werner or with fellows like nappy martell and slugger brown." they found quite a little snow on the river and had often to plough across the drifts on their skates as best they could. but there were many long, cleared spaces, and here all of the cadets made good time, for even stowell was a fairly good skater. "you'll be just in time, henry," said gif, as they came in sight of the town. "it's now half-past ten, and, if i remember rightly, the public sleigh for timminsport leaves at eleven o'clock." gif's surmise proved correct and all walked over to the hotel from which the sleigh for the other town started. it was an easy matter for stowell to obtain accommodations in this turnout, and soon he had said good-bye and was bound for home. "i'm mighty glad he is going to give up training with glutts and werner," remarked fred, and the others agreed with him. the boys had made out a list of what they wanted, and, leaving the hotel, they went over to the general store where they had traded before. the proprietor was glad to see them, especially when he found out they needed so many things. "i had a man in here last night asking about you," said the storekeeper when he was busy putting up their things. "asking about us?" repeated jack. "who was he?" "i don't know. he was in here once before, two or three weeks ago asking about the different hunting lodges and lumber camps in this vicinity. he didn't give any name, and he didn't say what his business was." "what sort of looking man was he?" asked gif. "oh, just an ordinary looking sort of fellow--not very tall and not very short either. he had a clean-shaven face and dark hair and dark eyes." "how was he dressed?" questioned fred. "he wore a dark grey overcoat and a slouch hat and fur gloves. he bought a couple of my best cigars, and stood around awhile, talking about the people who came to the store to trade. then he asked about cedar lodge, and he wanted to know all about who was staying there. when he heard the name rover he was very much interested, and when i told him you were a bunch of cadets from colby hall he said he would have to look you up." "maybe he's a friend of ours!" cried randy. "too bad you didn't get the name." "i don't know as he was any particular friend. you see, he asked about some of the other places around here too--about jed wallop's place, and those shacks belonging to tony duval, and about the old hunker cabin and the deserted parkingham house, and the old crosby camp, and those shacks down at miller's saw mill, and a lot of places like that. i thought maybe he had an idea of buying some place and locating here." "he may have been nothing but a real estate agent," declared andy. "what did you tell him about the old parkingham house?" questioned jack curiously. "i told him a bunch of foreigners were staying up there--i thought possibly they might be germans trying to hide themselves so as to keep out of the draft. say! do you suppose he might be a government agent rounding up the slackers?" continued the storekeeper, with interest. "i'm sure i don't know," answered jack. "if he calls again ask him his name, and if he is a friend of ours tell him we would be glad to see him up at the lodge at any time." "all right, i'll do that." had they not been hampered by so many bundles and packages, some of which were quite heavy, the cadets would have remained out hunting for the rest of the day. but as it was, they decided to skate directly home and obtain a belated lunch at the lodge, and then, if they felt like it, go out later. "we're up here just for the fun of it, so there is no necessity of being too strenuous," said gif. "we want to go back to colby hall feeling really refreshed." they had reached the river once more, and were busy putting on their skates, when they heard a shout behind them. turning, they beheld a man who, as soon as he saw they were looking in his direction, waved his hand at them. "excuse me, but are some of you the rover boys?" he questioned, as he came closer. "yes," answered jack. "i am one of the rovers, and these are my cousins," and he indicated the others. "i was up at the store, and the storekeeper told me you had just gone away and were bound up the river. if you don't mind, i would like to have a talk with you." the man was of medium size, with dark hair and dark eyes, and as he wore a dark grey overcoat and a slouch hat, the cadets immediately put him down for the individual mentioned to them by the storekeeper. he had a quiet smile on his face which was reassuring to all of the lads. "what is it you want to know?" questioned fred. "are you the rovers from colby hall--the young men who had so much to do with rounding up those germans at camp barlight and capturing that hidden submarine?" "yes." "and you also helped in rounding up those other fellows who were trying to put through some deal with two men named brown and martell?" "we did," said andy. "it was a fine thing to do, and it shows that you fellows are true blue," returned the man, with satisfaction. "are you a secret service man?" questioned jack suddenly. "why do you want to know that, rover?" was the counter question. "if you belong to the secret service you are just the man we are looking for." chapter xxix what happened at the lodge "so you want to see a secret service man, eh?" said the newcomer, after a slight pause. "what's in the wind?" "we think we have discovered something that the government ought to know about," answered jack slowly. "but there isn't any use of our saying anything about it unless you are really a public official of some sort or other," broke in randy hastily. after this there followed quite a conversation, the newcomer leading the boys on to tell what they knew concerning the germans at the old parkingham house, and also what they knew about herman crouse and tony duval. "i think i am on the right track at last," said the man. "and since you have told me so much i will return your confidences by stating that i _am_ a secret service officer. we had an idea that the germans might try something of that sort in this vicinity, and i am pretty sure now that we are on the right track." "try something of what sort?" questioned andy. "we received word in a roundabout way over six weeks ago that an attempt would be made by the germans to establish a radio station somewhere along this portion of the coast. the hills back of timminsport and henryville would make an ideal spot for such a station." "do you mean a radio station from which they could send wireless messages all the way to germany?" cried fred. "oh, no! not such a distance as that. such a station would require more power than they would be able to generate without heavy and complicated machinery. but it was thought they might establish a lesser station from which they could send wireless messages to any of their submarines or warships that might be sailing within a given distance of our shore." "you surely have struck it!" cried randy. "those coils of wire and the electrical things we saw in the packing cases up at their barn prove it." the secret service agent, who gave his name as william pollock, questioned them still further, and then said he would get into immediate communication with his superiors. "you'll hear more from me in the near future," said he, when the talk had come to an end. "i'll probably be at cedar lodge in two or three days. in the meantime, if you want to do uncle sam a real service say nothing at all to any outsider of what you have discovered, or of your meeting with me." to this the cadets readily consented, and then william pollock hurried off, to obtain a private turnout in which to get to timminsport as speedily as possible. "now i guess there will be something doing up at the parkingham house before long," declared gif, when they were once more on their way to the lodge. "yes, and there will be something doing at tony duval's place too," returned jack. "i wish we could be on hand to see what happens!" cried randy wistfully. "perhaps, if the secret service men come up here to make an arrest, they will allow us to go along with them," added his twin. on account of his ankle, which was still somewhat weak, spouter had remained at the bungalow. when the others returned he listened with keen interest to all they had to tell. "gee, that's great!" he exclaimed. "if those germans are really guilty i hope the government officials round them up in short order." "yes, and round up tony duval, too," added fred. "what about glutts and werner?" questioned andy. "well, if they have been guilty of any treachery toward our government, they ought to suffer," was the way gif expressed himself. "do you know, i'll feel rather sorry for that herman crouse, if he is mixed up in this," said jack. "he seemed to be a pretty decent sort." "well, in these war times a man has either got to be for uncle sam or against him," answered spouter. feeling certain that william pollock would be unable to do anything that afternoon, the boys got a hasty lunch, and late in the afternoon went out for some more hunting. they tramped a distance of over two miles through the snow, and managed to bring down several rabbits and likewise a pheasant and some smaller birds. "i hope we don't see any more of those wolves," said fred, when they had started to return to the lodge. "look! look!" cried gif suddenly. he had scarcely spoken when jack raised his gun and fired. then the oldest rover boy fired again, both shots being taken before the others could get their guns into action. "it's a fox!" cried randy. "jack, i guess you got him, too!" "i hope so," was jack's answer as he stopped to reload his weapon. the animal he had fired at had been running across a small opening between the trees. at the first shot the game had made a turn, and at the second had given a leap and disappeared into a small hollow filled with snow. when the boys reached the hollow all they could see at first was the snow which had been kicked in several directions. but then they caught sight of a bushy tail peeping forth from the white covering. "it's a fox, all right enough!" exclaimed gif. "look out there! he may not be dead," warned fred. "if he's alive and you touch him he may give you quite a bite." they advanced with caution, and gif turned the animal over with the end of his gun barrel. he exposed a large fox of a silvery grey color. it was quite dead. "a silver fox!" came from andy. "jack, you've had your wish," said gif. "it's a silver fox, all right enough." they dragged it forth from the hollow and examined the animal with much interest. the fur was somewhat reddish next to the hide, but the tips were white and silver grey. "a beautiful piece of fur, that's certain," said gif. "your folks will be glad to get it." "how about ruth stevenson getting it," said randy, with a grin; and at this remark jack blushed. a part of the next day was spent in skinning both the fox and the wolf. the boys wondered if they would see anything of the secret service agent, but he did not show himself. "they may take their own time about working up this case," remarked spouter. "they may want to get just the right kind of evidence before they close in on the rascals." another day went by, and again the lads went forth to try their skill both at hunting and at fishing. this time spouter went along, and while the others were fishing with more or less success the orator of colby hall had the honor of stirring up a brook mink of fair size and laying it low. "you've got a nice little neck-piece there for somebody," said jack, as he looked at the soft fur of the mink. "you can count yourself lucky." another sunday was passed in camp, but still the secret service agent did not show himself. on the sabbath day jed wallop came down to see them. they said nothing to the old hunter of what was in the wind. "i am sorry to hear your vacation is drawin' to a close," said jed wallop. "but you ought to be purty well satisfied over what you've got. it ain't everybody that can git a silver fox and other foxes too, and a wolf and a brook mink, not to say anything about rabbits, squirrels, partridges, and sech. i think you lads have done wonderful well." "i think so myself," answered gif. monday morning the young hunters took it easy, and it was not until after lunch that they thought of going out once again with their guns. "might as well make the best of what time is left to us," was the way fred expressed himself. "before long we'll have to be at the colby hall grind again." "don't mention school to me," answered andy. "this kind of a life suits me down to the heels." the boys were almost ready to leave the lodge when they heard the jingle of sleigh bells and to their surprise saw a large sled approaching filled with the bundled-up figures of men. "hello, it must be those secret service agents!" cried gif. "now maybe there will be something doing!" all watched the approach of the big sleigh, and were then surprised to see that the turnout contained the four germans they had met before, and likewise tony duval and a sixth man, who was a stranger to them. "are you at home?" called out the largest of the germans, the man named bauermann. "looks as if we were, doesn't it?" answered jack, as he stood in the doorway with the others peering over his shoulders. "we would like to have a talk with you, young man," went on emil bauermann, with a frown on his face. "we came over here on purpose to see you." "if you young men have been trying to make trouble for me you shall suffer for it," came in a growl from tony duval. "who said we were trying to make trouble for you, duval?" demanded gif. "bah! you cannot fool me, garrison," said the hunter wrathfully. evidently he was greatly excited. "duval, let me handle this matter," remonstrated emil bauermann. "we want to have a serious talk with you young men," he added to the boys. all of the occupants of the big sleigh sprang out in the snow, and without waiting for an invitation to do so stalked into the lodge. the germans were evidently in a bad humor, and they glowered at the cadets in a way that made them feel far from comfortable. "what is it you want?" demanded gif, not liking the manner of their intrusion. "we want to come to an understanding," growled one of the germans. "you cannot play tricks behind our backs without taking the consequences," grumbled another. "maybe you think you're smart, but you'll find that we are smarter," added a third. "many a man has been so smart that he has stuck his head into the noose." "let me handle this matter," broke in emil bauermann, and then uttered some words in german. an animated discussion in that tongue followed, the cadets understanding next to nothing of what was said. "i do not like the looks of this at all," whispered randy to jack. "i believe they came here to do us harm." "that's the way it looks to me too," whispered fred. "they must have got wind in some way of our being up around their place." the germans had turned to the strange man who was with them, and when they pointed to the cadets this stranger nodded. evidently he was identifying the boys. "it is as i thought," said emil bauermann sternly, as he glared at the young hunters. "this man saw you spying around our place and around the duval place. what do you mean by such conduct? explain yourselves or take my word for it, it will go hard with you," and he shook a menacing fist in their faces. chapter xxx the exposure--conclusion it must be confessed that the six cadets did not like the menacing attitude of the five germans and tony duval. evidently one of the men--the stranger--had been spying on them, and he had carried his information to the others. "that's right, bauermann, make them explain themselves," growled tony duval. "and don't be too easy on 'em, either!" "see here, you have no right to come in here without being invited," said gif angrily. "poof! what are you but a pack of silly schoolboys?" growled the german. "perhaps you thought you were doing a wonderful thing spying around our house and our barn? you didn't know we had someone watching you all the time." "yes, and watching you also when you spied on duval," broke in another of the men. "well, what do you want?" questioned randy, after a brief and ominous pause. "we want you to tell us just what you have discovered and what you propose to do about it," answered emil bauermann. "and remember, i want the plain truth! no beating about the bush!" and he shook a warning finger at the cadets. while the man was speaking jack had stepped to the rear of the crowd. now he made a movement to pick up his gun, but at this one of the germans rushed forward, pulling a pistol from his pocket as he did so. "stop that! don't you dare to touch that gun!" the man roared threateningly. "you can't order us around in our own house," declared gif. "if you are going to talk like that you can get out." "we'll stay as long as we please; and if you boys don't behave yourselves, so much the worse for you," answered emil bauermann. "we are going to get to the bottom of your tricks, and do it now." "suppose we have nothing to say," said andy. "but you will say something," stormed another of the germans. "if you don't--well, you will take the consequences, that's all." after this the germans did their best to make the cadets give all the particulars regarding their visit to tony duval's shack, and also to the house and barn on the parkingham place. they were anxious to ascertain just how much the boys knew, and also how much they suspected. but the cadets were on their guard, and refused to answer many of the questions put to them. this infuriated both the germans and duval, and for the time being it looked as if a fight was coming and the cadets might get the worst of it. all of the men were armed, and they did not permit any of the young hunters to touch their weapons. instead, one of the men was ordered by bauermann to confiscate the guns. and this he did, placing them in a heap outside of the lodge. seeing they could get very little out of the cadets, and suspecting that the lads were getting ready to notify the authorities, the germans held another consultation in their own tongue and then called duval to one side. "just as i expected, we'll have to make prisoners of them for the time being," said emil bauermann to duval. "we can take them up in the mountains, to that log cabin you spoke about." "but we can't take them in the sleigh," answered duval. "then you and two of my men will have to march them up there on foot. we can come up later and bring you supplies." "do you think it's as bad as all that?" questioned tony duval nervously. "i do! they have learned too much! and if word of this got to the authorities it might go hard with all of us." thereupon the six cadets were ordered to get their belongings together and prepare to leave the lodge. all demurred, but the germans and duval showed their weapons and acted so threateningly that there was nothing left to do but to obey. "this is the worst yet!" groaned fred. "where in the world do they intend to take us?" "don't ask me," replied randy dismally. "if only we could get at our guns," whispered gif. "let's make a dash for them," suggested jack. "yes, and get shot down on the spot!" returned spouter. with their belongings over their shoulders, the six cadets had just been marched out of the lodge when there came an unexpected interruption. glancing toward the river, jack saw a body of men approaching. they were at least eight or ten in number, and the man in the lead was william pollock. "look! look!" whispered the oldest rover boy to the others. "there is that secret service agent, and he has an armed posse with him." "grab the guns and make for the lodge," suggested randy. a shout came from the woods as pollock approached. this surprised the germans and duval, and, noting the number of men coming on, they were bewildered and did not know what to do. it was just such a diversion as the boys were hoping for, and in a trice they had rushed for their guns and secured their weapons. then jack sent up a shout. "mr. pollock! mr. pollock! this way! here are those germans now! and tony duval is with them!" the things that happened next came so rapidly that it is almost impossible to describe them. at first the germans and duval sought to make resistance, and several shots were fired by them. the boys and some of the secret service posse fired in return, and duval was struck in the arm and one of the germans got a bullet through his leg. then the germans and duval made a rush for the sleigh in an endeavor to escape. but william pollock and his men had handled such desperate characters before. two of them leaped in front of the moving horses and stopped them, while the others surrounded the men in the sleigh and pointed their guns at the fellows. "hands up, all of you!" ordered pollock sternly. "quick now, if you don't want us to fire!" at heart the germans were cowards, and even though they still held their pistols, when they saw the uplifted guns of, not alone the posse, but also the cadets, pointed at them, they raised their hands without further protest, and tony duval did the same; and thus the brief but sharp encounter came to a termination. "you are making a terrible mistake," said emil bauermann lamely. "we have done no wrong." "you can tell your story in court," answered william pollock briefly, and thereafter he made the germans and duval give up all their weapons. then he had some of his men search the evildoers and take from them whatever papers and documents they carried. when he had a list of their names he looked well satisfied. "bauermann, we have been trying to round you up for the past six months," said he sternly. "you know you are wanted for that little affair in philadelphia." and at this the german looked much disturbed. the cadets were exceedingly thankful for the opportune arrival of the secret service man and his posse. "well, i told you i would come," said he. "i was delayed a little though. you know in these war times matters do not always move as swiftly as one would want. a good deal of the credit for this haul goes to you boys," he added with a smile. much to the surprise of the cadets, in the crowd of newcomers was herman crouse. the german-american farmer seemed well satisfied with what had taken place. "mr. pollock knows that i am true-blue," said he. "that bauermann and the rest of his gang thought they could use me. but i have fooled them nicely. there is but one country for old herman crouse, and that is the good old united states of america," and his face beamed as he spoke. "that's the right way to talk!" cried jack. "you don't know how pleased i am to know the man we hauled out of that train wreck is true-blue." "if we had thought you were a traitorous german, we might have left you to shift for yourself," added randy. "although maybe i wouldn't have had the heart to do that, either," he added, on second thought. after the germans and duval had been made prisoners they were left at the lodge in charge of two of the secret service men and the cadets. then william pollock and the other men took the sleigh and lost no time in making their way to the old parkingham house. they had some trouble with the old german housekeeper, but wasted no words with her and finally compelled her to tell all she knew. the old house was ransacked from top to bottom for evidence against the germans, after which the posse turned its attention to the contents of the barn. the results were as william pollock had anticipated. these germans, aided by a number of others and also by duval, were getting ready to erect a fair-sized radio station in the woods behind the old house. duval had carried many messages for them and also done some trucking. he was hand-in-glove with them, willing to make money at any cost. he told later that both his mother and his grand-mother had been germans. as herman crouse had said, he had been used to do some trucking for the germans, and had likewise been asked to perform a number of errands. but gradually he had become suspicious of the men, and was thinking seriously of notifying the authorities when the cadets appeared on the scene. "and what about bill glutts and gabe werner?" questioned jack of william pollock later on, when the secret service men were getting ready to take the germans and duval away. "i can't tell you all the particulars about those two young fellows," answered the secret service man. "the germans evidently used them, but whether glutts and werner knew the truth of what the germans were doing remains to be found out." it may be added here that glutts and werner were very much scared over the position in which they found themselves, and when the germans and duval came up for a hearing the parents of the two young fellows had all they could do to convince the authorities that gabe and bill were really patriotic. "well, i'm mighty glad we are clear of those germans, and of tony duval, too," said gif, after the evildoers had been taken away. "now maybe we can finish our outing in peace." and this they did. jed wallop came over to see them and went out with the young hunters a number of times. no larger game appeared, but they brought down a number of rabbits and squirrels, as well as partridges and some smaller birds, and with this they had to be content. during those days the boys received several letters from the girls, and also a letter from mrs. tom rover enclosing one from her husband in france. this latter epistle stated that the writer and his brother sam had recovered from the shell wounds received, and that dick rover was no longer suffering from the effects of the gas attack he had experienced. "gee! this is the best news yet," cried jack, with satisfaction. "you've said it!" came from the twins; and fred's face also showed his satisfaction. "well, we've certainly had a wonderful outing," declared randy. "and how many queer things have happened!" added his twin. "i don't believe we'll ever have as much excitement as this again." but in this surmise andy was mistaken. there were many happenings still in store for the boys, and what some of them were will be related in our next volume, to be entitled "the rover boys in the land of luck; or, stirring adventures in the oil fields." "well, we'll be going back to colby hall before long," said gif, that evening. "but first you'll have to testify against those germans and tony duval," answered spouter. "good old colby hall!" cried jack. "i don't know but what i'll be glad enough to get back there, after all, and see all the other fellows." "and see the girls of clearwater hall, too," put in andy slyly. "we'll certainly have some stories to tell--how we brought down all that game," came from fred, his eyes glistening. then in the best of good humor the boys started singing one of their favorite school songs. and here we will leave them and say good-bye. the end other books published by grosset & dunlap, new york _this isn't all!_ would you like to know what became of the good friends you have made in this book? would you like to read other stories continuing their adventures and experiences, or other books quite as entertaining by the same author? on the _reverse side_ of the wrapper which comes with this book, you will find a wonderful list of stories which you can buy at the same store where you got this book. _don't throw away the wrapper_ _use it as a handy catalog of the books you want some day to have. but in case you do mislay it, write to the publishers for a complete catalog._ * * * * * books by arthur m. winfield (edward stratemeyer) the first rover boys series the rover boys at school the rover boys on the ocean the rover boys in the jungle the rover boys out west the rover boys on the great lakes the rover boys in the mountains the rover boys in camp the rover boys on land and sea the rover boys on the river the rover boys on the plains the rover boys in southern waters the rover boys on the farm the rover boys on treasure isle the rover boys at college the rover boys down east the rover boys in the air the rover boys in new york the rover boys in alaska the rover boys in business the rover boys on a tour the second rover boys series the rover boys at colby hall the rover boys on snowshoe island the rover boys under canvas the rover boys on a hunt the putnam hall series the putnam hall cadets the putnam hall rivals the putnam hall champions the putnam hall rebellion the putnam hall encampment the putnam hall mystery * * * * * the hardy boys series by franklin w. dixon illustrated. every volume complete in itself the hardy boys are sons of a celebrated american detective, and during vacations and their off time from school they help their father by hunting down clues themselves. the tower treasure--a dying criminal confessed that his loot had been secreted "in the tower." it remained for the hardy boys to clear up the mystery. the house on the cliff--mr. hardy started to investigate--and disappeared! an odd tale, with plenty of excitement. the secret of the old mill--counterfeit money was in circulation, and the limit was reached when mrs. hardy took some from a stranger. a tale full of thrills. the missing chums--two of the hardy boys' chums disappear and are almost rescued by their friends when all are captured. a thrilling story of adventure. hunting for hidden gold--in tracing some stolen gold the trail leads the boys to an abandoned mine, and there things start to happen. the shore road mystery--automobiles were disappearing most mysteriously from the shore road. it remained for the hardy boys to solve the mystery. the secret of the caves--when the boys reached the caves they came unexpectedly upon a queer old hermit. the mystery of cabin island--a story of queer adventures on a rockbound island. the great airport mystery--the hardy boys solve the mystery of the disappearance of some valuable mail. what happened at midnight--the boys follow a trail that ends in a strange and exciting situation. while the clock ticked--the hardy boys aid in vindicating a man who has been wrongly accused of a crime. footprints under the window--the smuggling of chinese into this country is the basis of this story in which the boys find thrills and excitement aplenty. * * * * * ted scott flying stories by franklin w. dixon illustrated. each volume complete in itself. no subject has so thoroughly caught the imagination of young america as aviation. this series has been inspired by recent daring feats of the air, and is dedicated to lindbergh, byrd, chamberlin and other heroes of the skies. over the ocean to paris; _or, ted scott's daring long distance flight._ rescued in the clouds; _or, ted scott, hero of the air._ over the rockies with the air mail; _or, ted scott lost in the wilderness._ first stop honolulu; _or, ted scott over the pacific._ the search for the lost flyers; _or, ted scott over the west indies._ south of the rio grande; _or, ted scott on a secret mission._ across the pacific; _or, ted scott's hop to australia._ the lone eagle of the border; _or, ted scott and the diamond smugglers._ flying against time; _or, breaking the ocean to ocean record._ over the jungle trails; _or, ted scott and the missing explorers._ lost at the south pole; _or, ted scott in blizzard land._ through the air to alaska; _or, ted scott's search in nugget valley._ flying to the rescue; _or, ted scott and the big dirigible._ danger trails of the sky; _or, ted scott's great mountain climb._ following the sun shadow; _or, ted scott and the great eclipse._ battling the wind; _or, ted scott flying around cape horn._ * * * * * bob chase big game series by frank a. warner in these thrilling stories of outdoor life the hero is a young lumberjack who is a crack rifle shot. while tracking game in the maine woods he does some rich hunters a great service. they become interested in him and take him on various hunting expeditions in this country and abroad. bob learns what it is to face not only wildcats, foxes and deer but also bull moose, rocky mountain grizzly bears and many other species of big game. bob chase with the big moose hunters bob chase after grizzly bears bob chase in the tiger's lair bob chase with the lion hunters none none none none the young voyageurs--boy hunters in the north, by captain mayne reid. ________________________________________________________________________ the heroes are the three boys whom we met in "the boy hunters" where they were off on a search for a white buffalo, which their father had requested. now, however, their father has died, and the only relative they have is an uncle who works for the hudson's bay company, in the very north of canada. the uncle sends for them, and sends his own son to guide them over the canadian part of the journey. this is the story of their journey from their original home in the south of the u.s.a., many thousands of miles, to be with their uncle. at the time the only way they could do this journey was by their own efforts, by canoe, on foot, and, after the onset of winter, by sledge, or, if they could get one, by dog-train. the canoe and much of their clothes, food and equipment is lost in a major rapid, so they are very much thrown on their own ingenuity and woodcraft. one of the boys has a major interest in natural history, and we hear from him all about the various animals and birds encountered. this is far from being a bore, as the author has taken care to make it interesting. this is a very enjoyable book, even though it is over years since it was written. ________________________________________________________________________ the young voyageurs--boy hunters in the north, by captain mayne reid. chapter one. the fur countries. boy reader, you have heard of the hudson's bay company? ten to one, you have worn a piece of fur, which it has provided for you; if not, your pretty little sister has--in her muff, or her boa, or as a trimming for her winter dress. would you like to know something of the country whence come these furs?--of the animals whose backs have been stripped to obtain them? as i feel certain that you and i are old friends, i make bold to answer for you--yes. come, then! let us journey together to the "fur countries;" let us cross them from south to north. a vast journey it will be. it will cost us many thousand miles of travel. we shall find neither railway-train, nor steamboat, nor stage-coach, to carry us on our way. we shall not even have the help of a horse. for us no hotel shall spread its luxurious board; no road-side inn shall hang out its inviting sign and "clean beds;" no roof of any kind shall offer us its hospitable shelter. our table shall be a rock, a log, or the earth itself; our lodging a tent; and our bed the skin of a wild beast. such are the best accommodations we can expect upon our journey. are you still ready to undertake it? does the prospect not deter you? no--i hear you exclaim. i shall be satisfied with the table--what care i for mahogany? with the lodging--i can tent like an arab. with the bed--fling feathers to the wind! enough, brave boy! you shall go with me to the wild regions of the "north-west," to the far "fur countries" of america. but, first--a word about the land through which we are going to travel. take down your atlas. bend your eye upon the map of north america. note two large islands--one upon the right side, newfoundland; another upon the left, vancouver. draw a line from one to the other; it will nearly bisect the continent. north of that line you behold a vast territory. how vast! you may take your scissors, and clip fifty englands out of it! there are lakes there in which you might _drown_ england, or make an island of it! now, you may form some idea of the vastness of that region known as the "fur countries." will you believe me, when i tell you that all this immense tract is a wilderness--a howling wilderness, if you like a poetical name? it is even so. from north to south, from ocean to ocean,--throughout all that vast domain, there is neither town nor village--hardly anything that can be dignified with the name of "settlement." the only signs of civilisation to be seen are the "forts," or trading posts, of the hudson's bay company; and these "signs" are few and far--hundreds of miles--between. for inhabitants, the country has less than ten thousand white men, the _employes_ of the company; and its native people are indians of many tribes, living far apart, few in numbers, subsisting by the chase, and half starving for at least a third part of every year! in truth, the territory can hardly be called "inhabited." there is not a man to every ten miles; and in many parts of it you may travel hundreds of miles without seeing a face, red, white, or black! the physical aspect is, therefore, entirely wild. it is very different in different parts of the territory. one tract is peculiar. it has been long known as the "barren grounds." it is a tract of vast extent. it lies north-west from the shores of hudson's bay, extending nearly to the mackenzie river. its rocks are _primitive_. it is a land of hills and valleys,--of deep dark lakes and sharp-running streams. it is a woodless region. no timber is found there that deserves the name. no trees but glandular dwarf birches, willows, and black spruce, small and stunted. even these only grow in isolated valleys. more generally the surface is covered with coarse sand--the _debris_ of granite or quartz-rock--upon which no vegetable, save the lichen or the moss, can find life and nourishment. in one respect these "barren grounds" are unlike the deserts of africa: they are well watered. in almost every valley there is a lake; and though many of these are landlocked, yet do they contain fish of several species. sometimes these lakes communicate with each other by means of rapid and turbulent streams passing through narrow gorges; and lines of those connected lakes form the great rivers of the district. such is a large portion of the hudson's bay territory. most of the extensive peninsula of labrador partakes of a similar character; and there are other like tracts west of the rocky mountain range in the "russian possessions." yet these "barren grounds" have their denizens. nature has formed animals that delight to dwell there, and that are never found in more fertile regions. two ruminating creatures find sustenance upon the mosses and lichens that cover their cold rocks: they are the caribou (reindeer) and the musk-ox. these, in their turn, become the food and subsistence of preying creatures. the wolf, in all its varieties of grey, black, white, pied, and dusky, follows upon their trail. the "brown bear,"--a large species, nearly resembling the "grizzly,"--is found only in the barren grounds; and the great "polar bear" comes within their borders, but the latter is a dweller upon their shores alone, and finds his food among the finny tribes of the seas that surround them. in marshy ponds, existing here and there, the musk-rat (_fibre zibethieus_) builds his house, like that of his larger cousin, the beaver. upon the water sedge he finds subsistence; but his natural enemy, the wolverene (_gulo luscus_), skulks in the same neighbourhood. the "polar hare" lives upon the leaves and twigs of the dwarf birch-tree; and this, transformed into its own white flesh, becomes the food of the arctic fox. the herbage, sparse though it be, does not grow in vain. the seeds fall to the earth, but they are not suffered to decay. they are gathered by the little lemmings and meadow-mice (_arvicolae_), who, in their turn, become the prey of two species of _mustelidae_, the ermine and vison weasels. have the fish of the lakes no enemy? yes--a terrible one in the canada otter. the mink-weasel, too, pursues them; and in summer, the osprey, the great pelican, the cormorant, and the white-headed eagle. these are the _fauna_ of the barren grounds. man rarely ventures within their boundaries. the wretched creatures who find a living there are the esquimaux on their coasts, and a few chippewa indians in the interior, who hunt the caribou, and are known as "caribou-eaters." other indians enter them only in summer, in search of game, or journeying from point to point; and so perilous are these journeyings, that numbers frequently perish by the way. there are no white men in the barren grounds. the "company" has no commerce there. no fort is established in them: so scarce are the fur-bearing animals of these parts, their skins would not repay the expense of a "trading post." far different are the "wooded tracts" of the fur countries. these lie mostly in the southern and central regions of the hudson's bay territory. there are found the valuable beaver, and the wolverene that preys upon it. there dwells the american hare, with its enemy the canada lynx. there are the squirrels, and the beautiful martens (sables) that hunt them from tree to tree. there are found the foxes of every variety, the red, the cross, and the rare and highly-prized silver-fox (_vulpes argentatus_), whose shining skin sells for its weight in gold! there, too, the black bear (_ursus americanus_) yields its fine coat to adorn the winter carriage, the holsters of the dragoon, and the shako of the grenadier. there the fur-bearing animals exist in greatest plenty, and many others whose skins are valuable in commerce, as the moose, the wapiti, and the wood-bison. but there is also a "prairie" district in the fur countries. the great table prairies of north america, that slope eastward from the rocky mountains, also extend northward into the hudson's bay territory. they gradually grow narrower, however, as you proceed farther north, until, on reaching the latitude of the great slave lake, they end altogether. this "prairie land" has its peculiar animals. upon it roams the buffalo, the prong-horned antelope, and the mule-deer. there, too, may be seen the "barking-wolf" and the "swift fox." it is the favourite home of the marmots, and the gauffres or sand-rats; and there, too, the noblest of animals, the horse, runs wild. west of this prairie tract is a region of far different aspect,--the region of the rocky mountains. this stupendous chain, sometimes called the andes of north america, continues throughout the fur countries from their southern limits to the shores of the arctic sea. some of its peaks overlook the waters of that sea itself, towering up near the coast. many of these, even in southern latitudes, carry the "eternal snow." this "mountain-chain" is, in places, of great breadth. deep valleys lie in its embrace, many of which have never been visited by man. some are desolate and dreary; others are oases of vegetation, which fascinate the traveller whose fortune it has been, after toiling among naked rocks, to gaze upon their smiling fertility. these lovely wilds are the favourite home of many strange animals. the argali, or mountain-sheep, with his huge curving horns, is seen there; and the shaggy wild goat bounds along the steepest cliffs. the black bear wanders through the wooded ravines; and his fiercer congener, the "grizzly"--the most dreaded of all american animals--drags his huge body along the rocky declivities. having crossed the mountains, the fur countries extend westward to the pacific. there you encounter barren plains, treeless and waterless; rapid rivers, that foam through deep, rock-bound channels; and a country altogether rougher in aspect, and more mountainous, than that lying to the east of the great chain. a warmer atmosphere prevails as you approach the pacific, and in some places forests of tall trees cover the earth. in these are found most of the fur-bearing animals; and, on account of the greater warmth of the climate, the true _felidae_--the long-tailed cats--here wander much farther north than upon the eastern side of the continent. even so far north as the forests of oregon these appear in the forms of the cougar (_felis concolor_), and the ounce (_felis onza_). but it is not our intention at present to cross the rocky mountains. our journey will lie altogether on the eastern side of that great chain. it will extend from the frontiers of civilisation to the shores of the arctic sea. it is a long and perilous journey, boy reader; but as we have made up our minds to it, let us waste no more time in talking, but set forth at once. you are ready? hurrah! chapter two. the young voyageurs. there is a canoe upon the waters of red river--red river of the north. it is near the source of the stream, but passing downward. it is a small canoe, a frail structure of birch-bark, and contains only four persons. they are all young--the eldest of them evidently not over nineteen years of age, and the youngest about fifteen. the eldest is nearly full-grown, though his body and limbs have not yet assumed the muscular development of manhood. his complexion is dark, nearly olive. his hair is jet-black, straight as an indian's, and long. his eyes are large and brilliant, and his features prominent. his countenance expresses courage, and his well-set jaws betoken firmness and resolution. he does not belie his looks, for he possesses these qualifications in a high degree. there is a gravity in his manner, somewhat rare in one so young; yet it is not the result of a morose disposition, but a subdued temperament produced by modesty, good sense, and much experience. neither has it the air of stupidity. no: you could easily tell that the mind of this youth, if once roused, would exhibit both energy and alertness. his quiet manner has a far different expression. it is an air of coolness and confidence, which tells you he has met with dangers in the past, and would not fear to encounter them again. it is an expression peculiar, i think, to the hunters of the "far west,"--those men who dwell amidst dangers in the wild regions of the great prairies. their solitary mode of life begets this expression. they are often for months without the company of a creature with whom they may converse--months without beholding a human face. they live alone with nature, surrounded by her majestic forms. these awe them into habits of silence. such was in point of fact the case with the youth whom we have been describing. he had hunted much, though not as a professional hunter. with him the chase had been followed merely as a pastime; but its pursuit had brought him into situations of peril, and in contact with nature in her wild solitudes. young as he was, he had journeyed over the grand prairies, and through the pathless forests of the west. he had slain the bear and the buffalo, the wild-cat and the cougar. these experiences had made their impression upon his mind, and stamped his countenance with that air of gravity we have noticed. the second of the youths whom we shall describe is very different in appearance. he is of blonde complexion, rather pale, with fair silken hair that waves gently down his cheeks, and falls upon his shoulders. he is far from robust. on the contrary, his form is thin and delicate. it is not the delicacy of feebleness or ill-health, but only a body of slighter build. the manner in which he handles his oar shows that he possesses both health and strength, though neither in such a high degree as the dark youth. his face expresses, perhaps, a larger amount of intellect, and it is a countenance that would strike you as more open and communicative. the eye is blue and mild, and the brow is marked by the paleness of study and habits of continued thought. these indications are no more than just, for the fair-haired youth _is_ a student, and one of no ordinary attainments. although only seventeen years of age, he is already well versed in the natural sciences; and many a graduate of oxford or cambridge would but ill compare with him. the former might excel in the knowledge--if we can dignify it by that name--of the laws of scansion, or in the composition of greek idyls; but in all that constitutes _real_ knowledge he would prove but an idle theorist, a dreamy imbecile, alongside our practical young scholar of the west. the third and youngest of the party--taking them as they sit from stem to bow--differs in many respects from both those described. he has neither the gravity of the first, nor yet the intellectuality of the second. his face is round, and full, and ruddy. it is bright and smiling in its expression. his eye dances merrily in his head, and its glance falls upon everything. his lips are hardly ever at rest. they are either engaged in making words--for he talks almost incessantly--or else contracting and expanding with smiles and joyous laughter. his cap is jauntily set, and his fine brown curls, hanging against the rich roseate skin of his cheeks, give to his countenance an expression of extreme health and boyish beauty. his merry laugh and free air tell you he is not the boy for books. he is not much of a hunter neither. in fact, he is not particularly given to anything--one of those easy natures who take the world as it comes, look upon the bright side of everything, without getting sufficiently interested to excel in anything. these three youths were dressed nearly alike. the eldest wore the costume, as near as may be, of a backwoods hunter--a tunic-like hunting-shirt, of dressed buckskin, leggings and mocassins of the same material, and all--shirt, leggings, and mocassins--handsomely braided and embroidered with stained quills of the porcupine. the cape of the shirt was tastefully fringed, and so was the skirt as well as the seams of the mocassins. on his head was a hairy cap of raccoon skin, and the tail of the animal, with its dark transverse bars, hung down behind like the drooping plume of a helmet. around his shoulders were two leathern belts that crossed each other upon his breast. one of these slung a bullet-pouch covered with a violet-green skin that glittered splendidly in the sun. it was from the head of the "wood-duck" (_anas sponsa_), the most beautiful bird of its tribe. by the other strap was suspended a large crescent-shaped horn taken from the head of an opelousas bull, and carved with various ornamental devices. other smaller implements hung from the belts, attached by leathern thongs: there was a picker, a wiper, and a steel for striking fire with. a third belt--a broad stout one of alligator leather--encircled the youth's waist. to this was fastened a holster, and the shining butt of a pistol could be seen protruding out; a hunting-knife of the kind denominated "bowie" hanging over the left hip, completed his "arms and accoutrements." the second of the youths was dressed, as already stated, in a somewhat similar manner, though his accoutrements were not of so warlike a character. like the other, he had a powder-horn and pouch, but instead of knife and pistol, a canvass bag or haversack hung from his shoulder; and had you looked into it, you would have seen that it was half filled with shells, pieces of rock, and rare plants, gathered during the day-- the diurnal storehouse of the geologist, the palaeontologist, and botanist--to be emptied for study and examination by the night camp-fire. instead of the 'coon-skin cap he wore a white felt hat with broad leaf; and for leggings and mocassins he had trousers of blue cottonade and laced buskins of tanned leather. the youngest of the three was dressed and accoutred much like the eldest, except that his cap was of blue cloth--somewhat after the fashion of the military forage cap. all three wore shirts of coloured cotton, the best for journeying in these uninhabited regions, where soap is scarce, and a laundress not to be had at any price. though very unlike one another, these three youths were brothers. i knew them well. i had seen them before--about two years before--and though each had grown several inches taller since that time, i had no difficulty in recognising them. even though they were now two thousand miles from where i had formerly encountered them, i could not be mistaken as to their identity. beyond a doubt they were the same brave young adventurers whom i had met in the swamps of louisiana, and whose exploits i had witnessed upon the prairies of texas. they were the "boy hunters,"--basil, lucien, francois! i was right glad to renew acquaintance with them. boy reader, do you share my joy? but whither go they now? they are full two thousand miles from their home in louisiana. the red river upon which their canoe floats is not that red river, whose blood-like waters sweep through the swamps of the hot south--the home of the alligator and the gar. no, it is a stream of a far different character, though also one of great magnitude. upon the banks of the former ripens the rice-plant, and the sugar-cane waves its golden tassels high in the air. there, too, flourishes the giant reed (_arundo gigantea_), the fan-palm (_chamaerops_), and the broad-leafed magnolia, with its huge snow-white flowers. there the aspect is southern, and the heat tropical for most part of the year. all this is reversed on the red river of the north. it is true that on its banks sugar is also produced; but it is no longer from a plant but a lordly tree--the great sugar-maple (_acer saccharinum_). there is rice too,--vast fields of rice upon its marshy borders; but it is not the pearly grain of the south. it is the wild rice, "the water oats" (_zizania aquatica_), the food of millions of winged creatures, and thousands of human beings as well. here for three-fourths of the year the sun is feeble, and the aspect that of winter. for months the cold waters are bound up in an icy embrace. the earth is covered with thick snow, over which rise the needle-leafed _coniferae_--the pines, the cedars, the spruce, and the hemlock. very unlike each other are the countries watered by the two streams, the red river of the south and its namesake of the north. but whither go our boy hunters in their birch-bark canoe? the river upon which they are _voyaging_ runs due northward into the great lake winnipeg. they are floating with its current, and consequently increasing the distance from their home. whither go they? the answer leads us to some sad reflections. our joy on again beholding them is to be mingled with grief. when we last saw them they had a father, but no mother. now they have neither one nor the other. the old colonel, their father--the french _emigre_, the _hunter-naturalist_--is dead. he who had taught them all they knew, who had taught them "to ride, to swim, to dive deep rivers, to fling the lasso, to climb tall trees, and scale steep cliffs, to bring down birds upon the wing or beasts upon the run, with the arrow and the unerring rifle; who had trained them to sleep in the open air, in the dark forest, on the unsheltered prairie, along the white snow-wreath-- anywhere--with but a blanket or a buffalo-robe for their bed; who had taught them to live on the simplest food, and had imparted to one of them a knowledge of science, of botany in particular, that enabled them, in case of need, to draw sustenance from plants and trees, from roots and fruits, to find resources where ignorant men would starve; had taught them to kindle a fire without flint, steel, or detonating powder; to discover their direction without a compass, from the rocks and the trees and the signs of the heavens; and in addition to all, had taught them, as far as was then known, the geography of that vast wilderness that stretches from the mississippi to the shores of the pacific ocean, and northward to the icy borders of the arctic sea"--he who had taught them all this, their father, was no more; and his three sons, the "boy men," of whom he was so proud, and of whose accomplishments he was wont to boast, were now orphans upon the wide world. but little more than a year after their return from their grand expedition to the texan prairies, the "old colonel" had died. it was one of the worst years of that scourge of the south--the yellow fever-- and to this dread pestilence he had fallen a victim. hugot, the _ex-chasseur_ and attached domestic, who was accustomed to follow his master like a shadow, had also followed him into the next world. it was not grief that killed hugot, though he bore the loss of his kind master sadly enough. but it was not grief that killed hugot. he was laid low by the same disease of which his master had died--the yellow fever. a week had scarcely passed after the death of the latter, before hugot caught the disease, and in a few days he was carried to the tomb and laid by the side of his "old colonel." the boy hunters--basil, lucien, francois--became orphans. they knew of but _one_ relation in the whole world, with whom their father had kept up any correspondence. this relation was an uncle, and, strange as it may seem, a scotchman--a highlander, who had strayed to corsica in early life, and had there married the colonel's sister. that uncle had afterwards emigrated to canada, and had become extensively engaged in the fur trade. he was now a superintendent or "factor" of the hudson's bay company, stationed at one of their most remote posts near the shores of the arctic sea! there is a romance in the history of some men wilder than any fiction that could be imagined. i have not yet answered the question as to where our boy hunters were journeying in their birch-bark canoe. by this time you will have divined the answer. certainly, you will say, they were on their way to join their uncle in his remote home. for no other object could they be travelling through the wild regions of the red river. that supposition is correct. to visit this scotch uncle (they had not seen him for years) was the object of their long, toilsome, and perilous journey. after their father's death he had sent for them. he had heard of their exploits upon the prairies; and, being himself of an adventurous disposition, he was filled with admiration for his young kinsmen, and desired very much to have them come and live with him. being now their guardian, he might command as much, but it needed not any exercise of authority on his part to induce all three of them to obey his summons. they had travelled through the mighty forests of the mississippi, and upon the summer prairies of the south. these great features of the earth's surface were to them familiar things, and they were no longer curious about them. but there remained a vast country which they longed eagerly to explore. they longed to look upon its shining lakes and crystal rivers; upon its snow-clad hills and ice-bound streams; upon its huge mammalia--its moose and its musk-oxen, its wapiti and its monster bears. this was the very country to which they were now invited by their kinsman, and cheerfully did they accept his invitation. already had they made one-half the journey, though by far the easier half. they had travelled up the mississippi, by steamboat as far as the mouth of the saint peter's. there they had commenced their canoe voyage--in other words became "voyageurs"--for such is the name given to those who travel by canoes through these wild territories. their favourite horses and the mule "jeannette" had been left behind. this was a necessity, as these creatures, however useful upon the dry prairies of the south, where there are few or no lakes, and where rivers only occur at long intervals, would be of little service to the traveller in the northern regions. here the route is crossed and intercepted by numerous rivers; and lakes of all sizes, with tracts of inundated marsh, succeed one another continually. such, in fact, are the highways of the country, and the canoe the travelling carriage; so that a journey from one point of the hudson's bay territory to another is often a canoe voyage of thousands of miles--equal to a "trip" across the atlantic! following the usual custom, therefore, our boy hunters had become voyageurs--"_young voyageurs_." they had navigated the saint peter's in safety, almost to its head-waters. these interlock with the sources of the red river. by a "portage" of a few miles they had crossed to the latter stream; and, having launched their canoe upon its waters, were now floating downward and northward with its current. but they had yet a long journey before them--nearly two thousand miles! many a river to be "run," many a rapid to be "shot," many a lake to be crossed, and many a "portage" to be passed, ere they could reach the end of that great _voyage_. come, boy reader, shall we accompany them? yes. the strange scenes and wild adventures through which we must pass, may lighten the toils, and perhaps repay us for the perils, of the journey. think not of the toils. roses grow only upon thorns. from toil we learn to enjoy leisure. regard not the perils. "from the nettle danger we pluck the flower safety." security often springs from peril. from such hard experiences great men have arisen. come, then, my young friend! mind neither toil nor peril, but with me to the great wilderness of the north! stay! we are to have another "_compagnon du voyage_." there is a fourth in the boat, a fourth "young voyageur." who is he? in appearance he is as old as basil, full as tall, and not unlike him in "build." but he is altogether of a different _colour_. he is fair-haired; but his hair (unlike that of lucien, which is also light-coloured) is strong, crisp, and curly. it does not droop, but stands out over his cheeks in a profusion of handsome ringlets. his complexion is of that kind known as "fresh," and the weather, to which it has evidently been much exposed, has bronzed and rather enriched the colour. the eyes are dark blue, and, strange to say, with _black_ brows and lashes! this is not common, though sometimes observed; and, in the case of the youth we are describing, arose from a difference of complexion on the part of his parents. he looked through the eyes of his mother, while in other respects he was more like his father, who was fair-haired and of a "fresh" colour. the youth, himself, might be termed handsome. perhaps he did not possess the youthful beauty of francois, nor the bolder kind that characterised the face of basil. perhaps he was of a coarser "make" than any of his three companions. his intellect had been less cultivated by education, and _education adds to the beauty of the face_. his life had been a harder one--he had toiled more with his hands, and had seen less of civilised society. still many would have pronounced him a handsome youth. his features were regular, and of clean outline. his lips expressed good-nature as well as firmness. his eye beamed with native intelligence, and his whole face bespoke a heart of true and determined honesty--_that made it beautiful_. perhaps a close scrutiniser of countenances might have detected some resemblance--a family one--between him and his three companions. if such there was, it was very slight; but there might have been, from the relationship that existed between them and him. he was their cousin-- their full cousin--the only son of that uncle they were now on their way to visit, and the new-comer who had been sent to bring them. such was the fourth of "the young voyageurs." his dress was not unlike that worn by basil; but as he was seated on the bow, and acting as pilot, and therefore more likely to feel the cold, he wore over his hunting-shirt a canadian _capote_ of white woollen cloth, with its hood hanging, down upon his shoulders. but there was still another "voyageur," an old acquaintance, whom you, boy reader, will no doubt remember. this was an animal, a quadruped, who lay along the bottom of the canoe upon a buffalo's hide. "from his size and colour--which was a tawny red--you might have mistaken him for a panther--a cougar. his long black muzzle and broad hanging ears gave him quite a different aspect, however, and declared him to be a hound. he _was_ one--a bloodhound, with the build of a mastiff--a powerful animal. he was the dog `marengo.'" you remember marengo? in the canoe there were other objects of interest. there were blankets and buffalo-robes; there was a small canvass tent folded up; there were bags of provisions, and some cooking utensils; there was a spade and an axe; there were rifles--three of them--and a double-barrelled shot-gun; besides a fish-net, and many other articles, the necessary equipments for such a journey. loaded almost to the gunwale was that little canoe, yet lightly did it float down the waters of the red river of the north. chapter three. the trumpeter swan and the bald eagle. it was the spring season, though late. the snow had entirely disappeared from the hills, and the ice from the water, and the melting of both had swollen the river, and rendered its current more rapid than usual. our young voyageurs needed not therefore to ply their oars, except now and then to guide the canoe; for these little vessels have no rudder, but are steered by the paddles. the skilful voyageurs can shoot them to any point they please, simply by their dexterous handling of the oars; and basil, lucien, and francois, had had sufficient practice both with "skiffs" and "dugouts" to make good oarsmen of all three. they had made many a canoe trip upon the lower mississippi and the bayous of louisiana; besides their journey up the saint peter's had rendered them familiar with the management of their birchen craft. an occasional stroke of the paddle kept them in their course, and they floated on without effort. norman--such was the name of their canadian or highland cousin--sat in the bow and directed their course. this is the post of honour in a canoe; and as he had more experience than any of them in this sort of navigation, he was allowed habitually to occupy this post. lucien sat in the stern. he held in his hands a book and pencil; and as the canoe glided onward, he was noting down his memoranda. the trees upon the banks were in leaf--many of them in blossom--and as the little craft verged near the shore, his keen eye followed the configuration of the leaves, to discover any new species that might appear. there is a rich vegetation upon the banks of the red river; but the _flora_ is far different from that which appears upon the low _alluvion_ of louisiana. it is northern, but not arctic. oaks, elms, and poplars, are seen mingling with birches, willows, and aspens. several species of indigenous fruit trees were observed by lucien, among which were crab-apple, raspberry, strawberry, and currant. there was also seen the fruit called by the voyageurs "le poire," but which in english phraseology is known as the "service-berry" (_amelanchier ovalis_). it grows upon a small bush or shrub of six or eight feet high, with smooth pinnate leaves. these pretty red berries are much esteemed and eaten both by indians and whites, who preserve them by drying, and cook them in various ways. there was still another bush that fixed the attention of our young botanist, as it appeared all along the banks, and was a _characteristic_ of the vegetation of the country. it was not over eight feet in height, with spreading branches of a grey colour. its leaves were three inches wide, and somewhat lobed liked those of the oak. of course, at this early season, the fruit was not ripe upon it; but lucien knew the fruit well. when ripe it resembles very much a red cherry, or, still more, a cranberry, having both the appearance and acrid taste of the latter. indeed, it is sometimes used as a substitute for cranberries in the making of pies and tarts; and in many parts it is called the "bush cranberry." the name, however, by which it is known among the indians of red river is "_anepeminan_," from "_nepen_," summer, and "_minan_" berry. this has been corrupted by the fur-traders and voyageurs into "pembina;" hence, the name of a river which runs into the red, and also he name of the celebrated but unsuccessful settlement of "pembina," formed by lord selkirk many years ago. both took their names from this berry that grows in abundance in the neighbourhood. the botanical appellation of this curious shrub is _viburnum oxycoccos_; but there is another species of the viburnum, which is also styled "oxycoccos." the common "snowball bush" of our gardens is a plant of the same genus, and very like the "pembina" both in leaf and flower. in fact, in a wild state they might be regarded as the same; but it is well-known that the flowers of the snowball are sterile, and do not produce the beautiful bright crimson berries of the "pembina." lucien lectured upon these points to his companions as they floated along. norman listened with astonishment to his philosophic cousin, who, although he had never been in this region before, knew more of its plants and trees than he did himself. basil also was interested in the explanations given by his brother. on the contrary, francois, who cared but little for botanical studies, or studies of any sort, was occupied differently. he sat near the middle of the canoe, double-barrel in hand, eagerly watching for a shot. many species of water-fowl were upon the river, for it was now late in the spring, and the wild geese and ducks had all arrived, and were passing northward upon their annual migration. during the day francois had got several shots, and had "bagged" three wild geese, all of different kinds, for there are many species of wild geese in america. he had also shot some ducks. but this did not satisfy him. there was a bird upon the river that could not be approached. no matter how the canoe was manoeuvred, this shy creature always took flight before francois could get within range. for days he had been endeavouring to kill one. even upon the saint peter's many of them had been seen, sometimes in pairs, at other times in small flocks of six or seven, but always shy and wary. the very difficulty of getting a shot at them, along with the splendid character of the birds themselves, had rendered francois eager to obtain one. the bird itself was no other than the great wild swan--the king of aquatic birds. "come, brother!" said francois, addressing lucien, "bother your viburnums and your oxycocks! tell us something about these swans. see! there goes another of them! what a splendid fellow he is! i'd give something to have him within range of buck-shot." as francois spoke he pointed down-stream to a great white bird that was seen moving out from the bank. it was a swan, and one of the very largest kind--a "trumpeter" (_cygnus buccinator_). it had been feeding in a sedge of the wild rice (_zizania aquatica_), and no doubt the sight of the canoe or the plash of the guiding oar had disturbed, and given it the alarm. it shot out from the reeds with head erect and wings slightly raised, offering to the eyes of the voyageurs a spectacle of graceful and majestic bearing, that, among the feathered race at least, is quite inimitable. a few strokes of its broad feet propelled it into the open water near the middle of the stream, when, making a half wheel, it turned head down the river, and swam with the current. at the point where it turned it was not two hundred yards ahead of the canoe. its apparent boldness in permitting them to come so near without taking wing, led francois to hope that they might get still nearer; and, begging his companions to ply the paddles, he seized hold of his double-barrel, and leaned forward in the canoe. basil also conceived a hope that a shot was to be had, for he took up his rifle, and looked to the cock and cap. the others went steadily and quietly to work at the oars. in a few moments the canoe cleft the current at the rate of a galloping horse, and one would have supposed that the swan must either at once take wing or be overtaken. not so, however. the "trumpeter" knew his game better than that. he had full confidence both in his strength and speed upon the water. he was not going to undergo the trouble of a fly, until the necessity arose for so doing; and, as it was, he seemed to be satisfied that that necessity had not yet arrived. the swim cost him much less muscular exertion than flying would have done, and he judged that the current, here very swift, would carry him out of reach of his pursuers. it soon began to appear that he judged rightly; and the voyageurs, to their chagrin, saw that, instead of gaining upon him, as they had expected, every moment widened the distance between him and the canoe. the bird had an advantage over his pursuers. three distinct powers propelled him, while they had only two to rely upon. he had the current in his favour--so had they. he had oars or paddles--his feet; they had oars as well. he "carried sail," while they spread not a "rag." the wind chanced to blow directly down-stream, and the broad wings of the bird, held out from his body, and half extended, caught the very pith of the breeze on their double concave surfaces, and carried him through the water with the velocity of an arrow. do you think that he was not aware of this advantage when he started in the race? do you suppose that these birds do not _think_? i for one am satisfied they do, and look upon every one who prates about the _instinct_ of these creatures as a philosopher of a very old school indeed. not only does the great swan think, but so does your parrot, and your piping bullfinch, and the little canary that hops on your thumb. all think, and _reason_, and _judge_. should it ever be your fortune to witness the performance of those marvellous birds, exhibited by the graceful mademoiselle vandermeersch in the fashionable _salons_ of paris and london, you will agree with me in the belief that the smallest of them has a mind like yourself. most certainly the swan, which our voyageurs were pursuing, thought, and reasoned, and judged, and calculated his distance, and resolved to keep on "the even tenor of his way," without putting himself to extra trouble by beating the air with his wings, and lifting his heavy body--thirty pounds at least--up into the heavens. his judgment proved sound; for, in less than ten minutes from the commencement of the chase, he had gained a clear hundred yards upon his pursuers, and continued to widen the distance. at intervals he raised his beak higher than usual, and uttered his loud booming note, which fell upon the ears of the voyageurs as though it had been sent back in mockery and defiance. they would have given up the pursuit, had they not noticed that a few hundred yards farther down the river made a sharp turn to the right. the swan, on reaching this, would no longer have the wind in his favour. this inspired them with fresh hopes. they thought they would be able to overtake him after passing the bend, and then, either get a shot at him, or force him into the air. the latter was the more likely; and, although it would be no great gratification to see him fly off, yet they had become so interested in this singular chase that they desired to terminate it by putting the trumpeter to some trouble. they bent, therefore, with fresh energy to their oars, and pulled onward in the pursuit. first the swan, and after him the canoe, swung round the bend, and entered the new "reach" of the river. the voyageurs at once perceived that the bird now swam more slowly. he no longer "carried sail," as the wind was no longer in his favour. his wings lay closely folded to his body, and he moved only by the aid of his webbed feet and the current, which last happened to be sluggish, as the river at this part spread over a wide expanse of level land. the canoe was evidently catching up, and each stroke was bringing the pursuers nearer to the pursued. after a few minutes' brisk pulling, the trumpeter had lost so much ground that he was not two hundred yards in the advance, and "dead ahead." his body was no longer carried with the same gracefulness, and the majestic curving of his neck had disappeared. his bill protruded forward, and his thighs began to drag the water in his wake. he was evidently on the threshold of flight. both francois and basil saw this, as they stood with their guns crossed and ready. at this moment a shrill cry sounded over the water. it was the scream of some wild creature, ending in a strange laugh, like the laugh of a maniac! on both sides of the river there was a thick forest of tall trees of the cotton-wood species (_populus angustifolia_). from this forest the strange cry had proceeded, and from the right bank. its echoes had hardly ceased, when it was answered by a similar cry from the trees upon the left. so like were the two, that it seemed as if some one of god's wild creatures was mocking another. these cries were hideous enough to frighten any one not used to them. they had not that effect upon our voyageurs, who knew their import. one and all of them were familiar with the voice of the _white-headed eagle_! the trumpeter knew it as well as any of them, but on him it produced a far different effect. his terror was apparent, and his intention was all at once changed. instead of rising into the air, as he had premeditated, he suddenly lowered his head, and disappeared under the water! again was heard the wild scream and the maniac laugh; and the next moment an eagle swept out from the timber, and, after a few strokes of its broad wing, poised itself over the spot where the trumpeter had gone down. the other, its mate, was seen crossing at the same time from the opposite side. presently the swan rose to the surface, but his head was hardly out of the water when the eagle once more uttered its wild note, and, half folding its wings, darted down from above. the swan seemed to have expected this, for before the eagle could reach the surface, he had gone under a second time, and the latter, though passing with the velocity of an arrow, plunged his talons in the water to no purpose. with a cry of disappointment the eagle mounted back into the air, and commenced wheeling in circles over the spot. it was now joined by its mate, and both kept round and round watching for the reappearance of their intended victim. again the swan came to the surface, but before either of the eagles could swoop upon him he had for the third time disappeared. the swan is but an indifferent diver; but under such circumstances he was likely to do his best at it. but what could it avail him? he must soon rise to the surface to take breath--each time at shorter intervals. he would soon become fatigued and unable to dive with sufficient celerity, and then his cruel enemies would be down upon him with their terrible talons. such is the usual result, unless the swan takes to the air, which he sometimes does. in the present case he had built his hopes upon a different means of escape. he contemplated being able to conceal himself in a heavy sedge of bulrushes (_scirpus lacustris_) that grew along the edge of the river, and towards these he was evidently directing his course under the water. at each emersion he appeared some yards nearer them, until at length he rose within a few feet of their margin, and diving again was seen no more! he had crept in among the sedge, and no doubt was lying with only his head, or part of it, above the water, his body concealed by the broad leaves of the _nymphae_, while the head itself could not be distinguished among the white flowers that lay thickly along the surface. the eagles now wheeled over the sedge, flapping the tops of the bulrushes with their broad wings, and screaming with disappointed rage. keen as were their eyes they could not discover the hiding-place of their victim. no doubt they would have searched for it a long while, but the canoe--which they now appeared to notice for the first time--had floated near; and, becoming aware of their own danger, both mounted into the air again, and with a farewell scream flew off, and alighted at some distance down the river. "a swan for supper!" shouted francois, as he poised his gun for the expected shot. the canoe was headed for the bulrushes near the point where the trumpeter had been last seen; and a few strokes of the paddles brought the little craft with a whizzing sound among the sedge. but the culms of the rushes were so tall, and grew so closely together, that the canoemen, after entering, found to their chagrin they could not see six feet around them. they dared not stand up, for this is exceedingly dangerous in a birch canoe, where the greatest caution is necessary to keep the vessel from careening over. moreover, the sedge was so thick, that it was with difficulty they could use their oars. they remained stationary for a time, surrounded by a wall of green bulrush. they soon perceived that that would never do, and resolved to push back into the open water. meanwhile marengo had been sent into the sedge, and was now heard plunging and sweltering about in search of the game. marengo was not much of a water-dog by nature, but he had been trained to almost every kind of hunting, and his experience among the swamps of louisiana had long since relieved him of all dread for the water. his masters therefore had no fear but that marengo would "put up" the trumpeter. marengo had been let loose a little too soon. before the canoe could be cleared of the entangling sedge, the dog was heard to utter one of his loud growls, then followed a heavy plunge, there was a confused fluttering of wings, and the great white bird rose majestically into the air! before either of the gunners could direct their aim, he was beyond the range of shot, and both prudently reserved their fire. marengo having performed his part, swam back to the canoe, and was lifted over the gunwale. the swan, after clearing the sedge, rose almost vertically into the air. these birds usually fly at a great elevation--sometimes entirely beyond the reach of sight. unlike the wild geese and ducks, they never alight upon land, but always upon the bosom of the water. it was evidently the intention of this one to go far from the scene of his late dangers, perhaps to the great lake winnipeg itself. after attaining a height of several hundred yards, he flew forward in a horizontal course, and followed the direction of the stream. his flight was now regular, and his trumpet-note could be heard at intervals, as, with outstretched neck, he glided along the heavens. he seemed to feel the pleasant sensations that every creature has after an escape from danger, and no doubt he fancied himself secure. but in this fancy he deceived himself. better for him had he risen a few hundred yards higher, or else had uttered his self-gratulation in a more subdued tone; for it was heard and answered, and that response was the maniac laugh of the white-headed eagle. at the same instant two of these birds--those already introduced--were seen mounting into the air. they did not fly up vertically, as the swan had done, but in spiral curves, wheeling and crossing each other as they ascended. they were making for a point that would intersect the flight of the swan should he keep on in his horizontal course. this, however, he did not do. with an eye as quick as theirs, he saw that he was "headed;" and, stretching his long neck upward, he again pursued an almost vertical line. but he had to carry thirty pounds of flesh and bones, while the largest of the eagles--the female bird--with a still broader spread of wing, was a "light weight" of only seven. the result of this difference was soon apparent. before the trumpeter had got two hundred yards higher, the female of the eagles was seen wheeling around him on the same level. the swan was now observed to double, fly downward, and then upward again, while his mournful note echoed back to the earth. but his efforts were in vain. after a series of contortions and manoeuvres, the eagle darted forward, with a quick toss threw herself back downward, and, striking upward, planted her talons in the under part of the wing of her victim. the lacerated shaft fell uselessly down; and the great white bird, no longer capable of flight, came whistling through the air. but it was not allowed to drop directly to the earth; it would have fallen on the bosom of the broad river, and that the eagles did not wish, as it would have given them some trouble to get the heavy carcass ashore. as soon as the male--who was lower in the air--saw that his partner had struck the bird, he discontinued his upward flight, and, poising himself on his spread tail, waited its descent. a single instant was sufficient. the white object passed him still fluttering; but the moment it was below his level he shot after it like an arrow, and, clutching it in his talons, with an outward stroke sent it whizzing in a diagonal direction. the next moment a crashing was heard among the twigs, and a dull sound announced that the swan had fallen upon the earth. the eagles were now seen sailing downward, and soon disappeared among the tops of the trees. the canoe soon reached the bank; and francois, accompanied by basil and marengo, leaped ashore, and went in search of the birds. they found the swan quite dead and lying upon its back as the eagles had turned it. its breast was torn open, and the crimson blood, with which they had been gorging themselves, was spread in broad flakes over its snowy plumage. the eagles themselves, scared by the dog marengo, had taken flight before the boys could get within shot of them. as it was just the hour for a "noon halt" and a luncheon, the swan was carried to the bank of the river, where a crackling fire was soon kindled to roast him; and while this operation was going on the "naturalist" was requested by his companions to give them an account of the "swans of america." chapter four. the swans of america. "very well, then," said lucien, agreeing to the request. "i shall tell you all i know of the swans; and, indeed, that is not much, as the natural history of these birds in their wild state is but little understood. on account of their shy habits, there is not much opportunity of observing them; and as they annually migrate and breed in those desolate regions within the arctic circle, where civilised men do not live, but little information has been collected about them. some of the species, however, breed in the temperate zones, and the habits of these are better known. "for a long time it was fancied there was but one species of swan. it is now known that there are several, distinguished from each other in form, colour, voice, and habits. `white as a swan,' is a simile as old, perhaps; as language itself. this, i fancy, would sound strangely to the ears of a native australian, who is accustomed to look upon swans as being of the very opposite colour, for the black swan is a native of that country. "according to the naturalist brehm, who has given much attention to this subject, there are four distinct species of swans in europe. they are all white, though some of the species have a reddish orange tinge about the head and neck. two of them are `gibbous,' that is, with a knob or protuberance upon the upper part of the bill. one of these brehm terms the `white-headed gibbous swan' (_cygnus gibbus_). the other is the `yellow-headed' (_cygnus olor_); and this last also is known as the _mute_ or _tame_ swan, because it is that species most commonly seen in a tame state upon the ornamental lakes and ponds of england. the other two european species brehm has designated `singing swans,' as both of them utter a note that may be heard to a considerable distance. "the black swan of australia (_cygnus niger_) has been naturalised in europe, and breeds freely in england, where, from its great size and peculiar markings, it is one of the most ornamental of water-fowls. it is, moreover, a great tyrant, and will not permit other birds to approach its haunt, but drives them off, striking them furiously with its strong broad wings. "until a late period the swans of america were supposed to be all of one kind. this is not the case. there are now known to be three distinct species inhabiting the fur countries, and migrating annually to the south. that which is best known is the `whistler,' or `hooper' (_cygnus americanus_), because it is the species that abounds in the old states upon the atlantic, and was therefore more observed by naturalists. it is believed to be identical with one of the european `singing' swans (_cygnus ferus_), but this is not certain; and for my part, i believe they are different, as the eggs of the american swan are greenish, while those of its european congener are brownish, with white blotches. "the `hooper' is four and a half feet in length, though there are males still larger, some of them measuring five feet. its colour is white, except upon the head and back part of the neck, where there is a coppery tinge. the bill and feet are black. from the angle of the mouth to the eye there is a small naked `cere,' of a bright yellow colour. these swans, like others of the genus, do not care much for the salt water. they are rarely seen upon the sea, except near its shores, where they may find the aquatic plants upon which they feed. nor do they go out upon the large lakes. when found upon these, it is generally close in to the land. this is accounted for by the fact that the swans do not `dive' for their food, but stretch down for it with their long necks, which nature has peculiarly adapted to this very purpose. their favourite food consists of the roots of aquatic plants, which are often farinaceous. as these grow best in the shallow small lakes and along the margins of rivers, such places are the usual resort of the swans. although their diet is a vegetable one, it is not exclusively so, as they will eat frogs, worms, and small fish. unlike the ducks and geese, they rarely feed upon land, but while floating upon the surface of the water. they walk but awkwardly on land, and are at home only on water or in the air. in the air they are quite at home, and fly so swiftly that it is no easy matter to shoot them, especially when going before the wind. at such times they are supposed to fly at the rate of one hundred miles an hour. when moulting, and unable to rise into the air, it is no easy matter to follow them even with a canoe. by means of their broad feet and strong wings, they can flutter so quickly over the water, now and then diving, that the hunter cannot overtake them in his boat, but is obliged to use his gun in the pursuit. "the `hoopers' are migratory,--that is, they pass to the north every spring, and southward again in the autumn. why they make these annual migrations, remains one of the mysteries of nature. some believe they migrate to the north, because they there find those desolate uninhabited regions where they can bring forth their young in security. but this explanation cannot be the true one, as there are also uninhabited regions in the south, even under the equator, where they may be equally free from the presence of man. another explanation might be offered. in hot and tropical countries most of the small lakes and swamps, where these birds love to dwell, dry up during the summer months: hence the necessity of a migration to colder and moister regions. but this would only hold good of the wading and water birds; it would not account for the migration of the many other birds of passage. "a better explanation may be this: the north and the cold zones are the natural habitat of most migratory birds. it is there that they bring forth their young, and there they are at home. in tropical regions they are only sojourners for a season, forced thither, some of them, by a cold which they do not relish; but others, such as the water-fowl, by the frost, which, binding up the lakes, rivers, and swamps, hinders them from procuring their food. they are thus compelled to make an annual migration to the open waters of the south, but as soon as the ice has given way before the genial breath of spring, they all return rejoicing to their favourite home in the north, when their season of love commences. "the `hoopers' follow this general law, and migrate to the northward every spring. they breed upon islets in the numerous lakes that stud the whole northern part of the american continent. eminences in swamps are also chosen for breeding places, and the ends of promontories that jut out into the water. the spot selected is always such that the swan, when seated upon her nest, can have a view of the surrounding country, and detect any enemy long before it can approach her. the top of the dome-shaped dwellings of the musk-rat, or musquash (_fibre zibethicus_), is often selected by the swan for her nest. these curious little houses are usually in the midst of impenetrable swamps: they are only occupied by their builders during the winter; and as they are deserted by them in early spring, they are therefore quite at the service of the swan for the `balance of the season.' the bird makes a large cavity in the top, and lines it with such reeds and grass as may be found near the spot. "the hooper lays from six to eight eggs, and sits upon them for a period of six weeks, when the cygnets come forth covered with a thick down of a bluish-grey colour. while sitting upon her eggs, the swan is exceedingly watchful and shy. she `faces' towards the point whence she most apprehends danger. when the weather is severe, and the wind cold and keen, she changes into that position which is most comfortable. if her nest be upon a promontory instead of an island, she usually sits with her head to the land, as she feels secure that no enemy will reach her from the waterside. from the land she has not only man to `look out' for, but the wolverene (_gulo luscus_), the lynx (_felis canadensis_), foxes, and wolves. "the indians often snare the swan upon her nest. of course the snare--a running noose made from the intestines of the deer--is set in her absence. it is placed upon the side by which she enters, as these birds enter and leave the nest upon opposite sides. the snare must be arranged with great care, and with _clean hands_; and the indians always take the precaution to wash their hands before setting it, else the swans, whose sense of smell is very acute, will perceive the presence of danger, and will not only keep away for a time, but sometimes desert the eggs altogether. there are many other birds that have a similar habit. "so much for the `hooper,'" continued lucien; "now for the `trumpeter.' this is the largest of the american swans, being found to measure seventy inches in length. its specific name `trumpeter' (cygnus _buccinator_) is given to it on account of its note, which resembles the sound of a french horn, or trumpet, played at a distance. the bird is white, with black bill and feet, and has also a reddish orange or copper tinge upon the crown and neck; but it wants the yellow spot between the split of the mandibles and the eye. it is easily distinguished from the hooper, both by its louder note and larger body. its habits, however, are very similar, except that it seems to be more gregarious,--small flocks of six or eight often appearing together, while the hooper is seen only in pairs, and sometimes solitary. another distinction is, that the trumpeter arrives much earlier in its migrations to the north, being the earliest bird that appears except the eagles. it breeds as far south as latitude degrees, but most generally within the arctic circle. its nest is constructed similarly to those of the hooper, but its eggs are much larger, one of them being a meal for a moderate eater, without bread or any other addition. the trumpeter frequently arrives in the north before the lakes or rivers are thawed. it is then obliged to find sustenance at the rapids and waterfalls, where the indians can approach under cover, and many are shot at such times by these people. at all other times, as you, francois, have observed, it is a bird most difficult of approach; and the indian hunters only attempt it when they have a long-range gun loaded with ball. "the third species of american swans is that known as bewick's swan (cygnus _bewickii_), called after the naturalist of that name. it is the smallest of the three, rarely measuring over fifty-two inches in length, and weighing only fourteen pounds, while the hooper is over twenty pounds in weight, and the trumpeter is often obtained of the enormous weight of thirty! "bewick's swan is also said to be identical with one of brehm's singing swans. its colour is almost similar to that of the hooper, and the two are often mistaken for each other. the size and the tail-feathers of all three of the american swans form a sufficiently specific distinction. in the trumpeter these are twenty-four in number, in the hooper twenty, while the small species has only eighteen. "of the three, the last-mentioned is the latest on its annual journey, but it breeds farther north than either of the others. its nest is found upon the islands of the arctic sea; it is usually built of peat-moss, and is of gigantic dimensions, being six feet long by five in width, and nearly two feet high. in the top of this pile is the nest itself, forming a large round cavity nearly two feet in diameter. the eggs are of a brownish white, with clouds of darker tint. "i have remarked," continued lucien, "a singularity in the geographical distribution of these three species. upon the pacific coast the smallest kind and the hooper only are met with, and the small ones outnumber the others in the ratio of five to one. in the interior parts of the continent only the hoopers and trumpeters appear; and the trumpeters are by far the most numerous, while upon the eastern coasts of america the hoopers are the sort best known. "the swans are eagerly hunted both by the indians and white hunters. their skins, with the quills and down, form a source of profit to the natives of the fur countries, who dispose of them to the hudson's bay company. in some years as many as ten thousand skins have been exported, and sold at the rate of six or seven shillings each. most of the skins thus sold were those of the trumpeter swans, which are the most numerous. "now," said lucien, in conclusion, "you know as much about the swans as i do; so i shall drop the subject, and recommend to all of you a piece of roast swan, which is now just done to a turn, and which i doubt not will be found less dry than my lecture." chapter five. a swan-hunt by torchlight. a few days brought our travellers to the settlement of red river, where they made but a very short stay; and, having procured a few articles which they stood in need of, they resumed their journey, and floated on towards lake winnipeg. the swans were seen in greater numbers than ever. they were not less shy however, and francois, as before, in vain tried to get a shot at one. he was very desirous of bringing down one of these noble birds, partly because the taste he had had of their flesh had given him a liking for it; and partly because their shyness had greatly tantalised him. one is always more eager to kill shy game, both on account of the rarity of the thing, and the credit one gets for his expertness. but the voyageurs had now got within less than twenty miles of lake winnipeg, and francois had not as yet shot a single swan. it was not at all likely the eagles would help him to another. so there would be no more roast swan for supper. norman, seeing how eager francois was to shoot one of these birds, resolved to aid him by his advice. "cousin frank," said he, one evening as they floated along, "you wish very much to get a shot at the swans?" "i do," replied francois,--"i do; and if you can tell me how to accomplish that business, i'll make you a present of this knife." here francois held up a very handsome clasp-knife that he carried in his pouch. a knife in the fur countries is no insignificant affair. with a knife you may sometimes buy a horse, or a tent, or a whole carcass of beef, or, what is stranger still, a wife! to the hunter in these wild regions--perhaps a thousand miles from where knives are sold--such a thing is of very great value indeed; but the knife which francois offered to his cousin was a particularly fine one, and the latter had once expressed a wish to become the owner of it. he was not slow, therefore, in accepting the conditions. "well," rejoined he, "you must consent to travel a few miles by night, and i think i can promise you a shot at the trumpeters--perhaps several." "what say you, brothers?" asked francois, appealing to basil and lucien; "shall we have the sport? say yes." "oh! i have no objection," said lucien. "nor i," added basil. "on the contrary, i should like it above all things. i wish very much to know what plan our cousin shall adopt. i never heard of any mode of approaching these birds." "very well, then," answered norman, "i shall have the pleasure of instructing you in a way that is in use in these parts among the indians, who hunt the swan for its skin and quills, which they trade to us at the post. we can manage it to-night, i think," continued he, looking up at the sky: "there is no moon, and the sky is thick. yes, it will be dark enough." "is it necessary the night should be a dark one?" asked francois. "the darker the better," replied norman. "to-night, if i am not mistaken, will be as black as pitch. but we need to make some preparations. it is near sundown, and we shall have just time to get ready for the business. let us get ashore, then, as quickly as possible." "oh! certainly--let us land," replied all three at once. the canoe was now turned to the shore; and when it had arrived within a few feet of the land it was brought to a stop. its keel was not allowed to touch the bottom of the river, as that would have injured the little craft. the greatest precaution is always observed both in landing and embarking these vessels. the voyageurs first get out and wade to the shore, one or two remaining to hold the canoe in its place. the cargo, whatever it be, is then taken out and landed; and after that the canoe itself is lifted out of the water, and carried ashore, where it is set, bottom upward, to dry. the birch-bark canoe is so frail a structure, that, were it brought rudely in contact either with the bottom or the bank, it would be very much damaged, or might go to pieces altogether. hence the care with which it is handled. it is dangerous, also, to stand upright in it, as it is so "crank" that it would easily turn over, and spill both canoemen and cargo into the water. the voyageurs, therefore, when once they have got in, remain seated during the whole passage, shifting about as little as they can help. when landed for the night, the canoe is always taken out of the water as described. the bark is of a somewhat spongy nature; and if left in the water for a length of time, would become soaked and heavy, and would not run so well. when kept all night, bottom upward, it drips and becomes dryer and lighter. in the morning, at the commencement of the day's journey, it sits higher upon the water than in the afternoon and evening, and is at that time more easily paddled along. our voyageurs, having got on shore, first kindled a fire to cook their supper. this they intended to despatch earlier than usual, so as to give them the early part of the night for their swan-hunt, which they expected to finish before midnight. lucien did the cooking, while norman, assisted by basil and francois, made his preparations for the hunt. francois, who was more interested in the result than any of them, watched every movement of his cousin. nothing escaped him. norman proceeded as follows:-- he walked off into the woods, accompanied by francois. after going about an hundred yards or so, he stopped at the foot of a certain tree. the tree was a birch--easily distinguished by its smooth, silvery bark. by means of his sharp hunting-knife he "girdled" this tree near the ground, and then higher up, so that the length between the two "girdlings," or circular cuttings, was about four feet. he then made a longitudinal incision by drawing the point of his knife from one circle to the other. this done he inserted the blade under the bark, and peeled it off, as he would have taken the skin from a buffalo. the tree was a foot in diameter, consequently the bark, when stripped off and spread flat, was about three feet in width; for you must remember that the circumference of a circle or a cylinder is always about three times the length of its diameter, and therefore a tree is three times as much "_round_" as it is "_through_." they now returned to the camp-fire, taking along with them the piece of bark that had been cut off. this was spread out, though not quite flat, still leaving it somewhat curved. the convex side, that which had lain towards the tree, was now blackened with pulverised charcoal, which norman had directed basil to prepare for the purpose; and to the bark at one end was fastened a stake or shaft. nothing more remained but to fix this stake in the canoe, in an upright position near the bow, and in such a way that the bottom of the piece of bark would be upon a level with the seats, with its hollow side looking forward. it would thus form a screen, and prevent those in the canoe from being seen by any creature that might be ahead. when all this had been arranged, norman shouldered the axe, and again walked off into the woods. this time his object was to obtain a quantity of "knots" of the pitch-pine (_pinus rigida_), which he knew would most likely be found in such a situation. the tree was soon discovered, and pointed out to francois, who accompanied him as before. francois saw that it was a tree of about fifty feet in height, and a foot in diameter at its base. its bark was thick, very dark in the colour, and full of cracks or fissures. its leaves, or "needles," were about three inches long, and grew in threes, each three forming a little bunch, bound together at its base by a brownish sheath. these bunches, in botanical language, are termed "fasciles." the cones were somewhat shorter than the leaves, nearly of the shape of eggs, and clustered together in threes and fours. francois noticed that the tree was thickly branched, and therefore there are many knots in the wood. for this reason it is not of much use as timber; but on account of the resin which it contains, it is the best species for firewood; and for that purpose it is used in all parts of the united states, where it grows. most of the _pine-wood_ sold for fuel in the large cities of america is the wood of this species. francois supposed that his companion was about to fell one of the trees. he was mistaken, however; norman had no such intention; he had only stopped before one to examine it, and make sure that it was the species he was in search of. he was soon satisfied of this, and moved on, directing his eyes along the ground. again he stopped; but this time it was by a tree that had already fallen--blown down, perhaps, by the wind. it was half decayed; but francois could see that it was one of the same species--the pitch-pine. this was the very thing norman wanted, and plying his axe, he soon knocked out a large quantity of the resinous knots. these he at length collected, and putting them into a bag, returned with francois to the fire. he then announced that he had no further preparations to make. all four now sat down to supper, which consisted of dry meat, with biscuits and coffee; and, as their appetites were sharpened by their water journey, they made a hearty meal of it. as soon as they had finished eating, the canoe was launched and got ready. the screen of birch-bark was set up, by lashing its shaft to the bottom timbers, and also to one of the seats. immediately in front of this, and out upon the bow, was placed the frying-pan; and this having been secured by being tied at the handle, was filled with dry pine-knots, ready to be kindled at a moment's notice. these arrangements being made, the hunters only awaited the darkness to set forth. in the progress of their hunt they would be carried still farther down-stream; but as that was the direction in which they were travelling, they would only be progressing on their journey, and thus "killing two birds with one stone." this was altogether a very pleasant consideration; and, having stowed everything snugly in the canoe, they sat chatting agreeably and waiting for the arrival of night. night came at length, and, as norman had predicted, it was as "dark as pitch." stepping gently into the canoe, and seating themselves in their respective places, they pushed out and commenced floating down-stream. norman sat near the bow, in order to attend to his torch of pine-knots. francois was next to him, holding his double-barrel, loaded with buck-shot, which is the same size as that used for swans, and in england is even known as "swan-shot." next came basil with his rifle. he sat near francois, just by the middle of the little vessel. lucien, who was altogether a man of peace principles, and but little of a shot compared with either of his brothers, handled the oar--not to propel the canoe, but merely to guide it. in this way the party floated on in silence. norman soon kindled his torch, which now cast its red glare over the surface of the river, extending its fiery radii even to the banks on both sides of the stream. the trees that overhung the water seemed tinged with vermilion, and the rippling wave sparkled like liquid gold. the light only extended over a semicircle. from the manner in which the torch was placed, its light did not fall upon the other half of the circle, and this, by contrast, appeared even darker than it would otherwise have done. the advantage of the plan which norman had adopted was at once apparent to all. ahead of the canoe the whole river was plainly seen for a distance of several hundred yards. no object larger than a cork could have floated on its surface, without being visible to those in the vessel--much less the great white body of a trumpeter swan. astern of the canoe, on the other hand, all was pitchy darkness, and any one looking at the vessel from a position ahead could have seen nothing but the bright torch and the black uniform surface behind it. as i have already stated, the concave side of the bark was towards the blaze, and the pan containing the torch being placed close in to the screen, none of the light could possibly fall upon the forms of those within the canoe. they were therefore invisible to any creature from the front, while they themselves could see everything before them. two questions yet remained unanswered. first,--would our hunters find any swans on the river? second,--if they should, would these birds allow themselves to be approached near enough to be shot at? the first question norman, of course, could not answer. that was a matter beyond his knowledge or control. the swans might or might not appear, but it was to be hoped they would. it was likely enough. many had been seen on the preceding day, and why not then? to the second question, the young canadian gave a definite reply. he assured his cousins that, if met with, the birds would be easily approached in this manner; he had often hunted them so. they would either keep their place, and remain until the light came very near them, or they would move towards it (as he had many times known them to do), attracted by curiosity and the novelty of the spectacle. he had hunted deer in the same manner; he had shot, he said, hundreds of these animals upon the banks of rivers, where they had come down to the water to drink, and stood gazing at the light. his cousins could well credit his statements. they themselves had hunted deer by torchlight in the woods of louisiana, where it is termed "fire-hunting." they had killed several in this way. the creatures, as if held by some fascination, would stand with head erect looking at the torch carried by one of the party, while the other took sight between their glancing eyes and fired the deadly bullet. remembering this, they could easily believe that the swans might act in a similar manner. it was not long until they were convinced of it by actual experience. as the canoe rounded a bend in the river, three large white objects appeared in the "reach" before them. a single glance satisfied all that they were swans, though, in the deceptive glare of the torch, they appeared even larger than swans. their long upright necks, however, convinced the party they could be nothing else, and the canoe was headed directly for them. as our hunters approached, one of the birds was heard to utter his strange trumpet-note, and this he repeated at intervals as they drew nearer. "i have heard that they sing before death," muttered francois to basil, who sat nearest him. "if so, i hope that's the song itself;" and francois laughed quietly at the joke he had perpetrated. basil also laughed; and lucien, who had overheard the remark, could not restrain himself from joining in the laughter. "i fear not," rejoined basil; "there is hardly enough music in the note to call it a song. they may live to `blow their own trumpet' a long while yet." this remark called forth a fresh chorus of laughter, in which all took part; but it was a very silent kind of laughter, that could not have been heard ten yards off: it might have been termed "laughing in a whisper." it soon ended, however, as matters now became serious: they were already within less than two hundred yards of the game, and the greatest caution had to be observed. the gunners had arranged the order of fire: basil was to shoot first, taking steady aim with his rifle at any one of the birds; while francois should fire as soon as he heard the report of his brother's gun, taking the remaining swans upon the wing, with one or both barrels, as he best might. at length basil deemed himself near enough, and, levelling his piece, fired. the bird threw out its wings, and flattened down upon the water, almost without a struggle. the other two were rising into the air, when "crack! crack!" went the two barrels of francois' piece, and one of the swans fell back with a broken wing, and fluttered over the surface of the stream. basil's had been shot dead, and was taken up easily; but the wounded bird was only captured after a long chase with the canoe; and when overtaken, it struck so fiercely with its remaining wing, that one of the blows inflicted a painful wound on the wrist of francois. both, however, were at length got safely aboard, and proved to be a male and female of the largest dimensions. chapter six. "cast away." of course, the reports of the guns must have frightened any other swans that were near. it was not likely they would find any more before going some distance farther down the river; so, having stowed away in a safe place the two already killed, the hunters paddled rapidly onward. they had hardly gone half a mile farther, when another flock of swans was discovered. these were approached in a similar way, and no less than three were obtained--francois making a remarkable shot, and killing with both barrels. a little farther down, one of the "hoopers" was killed; and still farther on, another trumpeter; making in all no less than seven swans that lay dead in the bottom of the canoe! these seven great birds almost filled the little craft to the gunwales, and you would think that our "torch-hunters" ought to have been content with such a spoil; but the hunter is hard to satisfy with game, and but too often inclined to "spill much more blood" than is necessary to his wants. our voyageurs, instead of desisting, again set the canoe in motion, and continued the hunt. a short distance below the place where they had shot the last swan, as they were rounding a bend in the river, a loud rushing sounded in their ears; similar to that produced by a cascade or waterfall. on first hearing it, they were startled and somewhat alarmed. it might be a "fall," thought they. norman could not tell: he had never travelled this route; he did not know whether there were falls in the red river or not, but he believed not. in his voyage to the south, he had travelled by another route; that was, up the winnipeg river, and through rainy lake and the lake of the woods to lake superior. this is the usual and well-known track followed by the _employes_ of the hudson's bay company; and norman had travelled it. in this uncertainty the canoe was brought to a stop, and our voyageurs remained listening. the noise made by the water was not very distant, and sounded like the roaring of "rapids," or the rush of a "fall." it was evidently one or the other; but, after listening to it for a considerable time, all came to the conclusion that the sound did not proceed from the red river itself, but from some stream that emptied into it upon the right. with this belief they again put the canoe in motion, and glided slowly and cautiously onward. their conjecture proved to be correct. as they approached nearer, they perceived that the noise appeared every moment more and more to their right; and presently they saw, below them, a rapid current sweeping into the red river from the right bank. this was easily distinguished by the white froth and bubbles that were carried along upon its surface, and which had evidently been produced by some fall over which the water had lately passed. the hunters now rowed fearlessly forward, and in a few moments came opposite the _debouchure_ of the tributary stream, when a considerable cascade appeared to their view, not thirty yards from the red river itself. the water foamed and dashed over a series of steps, and then swept rapidly on, in a frothy current. they had entered this current, and were now carried along with increased velocity, so that the oarsmen suspended operations, and drew their paddles within the canoe. a flock of swans now drew their attention. it was the largest flock they had yet seen, numbering nearly a score of these noble birds,--a sight, as norman informed them, that was exceedingly rare even in the most favoured haunts of the swan. rarely are more than six or seven seen together, and oftener only two or three. a grand _coup_ was determined upon. norman took up his own gun, and even lucien, who managed the stern oar, and guided the craft, also brought his piece--a very small rifle--close to his hand, so that he might have a shot as well as the others. the canoe was directed in such a manner that, by merely keeping its head down the stream, it would float to the spot where the swans were. in a short while they approached very near the great birds, and our hunters could see them sitting on the water, with upraised necks, gazing in wonder at the torch. whether they sounded their strange note was not known, for the "sough" of the waterfall still echoed in the ears of the canoemen, and they could not hear aught else. basil and norman fired first, and simultaneously; but the louder detonations of francois' double-barrel, and even the tiny crack of lucien's rifle, were heard almost the instant after. three of the birds were killed by the volley, while a fourth, evidently "winged," was seen to dive, and flutter down-stream. the others mounted into the air, and disappeared in the darkness. during the time occupied in this manoeuvre, the canoe, no longer guided by lucien's oar, had been caught by some eddy in the current, and swept round stern-foremost. in this position the light no longer shone upon the river ahead, but was thrown up-stream. all in a downward direction was buried in deep darkness. before the voyageurs could bring the canoe back to its proper direction, a new sound fell upon their ears that caused some of them to utter a cry of terror. it was the noise of rushing water, but not that which they had already heard and passed. it was before them in the river itself. perhaps it was a cataract, and _they were sweeping rapidly to its brink_! the voice of norman was heard exclaiming, "hold with your oars!--the rapids!--the rapids!" at the same time he himself was seen rising up and stretching forward for an oar. all was now consternation; and the movements of the party naturally consequent upon such a sudden panic shook the little craft until her gunwales lipped the water. at the same time she had swung round, until the light again showed the stream ahead, and a horrid sight it was. far as the eye could see was a reach of foaming rapids. dark points of rocks, and huge black boulders, thickly scattered in the channel, jutted above the surface; and around and against these, the water frothed and hissed furiously. there was no cataract, it is true--there is none such in red river--but for all purposes of destruction the rapids before them were equally dangerous and terrible to the eyes of our voyageurs. they no longer thought of the swans. the dead were permitted to float down unheeded, the wounded to make its escape. their only thought was to stop the canoe before it should be carried upon the rapids. with this intent all had taken to the oars, but in spite of every exertion they soon found that the light craft had got within the influence of the strong current, and was sucked downward more rapidly than ever. their backward strokes were to no purpose. in a few seconds the canoe had passed over the first stage of the rapids, and shot down with the velocity of an arrow. a huge boulder lay directly in the middle of the channel, and against this the current broke with fury, laving its sides in foaming masses. the canoe was hurried to this point; and as the light was again turned up-stream, none of the voyageurs could see this dangerous rock. but they could not have shunned it then. the boat had escaped from their control, and spun round at will. the rock once more came under the light, but just as the canoe, with a heavy crash, was driven against it. for some moments the vessel, pressed by the current against the rock, remained motionless, but her sides were stove in, and the water was rushing through. the quick eye of basil--cool in all crises of extreme danger--perceived this at a glance. he saw that the canoe was a wreck, and nothing remained but to save themselves as they best might. dropping the oar, and seizing his rifle, he called to his companions to leap to the rock: and all together immediately sprang over the gunwale. the dog marengo followed after. the canoe, thus lightened, heeled round into the current, and swept on. the next moment she struck another rock, and was carried over on her beams. the water then rushed in--the white bodies of the swans, with the robes, blankets, and implements, rose on the wave; the blazing knots were spilled from the pan, and fell with a hissing sound: and a few seconds after they were extinguished, and all was darkness! the young voyageurs--by captain mayne reid chapter seven. a bridge of buckskin. the canoe was lost, and all it had contained, or nearly all. the voyageurs had saved only their guns, knives, and the powder-horns and pouches, that had been attached to their persons. one other thing had been saved--an axe which basil had flung upon the rock as he stepped out of the sinking vessel. all the rest--robes, blankets, swans, cooking utensils, bags of provisions, such as coffee, flour, and dried meat-- were lost--irrecoverably lost. these had either drifted off upon the surface, or been carried under water and hidden among the loose stones at the bottom. no matter where, they were lost; and our voyageurs now stood on a small naked rock in the middle of the stream, with nothing left but the clothes upon their backs, and the arms in their hands. such was their condition. there was something so sudden and awful in the mishap that had befallen them, that for some minutes they stood upon the spot where they had settled without moving or addressing a word to one another. they gazed after the canoe. they knew that it was wrecked, although they could see nothing either of it or its contents. thick darkness enveloped them, rendered more intense from the sudden extinction of the torchlight. they saw nothing but the foam flickering along the river; like the ghosts of the swans they had killed, and they heard only the roaring of the water, that sounded in their ears with a hoarse and melancholy wail. for a long time they stood impressed with the lamentable condition into which the accident had plunged them; and a lamentable condition it was, sure enough. they were on a small rock in the midst of a rapid river. they were in the midst of a great wilderness too, many long miles from a settlement. the nearest could only be reached by travelling through pathless forests, and over numerous and deep rivers. impassable swamps, and lakes with marshy shores, lay on the route, and barred the direct course, and all this journey would have to be made on foot. but none of our young voyageurs were of that stamp to yield themselves to despair. one and all of them had experienced perils before--greater even than that in which they now stood. as soon, therefore, as they became fully satisfied that their little vessel was wrecked, and all its contents scattered, instead of despairing, their first thoughts were how to make the best of their situation. for that night, at least, they were helpless. they could not leave the rock. it was surrounded by rapids. sharp, jagged points peeped out of the water, and between these the current rushed with impetuosity. in the darkness no human being could have crossed to either shore in safety. to attempt it would have been madness, and our voyageurs soon came to this conclusion. they had no other choice than to remain where they were until the morning; so, seating themselves upon the rock, they prepared to pass the night. they sat huddled close together. they could not lie down--there was not room enough for that. they kept awake most of the night, one or other of them, overcome by fatigue, occasionally nodding over in a sort of half-sleep, but awakening again after a few minutes' uncomfortable dreaming. they talked but little, as the noise of the rushing rapids rendered conversation painful. to be heard, they were under the necessity of shouting to one another, like passengers in an omnibus. it was cold, too. none of them had been much wetted in escaping from the canoe; but they had saved neither overcoat, blanket, nor buffalo-robe; and, although it was now late in the spring, the nights near lake winnipeg, even at that season, are chilly. they were above the latitude of degrees; and although in england, which is on that parallel, it is not very cold of a spring night, it must be remembered that the line of equal temperature--in the language of meteorologists the "_isothermal line_,"--is of a much lower latitude in america than in europe. another fact worth remembering is, that upon the eastern or atlantic coast of the american continent it is much colder in the same latitude than on the western or pacific side. the pacific "sea-board" in its climate is more like the western edge of the old continent. this would seem to indicate that the climate of a coast country is much influenced by the side upon which the ocean lies, whether east or west. this in reality is the case, for you may observe on your map that the western coasts of both the "old world" and the "new" are somewhat similarly placed in regard to their oceans, and hence the similarity of their climates. there are many other causes connected with this; such as the direction of winds, and the different effects produced by them on the atmosphere when they have passed over water or over land. it was, and is still by many people believed, that the winds are produced by the air becoming heated in a particular place, and then ascending, and leaving a "vacuum" into which the colder air rushes from all sides around. this "rushing," it was supposed, made the wind. to some extent this theory is true, but there are several other causes that operate in producing wind. electricity--an agent hitherto but little known, but one of the most important elements of our earth--has much to do with the winds; and the revolution of the earth on its own axis has also an influence upon them. indeed it is to be wondered at, that mankind should have so long remained satisfied with the very unsatisfactory theory of the _heated air_. but it is not to be wondered at either, when we consider how little mankind has had to do with these things--when we consider that as yet nearly every country upon the face of the globe is despotic; that the whole time of the great body of the people is occupied in a struggle for life--occupied in toiling for a few, who by the most cunning devices rob them of the fruits of their toils--rob them so skilfully that the poor blinded masses have grown to consider eternal toil as the _natural state of man_--nay more, are ready to persecute him who would elevate them, and worship him who would sink them deeper in baseness and bondage;--when we reflect on this almost hopeless darkness of soul that has marked the history of the past, and is too much the character of the present, we need not wonder that so few have had either leisure or inclination to yield themselves to the acquirement or prosecution of scientific knowledge. "the winds have blown where they listed, and we have heard the sound thereof," but men absorbed in the hard struggle of life have found but little time to inquire "whence they come or whither they go." the people of the united states are yet but partially free. they still inherit, from customs and prejudices, the fruits of an ancestral oppression, and a bondage of centuries of duration. but even their _partial_ freedom has already shown its good effects. at this moment knowledge is progressing faster among these people than any other on the face of the earth. meteorology begins to assume the palpable shape of an exact science. the winds are being traced in their currents, and followed through all their windings, by maury and other men of talent; and if you live twenty years longer (and i hope you may live three times as many years), you will no doubt be able to tell "whence the wind cometh and whither it goeth." well, we began this politico-scientific discussion by observing that it was very cold in the latitude of lake winnipeg, even in late spring. only at night though; the days are sometimes so hot there that you might fancy yourself in the tropics. these extremes are characteristic of the climate of all american countries, and particularly those that lie at a distance from the sea-coast. our voyageurs were chilled to the very bones, and of course glad to see the daylight glimmering through the tops of the trees that grew upon the banks of the river. as soon as day broke, they began to consider how they would reach those trees. although swimming a river of that width would have been to any of the four a mere bagatelle, they saw that it was not to be so easy an affair. had they been upon either bank, they could have crossed to the other without difficulty--as they would have chosen a place where the water was comparatively still. on the rock they had no choice, as the rapids extended on both sides above and below it. between the boulders the current rushed so impetuously, that had they attempted to swim to either bank, they would have been carried downward, and perhaps dashed with violence against one or other of the sharp stones. as soon as it was light, they saw all this; not without feelings of apprehension and uneasiness. their whole attention was now occupied with the one object--how they should get to the bank of the river. the right bank was the more distant; but the passage in that direction appeared the easier one. the current was not so swift, nor yet did it seem so deep. they thought they might ford it, and basil made the attempt; but he soon got beyond his depth; and was obliged, after being carried off his feet, to swim up under the lee of the rock again. from the rock to the right bank was about an hundred yards' distance. here and there, at irregular intervals, sharp, jagged stones rose above the surface, some of them projecting three feet or more out of the water, and looking _very_ much like upright tombstones. lucien had noticed these, and expressed the opinion that if they only had a rope, they might fling it over one of these stones, and then, holding it fast at the other end, might pass by that means from one to the other. the suggestion was a good one, but where was the rope to come from? all their ropes and cords--lassoes and all--had been swept away in the wreck. not a string remained, except those that fastened their horns, flasks, and other accoutrements; and these were only small thongs, and would be of no use for such a purpose. it would require a rope strong enough to carry the weight of a man impelled by a rapid current--in fact, a weight equal to that of several men. they all set to thinking how this was to be obtained. each looked at the other, and scanned the straps and thongs that were around their bodies. they were satisfied at a glance that these would not be sufficient to make such a rope as was wanted. they did not give up the hope of being able to obtain one. they were all of them accustomed to resort to strange expedients, and a sufficiently strange one now suggested itself. basil and norman seemed to have thought of it at the same time, for both at once unbuckled their straps, and commenced pulling off their buckskin hunting-shirts. the others said nothing, as they knew well what they were going to do with them--they knew they intended cutting them into strips, and then twisting a rope out of them. all four set to work together. lucien and francois held the shirts taut, while basil and norman handled the knives, and in a few minutes the rock was covered with strips of buckskin about two inches wide, by a yard or so in length. these were next joined and plaited together in such a manner that a rope was formed nearly forty feet long. an eye was made at one end, and through this the other end was reeved--so that a running noose was obtained, in the same manner as the mexicans and indians make their lassoes. the rope was now ready for use, and basil was the very hand to use it; for basil knew how to fling a lasso as well as either mexican or indian. he had practised it often, and had lassoed many a long-horned bull upon the prairies of opelousas and the attakapas. to basil, therefore, the rope was given. he placed himself on the highest part of the rock, having first coiled the new-made lasso, and hung the coil lightly over his left arm. he then took the noose-end in his right hand, and commenced winding it around his head. his companions had laid themselves flat, so as not to be in the way of the noose as it circled about. after a few turns the rope was launched forth, and a loud "hurrah!" from francois announced that the throw was successful. it was so in fact, as the noose was seen settling smoothly over the jutting-stone, taking full hold upon it. a pull from basil fixed it; and in a few minutes it was made quite fast, without the slightest danger of its slipping off. the other end was then carried round a projecting point of the rock on which they stood, and knotted firmly, so that the rope was quite taut, and stretched in a nearly horizontal direction, about a foot above the surface of the water. the voyageurs now prepared to cross over. their guns, pouches, and flasks were carefully secured, so that the water could not damage them. then each took a piece of the buckskin thong, and fastened it round his waist, leaving enough to form a running loop. this loop was intended to embrace the rope, and run along it, as they drew themselves forward by their hands. basil passed over first. he was the oldest, and, as he asserted, it was but right he should run the risk in testing the new-fashioned bridge, of which he was the architect. it worked admirably, and sustained the weight of his body, with the whole force of the current acting upon it. of course he was swept far down, and the rope was stretched to its full tension, but he succeeded in handing himself along, until he was able to touch the second rock, and clamber upon it in safety. during the passage across he was watched by his companions with emotions of no ordinary character, but as soon as he had reached the opposite end of the rope all three uttered a loud and simultaneous cheer. lucien passed over next, and after him francois. notwithstanding his danger, francois laughed loudly all the time he was in the water, while his brothers were not without some fears for his safety. marengo was next attached to the rope, and pulled safely over. norman was the last to cross upon the buckskin bridge, but, like the others, he landed in safety; and the four, with the dog, now stood upon the little isolated boulder, where there was just room enough to give them all a footing. a difficulty now presented itself, which they had not hitherto thought of. another reach of rapid current was to be crossed, before they could safely trust themselves to enter the water. this they knew before, but they had also noticed that there was another jutting rock, upon which they might fling their rope. but the rope itself was now the difficulty. it was fast at both ends, and how were they to release it from the rock they had left? one of them could easily cross over again and untie it, but how was he to get back to the others? here was a dilemma which had not presented itself before, and they now saw themselves no better off than ever. the rapid that remained to be crossed, was as dangerous as the one they had succeeded in passing. there was no hope that they could swim it in safety. they would certainly be swept with violence against the rocks below. there was no chance, then, of their going an inch farther--unless by some means similar to that they had just used, and the rope was no longer at their service. for some time they all stood silent, each considering the matter in his own way. how could they free the rope? "it cannot be done," said one. "impossible," rejoined another. "we must make a second rope. francois's shirt still remains, and our leggings--we can use them." this was the mode suggested by francois and norman, and lucien seemed to assent to it. they had already commenced untying their leggings, when basil uttered the ejaculation-- "stop!" "well, what is it, brother?" asked lucien. "i think i can free the rope at the other end. at all events, let me try. it will not cost much, either in time or trouble." "how do you mean to do it, brother?" "sit close, all of you. give me room--you shall see presently." as directed by basil, they all cowered closely down, so as to occupy as little space as possible. basil, having uncovered the lock of his rifle--which had been carefully bound up in a piece of deer's bladder-- placed himself in a firm position, and appeared as if about to fire. such was his intention--for in a few moments he was seen to raise the gun to his shoulder, and take aim. none of his companions uttered a word. they had already guessed the object of this movement, and sat silently awaiting the result. on the rock which they had left, the rope still bound fast passed around one of the angles, in such a way that, from the point where basil stood, it offered a fair mark. it was at this basil was aiming. his object was to cut the thong with his bullet. he could not do it with a single shot, as the thong was broader than the bullet, but he had calculated that he might effect his purpose with several. if he did not succeed in cutting it clean through, the ball flattening upon the rock would, perhaps, tear the rope in such a manner that, by pulling by the other end, they might detach it. such were the calculations and hopes of basil. a moment more and the crack of his rifle was heard. at the same instant the dust rose up from the point at which he had aimed, and several small fragments flew off into the water. again was heard francois's "hurrah," for francois, as well as the others, had seen that the rope had been hit at the right place, and now exhibited a mangled appearance. while basil was reloading, norman took aim and fired. norman was a good shot, though perhaps not so good a one as basil, for that was no easy matter, as there were few such marksmen to be found anywhere, not even among the professional trappers and hunters themselves. but norman was a fair shot, and this time hit his mark. the thong was evidently better than half divided by the two; bullets. seeing this, francois took hold of the other end, and gave it a strong jerk or two, but it was still too much for him, and he ceased pulling, and waited the effect of basil's second shot. the latter had now reloaded, and, taking deliberate aim again, fired. the rope was still held taut upon the rock, for part of it dragged in the current, the force of which kept pressing it hard downward. scarcely was the report heard, when the farther end of the thong flew from its fastening, and, swept by the running water, was seen falling into the lee of the boulder on which the party now stood. a third time was heard the voice of francois uttering one of his customary "hurrahs." the rope was now dragged up, and made ready for further use. basil again took hold of it; and, after coiling it as before, succeeded in throwing the noose over the third rock, where it settled and held fast. the other end was tied as before, and all passed safely to the new station. here, however, their labour ended. they found that from this point to the shore the river was shallow, and fordable; and, leaving the rope where it was, all four took the water, and waded safely to the bank. chapter eight. decoying the "goats." for the present, then, our voyageurs had escaped. they were safe upon the river's bank; but when we consider the circumstances in which they were placed, we shall perceive that they were far from being pleasant ones. they were in the midst of a wilderness, without either horse or boat to carry them out of it. they had lost everything but their arms and their axe. the hunting-shirts of some of them, as we have seen, were destroyed, and they would now suffer from the severe cold that even in summer, as we have said, often reigns in these latitudes. not a vessel was left them for cooking with, and not a morsel of meat or anything was left to be cooked. for their future subsistence they would have to depend upon their guns, which, with their ammunition, they had fortunately preserved. after reaching the shore, their first thoughts were about procuring something to eat. they had now been a long time without food, and all four were hungry enough. as if by one impulse, all cast their eyes around, and looked upward among the branches of the tree's, to see if any animal could be discovered that might serve them for a meal. bird or quadruped, it mattered not, so that it was large enough to give the four a breakfast. but neither one nor the other was to be seen, although the woods around had a promising appearance. the trees were large, and as there was much underwood, consisting of berry-bushes and plants with edible roots, our voyageurs did not doubt that there would be found game in abundance. it was agreed, then, that lucien and francois should remain on the spot and kindle a fire, while basil and norman went off in search of something to be cooked upon it. in less than an hour the latter returned, carrying an animal upon his shoulders, which both the boys recognised as an old acquaintance,--the prong-horned antelope (_antilope furcifer_), so called from the single fork or prong upon its horns. norman called it "a goat," and stated that this was its name among the fur-traders, while the canadian voyageurs give it the title of "cabree." lucien, however, knew the animal well. he knew it was not of the goat kind, but a true antelope, and the only animal of that genus found in north america. its habitat is the prairie country, and at the present time it is not found farther east than the prairies extend, nor farther north either, as it is not a creature that can bear extreme cold. in early times, however--that is, nearly two centuries ago--it must have ranged nearly to the atlantic shores, as father hennepin in his travels speaks of "goats" being killed in the neighbourhood of niagara, meaning no other than the prong-horned antelopes. the true wild goat of america is a very different animal, and is only found in the remote regions of the rocky mountains. what norman had shot, then, was an antelope; and the reason why it is called "cabree" by the voyageurs, and "goat" by the fur-traders, is partly from its colour resembling that of the common goat, but more from the fact, that along the upper part of its neck there is a standing mane, which does in truth give it somewhat the appearance of the european goat. another point of resemblance lies in the fact, that the "prong-horns" emit the same disagreeable odour, which is a well-known characteristic of the goat species. this proceeds from two small glandular openings that lie at the angles of the jaws, and appear spots of a blackish brown colour. both lucien and francois had shot antelopes. they had decoyed them within range in their former expedition on the prairies, and had seen wolves do the same. the indians usually hunt them in this manner, by holding up some bright-coloured flag, or other curious object, which rarely fails to bring them within shot; but norman informed his cousins that the indians of the hudson's bay company care little about the antelope, and rarely think it worth hunting. its skin is of little value to them, and they consider its flesh but indifferent eating. but the chief reason why they take so little notice of it is, because it is found in the same range with the buffalo, the moose, and the elk; and, as all these animals are more valuable to the indian hunter, he allows the antelope to go unmolested, unless when he is hard pressed with hunger, and none of the others are to be had. while skinning the antelope for breakfast, norman amused his companions by relating how he had killed it. he said that he had got near enough to shoot it by practising a "dodge." after travelling through the woods for some half-mile or so, he had come out into a country of "openings," and saw that there was a large prairie beyond. he saw that the woods extended no farther than about a mile from the banks of the river, and that the whole country beyond was without timber, except in scattered clumps. this is, in fact, true of the red river country, particularly of its western part, from which the great prairies stretch westward, even to the "foot-hills" (_piedmont_) of the rocky mountains. well, then, after arriving at the openings, norman espied a small herd of antelopes, about ten or a dozen in all. he would rather they had been something else, as elk or deer; for, like the indians, he did not much relish the "goat's" meat. he was too hungry, however, to be nice, and so he set about trying to get within shot of the herd. there was no cover, and he knew he could not approach near enough without using some stratagem. he therefore laid himself flat upon his back, and raised his heels as high as he could into the air. these he kicked about in such a manner, as soon to attract the attention of the antelopes, that, curious to make out what it was, commenced running round and round in circles, of which norman himself was the centre. the circles gradually became smaller and smaller, until the hunter saw that his game was within range; when, slyly rolling himself round on one shoulder, he took aim at a buck, and fired. the buck fell, and the rest of the herd bounded off like the wind. norman feeling hungry himself, and knowing that his companions were suffering from the same cause, lost no time in looking for other game; but shouldering the "goat," carried it into camp. by this time lucien and francois had a fire kindled--a roaring fire of "pine-knots"--and both were standing by it, smoking all over in their wet leggings. they had got nearly dry when norman returned, and they proceeded to assist in butchering the antelope. the skin was whipped off in a trice; and the venison, cut into steaks and ribs, was soon spitted and sputtering cheerily in the blaze of the pine-knots. everything looked pleasant and promising, and it only wanted the presence of basil to make them all feel quite happy again. basil, however, did not make his appearance; and as they were all as hungry as wolves, they could not wait for him, but set upon the antelope-venison, and made each of them a hearty meal from it. as yet they had no apprehensions about basil. they supposed he had not met with any game, and was still travelling about in search of it. should he succeed in killing any, he would bring it in; and should he not, he would return in proper time without it. it was still early in the day. but several hours passed over, and he did not come. it was an unusual length of time for him to be absent, especially in strange woods of which he knew nothing; moreover, he was in his shirt-sleeves, and the rest of his clothing had been dripping wet when he set out. under these circumstances would he remain so long, unless something unpleasant had happened to him? this question the three began to ask one another. they began to grow uneasy about their absent companion; and as the hours passed on without his appearing, their uneasiness increased to serious alarm. they at length resolved to go in search of him. they took different directions, so that there would be a better chance of finding him. norman struck out into the woods, while lucien and francois, followed by the dog marengo, kept down the bank--thinking that if basil had got lost, he would make for the river to guide him, as night approached. all were to return to the camp at nightfall whether successful or not. after several hours spent in traversing the woods and openings, norman came back. he had been unable to find any traces of their missing companion. the others had got back before him. they heard his story with sorrowing hearts, for neither had they fallen in with the track of living creature. basil was lost, beyond a doubt. he would never have stayed so long, had not some accident happened to him. perhaps he was dead--killed by some wild animal--a panther or a bear. perhaps he had met with indians, who had carried him off, or put him to death on the spot. such were the painful conjectures of his companions. it was now night. all three sat mournfully over the fire, their looks and gestures betokening the deep dejection they felt. although in need of repose, none of them attempted to go to sleep. at intervals they discussed the probability of his return, and then they would remain silent. nothing could be done that night. they could only await the morning light, when they would renew their search, and scour the country in every direction. it was near midnight, and they were sitting silently around the fire, when marengo started to his feet, and uttered three or four loud barks. the echoes of these had hardly died among the trees when a shrill whistle was heard at some distance off in the woods. "hurrah!" shouted francois, leaping to his feet at the instant; "that's basil's whistle, i'll be bound. i'd know it a mile off. hurrah!" francois' "hurrah!" rang through the woods, and the next moment came back a loud "hilloa!" which all recognised as the voice of basil. "hilloa!" shouted the three by the fire. "hilloa, my boys! all right!" replied the voice; and a few seconds after, the tall upright form of basil himself was seen advancing, under the glare of the pine-knots. a shout of congratulation was again raised; and all the party, preceded by marengo, rushed out to meet the new-comer. they soon returned, bringing basil up to the fire, when it was seen that he had not returned empty-handed. in one hand he carried a bag of grouse, or "prairie hens," while from the muzzle of his shouldered rifle there hung something that was at once recognised as a brace of buffalo tongues. "_voila_!" cried basil, flinging down the bag, "how are you off for supper? and here," continued he, pointing to the tongues, "here's a pair of tit-bits that'll make you lick your lips. come! let us lose no time in the cooking, for i'm hungry enough to eat either of them raw." basil's request was instantly complied with. the fire was raked up, spits were speedily procured, a tongue and one of the grouse were roasted; and although lucien, francois, and norman, had already supped on the "goat's meat," they set to upon the new viands with fresh appetites. basil was hungrier than any, for he had been all the while fasting. it was not because he was without meat, but because he knew that his comrades would be uneasy about him, and he would not stop to cook it. of meat he had enough, since he had slain the two buffaloes to which the tongues had belonged; and these same buffaloes, he now informed them, had been the cause of his long absence. of course, all were eager to know how the buffaloes could have delayed him; and therefore, while they were discussing their savoury supper, basil narrated the details of his day's adventure. chapter nine. a "partridge dance." "after leaving here," said basil, "i struck off through the woods in a line that led from the river, in a diagonal direction. i hadn't walked more than three hundred yards, when i heard a drumming sound, which i at first took to be thunder; but, after listening a while, i knew it was not that, but the drumming of the ruffed grouse. as soon as i could ascertain the direction of the sound, i hurried on in that way; but for a long time i appeared to get no nearer it, so greatly does this sound deceive one. i should think i walked a full mile before i arrived at the place where the birds were, for there were many of them. i then had a full view of them, as they went through their singular performances. "there were, in all, about a score. they had selected a piece of open and level ground, and over this they were running in a circle, about twenty feet in diameter. they did not all run in the same direction, but met and crossed each other, although they never deviated much from the circumference of the circle, around which the grass was worn quite bare, and a ring upon the turf looked baked and black. when i first got near, they heard my foot among the leaves, and i saw that one and all of them stopped running, and squatted close down. i halted, and hid myself behind a tree. after remaining quiet a minute or so, the birds began to stretch up their necks, and then all rose together to their feet, and commenced running round the ring as before. i knew they were performing what is called the `partridge dance;' and as i had never witnessed it i held back awhile, and looked on. even hungry as i was, and as i knew all of you to be, so odd were the movements of these creatures, that i could not resist watching them a while, before i sent my unwelcome messenger into their `ballroom.' now and then an old cock would separate from the pack, and running out to some distance, would leap upon a rock that was there; then, after dropping his wings, flirting with his spread tail, erecting the ruff upon his neck, and throwing back his head, he would swell and strut upon the rock, exhibiting himself like a diminutive turkey-cock. after manoeuvring in this way for a few moments, he would commence flapping his wings in short quick strokes, which grew more rapid as he proceeded, until a `booming' sound was produced, more like the rumble of distant thunder than anything i can think of. "this appeared to be a challenge to the others; and then a second would come out, and, after replying to it by putting himself through a similar series of attitudes, the two would attack each other, and fight with all the fury of a pair of game-cocks. "i could have watched their manoeuvres much longer," continued basil, "but hunger got the better of me, and i made ready to fire. those that were `dancing' moved so quickly round the ring that i could not sight one of them. if i had had a shot-gun, i might have covered several, but with the rifle i could not hope for more than a single bird; so, wanting to make sure of that, i waited until an old cock mounted the rock, and got to `drumming.' then i sighted him, and sent my bullet through his crop. i heard the loud whirr of the pack as they rose up from the ring; and, marking them, i saw that they all alighted only a couple of hundred yards off, upon a large spruce-tree. hoping they would sit there until i could get another shot, i loaded as quickly as possible, and stepped forward. the course i took brought me past the one i had killed, which i picked up, and thrust hastily into my bag. beyond this i had to pass over some logs that lay along the ground, with level spaces between them. what was my surprise in getting among these, to see two of the cocks down upon the grass, and righting so desperately that they took no notice of my approach! at first i threw up my rifle, intending to fire, but seeing that the birds were within a few feet of me, i thought they might let me lay hold of them, which they, in fact, did; for the next moment i had `grabbed' both of them, and cooled their bellicose spirits by wringing their heads off. "i now proceeded to the pack, that still kept the tree. when near enough, i sheltered myself behind another tree; and taking aim at one, i brought him tumbling to the ground. the others sat still. of course, i shot the one upon the lowest branch: i knew that, so long as i did this, the others would sit until i might get the whole of them; but that if i shot one of the upper ones, its fluttering down through the branches would alarm the rest, and cause them to fly off. i loaded and fired, and loaded and fired, until half-a-dozen of the birds lay around the root of the tree. i believe i could have killed the whole pack, but it just then occurred to me that i was wasting our precious ammunition, and that, considering the value of powder and shot to us just now, the birds were hardly worth a load apiece; so i left off cracking at them. as i stepped forward to gather what i had killed, the rest whirred away into the woods. "on reaching the tree where they had perched, i was very much surprised to find a raw-hide rope neatly coiled up, and hanging from one of the lower branches. i knew that somebody must have placed it there, and i looked round to see what `sign' there was besides. my eye fell upon the cinders of an old fire near the foot of the tree; and i could tell that some indians had made their camp by it. it must have been a good while ago, as the ashes were beaten into the ground by the rain, and, moreover, some young plants were springing up through them. i concluded, therefore, that whoever had camped there had hung the rope upon the tree, and on leaving the place had forgotten it. i took the rope down to examine it: it was no other than a lasso, full fifty feet long, with an iron ring neatly whipped into the loop-end; and, on trying it with a pull, i saw it was in the best condition. of course, i was not likely to leave such a prize behind me. i had grown, as you may all conceive, to have a very great regard for a rope, considering that one had just saved all our lives; so i resolved on bringing the lasso with me. in order to carry it the more conveniently, i coiled it, and then hung the coil across my shoulders like a belt. i next packed my game into the bag, which they filled chock up to the mouth, and was turning to come back to camp, when my eye fell upon an object that caused me suddenly to change my intention. "i was near the edge of the woods, and through the trunks i could see a large open space beyond, where there were no trees, or only one here and there. in the middle of this opening there was a cloud of dust, and in the thick of it i could see two great dark animals in motion. they were running about, and now and then coming together with a sudden rush; and every time they did so, i could hear a loud thump, like the stroke of a sledgehammer. the sun was shining upon the yellow dust-cloud, and the animals appeared from this circumstance to be of immense size--much larger than they really were. had i not known what kind of creatures were before me, i should have believed that the mammoths were still in existence. but i knew well what they were: i had seen many before, carrying on just such a game. i knew they were buffalo bulls, engaged in one of their terrible battles." here basil's narrative was interrupted by a singular incident. indeed, it had been interrupted more than once by strange noises that were heard at some distance off in the woods. these noises were not all alike: at one time they resembled the barking of a cur dog; at another, they might have been mistaken for the gurglings of a person who was being hanged; and then would follow a shriek so dreadful that for some time the woods would echo with its dismal sound! after the shriek a laugh would be heard, but a miserable "haw-haw-haw!" unlike the laugh of a sane person. all these strange voices were calculated to inspire terror, and so have they many a time, with travellers not accustomed to the solitary woods of america. but our young voyageurs were not at all alarmed by them. they knew from what sort of a creature they proceeded; they knew they were the varying notes of the great horned-owl (_strix virginiana_); and as they had seen and heard many a one before, they paid no heed to this individual. while basil was going on with his relation, the bird had been several times seen to glide past, and circle around upon his noiseless pinions. so easy was his flight, that the slightest inclining of his spread tail, or the bending of his broad wing, seemed sufficient to turn and carry him in any direction. nothing could be more graceful than his flight, which was not unlike that of the eagle, while he was but little inferior in size to one of these noble birds. what interrupted basil was, that the owl had alighted upon a branch not twenty feet from where they were all sitting round the fire, by the blaze of which they now had a full view of this singular creature. the moment it alighted, it commenced uttering its hideous and unmusical cries, at the same time going through such a variety of contortions, both with its head and body, as to cause the whole party a fit of laughter. it was, in fact, an odd and interesting sight to witness its grotesque movements, as it turned first its body, and then its head around, without moving the shoulders, while its great honey-coloured eyes glared in the light of the fire. at the end of every attitude and utterance, it would snap its bill with such violence, that the cracking of the mandibles upon each other might have been heard to the distance of several hundred yards. this was too much for francois' patience to bear, and he immediately crept to his gun. he had got hold of the piece, and cocked it; but, just as he was about to take aim, the owl dropped silently down from the branch, and, gliding gently forward, thrust out its feathered leg, and lifted one of the grouse in its talons. the latter had been lying upon the top of a fallen tree not six feet from the fire! the owl, after clutching it, rose into the air; and the next moment would have been lost in darkness, but the crack of francois' rifle put a sudden stop to its flight, and with the grouse still clinging to its claws it fell fluttering to the earth. marengo jumped forward to seize it; but marengo little knew the sort of creature he had to deal with. it happened to be only "winged," and as soon as the dog came near, it threw itself upon its back, and struck at him with its talons so wickedly, that he was fain to approach it with more caution. it cost marengo a considerable fight before he succeeded in getting his jaws over it. during the contest it continually snapped its bill, while its great goggle eyes kept alternately and quickly opening and closing, and the feathers being erected all over its body, gave it the appearance of being twice its real size. marengo at length succeeded in "crunching" it--although not until he was well scratched about the snout--and its useless carcass having been thrown upon the ground, the dog continued to worry and chew at it, while basil went on with his narration. chapter ten. basil and the bison-bull. "as soon as i saw the buffaloes," continued basil, "my first thought was to get near, and have a shot at them. they were worth a charge of powder and lead, and i reflected that if i could kill but one of them, it would ensure us against hunger for a couple of weeks to come. so i hung my game-bag to the branch of a tree, and set about approaching them. i saw that the wind was in my favour, and there was no danger of their scenting me. but there was no cover near them--the ground was as level as a table, and there was not a score of trees upon as many acres. it was no use crawling up, and i did not attempt it, but walked straight forward, treading lightly as i went. in five minutes, i found myself within good shooting range. neither of the bulls had noticed me. they were too busy with one another, and in all my life i never saw two creatures fighting in such earnest. they were foaming at the mouth, and the steam poured out of their nostrils incessantly. at times, they would back from each other like a pair of rams, and then rush together head-foremost, until their skulls cracked with the terrible collision. one would have fancied that they would break them at every fresh encounter, but i knew the thickness of a buffalo's skull before that time. i remember having fired a musket at one that stood fronting me not more than six feet distant, when, to my surprise, the bullet flattened and fell to the ground before the nose of the buffalo! the creature was not less astonished than myself, as up to that time it had not seen me. "well," continued basil after a pause, "i did not stop long to watch the battle of the bison-bulls. i was not curious about that. i had seen such many a time. i was thinking about the meat; and i paused just long enough to select the one that appeared to have the most fat upon his flanks, when i drew up my rifle and fired. i aimed for the heart, and my aim was a true one, for the animal came to its knees along with the crack. just at that moment the other was charging upon it, and, to my surprise, it continued to run on, until striking the wounded one full butt upon the forehead, it knocked the latter right over upon its side; where, after giving half-a-dozen kicks, it lay quite dead. "the remaining bull had dashed some paces beyond the spot, and now turned round again to renew his attack. on seeing his antagonist stretched out and motionless, he seemed to be as much astonished as i was. at first, no doubt, he fancied himself the author of a grand _coup_, for it was plain that up to this time he had neither noticed my presence, nor the report of the rifle. the bellowing noise that both were making had drowned the latter; and the dust, together with the long shaggy tufts that hung over his eyes, had prevented him from seeing anything more than his rival, with whom he was engaged. now that the other was no longer able to stand before him, and thinking it was himself that had done the deed, he tossed up his head and snorted in triumph. at this moment, the matted hair was thrown back from his eyes, and the dust having somewhat settled away, he sighted me, where i stood reloading my gun. i fancied he would take off before i could finish, and i made all the haste in my power--so much so that i dropped the box of caps at my feet. i had taken one out, however, and hurriedly adjusted it, thinking to myself, as i did so, that the box might lie where it was until i had finished the job. i brought the piece to my shoulder, when, to my surprise, the bull, instead of running away, as i had expected, set his head, and uttering one of his terrible bellows, came rushing towards me. i fired, but the shot was a random one, and though it hit him in the snout, it did not in the least disable him. instead of keeping him off, it only seemed to irritate him the more, and his fury was now at its height. "i had no time to load again. he was within a few feet of me when i fired, and it was with difficulty that, by leaping to one side, i avoided his horns; but i did so, and he passed me with such violence that i felt the ground shake under his heavy tread. "he wheeled immediately, and made at me a second time. i knew that if he once touched me i was gone. his horns were set, and his eyes glared with a terrible earnestness. i rushed towards the body of the buffalo that lay near, hoping that this might assist me in avoiding the onset. it did so, for, as he dashed forward over it, he became entangled among the limbs, and again charged without striking me. he turned, however, as quick as thought, and again rushed bellowing upon me. there was a tree near at hand. i had noticed it before, but i could not tell whether i should have time to reach it. i was now somewhat nearer it, and, fearing that i might not be able to dodge the furious brute any longer upon the ground, i struck out for the tree. you may be sure i did my best at running. i heard the bull coming after, but before he could overtake me, i had got to the root of the tree. it was my intention, at first, only to take shelter behind the trunk; but when i had got there, i noticed that there were some low branches, and catching one of these i swung myself up among them. "the bull passed under me with a rush--almost touching my feet as i hung by the branch--but i was soon safely lodged in a fork, and out of his reach. "my next thought was to load my gun, and fire at him from my perch, and, with this intention, i commenced loading. i had no fear but that he would give me an opportunity, for he kept round the tree, and at times attacked the trunk, butting and goring it with his horns, and all the while bellowing furiously. the tree was a small one, and it shook so, that i began to fear it might break down. i therefore made all the haste i could to get in the load, expecting soon to put an end to his attacks. i succeeded at length in ramming down the bullet, and was just turning the gun to put on a cap, when i recollected that the cap-box was still lying on the ground where it had fallen! the sudden attack of the animal had prevented me from taking it up. my caps were all within that box, and my gun, loaded though it was, was as useless in my hands as a bar of iron. to get at the caps would be quite impossible. i dared not descend from the tree. the infuriated bull still kept pacing under it, now going round and round, and occasionally stopping for a moment and looking angrily up. "my situation was anything but a pleasant one. i began to fear that i might not be permitted to escape at all. the bull seemed to be most pertinacious in his vengeance. i could have shot him in the back, or the neck, or where i liked, if i had only had one cap. he was within three feet of the muzzle of my rifle; but what of that when i could not get the gun to go off? after a while i thought of making some tinder paper, and then trying to `touch off' the piece with it, but a far better plan at that moment came into my head. while i was fumbling about my bullet-pouch to get at my flint and steel, of course my fingers came into contact with the lasso which was still hanging around my shoulders. it was this that suggested my plan, which was no other than to _lasso the bull, and tie him to the tree_! "i lost no time in carrying it into execution. i uncoiled the rope, and first made one end fast to the trunk. the other was the loop-end, and reeving it through the ring, i held it in my right hand while i leaned over and watched my opportunity. it was not long before a good one offered. the bull still continued his angry demonstrations below, and passed round and round. it was no new thing for me to fling a lasso, and at the first pitch i had the satisfaction of seeing the noose pass over the bison's head, and settle in a proper position behind his horns. i then gave it a twitch, so as to tighten it, and after that i ran the rope over a branch, and thus getting `a purchase' upon it, i pulled it with all my might. "as soon as the bull felt the strange cravat around his neck, he began to plunge and `rout' with violence, and at length ran furiously out from the tree. but he soon came to the end of his tether; and the quick jerk, which caused the tree itself to crack, brought him to his haunches, while the noose tightening on his throat was fast strangling him. but for the thick matted hair it would have done so, but this saved him, and he continued to sprawl and struggle at the end of the rope. the tree kept on cracking, and as i began to fear that it might give way and precipitate me to the ground, i thought it better to slip down. i ran direct to where i had dropped the caps; and, having got hold of the box, i soon had one upon my gun. i then stole cautiously back, and while the bison was hanging himself as fast as he could, i brought his struggles to a period by sending a bullet through his ribs. "as it was quite night when i had finished the business, of course i could not stay to butcher the bulls. i knew that you would be wondering what kept me, so i cut out the tongues, and coming by the place where i had left the grouse, brought them along. i left a `scare-wolf' over both the bulls, however, and i guess we'll find them all right in the morning." basil having finished the narration of his day's adventures, fresh fuel was heaped on the embers, and a huge fire was built--one that would last until morning. this was necessary, as none of them had now either blankets or bedding. basil himself and norman were even in their shirt-sleeves, and of course their only chance for keeping warmth in their bodies would be to keep up a roaring fire all the night. this they did, and all four laying themselves close together, slept soundly enough. chapter eleven. three curious trees. next morning they were awake at an early hour. there was still enough of the tongues and grouse left, along with some ribs of the antelope, to breakfast the party; and then all four set out to bring the flesh of basil's buffaloes into camp. this they accomplished, after making several journeys. it was their intention to dry the meat over the fire, so that it might keep for future use. for this purpose the flesh was removed from the bones, and after being cut into thin slices and strips, was hung up on poles at some distance from the blaze. nothing more could be done, but wait until it became sufficiently parched by the heat. while this process was going on our voyageurs collected around the fire, and entered into a consultation about what was best to be done. at first they thought of going back to the red river settlement, and obtaining another canoe, as well as a fresh stock of provisions and implements. but they all believed that getting back would be a toilsome and difficult matter. there was a large lake and several extensive marshes on the route, and these would have to be got round, making the journey a very long one indeed. it would take them days to perform it on foot, and nothing is more discouraging on a journey than to be forced by some accident to what is called "taking the back-track." all of them acknowledged this, but what else could they do? it is true there was a post of the hudson's bay company at the northern end of lake winnipeg. this post was called norway house. how were they to reach that afoot? to walk around the borders of the lake would be a distance of more than four hundred miles. there would be numerous rivers to cross, as well as swamps and pathless forests to be threaded. such a journey would occupy a month or more, and at norway house they would still be as it were only at the beginning of the great journey on which they had set out. moreover, norway house lay entirely out of their way. cumberland house--another trading post upon the river saskatchewan--was the next point where they had intended to rest themselves, after leaving the red river settlements. to reach cumberland house _afoot_ would be equally difficult, as it, too, lay at the distance of hundreds of miles, with lakes, and rivers, and marshes, intervening. what, then, could they do? "let us _not_ go back," cried francois, ever ready with a bold advice; "let us make a boat, and keep on, say i." "ha! francois," rejoined basil, "it's easy to say `make a boat;' how is that to be done, i pray?" "why, what's to hinder us to hew a log, and make a dugout? we have still got the axe, and two hatchets left." norman asked what francois meant by a dugout. the phrase was new to him. "a canoe," replied francois, "hollowed out of a tree. they are sometimes called `dugouts' on the mississippi, especially when they are roughly made. one of them, i think, would carry all four of us well enough. don't you think so, luce?" "why, yes," answered the student; "a large one might: but i fear there are no trees about here of sufficient size. we are not among the great timber of the mississippi bottom, you must remember." "how large a tree would it require?" asked norman, who knew but little of this kind of craft. "three feet in diameter, at least," replied lucien; "and it should be of that thickness for a length of nearly twenty feet. a less one would not carry four of us." "then i am sure enough," responded norman, "that we won't find such timber here. i have seen no tree of that size either yesterday, or while we were out this morning." "nor i," added basil. "i don't believe there's one," said lucien. "if we were in louisiana," rejoined francois, "i could find fifty canoe-trees by walking as many yards. why, i never saw such insignificant timber as this here." "you'll see smaller timber than this, cousin frank, before we reach the end of our voyage." this remark was made by norman, who knew that, as they proceeded northward, the trees would be found decreasing in size until they would appear like garden shrubbery. "but come," continued he, "if we can't build a craft to carry us from _one_ tree, perhaps we can do it out of _three_." "with three!" echoed francois. "i should like to see a canoe made from three trees! is it a raft you mean, cousin norman?" "no," responded the other; "a canoe, and one that will serve us for the rest of our voyage." all three--basil, lucien, and francois--looked to their cousin for an explanation. "you would rather not go back up the river?" he inquired, glancing from one to the other. "we wish to go on--all of us," answered basil, speaking for his brothers as well. "very well," assented the young fur-trader; "i think it is better as you wish it. out of these trees i can build a boat that will carry us. it will take us some days to do it, and some time to find the timber, but i am tolerably certain it is to be found in these woods. to do the job properly i want three kinds; two of them i can see from where i sit; the third i expect will be got in the hills we saw this morning." as norman spoke he pointed to two trees that grew among many others not far from the spot. these trees were of very different kinds, as was easily told by their leaves and bark. the nearer and more conspicuous of them at once excited the curiosity of the three southerners. lucien recognised it from its botanical description. even basil and francois, though they had never seen it, as it is not to be found in the hot clime of louisiana, knew it from the accounts given of it by travellers. the tree was the celebrated "canoe-birch," or, as lucien named it, "paper-birch" (_betula papyracea_), celebrated as the tree out of whose bark those beautiful canoes are made that carry thousands of indians over the interior lakes and rivers of north america; out of whose bark whole tribes of these people fashion their bowls, their pails, and their baskets; with which they cover their tents, and from which they even make their soup-kettles and boiling-pots! this, then, was the canoe-birch-tree, so much talked of, and so valuable to the poor indians who inhabit the cold regions where it grows. our young southerners contemplated the tree with feelings of interest and curiosity. they saw that it was about sixty feet high, and somewhat more than a foot in diameter. its leaves were nearly cordate, or heart-shaped, and of a very dark-green colour; but that which rendered it most conspicuous among the other trees of the forest was the shining white or silver-coloured bark that covered its trunk, and its numerous slender branches. this bark is only white externally. when you have cut through the epidermis you find it of a reddish tinge, very thick, and capable of being divided into several layers. the wood of the tree makes excellent fuel, and is also often used for articles of furniture. it has a close, shining grain, and is strong enough for ordinary implements; but if exposed to the weather will decay rapidly. the "canoe-birch" is not the only species of these trees found in north america. the genus _betula_ (so called from the celtic word _batu_, which means birch) has at least half-a-dozen other known representatives in these parts. there is the "white birch" (_betula populifolia_), a worthless tree of some twenty feet in height, and less than six inches diameter. the bark of this species is useless, and its wood, which is soft and white, is unfit even for fuel. it grows, however, in the poorest soil. next there is a species called the "cherry-birch" (_betula lento_), so named from the resemblance of its bark to the common cherry-tree. it is also called "sweet birch," because its young twigs, when crushed, give out a pleasant aromatic odour. sometimes the name of "black birch" is given to this species. it is a tree of fifty or sixty feet in height, and its wood is much used in cabinet-work, as it is close-grained, of a beautiful reddish colour, and susceptible of a high polish. the "yellow birch" is a tree of the same size, and is so called from the colour of its epidermis. it is likewise used in cabinet-work, though it is not considered equal in quality to the cherry-birch. its leaves and twigs have also an aromatic smell when bruised, not so strong, however, as the last-mentioned. the wood makes excellent fuel, and is much used for that purpose in some of the large cities of america. the bark, too, is excellent for tanning--almost equal to that of the oak. the "red birch" is still another species, which takes its name from the reddish hue of its bark. this is equal in size to the canoe-birch, often growing seventy feet high, with a trunk of nearly three feet diameter. its branches are long, slender, and pendulous; and it is from the twigs of this species that most of the "birch-brooms" used in america are made. still another species of american birches is the "dwarf birch" (_betula nana_), so called from its diminutive size, which is that of a shrub, only eighteen inches or two feet in height. it usually grows in very cold or mountainous regions, and is the smallest of these interesting trees. this information regarding the birches of america was given by lucien to his brothers, not at that time, but shortly afterward, when the three were engaged in felling one of these trees. just then other matters occupied them, and they had only glanced, first at the canoe-birch and then at the other tree which norman had pointed out. the latter was of a different genus. it belonged to the order _coniferae_, or cone-bearing trees, as was evident from the cone-shaped fruits that hung upon its branches, as well as from its needle-like evergreen leaves. the cone-bearing trees of america are divided by botanists into three great sub-orders--the _pines_, the _cypresses_, and the _yews_. each of these includes several genera. by the "pine tribe" is meant all those trees known commonly by the names pine, spruce, fir, and larch; while the _cupressinae_, or cypress tribe, are the cypress proper, the cedars, the arbour-vitae, and the junipers. the yew tribe has fewer genera or species; but the trees in america known as yews and hemlocks--of which there are several varieties--belong to it. of the pine tribe a great number of species exist throughout the north american continent. the late explorations on the western slope of the rocky mountains, and in the countries bordering on the pacific, have brought to light a score of species hitherto unknown to the botanist. many of these are trees of a singular and valuable kind. several species found in the mountains of north mexico, and throughout those desert regions where hardly any other vegetation exists, have edible seeds upon which whole tribes of indians subsist for many months in the year. the spanish americans call them _pinon_ trees, but there are several species of them in different districts. the indians parch the seeds, and sometimes pound them into a coarse meal, from which they bake a very palatable bread. this bread is often rendered more savoury by mixing the meal with dried "prairie crickets," a species of coleopterous insects--that is, insects with a crustaceous or shell-like covering over their wings--which are common in the desert wilds where these indians dwell. some prairie travellers have pronounced this singular mixture equal to the "best pound-cake." the "lambert pine," so called from the botanist of that name, is found in oregon and california, and may be justly considered one of the wonders of the world. three hundred feet is not an uncommon height for this vegetable giant; and its cones have been seen of eighteen inches in length, hanging like sugar-loaves from its high branches! the wonderful "palo colorado" of california is another giant of the pine tribe. it also grows above three hundred feet high, with a diameter of sixteen feet! then there is the "red pine," of eighty feet high, much used for the decks and masts of ships; the "pitch-pine" (_pinus rigida_), a smaller tree, esteemed for its fuel, and furnishing most of the firewood used in some of the american cities. from this species the strong burning "knots" are obtained. there is the "white pine" (_pinus strobus_), valuable for its timber. this is one of the largest and best known of the pines. it often attains a height of an hundred and fifty feet, and a large proportion of those planks so well-known to the carpenter are sawed from its trunk. in the state of new york alone no less than , , feet of timber are annually obtained from trees of this species, which, by calculation, must exhaust every year the enormous amount of , acres of forest! of course, at this rate the pine-forests of new york state must soon be entirely destroyed. in addition, there is the "yellow pine," a tree of sixty feet high, much used in flooring houses; and the beautiful "balsam fir," used as an ornamental evergreen both in europe and america, and from which is obtained the well-known medicine--the "canada balsam." this tree, in favourable situations, attains the height of sixty feet; while upon the cold summits of mountains it is often seen rising only a few inches from the surface. the "hemlock spruce" (_pinus canadensis_), is another species, the bark of which is used in tanning. it is inferior to the oak, though the leather made by it is of excellent quality. the "black" or "double spruce" (_pinus nigra_), is that species from the twigs of which is extracted the essence that gives its peculiar flavour to the well-known "_spruce beer_." besides these, at least a dozen new species have lately been discovered on the interior mountains of mexico--all of them more or less possessing valuable properties. the pines cannot be termed trees of the tropics, yet do they grow in southern and warm countries. in the carolinas, tar and turpentine, products of the pine, are two staple articles of exportation; and even under the equator itself, the high mountains are covered with pine-forests. but the pine is more especially the tree of a northern _sylva_. as you approach the arctic circle, it becomes the characteristic tree. there it appears in extensive forests, lending their picturesque shelter to the snowy desolation of the earth. one species of pine is the very last tree that disappears as the traveller, in approaching the pole, takes his leave of the limits of vegetation. this species is the "white spruce" (_pinus alba_), the very one which, along with the birch-tree, had been pointed out by norman to his companions. it was a tree not over thirty or forty feet high, with a trunk of less than a foot in thickness, and of a brownish colour. its leaves or "needles" were about an inch in length, very slender and acute, and of a bluish green tint. the cones upon it, which at that season were young, were of a pale green. when ripe, however, they become rusty-brown, and are nearly two inches in length. what use norman would make of this tree in building his canoe, neither basil nor francois knew. lucien only guessed at it. francois asked the question, by saying that he supposed the "timbers" were to come out of it. "no," said norman, "for that i want still another sort. if i can't find that sort, however, i can manage to do without it, but not so well." "what other sort?" demanded francois. "i want some cedar-wood," replied the other. "ah! that's for the timbers," said francois; "i am sure of it. the cedar-wood is lighter than any other, and, i dare say, would answer admirably for ribs and other timbers." "you are right this time, frank--it is considered the best for that purpose." "you think there are cedar-trees on the hills we saw this morning?" said francois, addressing his canadian cousin. "i think so. i noticed something like them." "and i, too, observed a dark foliage," said lucien, "which looked like the cedar. if anywhere in this neighbourhood, we shall find them there. they usually grow upon rocky, sterile hills, such as those appear to be--that is their proper situation." "the question," remarked basil, "ought to be settled at once. we have made up our mind to the building of a canoe, and i think we should lose no time in getting ready the materials. suppose we all set out for the hills." "agreed--agreed!" shouted the others with one voice; and then shouldering their guns, and taking the axe along, all four set out for the hills. on reaching these, the object of their search was at once discovered. the tops of all the hills--dry, barren ridges they were-- were covered with a thick grove of the red cedar (_juniperus viginiana_). the trees were easily distinguished by the numerous branches spreading horizontally, and thickly covered with short dark-green needles, giving them that sombre, shady appearance, that makes them the favourite haunt of many species of owls. their beautiful reddish wood was well-known to all the party, as it is to almost every one in the civilised world. everybody who has seen or used a black-lead pencil must know what the wood of the red cedar is like--for it is in this the black-lead is usually incased. in all parts of america, where this tree grows in plenty, it is employed for posts and fence-rails, as it is one of the most durable woods in existence. it is a great favourite also for kindling fires, as it catches quickly, and blazes up in a few seconds, so as to ignite the heavier logs of other timbers, such as the oak and the pine. the red cedar usually attains a height of about thirty to forty feet, but in favourable situations it grows still larger. the soil which it loves best is of a stony, and often sterile character, and dry barren hill-tops are frequently covered with cedars, while the more moist and fertile valleys between possess a _sylva_ of a far different character. there is a variety of the red cedar, which trails upon the ground like a creeping plant, its branches even taking root again. this is rather a small bush than a tree, and is often seen hanging down the face of inaccessible cliffs. it is known among botanists as the _juniperus prostrata_. "now," said norman, after examining a few of the cedar-trees, "we have here all that's wanted to make our canoe. we need lose no more time, but go to work at once!" "very well," replied the three brothers, "we are ready to assist you,-- tell us what to do." "in the first place," said the other, "i think we had better change our camp to this spot, as i see all the different kinds of trees here, and much better ones than those near the river. there," continued he, pointing to a piece of moist ground in the valley,--"there are some journeys if we go back and bring our meat to this place at once." to this they all of course agreed, and started back to their first camp. they soon returned with the meat and other things, and having chosen a clean spot under a large-spreading cedar-tree, they kindled a new fire and made their camp by it--that is, they strung up the provisions, hung their horns and pouches upon the branches around, and rested their guns against the trees. they had no tent to pitch, but that is not necessary to constitute a camp. in the phraseology of the american hunter, wherever you kindle your fire or spend the night is a "camp." chapter twelve. how to build a bark canoe. norman expected that they would be able to finish the canoe in about a week. of course, the sooner the better, and no time was lost in setting about it. the ribs or "timbers" were the first thing to be fashioned, and a number of straight branches of cedar were cut, out of which they were to be made. these branches were cleared of twigs, and rendered of an equal thickness at both ends. they were then flattened with the knife; and, by means of a little sweating in the ashes, were bent so as to bear some resemblance in shape to the wooden ox-yokes commonly used in america, or indeed to the letter u. the ribs when thus bent were not all of the same width. on the contrary, those which were intended to be placed near the middle or gangway of the vessel, were about two feet across from side to side, while the space between the sides of the others was gradually less in each fresh pair, according as their position was to be near to the stem and stern. when the whole of them had been forced into the proper shape, they were placed, one inside the other after the manner of dishes, and then all were firmly lashed together, and left to dry. when the lashing should be removed, they would hold to the form thus given them, and would be ready for fastening to the kelson. while norman was occupied with the timbers the others were not idle. basil had cut down several of the largest and straightest birches, and lucien employed himself in carefully removing the bark and cleansing it of nodules and other inequalities. the broad sheets were suspended by a smoke fire, so as completely to dry up the sap, and render it tough and elastic. francois had his part to play, and that was to collect the resinous gum which was distilled, in plenty from the trunks of the epinette or spruce-trees. this gum is a species of pitch, and is one of the most necessary materials in the making of a bark canoe. it is used for "paying" the seams, as well as any cracks that may show themselves in the bark itself; and without it, or some similar substance, it would be difficult to make one of these little vessels watertight. but that is not the only thing for which the epinette is valued in canoe-building; far from it. this tree produces another indispensable material; its long fibrous roots when split, form the twine-like threads by which the pieces of bark are sewed to each other and fastened to the timbers. these threads are as strong as the best cords of hemp, and are known among the indians by the name of "watap." in a country, therefore, where hemp and flax cannot be readily procured, the "watap" is of great value. you may say that deer are plenty, and that thongs of buckskin would serve the same purpose. this, however, is not the case. the buckskin would never do for such a use. the moment it becomes wet it is liable to stretch, so that the seams would open and the canoe get filled with water. the watap, wet or dry, does not yield, and has therefore been found to be the best thing of all others for this purpose. the only parts now wanted were the gunwale and the bottom. the former was easily obtained. two long poles, each twenty feet in length, were bent somewhat like a pair of bows, and then placed with their concave sides towards each other, and firmly lashed together at the ends. this was the gunwale. the bottom was the most difficult part of all. for that a solid plank was required, and they had no saw. the axe and the hatchet, however, were called into requisition, and a log was soon hewn and thinned down to the proper dimensions. it was sharpened off at the ends, so as to run to a very acute angle, both at the stem and stern. when the bottom was considered sufficiently polished, and modelled to the right shape, the most difficult part of the undertaking was supposed to be accomplished. a few long poles were cut and trimmed flat. these were to be laid longitudinally between the ribs and the bark, somewhat after the fashion of laths in the roofing of a house. their use was to prevent the bark from splitting. the materials were now all obtained complete, and, with a few days' smoking and drying, would be ready for putting together. while waiting for the timbers to dry, paddles were made, and norman, with the help of the others, prepared what he jokingly called his "dock," and also his "ship-yard." this was neither more nor less than a long mound of earth--not unlike a new-made grave, only three times the length of one, or even longer. it was flat upon the top, and graded with earth so as to be quite level and free from inequalities. at length all the materials were considered quite ready for use, and norman went to work to put them together. his first operation was to untie the bundle of timbers, and separate them. they were found to have taken the exact form into which they had been bent, and the thongs being no longer necessary to keep them in place, were removed. the timbers themselves were next placed upon the bottom or kelson, those with the widest bottoms being nearer to "midships," while those with the narrower bend were set towards the narrower ends of the plank. thus placed, they were all firmly lashed with strong cords of watap, by means of holes pierced in the bottom plank. fortunately lucien happened to have a pocket-knife, in which there was a good awl or piercer, that enabled them to make these holes-- else the matter would have been a much more difficult one, as an awl is one of the most essential tools in the construction of a bark canoe. of course it took norman a considerable time to set all the ribs in their proper places, and fasten them securely; but he was ably assisted by francois, who waited upon him with much diligence, handing him now the awl, and then the watap, whenever he required them. norman's next operation was the laying of his kelson "in dock." the timbers being attached to it, it was lifted up on the earthen mound, where it reached quite from end to end. half-a-dozen large heavy stones were then placed upon it, so that, pressed down by these upon the even surface of the mould, it was rendered quite firm; and, moreover, was of such a height from the ground that the young shipwright could work upon it without too much bending and kneeling. the gunwale, already prepared, was next placed so as to touch the ends of the ribs all round, and these ends were adjusted to it with great nicety, and firmly joined. strong cross-pieces were fixed, which were designed, not only to keep the gunwale from spreading or contracting, but afterwards to serve as seats. of course the gunwale formed the complete mouth, or upper edge of the canoe. it was several feet longer than the bottom plank, and, when in place, projected beyond the ribs at both ends. from each end of the bottom plank, therefore, to the corresponding end of the gunwale, a straight piece of wood was stretched, and fastened. one of these pieces would form the stem or cutwater, while the other would become the stern of the craft. the long poles were next laid longitudinally upon the ribs outside, and lashed in their places; and this done, the skeleton was completed, ready for the bark. the latter had been already cut to the proper dimensions and shape. it consisted of oblong pieces--each piece being a regular parallelogram, as it had been stripped from the tree. these were laid upon the ribs longitudinally, and then sewed to the edge of the bottom plank, and also to the gunwale. the bark itself was in such broad pieces that two of them were sufficient to cover half a side, so that but one seam was required lengthwise, in addition to the fastenings at the top and bottom. two lengths of the bark also reached cleverly from stem to stern, and thus required only one transverse seam on each side. there was an advantage in this arrangement, for where the birch-bark can only be obtained in small flakes, a great number of seams is a necessary consequence, and then it is extremely difficult to keep the canoe from leaking. thanks to the fine birch-trees, that grew in abundance around, our boat-builders had procured the very best bark. the canoe was now completed all but the "paying," and that would not take long to do. the gum of the epinette had to be boiled, and mixed with a little grease, so as to form a species of wax. for this the fat already obtained from the buffaloes was the very thing; and a small tin cup which basil had saved from the wreck (it had been strung to his bullet-pouch), enabled them to melt the gum, and apply it hot. in less than an hour the thing was done. every crack and awl-hole was payed, and the canoe was pronounced "watertight," and, as francois added, with a laugh, "seaworthy." a small pond was near, at the bottom of the hill: francois espied it. "come, boys," cried he, "a launch! a launch!" this was agreed to by all. the great stones were taken out. basil and norman, going one to the stem the other to the stern, lifted the canoe from the "dock," and, raising it upon their shoulders, carried it down to the pond. the next moment it was pushed into the water, where it floated like a cork. a loud cheer was given, in which even marengo joined; and a salute was then fired--a full broadside--from the four guns. francois, to complete the thing, seized one of the paddles, and leaping into the canoe, shot the little craft out upon the bosom of the pond, cheering all the while like one frantic. after amusing himself for some minutes, he paddled back to the shore, when they all looked eagerly into the canoe, and perceived to their gratification that not as much as a drop of water had leaked during the "trip." thanks and congratulations now greeted norman from every side; and, taking their vessel from the water, the young voyageurs returned to their camp, to regale themselves with a grand dinner, which lucien had cooked for the occasion. chapter thirteen. the chain of lakes. our young voyageurs now prepared to resume their journey. while norman was engaged in building his canoe, with his assistant, francois, the others had not been idle. basil was, of course, the hunter of the party; and, in addition to the small game, such as hares, geese, and grouse, he had killed three caribou, of the large variety known as "woodland caribou." these are a species of the reindeer (_cervus tarandus_), of which i have more to say hereafter. lucien had attended to the drying of their flesh; and there was enough of it still left, as our voyageurs believed, to supply their wants until they should reach cumberland house, where they would, of course, procure a fresh stock of provisions. the skins of the caribou had also been scraped and dressed by lucien--who understood the process well--and these, with the skin of the antelope, were sufficient to make a pair of hunting-shirts for basil and norman, who, it will be remembered, had lost theirs by cutting them up. next morning the canoe was launched upon the river--below the rapids-- and the dried meat, with their other matters, snugly stowed in the stern. then the young voyageurs got in, and, seating themselves in their places, seized hold of the paddles. the next moment the canoe shot out into the stream; and a triumphant cheer from the crew announced that they had recommenced their journey. they found to their delight that the little vessel behaved admirably,--shooting through the water like an arrow, and leaking not water enough, as francois expressed it, "to drown a mosquito." they had all taken their seats in the order which had been agreed upon for the day. norman was "bowsman," and, of course, sate in the bow. this, among the regular canadian voyageurs, is esteemed the post of honour, and the bowsman is usually styled "captain" by the rest of the crew. it is also the post that requires the greatest amount of skill on the part of its occupant, particularly where there are rapids or shoals to be avoided. the post of "steersman" is also one of honour and importance; and both steersman and bowsman receive higher wages than the other voyageurs, who pass under the name of "middlemen." the steersman sits in the stern, and that place was now occupied by lucien, who had proved himself an excellent steersman. basil and francois were, of course, the "middlemen," and plied the paddles. this was the arrangement made for the day; but although on other days the programme was to be changed, so as to relieve basil and francois, on all occasions when there were rapids or other difficulties to be encountered they were to return to this order. norman, of course, understood canoe navigation better than his southern cousins; and therefore, by universal assent, he was acknowledged "the captain," and francois always addressed him as such. lucien's claim to the post of second honour was admitted to be just, as he had proved himself capable of filling it to the satisfaction of all. marengo had no post, but lay quietly upon the buffalo skin between lucien's legs, and listened to the conversation without joining in it, or in any way interfering in the working of the vessel. in a few hours our voyageurs had passed through the low marshy country that lies around the mouth of the red river, and the white expanse of the great lake winnipeg opened before them, stretching northward far beyond the range of their vision. norman knew the lake, having crossed it before, but its aspect somewhat disappointed the southern travellers. instead of a vast dark lake which they had expected to see, they looked upon a whitish muddy sheet, that presented but few attractive points to the eye, either in the hue of its water or the scenery of its shores. these, so far as they could see them, were low, and apparently marshy; and this is, in fact, the character of the southern shores of winnipeg. on its east and north, however, the country is of a different character. there the geological formation is what is termed _primitive_. the rocks consist of granite, sienite, gneiss, etcetera; and, as is always the case where such rocks are found, the country is hilly and rugged. on the western shores a _secondary_ formation exists. this is _stratified limestone_,--the same as that which forms the bed of many of the great prairies of america; and, indeed, the lake winnipeg lies between this secondary formation and the primitive, which bounds it on the east. along its western shores extends the flat limestone country, partly wooded and partly prairie land, running from that point for hundreds of miles up to the very foot of the rocky mountains, where the primitive rocks again make their appearance in the rugged peaks of that stupendous chain. lake winnipeg is nearly three hundred miles in length, but it is very narrow--being in its widest reach not over fifty miles, and in many places only fifteen miles from shore to shore. it trends nearly due north and south, leaning a little north-west and south-east, and receives many large rivers, as the red, the saskatchewan, and the winnipeg. the waters of these are again carried out of it by other rivers that run from the lake, and empty into the hudson's bay. there is a belief among the hunters and voyageurs that this lake has its tides like the ocean. such, however, is not the case. there is at times a rise and overflow of its waters, but it is not periodical, and is supposed to be occasioned by strong winds forcing the waters towards a particular shore. lake winnipeg is remarkable, as being in the very centre of the north american continent, and may be called the centre of the _canoe navigation_. from this point it is possible to travel _by water_ to hudson's bay on the north-east, to the atlantic ocean on the east, to the gulf of mexico on the south, to the pacific on the west, and to the polar sea on the north and north-west. considering that some of these distances are upwards of three thousand miles, it will be perceived that lake winnipeg holds a singular position upon the continent. all the routes mentioned can be made without any great "portage," and even a choice of route is often to be had upon those different lines of communication. these were points of information communicated by norman as the canoe was paddled along the shore; for norman, although troubling himself but little about the causes of things, possessed a good practical knowledge of things as they actually were. he was tolerably well acquainted with the routes, their portages, and distances. some of them he had travelled over in company with his father, and of others he had heard the accounts given by the voyageurs, traders, and trappers. norman knew that lake winnipeg was muddy,--he did not care to inquire the cause. he knew that there was a hilly country on its eastern and a low level land on its western shores, but it never occurred to him to speculate on this geological difference. it was the naturalist lucien who threw out some hints on this part of the subject, and further added his opinion, that the lake came to be there in consequence of the wearing away of the rocks at the junction of the stratified with the primitive formation, thus creating an excavation in the surface, which in time became filled with water and formed the lake. this cause he also assigned for the existence of a remarkable "chain of lakes" that extends almost from the arctic sea to the frontiers of canada. the most noted of these are martin, great slave, athabasca, wollaston, deer, lake winnipeg, and the lake of the woods. lucien further informed his companions, that where primitive rocks form the surface of a country, that surface will be found to exhibit great diversity of aspect. there will be numerous lakes and swamps, rugged steep hills with deep valleys between, short streams with many falls and rapids. these are the characteristics of a primitive surface. on the other hand, where secondary rocks prevail the surface is usually a series of plains, often high, dry, and treeless, as is the case upon the great american prairies. upon such topics did lucien instruct his companions, as they paddled their canoe around the edge of the lake. they had turned the head of their little vessel westward--as it was their design to keep along the western border of the lake until they should reach the mouth of the saskatchewan. they kept at a short distance from the shore, usually steering from point to point, and in this way making their route as direct as possible. it would have been still more direct had they struck out into the open lake, and kept up its middle; but this would have been a dangerous course to pursue. there are often high winds upon lake winnipeg, that spring up suddenly; and at such times the waves, if not mountains high, at least arrive at the height of houses. among such billows the little craft would have been in danger of being swamped, and our voyageurs of going to the bottom. they, therefore, wisely resolved not to risk such an accident, but to "hug the shore," though it made their voyage longer. each night they would land at some convenient place, kindle their fire, cook their supper, and dry their canoe for the next day's journey. according to this arrangement, a little before sunset of the first day they came to land and made their camp. the canoe was unloaded, carefully lifted out of the water, and then set bottom upward to drip and dry. a fire was kindled, some of the dry meat cooked, and all four sat down and began to eat, as only hungry travellers can. chapter fourteen. wapiti, wolves, and wolverene. the spot where our voyageurs had landed was at the bottom of a small bay. the country back from the lake was level and clear of timber. here and there, nearer the shore, however, its surface was prettily interspersed with small clumps of willows, that formed little copse-like thickets of deep green. beside one of these thickets, within a hundred yards of the beach, the fire had been kindled, on a spot of ground that commanded a view of the plain for miles back. "look yonder!" cried francois, who had finished eating, and risen to his feet. "what are these, captain?" francois pointed to some objects that appeared at a great distance off upon the plain. the "captain" rose up, placed his hand so as to shade his eyes from the sun, and, after looking for a second or two in the direction indicated, replied to the other's question by simply saying-- "wapiti." "i'm no wiser than before i asked the question," said francois. "pray, enlighten me as to what a wapiti may be!" "why, red deer; or elk, if you like." "oh! elk--now i understand you. i thought they were elk, but they're so far off i wasn't sure." lucien at this moment rose up, and looking through a small telescope, which he carried, confirmed the statement of the "captain," and pronounced it to be a herd of elk. "come, luce," demanded francois, "tell us what you know of the elk. it will pass the time. norman says it's no use going after them out there in the open ground, as they'd shy off before one could get within shot. you see there is not a bush within half-a-mile of them." "if we wait," interrupted norman, "i should not wonder but we may have them among the bushes before long. they appear to be grazing this way. i warrant you, they'll come to the lake to drink before nightfall." "very well then: the philosopher can tell us all about them before that." lucien, thus appealed to, began:-- "there are few animals that have so many names as this. it is called in different districts, or by different authors, _elk, round-horned elk, american elk, stag, red deer, grey moose, le biche, wapiti_, and _wewaskish_. naturalists have given not a _few of_ their designations, as _cervus canadensis, cervus major, cervus alces, cervus strongylocerus, etcetera_. "you may ask, why so many names? i shall tell you. it is called `elk' because it was supposed by the early colonists to be the same as the elk of europe. its name of `grey moose' is a hunter appellation, to distinguish it from the real moose, which the same hunters know as the `black moose.' `round-horned elk' is also a hunter name. `wewaskish,' or `waskesse,' is an indian name for the animal. `stag' comes from the european deer so called, because this species somewhat resembles the stag; and `red deer' is a name used by the hudson bay traders. `le biche' is another synonyme of french authors. "of all these names i think that of `wapiti,' which our cousin has given, the best. the names of `elk,' `stag,' and `red deer,' lead to confusion, as there are other species to which they properly belong, all of which are entirely different from the wapiti. i believe that this last name is now used by the best-informed naturalists. "in my opinion," continued lucien, "the wapiti is the noblest of all the deer kind. it possesses the fine form of the european stag, while it is nearly a third larger and stronger. it has all the grace of limb and motion that belongs to the common deer, while its towering horns give it a most majestic and imposing appearance. its colour during the summer is of a reddish brown, hence the name red deer; but, indeed, the reddish tint upon the wapiti is deeper and richer than that of its european cousin. the wapiti, like other deer, brings forth its fawns in the spring. they are usually a male and female, for two is the number it produces. the males only have horns; and they must be several years old before the antlers become full and branching. they fall every year, but not until february or march, and then the new ones grow out in a month or six weeks. during the summer the horns remain soft and tender to the touch. they are covered at this time with a soft membrane that looks like greyish velvet, and they are then said to be `in the velvet,' there are nerves and blood-vessels running through this membrane, and a blow upon the horns at this season gives great pain to the animal. when the autumn arrives the velvet peels off, and they become as hard as bone. they would need to be, for this is the `rutting' season, and the bucks fight furious battles with each other, clashing their horns together, as if they would break them to pieces. very often a pair of bucks, while thus contending, `lock' their antlers, and being unable to draw them apart, remain head to head, until both die with hunger, or fall a prey to the prowling wolves. this is true not only of the elk, but also of the reindeer, the moose, and many other species of deer. hundreds of pairs of horns have been found thus `locked,' and the solitary hunter has often surprised the deer in this unpleasant predicament. "the wapiti utters a whistling sound, that can be heard far off, and often guides the hunter to the right spot. in the rutting season the bucks make other noises, which somewhat resemble the braying of an ass, and are equally disagreeable to listen to. "the wapiti travel about in small herds, rarely exceeding fifty, but often of only six or seven. where they are not much hunted they are easily approached, but otherwise they are shy enough. the bucks, when wounded and brought to bay, become dangerous assailants; much more so than those of the common deer. hunters have sometimes escaped with difficulty from their horns and hoofs, with the latter of which they can inflict very severe blows. they are hunted in the same way as other deer; but the indians capture many of them in the water, when they discover them crossing lakes or rivers. they are excellent swimmers, and can make their way over the arm of a lake or across the widest river. "they feed upon grass, and sometimes on the young shoots of willows and poplar-trees. they are especially fond of a species of wild rose (_rosa blanda_), which grows in the countries they frequent. "the wapiti at one time ranged over a large part of the continent of north america. its range is now restricted by the spread of the settlements. it is still found in most of the northern parts of the united states, but only in remote mountainous districts, and even there it is a rare animal. in canada it is more common; and it roams across the continent to the shores of the pacific. it is not an animal of the tropical countries, as it is not found in mexico proper. on the other hand, wapiti do not go farther north than about the fifty-seventh parallel of latitude, and then they are not in their favourite habitat, which is properly the temperate zone." lucien was interrupted by an exclamation from basil, who stood up looking out upon the prairie. they all saw that he had been observing the wapiti. "what is it?" cried they. "look yonder!" replied basil, pointing in the direction of the herd. "something disturbs them. give me your glass, luce." lucien handed the telescope to his brother, who, drawing it to the proper focus, pointed it towards the deer. the rest watched them with the naked eye. they could see that there was some trouble among the animals. there were only six in the herd, and even at the distance our voyageurs could tell that they were all bucks, for it was the season when the does secrete themselves in the woods and thickets to bring forth their young. they were running to and fro upon the prairie, and doubling about as if playing, or rather as if some creature was chasing them. with the naked eye, however, nothing could be seen upon the ground but the bucks themselves, and all the others looked to basil, who held the glass, for an explanation of their odd manoeuvres. "there are wolves at them," said basil, after regarding them for a second or two. "that's odd," rejoined norman. "wolves don't often attack full-grown wapiti, except when wounded or crippled somehow. they must be precious hungry. what sort of wolves are they?" to you, boy reader, this question may seem strange. you, perhaps, think that a wolf is a wolf, and there is but one kind. such, however, is not the exact truth. in america there are two distinct species of wolves, and of these two species there are many varieties, which differ so much in colour and other respects, that some authors have classed them as so many distinct species instead of considering them mere varieties. whether they may be species or not is still a question among naturalists; but certain it is that _two_ well-defined species do exist, which differ in size, form, colour, and habits. these are the _large_ or _common wolf (canis lupus_), and the barking or prairie wolf (_canis latrans_). the first species is the american representative of the common wolf of europe; and although an animal of similar nature and habits, it differs very much from the latter in form and appearance. it is, therefore, not the _same_, as hitherto supposed. this american wolf is found in greater or less numbers throughout the whole continent; but in the northern regions it is very common, and is seen in at least five different varieties, known by the characteristic names of _black, pied, white, dusky_, and _grey_ wolves. of these the grey is the most numerous kind; but as i shall have occasion to speak of the large wolves hereafter, i shall say no more of them at present, but direct your attention to the second and very different species, the _prairie wolves_. these are a full third smaller than the common kind. they are swifter, and go in larger packs. they bring forth their young in burrows on the open plain, and not among the woods, like the other species. they are the most cunning of american animals, not excepting their kindred the foxes. they cannot be trapped by any contrivance, but by singular manoeuvres often themselves decoy the over-curious antelope to approach too near them. when a gun is fired upon the prairies they may be seen starting up on all sides, and running for the spot in hopes of coming in for a share of the game. should an animal--deer, antelope, or buffalo-- be wounded, and escape the hunter, it is not likely to escape them also. they will set after it, and run it down if _the wound has been a mortal one_. on the other hand, if the wound has been only slight, and is not likely in the end to cripple the animal, the wolves will not stir from the spot. this extraordinary sagacity often tells the hunter whether it is worth his while to follow the game he has shot at; but in any case he is likely to arrive late, if the wolves set out before him, as a dozen of them will devour the largest deer in a few minutes' time. the prairie wolves as well as the others follow the herds of buffaloes, and attack the gravid cows and calves when separated from the rest. frequently they sustain a contest with the bulls, when the latter are old or wounded, but on such occasions many of them get killed before the old bull becomes their prey. they resemble the common grey wolf in colour, but there are varieties in this respect, though not so great as among the larger species. their voice is entirely different, and consists of three distinct barks, ending in a prolonged howl. hence the specific and usual name "barking-wolf" (_canis latrans_). they are found only in the western or prairie half of the continent, and thence west to the pacific. their northern range is limited to the fifty-fifth parallel of latitude--but they are met with southward throughout mexico, where they are common enough, and known by the name of "coyote." their skins are an article of trade with the hudson's bay company. the fur is of about the same quality with that of other wolves, and consists of long hairs, with a thick wool at the base. in commerce they are termed "cased wolves," because their skins, on being removed, are not split open as with the large wolf-skins, but are stript off after the manner of rabbits, and then turned inside out, or "cased," as it is termed. so much for the _canis latrans_. "prairie wolves!" said basil, in answer to the question put by his cousin. "there must be something the matter with one of the bucks, then," remarked norman, "or else there's a good big pack of the wolves, and they expect to tire one down. i believe they sometimes do try it that way." "there appears to be a large pack," answered basil, still looking through the glass; "fifty at least--see! they have separated one of the bucks from the herd--it's running this way!" basil's companions had noticed this as soon as himself, and all four now leaped to their guns. the wapiti was plainly coming towards them, and they could now distinguish the wolves following upon his heels, strung out over the prairie like a pack of hounds. when first started, the buck was a full half-mile distant, but in less than a minute's time he came breasting forward until the boys could see his sparkling eyes and the play of his proud flanks. he was a noble animal to look at. his horns were full-grown, but still "in the velvet," and as he ran with his snout thrown forward, his antlers lay along both sides of his neck until their tips touched his shoulders. he continued on in a direct line until he was within less than an hundred paces of the camp; but, perceiving the smoke of the fire, and the figures crouching around it, he swerved suddenly from his course, and darted into the thicket of willows, where he was for the moment hidden from view. the wolves-- fifty of them at least--had followed him up to this point; and as he entered the thicket several had been close upon his heels. the boys expected to see the wolves rush in after him--as there appeared to be no impediment to their doing so--but, to the astonishment of all, the latter came to a sudden halt, and then went sneaking back--some of them even running off as if terrified! at first the hunters attributed this strange conduct to their own presence, and the smoke of the camp; but a moment's reflection convinced them that this could not be the reason of it, as they were all well acquainted with the nature of the prairie wolf, and had never witnessed a similar exhibition before. they had no time to think of the wolves just then. the buck was the main attraction, and, calling to each other to surround the thicket, all four started in different directions. in a couple of minutes they had placed themselves at nearly equal distances around the copse, and stood watching eagerly for the reappearance of the wapiti. the willows covered about an acre of ground, but they were tolerably thick and full-leaved, and the buck could not be seen from any side. wherever he was, he was evidently at a standstill, for not a rustle could be heard among the leaves, nor were any of the tall stalks seen to move. marengo was now sent in. this would soon start him, and all four stood with guns cocked and ready. but before the dog had made three lengths of himself into the thicket, a loud snort was heard, followed by a struggle and the stamping of hoofs, and the next moment the wapiti came crashing through the bushes. a shot was fired--it was the crack of lucien's small rifle--but it had missed, for the buck was seen passing onward and outward. all ran round to the side he had taken, and had a full view of the animal as he bounded off. instead of running free as before, he now leaped heavily forward, and what was their astonishment on seeing that he _carried another animal upon his back_! the hunters could hardly believe their eyes, but there it was, sure enough, a brown shaggy mass, lying flat along the shoulders of the wapiti, and clutching it with large-spreading claws. francois cried out, "a panther!" and basil at first believed it to be a bear, but it was hardly large enough for that. norman, however, who had lived more in those parts where the animal is found, knew it at once to be the dreaded "wolverene." its head could not be seen, as that was hid behind the shoulder of the wapiti, whose throat it was engaged in tearing. but its short legs and broad paws, its busily tail and long shaggy hair, together with its round-arching back and dark-brown colour, were all familiar marks to the young fur-trader; and he at once pronounced it a "wolverene." when first seen, both it and the wapiti were beyond the reach of their rifles; and the hunters, surprised by such an unexpected apparition, had suddenly halted. francois and basil were about to renew the pursuit, but were prevented by norman who counselled them to remain where they were. "they won't go far," said he; "let us watch them a bit. see! the buck takes the water!" the wapiti, on leaving the willows, had run straight out in the first direction that offered, which happened to be in a line parallel with the edge of the lake. his eye, however, soon caught sight of the water, and, doubling suddenly round, he made directly towards it, evidently with the intention of plunging in. he had hopes, no doubt, that by this means he might rid himself of the terrible creature that was clinging to his shoulders, and tearing his throat to pieces. a few bounds brought him to the shore. there was no beach at the spot. the bank--a limestone bluff--rose steeply from the water's edge to a height of eight feet, and the lake under it was several fathoms in depth. the buck did not hesitate, but sprang outward and downwards. a heavy plash followed, and for some seconds both wapiti and wolverene were lost under the water. they rose to the surface, just as the boys reached the bank, but they came up _separately_. the dip had proved a cooler to the fierce wolverene; and while the wapiti was seen to strike boldly out into the lake and swim off, the latter--evidently out of his element--kept plunging about clumsily, and struggling to get back to the shore. their position upon the cliff above gave the hunters an excellent opportunity with their rifles, and both basil and norman sent their bullets into the wolverene's back. francois also emptied his double-barrelled gun at the same object, and the shaggy brute sank dead to the bottom of the lake. strange to say, not one of the party had thought of firing at the buck. this persecution by so many enemies had won for him their sympathy, and they would now have suffered him to go free, but the prospect of fresh venison for supper overcame their commiseration, and the moment the wolverene was despatched all set about securing the deer. their guns were reloaded, and, scattering along the shore, they prepared to await his return. but the buck, seeing there was nothing but death in his rear, swam on, keeping almost in a direct line out into the lake. it was evident to all that he could not swim across the lake, as its farther shore was not even visible. he must either return to where they were, or drown; and knowing this to be his only alternative, they stood still and watched his motions. when he had got about half-a-mile from the shore, to the surprise of all, he was seen to rise higher and higher above the surface, and then all at once stop, with half of his body clear out of the water! he had come upon a shoal, and, knowing the advantage of it, seemed determined to remain there. basil and norman ran to the canoe, and in a few minutes the little craft was launched, and shooting through the water. the buck now saw that it was likely to be all up with him, and, instead of attempting to swim farther, he faced round and set his antlers forward in a threatening attitude. but his pursuers did not give him the chance to make a rush. when within fifty yards or so, norman, who used the paddles, stopped and steadied the canoe, and the next moment the crack of basil's rifle echoed over the lake, and the wapiti fell upon the water, where, after struggling a moment, he lay dead. the canoe was paddled up, and his antlers being made fast to the stern, he was towed back to the shore, and carried into camp. what now surprised our voyageurs was, their finding that the wapiti had been wounded before encountering either the wolves, wolverene, or themselves. an arrow-head, with a short piece of the shaft, was sticking in one of his thighs. the indians, then, had been after him, and very lately too, as the wound showed. it was not a mortal wound, had the arrow-head been removed; but of course, as it was, it would have proved his death in the long run. this explained why the wolves had assailed an animal, that otherwise, from his great size and strength, would have defied them. the wolverene, moreover, rarely attacks game so large as the wapiti; but the latter had, no doubt, chanced upon the lair of his fierce enemy, who could not resist such a tempting opportunity of getting a meal. the wolves had seen the wolverene as they approached the thicket, and that accounted for their strange behaviour in the pursuit. these creatures are as great cowards as they are tyrants, and their dread of a wolverene is equal to that with which they themselves often inspire the wounded deer. chapter fifteen. a pair of deep divers. the wapiti was carefully skinned, and the skin spread out to dry. since their mishap our voyageurs had been very short of clothing. the three skins of the woodland caribou had made only a pair of jackets, instead of full hunting-shirts, and even these were pinched fits. for beds and bed-clothes they had nothing but the hides of buffaloes, and these, although good as far as they went, were only enough for two. lucien, the most delicate of the party, appropriated one, as the others insisted upon his so doing. francois had the other. as for basil and norman, they were forced each night to lie upon the naked earth, and but for the large fires which they kept blazing all the night, they would have suffered severely from cold. indeed, they did suffer quite enough; for some of the nights were so cold, that it was impossible to sleep by the largest fire without one-half of their bodies feeling chilled. the usual practice with travellers in the far west is to lie with their feet to the fire, while the head is at the greatest distance from it. this is considered the best mode, for so long as the feet are warm, the rest of the body will not suffer badly; but, on the contrary, if the feet are allowed to get cold, no matter what state the other parts be in, it is impossible to sleep with comfort. of course our young voyageurs followed the well-known practice of the country, and lay with their feet to the fire in such a manner that, when all were placed, their bodies formed four radii of a circle, of which the fire was the centre. marengo usually lay beside basil, whom he looked upon as his proper master. notwithstanding a bed of grass and leaves which they each night spread for themselves, they were sadly in want of blankets, and therefore the skin of the wapiti, which was a very fine one, would be a welcome addition to their stock of bedding. they resolved, therefore, to remain one day where they had killed it, so that the skin might be dried and receive a partial dressing. moreover, they intended to "jerk" some of the meat--although elk-venison is not considered very palatable where other meat can be had. it is without juice, and resembles dry short-grained beef more than venison. for this reason it is looked upon by both indians and white hunters as inferior to buffalo, moose, caribou, or even the common deer. one peculiarity of the flesh of this animal is, that the fat becomes hard the moment it is taken off the fire. it freezes upon the lips like suet, and clings around the teeth of a person eating it, which is not the case with that of other species of deer. the skin of the wapiti, however, is held in high esteem among the indians. it is thinner than that of the moose, but makes a much better article of leather. when dressed in the indian fashion--that is to say, soaked in a lather composed of the brains and fat of the animal itself, and then washed, dried, scraped, and smoked--it becomes as soft and pliable as a kid-glove, and will wash and dry without stiffening like chamois leather. that is a great advantage which it has, in the eyes of the indians, over the skins of other species of deer, as the moose and caribou--for the leather made from these, after a wetting, becomes harsh and rigid and requires a great deal of rubbing to render it soft again. lucien knew how to dress the elk-hide, and could make leather out of it as well as any indian squaw in the country. but travelling as they were, there was not a good opportunity for that; so they were content to give it such a dressing as the circumstances might allow. it was spread out on a frame of willow-poles, and set up in front of the fire, to be scraped at intervals and cleared of the fatty matter, as well as the numerous parasites that at this season adhere to the skins of the wapiti. while lucien was framing the skin, basil and norman occupied themselves in cutting the choice pieces of the meat into thin slices and hanging them up before the fire. this job being finished, all sat down to watch lucien currying his hide. "ho, boys!" cried francois, starting up as if something had occurred to him; "what about the wolverene? it's a splendid skin--why not get it too?" "true enough," replied norman, "we had forgotten that. but the beasts gone to the bottom--how can we get at him?" "why, fish him up, to be sure," said francois. "let's splice one of these willow-poles to my ramrod, and i'll screw it into him, and draw him to the surface in a jiffy. come!" "we must get the canoe round, then," said norman. "the bank's too steep for us to reach him without it." "of course," assented francois, at the same time going towards the willows; "get you the canoe into the water, while i cut the sapling." "stay!" cried basil, "i'll show you a shorter method. marengo!" as basil said this, he rose to his feet, and walked down to the bluff where they had shot the wolverene. all of them followed him as well as marengo, who bounded triumphantly from side to side, knowing he was wanted for some important enterprise. "do you expect the dog to fetch him out?" inquired norman. "no," replied basil; "only to help." "how?" "wait a moment--you shall see." basil flung down his 'coon-skin cap, and stripped off his caribou jacket, then his striped cotton shirt, then his under-shirt of fawn skin, and, lastly, his trousers, leggings, and mocassins. he was now as naked as adam. "i'll show you, cousin," said he, addressing himself to norman, "how we take the water down there on the mississippi." so saying, he stepped forward to the edge of the bluff; and having carefully noted the spot where the wolverene had gone down, turned to the dog, and simply said-- "ho! marengo! _chez moi_!" the dog answered with a whimper, and a look of intelligence which showed that he understood his master's wish. basil again pointed to the lake, raised his arms over his head, placing his palms close together, launched himself out into the air, and shot down head-foremost into the water. marengo, uttering a loud bay, sprang after so quickly that the plunges were almost simultaneous, and both master and dog were for some time hidden from view. the latter rose first, but it was a long time before basil came to the surface--so long that norman and the others were beginning to feel uneasy, and to regard the water with some anxiety. at length, however, a spot was seen to bubble, several yards from where he had gone down, and the black head of basil appeared above the surface. it was seen that he held something in his teeth, and was pushing a heavy body before him, which they saw was the wolverene. marengo, who swam near, now seized hold of the object, and pulled it away from his master, who, calling to the dog to follow, struck out towards a point where the bank was low and shelving. in a few minutes basil reached a landing-place, and shortly after marengo arrived towing the wolverene, which was speedily pulled out upon the bank, and carried, or rather dragged, by norman and francois to the camp. lucien brought basil's clothes, and all four once more assembled around the blazing fire. there is not a more hideous-looking animal in america than the wolverene. his thick body and short stout legs, his shaggy coat and bushy tail, but, above all, his long curving claws and doglike jaws, give him a formidable appearance. his gait is low and skulking, and his look bold and vicious. he walks somewhat like a bear, and his tracks are often mistaken for those of that animal. indians and hunters, however, know the difference well. his hind-feet are plantigrade, that is, they rest upon the ground from heel to toe; and his back curves like the segment of a circle. he is fierce and extremely voracious--quite as much so as the "glutton," of which he is the american representative. no animal is more destructive to the small game, and he will also attack and devour the larger kinds when he can get hold of them; but as he is somewhat slow, he can only seize most of them by stratagem. it is a common belief that he lies in wait upon trees and rocks to seize the deer passing beneath. it has been also asserted that he places moss, such as these animals feed upon, under his perch, in order to entice them within reach; and it has been still further asserted, that the arctic foxes assist him in his plans, by hunting the deer towards the spot where he lies in wait, thus acting as his jackals. these assertions have been made more particularly about his european cousin, the "glutton," about whom other stories are told equally strange--one of them, that he eats until scarce able to walk, and then draws his body through a narrow space between two trees, in order to relieve himself and get ready for a fresh meal. buffon and others have given credence to these tales upon the authority of one "olaus magnus," whose name, from the circumstance, might be translated "great fibber." there is no doubt, however, that the glutton is one of the most sagacious of animals, and so, too, is the wolverene. the latter gives proof of this by many of his habits; one in particular fully illustrates his cunning. it is this. the marten-trappers of the hudson bay territory set their traps in the snow, often extending over a line of fifty miles. these traps are constructed out of pieces of wood found near the spot, and are baited with the heads of partridges, or pieces of venison, of which the marten (_mustela martes_) is very fond. as soon as the marten seizes the bait, a trigger is touched, and a heavy piece of wood falling upon the animal, crushes or holds it fast. now the wolverene _enters the trap from behind_, tears the back out of it before touching the bait, and thus avoids the falling log! moreover, he will follow the tracks of the trapper from one to another, until he has destroyed the whole line. should a marten happen to have been before him, and got caught in the trap, he rarely ever eats it, as he is not fond of its flesh. but he is not satisfied to leave it as he finds it. he usually digs it from under the log, tears it to pieces, and then buries it under the snow. the foxes, who are well aware of this habit, and who themselves greedily eat the marten, are frequently seen following him upon such excursions. they are not strong enough to take the log from off the trapped animal, but from their keen scent can soon find it where the other has buried it in the snow. in this way, instead of their being providers for the wolverene, the reverse is the true story. notwithstanding, the wolverene will eat _them_ too, whenever he can get his claws upon them; but as they are much swifter than he, this seldom happens. the foxes, however, are themselves taken in traps, or more commonly shot by guns set for the purpose, with the bait attached by a string to the trigger. often the wolverene, finding the foxes dead or wounded, makes a meal of them before the hunter comes along to examine his traps and guns. the wolverene kills many of the foxes while young, and sometimes on finding their burrow, widens it with his strong claws, and eats the whole family in their nests. even young wolves sometimes become his prey. he lives, in fact, on very bad terms with both foxes and wolves, and often robs the latter of a fat deer which they may have just killed, and are preparing to dine upon. the beaver, however, is his favourite food, and but that these creatures can escape him by taking to the water--in which element he is not at all at home--he would soon exterminate their whole race. his great strength and acute scent enable him to overcome almost every wild creature of the forest or prairie. he is even said to be a full match for either the panther or the black bear. the wolverene lives in clefts of rock, or in hollow trees, where such are to be found; but he is equally an inhabitant of the forest and the prairie. he is found in fertile districts, as well as in the most remote deserts. his range is extensive, but he is properly a denizen of the cold and snowy regions. in the southern parts of the united states he is no longer known, though it is certain that he once lived there when those countries were inhabited by the beaver. north of latitude degrees he ranges perhaps to the pole itself, as traces of him have been found as far as man has yet penetrated. he is a solitary creature, and, like most predatory animals, a nocturnal prowler. the female brings forth two, sometimes three and four, at a birth. the cubs are of a cream colour, and only when full-grown acquire that dark-brown hue, which in the extreme of winter often passes into black. the fur is not unlike that of the bear, but is shorter-haired, and of less value than a bear-skin. notwithstanding, it is an article of trade with the hudson's bay company, who procure many thousands of the skins annually. the canadian voyageurs call the wolverene "carcajou;" while among the orkney and scotch servants of the hudson's bay company he is oftener known as the "quickhatch." it is supposed that both these names are corruptions of the cree word _okee-coo-haw-gew_ (the name of the wolverene among the indians of that tribe). many words from the same language have been adopted by both voyageurs and traders. those points in the natural history of the wolverene, that might be called _scientific_, were imparted by lucien, while norman furnished the information about its habits. norman knew the animal as one of the most common in the "trade"; and in addition to what we have recorded, also related many adventures and stories current among the voyageurs, in which this creature figures in quite as fanciful a manner, as he does in the works either of olaus magnus, or count de buffon. chapter sixteen. a grand sunday dinner. after remaining a day at their first camp on the lake, our voyageurs continued their journey. their course lay a little to the west of north, as the edge of the lake trended in that direction. their usual plan, as already stated, was to keep out in the lake far enough to shun the numerous indentations of the shore, yet not so far as to endanger their little craft when the wind was high. at night they always landed, either upon some point or on an island. sometimes the wind blew "dead ahead," and then their day's journey would be only a few miles. when the wind was favourable they made good progress, using the skin of the wapiti for a sail. on one of these days they reckoned a distance of over forty miles from camp to camp. it was their custom always to lie by on sunday, for our young voyageurs were christians. they had done so on their former expedition across the southern prairies, and they had found the practice to their advantage in a physical as well as a moral sense. they required the rest thus obtained; besides, a general cleaning up is necessary, at least, once every week. sunday was also a day of feasting with them. they had more time to devote to culinary operations, and the _cuisine_ of that day was always the most varied of the week. any extra delicacy obtained by the rifle on previous days, was usually reserved for the sunday's dinner. on the first sunday after entering lake winnipeg the "camp" chanced to be upon an island. it was a small island, of only a few acres in extent. it lay near the shore, and was well wooded over its whole surface with trees of many different kinds. indeed, islands in a large lake usually have a great variety of trees, as the seeds of all those sorts that grow around the shores are carried thither by the waves, or in the crops of the numerous birds that flit over its waters. but as the island in question lay in a lake, whose shores exhibited such a varied geology, it was natural the vegetation of the island itself should be varied. and, in truth; it was so. there were upon it, down by the water's edge, willows and cottonwoods (_populus angulata_), the characteristic _sylva_ of the prairie land; there were birches and sugar-maples (_acer saccharinum_); and upon some higher ground, near the centre, appeared several species that belonged more to the primitive formations that bounded the lake on the east. these were pines and spruces, the juniper, and tamarack or american larch (_laryx americana_); and among others could be distinguished the dark cone-shaped forms of the red cedar-trees. among the low bushes and shrubs there were rose and wild raspberry; there were apple and plum trees, and whole thickets of the "pembina" (_viburnum oxycoccos_). there is, in fact, no part of the world where a greater variety of wild fruit has been found indigenous than upon the banks of the red river of the north, and this variety extended to the little island where our voyageurs had encamped. the camp had been placed under a beautiful tree--the tacamahac, or balsam poplar (_populus balsamifera_). this is one of the finest trees of america, and one of those that extend farthest north into the cold countries. in favourable situations it attains a height of one hundred and fifty feet, with a proportionate thickness of trunk; but it is oftener only fifty or eighty feet high. its leaves are oval, and, when young, of a rich yellowish colour, which changes to a bright green. the buds are very large, yellow, and covered with a varnish, which exhales a delightful fragrance, and gives to the tree its specific name. it was near sunset on the afternoon of saturday; the travellers had just finished their repast, and were reclining around a fire of red cedar, whose delicate smoke curled up among the pale-green leaves of the poplars. the fragrant smell of the burning wood, mixed with the aromatic odour of the balsam-tree, filled the air with a sweet perfume, and, almost without knowing why, our voyageurs felt a sense of pleasure stealing over them. the woods of the little island were not without their voices. the scream of the jay was heard, and his bright azure wing appeared now and then among the foliage. the scarlet plumage of the cardinal grosbeak flashed under the beams of the setting sun; and the trumpet-note of the ivory-billed woodpecker was heard near the centre of the island. an osprey was circling in the air, with his eye bent on the water below, watching for his finny prey; and a pair of bald eagles (_haliaetus leucocephalus_) were winging their way towards the adjacent mainland. half-a-dozen turkey vultures (_cathartes atratus_) were wheeling above the beach, where some object, fish or carrion, had been thrown up by the waves. for some time the party remained silent, each contemplating the scene with feelings of pleasure. francois, as usual, first broke the silence. "i say, cook, what's for dinner to-morrow?" it was to lucien this speech was addressed. he was regarded as the _maitre de cuisine_. "roast or boiled--which would you prefer?" asked the cook, with a significant smile. "ha! ha! ha!" laughed francois; "boiled, indeed! a pretty boil we could have in a tin cup, holding less than a pint. i wish we _could_ have a boiled joint and a bowl of soup. i'd give something for it. i'm precious tired of this everlasting dry roast." "you shall have both," rejoined lucien, "for to-morrow's dinner. i promise you both the soup and the joint." again francois laughed incredulously. "do you mean to make soup in your shoe, luce?" "no; but i shall make it in this." and lucien held up a vessel somewhat like a water-pail, which the day before he had himself made out of birch-bark. "well," replied francois, "i know you have got a vessel that holds water, but cold water ain't soup; and if you can boil water in that vessel, i'll believe you to be a conjuror. i know you can do some curious things with your chemical mixtures; but that you can't do, i'm sure. why, man, the bottom would be burned out of your bucket before the water got blood-warm. soup, indeed!" "never mind, frank, you shall see. you're only like the rest of mankind--incredulous about everything they can't comprehend. if you'll take your hook and line, and catch some fish, i promise to give you a dinner to-morrow, with all the regular courses--soup, fish, boiled, roast, and dessert, too! i'm satisfied i can do all that." "_parbleu_! brother, you should have been cook to lucullus. well, i'll catch the fish for you." so saying, francois took a fish-hook and line out of his pouch, and fixing a large grasshopper upon the hook, stepped forward to the edge of the water, and cast it in. the float was soon seen to bob and then sink, and francois jerked his hook ashore with a small and very pretty fish upon it of a silver hue, with which the lake and the waters running into it abound. lucien told him it was a fish of the genus _hyodon_. he also advised him to bait with a worm, and let his bait sink to the bottom, and he might catch a sturgeon, which would be a larger fish. "how do you know there are sturgeon in the lake?" inquired francois. "i am pretty sure of that," answered the naturalist; "the sturgeon (_acipenser_) is found all round the world in the northern temperate zone--both in its seas and fresh waters; although, when you go farther south into the warmer climate, no sturgeons exist. i am sure there are some here, perhaps more than one species. sink your bait, for the sturgeon is a toothless fish, and feeds upon soft substances at the bottom." francois followed the advice of his brother, and in a few minutes he had a "nibble," and drew up and landed a very large fish, full three feet in length. lucien at once pronounced it a sturgeon, but of a species he had not before seen. it was the _acipenser carbonarius_, a curious sort of fish found in these waters. it did not look like a fish that would be pleasant eating; therefore francois again took to bobbing for the silver fish (_hyodons_), which, though small, he knew to be excellent when broiled. "come," said basil, "i must furnish my quota to this famous dinner that is to be. let me see what there is on the island in the way of game;" and shouldering his rifle, he walked off among the trees. "and i," said norman, "am not going to eat the produce of other people's labour without contributing my share." so the young trader took up his gun and went off in a different direction. "good!" exclaimed lucien, "we are likely to have plenty of meat for the dinner. i must see about the vegetables;" and taking with him his new-made vessel, lucien sauntered off along the shore of the islet. francois alone remained by the camp, and continued his fishing. let us follow the plant-hunter, and learn a lesson of practical botany. lucien had not gone far, when he came to what appeared to be a mere sedge growing in the water. the stalks or culms of this sedge were full eight feet high, with smooth leaves, an inch broad, nearly a yard in length, and of a light green colour. at the top of each stalk was a large panicle of seeds, somewhat resembling a head of oats. the plant itself was the famous wild rice (_zizania aquatica_), so much prized by the indians as an article of food, and also the favourite of many wild birds, especially the reed-bird or rice-bunting. the grain of the zizania was not yet ripe, but the ears were tolerably well filled, and lucien saw that it would do for his purpose. he therefore waded in, and stripped off into his vessel as much as he wanted. "i am safe for rice-soup, at all events," soliloquised he, "but i think i can do still better;" and he continued on around the shore, and shortly after struck into some heavy timber that grew in a damp, rich soil. he had walked about an hundred yards farther, when he was seen to stoop and examine some object on the ground. "it ought to be found here," he muttered to himself; "this is the very soil for it,--yes, here we have it!" the object over which he was stooping was a plant, but its leaves appeared shrivelled, or rather quite withered away. the upper part of a bulbous root, however, was just visible above the surface. it was a bulb of the wild leek (_allium tricoccum_.) the leaves, when young, are about six inches in length, of a flat shape and often three inches broad; but, strange to say, they shrivel or die off very early in the season,--even before the plant flowers, and then it is difficult to find the bulb. lucien, however, had sharp eyes for such things; and in a short while he had rooted out several bulbs as large as pigeons' eggs, and deposited them in his birchen vessel. he now turned to go back to camp, satisfied with what he had obtained. he had the rice to give consistency to his soup, and the leek-roots to flavour it with. that would be enough. as he was walking over a piece of boggy ground his eye was attracted to a singular plant, whose tall stem rose high above the grass. it was full eight feet in height, and at its top there was an umbel of conspicuous white flowers. its leaves were large, lobed, and toothed, and the stem itself was over an inch in diameter, with furrows running longitudinally. lucien had never seen the plant before, although he had often heard accounts of it, and he at once recognised it from its botanical description. it was the celebrated "cow parsnip" (_heracleum lanatum_). its stem was jointed and hollow, and lucien had heard that the indians called it in their language "flute-stem," as they often used it to make their rude musical instruments from, and also a sort of whistle or "call," by which they were enabled to imitate and decoy several kinds of deer. but there was another use to which the plant was put, of which the naturalist was not aware. norman, who had been wandering about, came up at this moment, and seeing lucien standing by the plant, uttered a joyful "hulloh!" "well," inquired lucien, "what pleases you, coz?" "why, the flute-stem, of course. you talked of making a soup. it will help you, i fancy." "how?" demanded lucien. "why, the young stems are good eating, and the roots, if you will; but the young shoots are better. both indians and voyageurs eat them in soup, and are fond of them. it's a famous thing, i assure you." "let us gather some, then," said lucien; and the cousins commenced cutting off such stems as were still young and tender. as soon as they had obtained enough, they took their way back to the camp. basil had already arrived with a fine _prairie hen (tetrao cupido_) which he had shot, and norman had brought back a squirrel; so that, with francois's fish, of which a sufficient number had been caught, lucien was likely to be able to keep his promise about the dinner. francois, however, could not yet comprehend how the soup was to be boiled in a wooden pot; and, indeed, basil was unable to guess. norman, however, knew well enough, for he had travelled through the country of the assinoboil indians, who take their name from this very thing. he had also witnessed the operation performed by crees, chippewas, and even voyageurs, where metal or earthen pots could not be obtained. on the next day the mystery was cleared up to basil and francois. lucien first collected a number of stones--about as large as paving-stones. he chose such as were hard and smooth. these he flung into the cinders, where they soon became red-hot. the water and meat were now put into the bark pot, and then one stone after another,--each being taken out as it got cooled,--until the water came to a fierce boil. the rice and other ingredients were added at the proper time, and in a short while an excellent soup was made. so much, then, for the soup, and the boiled dishes with vegetables. the roast, of course, was easily made ready upon green-wood spits, and the "game" was cooked in a similar way. the fish were broiled upon the red cinders, and eaten, as is usual, after the soup. there were no puddings or pies, though, no doubt, lucien could have made such had they been wanted. in their place there was an excellent service of fruit. there were strawberries and raspberries, one sort of which found wild in this region is of a most delicious flavour. there were gooseberries and currants; but the most delicious fruit, and that which francois liked best, was a small berry of a dark blue colour, not unlike the huckleberry, but much sweeter and of higher flavour. it grows on a low bush or shrub with ovate leaves; and this bush when it blossoms is so covered with beautiful white flowers, that neither leaves nor branches can be seen. there are no less than four varieties of it known, two of which attain to the height of twenty feet or more. the french canadians call it "le poire," but in most parts of america it is known as the "service-berry," although several other names are given to it in different districts. lucien informed his companions, while they were crushing its sweet purplish fruit between their teeth, that its botanical name is _amelanchier_. "now," remarked francois, "if we only had a cup of coffee and a glass of wine, we might say that we had dined in fashionable style." "i think," replied lucien, "we are better without the wine, and as for the other i cannot give you that, but i fancy i can provide you with a cup of tea if you only allow me a little time." "tea!" screamed francois; "why, there's not a leaf of tea nearer than china; and for the sugar, not a grain within hundreds of miles!" "come, frank," said lucien, "nature has not been so ungenerous here,-- even in such luxuries as tea and sugar. look yonder! you see those large trees with the dark-coloured trunks. what are they?" "sugar-maples," replied francois. "well," said lucien, "i think even at this late season we might contrive to extract sap enough from them to sweeten a cup of tea. you may try, while i go in search of the tea-plant." "upon my word, luce, you are equal to a wholesale grocery. very well. come, basil, we'll tap the maples; let the captain go with luce." the boys, separating into pairs, walked off in different directions. lucien and his companion soon lighted upon the object of their search in the same wet bottom where they had procured the _heracleum_. it was a branching shrub, not over two feet in height, with small leaves of a deep green colour above, but whitish and woolly underneath. it is a plant well-known throughout most of the hudson's bay territory by the name of "labrador tea-plant;" and is so called because the canadian voyageurs, and other travellers through these northern districts, often drink it as tea. it is one of the _ericaceae_, or heath tribe, of the genus _ledum_--though it is not a true heath, as, strange to say, no true heath is found upon the continent of america. there are two kinds of it known,--the "narrow-leafed" and "broad-leafed;" and the former makes the best tea. but the pretty white flowers of the plant are better for the purpose than the leaves of either variety; and these it was that were now gathered by lucien and norman. they require to be dried before the decoction is made; but this can be done in a short time over a fire; and so in a short time it was done, norman having parched them upon heated stones. meanwhile basil and francois had obtained the sugar-water, and lucien having washed his soup-kettle clean, and once more made his boiling stones red-hot, prepared the beverage; and then it was served out in the tin cup, and all partook of it. norman had drunk the labrador tea before, and was rather fond of it, but his southern cousins did not much relish it. its peculiar flavour, which somewhat resembles rhubarb, was not at all to the liking of francois. all, however, admitted that it produced a cheering effect upon their spirits; and, after drinking it, they felt in that peculiarly happy state of mind which one experiences after a cup of the real "bohea." chapter seventeen. the marmots of america. from such a luxurious dinner you may suppose that our young voyageurs lived in prime style. but it was not always so. they had their fasts as well as feasts. sometimes for days they had nothing to eat but the jerked deer-meat. no bread--no beer--no coffee, nothing but water--dry venison and water. of course, this is food enough for a hungry man; but it can hardly be called luxurious living. now and then a wild duck, or a goose, or perhaps a young swan, was shot; and this change in their diet was very agreeable. fish were caught only upon occasions, for often these capricious creatures refused francois' bait, however temptingly offered. after three weeks' coasting the lake, they reached the saskatchewan, and turning up that stream, now travelled in a due westerly direction. at the grand rapids, near the mouth of this river, they were obliged to make a portage of no less than three miles, but the magnificent view of these "rapids" fully repaid them for the toil they underwent in passing them. the saskatchewan is one of the largest rivers in america, being full miles in length, from its source in the rocky mountains to its _debouchure_, under the name of the "nelson river," in hudson's bay. for some distance above lake winnipeg, the country upon its banks is well wooded. farther up, the river runs through dry sandy prairies that extend westward to the foot-hills of the rocky mountains. many of these prairies may be properly called "deserts." they contain lakes as salt as the ocean itself, and vast tracts--hundreds of square miles in extent--where not a drop of water is to be met with. but the route of our voyageurs did not lie over these prairies. it was their intention, after reaching cumberland house, to turn again in a northerly direction. one evening, when within two days' journey of the fort, they had encamped upon the bank of the saskatchewan. they had chosen a beautiful spot for their camp, where the country, swelling into rounded hills, was prettily interspersed with bushy copses of _amelanchiers_, and _rosa blanda_, whose pale red flowers were conspicuous among the green leaves, and filled the air with a sweet fragrance, that was wafted to our voyageurs upon the sunny breeze. the ground was covered with a grassy sward enamelled by the pink flowers of the _cleome_, and the deeper red blossoms of the beautiful wind-flower (_anemone_). upon that day our travellers had not succeeded in killing any game, and their dinner was likely to consist of nothing better than dry venison scorched over the coals. as they had been travelling all the morning against a sharp current, and, of course, had taken turn about at the paddles, they all felt fatigued, and none of them was inclined to go in search of game. they had flung themselves down around the fire, and were waiting until the venison should be broiled for dinner. the camp had been placed at the foot of a tolerably steep hill, that rose near the banks of the river. there was another and higher hill facing it, the whole front of which could be seen by our travellers as they sat around their fire. while glancing their eyes along its declivity, they noticed a number of small protuberances or mounds standing within a few feet of each other. each of them was about a foot in height, and of the form of a truncated cone--that is, a cone with its top cut off, or beaten down. "what are they?" inquired francois. "i fancy," answered lucien, "they are marmot-houses." "they are," affirmed norman; "there are plenty of them in this country." "oh! marmots!" said francois. "prairie-dogs, you mean?--the same we met with on the southern prairies?" "i think not," replied norman: "i think the prairie-dogs are a different sort. are they not, cousin luce?" "yes, yes," answered the naturalist; "these must be a different species. there are too few of them to be the houses of prairie-dogs. the `dogs' live in large settlements, many hundreds of them in one place; besides, their domes are somewhat different in appearance from these. the mounds of the prairie-dogs have a hole in the top or on one side. these, you see, have not. the hole is in the ground beside them, and the hill is in front, made by the earth taken out of the burrow, just as you have seen it at the entrance of a rat's hole. they are marmots, i have no doubt, but of a different species from the prairie-dog marmots." "are there not many kinds of marmots in america? i have heard so," said francois. this question was of course addressed to lucien. "yes," answered he. "the _fauna_ of north america is peculiarly rich in species of these singular animals. there are thirteen kinds of them, well-known to naturalists; and there are even some varieties in these thirteen kinds that might almost be considered distinct species. i have no doubt, moreover, there are yet other species which have not been described. perhaps, altogether, there are not less than twenty different kinds of marmots in north america. as only one or two species are found in the settled territories of the united states, it was supposed, until lately, that there were no others. latterly the naturalists of north america have been very active in their researches, and no genus of animals has rewarded them so well as the marmots-- unless, perhaps, it may be the squirrels. almost every year a new species of one or the other of these has been found--mostly inhabiting the vast wilderness territories that lie between the mississippi and the pacific ocean. "as regards the marmots, the _closet-naturalists_, as usual, have rendered their history as complicated and difficult to be understood as possible. they have divided them into several genera, because one kind happens to have a larger tubercle upon its tooth than another, or a little more curving in its claws, or a shorter tail. it is true that in the thirteen species some differ considerably from the others in size, colour, and other respects. yet, for all that, there is such an identity, if i may so express it, about the mode of life, the food, the appearance, and habits of all the thirteen, that i think it is both absurd and ill-judged to render the study of them more difficult, by thus dividing them into so many genera. they are all _marmots_, that is what they are; and why confound the study of them by calling them spermophiles and arctomys, and such-like hard names?" "i quite agree with you, luce," said the hunter, basil, who, although not averse to the study of natural history (all hunters, i believe, love it more or less), had no great opinion of the closet-naturalists and "babblers about teeth," as he contemptuously called them. "when a family of animals," continued lucien, "contains a great many species, and these species differ widely from each other, i admit that it may then be convenient and useful to class them into genera, and sometimes even sub-genera; but, on the other hand, when there are only a few species, and these closely allied to each other, i think nothing can be more ridiculous than this dividing and subdividing, and giving such unpronounceable names to them. it is this that renders the study difficult, because even the committing to memory such a string of unmeaning phrases is of itself no easy task. take, for example, such a phrase as `_arctomys spermophilus rickardsonii_,' which, although nearly a yard long, means simply the `tawny marmot.' do not mistake me," continued lucien; "i do not object to the use of the greek or latin phraseology used in such cases. some universal language must be adopted, so that the naturalists of different countries may understand each other. but then this language should, when translated, describe the animal, by giving some of its characteristics, and thus have a meaning. on the contrary, it usually, when put into plain english, gives us only the name--often a clumsy and unpronounceable german one-- of some obscure friend of the author, or, as is not unfrequently the case, some lordly patron for whom your closet-naturalist entertains a flunkeyish regard, and avails himself of this means of making it known to his maecenas. in my opinion," continued lucien, warming with the enthusiasm of a true naturalist, "it is a most impertinent interference with the beautiful things of nature--her birds and quadrupeds, her plants and flowers--to couple them with the names of kings, princes, lords, and lordlings, who chance to be the local gods of some closet-naturalist. it is these catalogue-makers who generally multiply synonymes so as to render science unintelligible. sitting in their easy-chairs they know little or nothing of the habits of the animals about which they write; and therefore, to write something original, they multiply names, and give measurements _ad infinitum_, and this among them constitutes a science. i do not, of course, include among these the man whose name is given--richardson. no; he was a true naturalist, who travelled and underwent hardships to earn the high name which he bears and so well deserves." "brother luce," said basil, "you grow excited upon this subject, and that is something of a rarity to see. i agree with you, however, in all you have said. previous to our leaving home i read several books upon natural history. they were the works of distinguished closet-naturalists. well, i found that all the information they contained about the animals of these northern regions--at least, all that could be called _information_--i had read somewhere before. after thinking for a while i recollected where. it was in the pages of the traveller hearne--a man who, among these scientific gentlemen, is considered only in the light of a rude traveller, and not deserving the name of naturalist. hearne journeyed to the arctic sea so early as the year ; and to him the world is indebted for their first knowledge of the fact that there was no strait across the continent south of the seventieth parallel of latitude." "yes," said lucien, "he was sent out by the hudson's bay company, perhaps more scantily furnished than any explorer ever was before. he underwent the most dreadful hardships and perils, and has left behind him an account of the inhabitants and natural history of these parts, so full and so truthful, that it has not only stood the test of subsequent observation, but the closet-naturalists have added but little to it ever since. most of them have been satisfied with giving just what poor hearne had gathered--as, in fact, they knew nothing more, and could not, therefore, add anything. some of them have quoted his own words, and given him the credit of his vast labour; while others have endeavoured to pass off hearne's knowledge as their own, by giving a slightly altered paraphrase of his language. this sort of thing," said lucien, "makes me indignant." "it's downright mean," interposed norman. "all of us in this country have heard of hearne. he was a right hardy traveller, and no mistake about it." "well, then," said lucien, cooling down, and resuming the subject of the marmots, "these little animals seem to form a link between the squirrels and rabbits. on the side of the squirrels they very naturally join on, if i may use the expression, to the ground-squirrel, and some of them differ but little in their habits from many of the latter. other species, again, are more allied to the rabbits, and less like the squirrels; and there are two or three kinds that i should say--using a yankee expression--have a `sprinkling' of the rat in them. some, as the ground-hog, or wood-chuck of the united states, are as large as rabbits, while others, as the leopard-marmot, are not bigger than norway rats. some species have cheek-pouches, in which they can carry a large quantity of seeds, nuts, and roots, when they wish to hoard them up for future use. these are the spermophiles, and some species of these have more capacious pouches than others. their food differs somewhat, perhaps according to the circumstances in which they may be placed. in all cases it is vegetable. some, as the prairie-dogs, live upon grasses, while others subsist chiefly upon seeds, berries, and leaves. it was long supposed that the marmots, like the squirrels, laid up stores against the winter. i believe this is not the case with any of the different species. i know for certain that most of them pass the winter in a state of torpidity, and of course require no provisions, as they eat nothing during that season. in this we observe one of those cases in which nature so beautifully adapts a creature to its circumstances. in the countries where many of the marmots are found, so severe are the winters, and so barren the soil, that it would be impossible for these creatures to get a morsel of food for many long months. during this period, therefore, nature suspends her functions, by putting them into a deep, and, for aught we know to the contrary, a pleasant sleep. it is only when the snow melts, under the vernal sun, and the green blades of grass and the spring flowers array themselves on the surface of the earth, that the little marmots make their appearance again. then the warm air, penetrating into their subterranean abodes, admonishes them to awake from their protracted slumber, and come forth to the enjoyment of their summer life. these animals may be said, therefore, to have no winter. their life is altogether a season of summer and sunshine. "some of the marmots," continued lucien, "live in large communities, as the prairie-dogs; others, in smaller tribes, while still other species lead a solitary life, going only in pairs, or at most in families. nearly all of them are burrowing animals, though there are one or two species that are satisfied with a cleft in the rock, or a hole among loose stones for their nests. some of them are tree-climbers, but it is supposed they only ascend trees in search of food, as they do not make their dwellings there. many of the species are very prolific, the females bringing forth eight, and even ten young at a birth. "the marmots are extremely shy and watchful creatures. before going to feed, they usually reconnoitre the ground from the tops of their little mounds. some species do not have such mounds, and for this purpose ascend any little hillock that may be near. nearly all have the curious habit of placing sentries to watch while the rest are feeding. these sentries station themselves on some commanding point, and when they see an enemy approaching give warning to the others by a peculiar cry. in several of the species this cry resembles the syllables `seek-seek' repeated with a hiss. others bark like `toy-dogs,' while still other kinds utter a whistling noise, from which one species derives its trivial name of `whistler' among the traders, and is the `siffleur' of the canadian voyageurs. "the `whistler's' call of alarm can be heard at a great distance; and when uttered by the sentinel is repeated by all the others as far as the troop extends. "the marmots are eaten both by indians and white hunters. sometimes they are captured by pouring water into their burrows; but this method only succeeds in early spring, when the animals awake out of their torpid state, and the ground is still frozen hard enough to prevent the water from filtering away. they are sometimes shot with guns; but, unless killed upon the spot, they will escape to their burrows, and tumble in before the hunter can lay his hands upon them." chapter eighteen. the blaireau, the "tawnies," and the "leopards." perhaps lucien would have carried his account of the marmots still farther--for he had not told half what he knew of their habits--but he was at that moment interrupted by the marmots themselves. several of them appeared at the mouths of their holes; and, after looking out and reconnoitring for some moments, became bolder, and ran up to the tops of their mounds, and began to scatter along the little beaten paths that led from one to the other. in a short while as many as a dozen could be seen moving about, jerking their tails, and at intervals uttering their "seek-seek." our voyageurs saw that there were two kinds of them, entirely different in colour, size, and other respects. the larger ones were of a greyish yellow above, with an orange tint upon the throat and belly. these were the "tawny marmots," called sometimes "ground-squirrels," and by the voyageurs, "siffleurs," or "whistlers." the other species seen were the most beautiful of all the marmots. they were very little smaller than the tawny marmots; but their tails were larger and more slender, which rendered their appearance more graceful. their chief beauty, however, lay in their colours and markings. they were striped from the nose to the rump with bands of yellow and chocolate colour, which alternated with each other, while the chocolate bands were themselves variegated by rows of yellow spots regularly placed. these markings gave the animals that peculiar appearance so well-known as characterising the skin of the leopard, hence the name of these little creatures was "leopard-marmots." it was plain from their actions that both kinds were "at home" among the mounds, and that both had their burrows there. this was the fact, and norman told his companion that the two kinds are always found together, not living in the same houses, but only as neighbours in the same "settlement." the burrows of the "leopard" have much smaller entrances than those of their "tawny kin," and run down perpendicularly to a greater depth before branching off in a horizontal direction. a straight stick may be thrust down one of these full five feet before reaching an "elbow." the holes of the tawny marmots, on the contrary, branch off near the surface, and are not so deep under ground. this guides us to the explanation of a singular fact--which is, that the "tawnies" make their appearance three weeks earlier in spring than the "leopards," in consequence of the heat of the sun reaching them sooner, and waking them out of their torpid sleep. while these explanations were passing among the boys, the marmots had come out, to the number of a score, and were carrying on their gambols along the declivity of the hill. they were at too great a distance to heed the movements of the travellers by the camp-fire. besides, a considerable valley lay between them and the camp, which, as they believed, rendered their position secure. they were not at such a distance but that many of their movements could be clearly made out by the boys, who after a while noticed that several furious battles were being fought among them. it was not the "tawnies" against the others, but the males of each kind in single combats with one another. they fought like little cats, exhibiting the highest degree of boldness and fury; but it was noticed that in these conflicts the leopards were far more active and spiteful than their kinsmen. in observing them through his glass lucien noticed that they frequently seized each other by the tails, and he further noticed that several of them had their tails much shorter than the rest. norman said that these had been bitten off in their battles; and, moreover, that it was a rare thing to find among the males, or "bucks," as he called them, one that had a perfect tail! while these observations were being made, the attention of our party was attracted to a strange animal that was seen slowly crawling around the hill. it was a creature about as big as an ordinary setter dog, but much thicker in the body, shorter in the legs, and shaggier in the coat. its head was flat, and its ears short and rounded. its hair was long, rough, and of a mottled hoary grey colour, but dark-brown upon the legs and tail. the latter, though covered with long hair, was short, and carried upright; and upon the broad feet of the animal could be seen long and strong curving claws. its snout was sharp as that of a greyhound--though not so prettily formed--and a white stripe, passing from its very tip over the crown, and bordered by two darker bands, gave a singular expression to the animal's countenance. it was altogether, both in form and feature, a strange and vicious-looking creature. norman recognised it at once as the "blaireau," or american badger. the others had never seen such a creature before--as it is not an inhabitant of the south, nor of any part of the settled portion of the united states, for the animal there sometimes called a badger is the ground-hog, or maryland marmot (_arctomys monax_). indeed, it was for a long time believed that no true badger inhabited the continent of america. now, however, it is known that such exists, although it is of a species distinct from the badger of europe. it is less in size than the latter, and its fur is longer, finer, and lighter in colour; but it is also more voracious in its habits, preying constantly upon mice, marmots, and other small animals, and feeding upon carcasses, whenever it chances to meet with such. it is an inhabitant of the sandy and barren districts, where it burrows the earth in such a manner that horses frequently sink and snap their legs in the hollow ground made by it. these are not always the holes scraped out for its own residence, but the burrows of the marmots, which the blaireau has enlarged, so that it may enter and prey upon them. in this way the creature obtains most of its food, but as the marmots lie torpid during the winter months, and the ground above them is frozen as hard as a rock, it is then impossible for the blaireau to effect an entrance. at this season it would undoubtedly starve had not nature provided against such a result, by giving it the power of sleeping throughout the winter months as well as the marmots themselves, which it does. as soon as it wakes up and comes abroad, it begins its campaign against these little creatures; and it prefers, above all others, the "tawnies," and the beautiful "leopards," both of which it persecutes incessantly. the badger when first seen was creeping along with its belly almost dragging the ground, and its long snout projected horizontally in the direction of the marmot "village." it was evidently meditating a surprise of the inhabitants. now and then it would stop, like a pointer dog when close to a partridge, reconnoitre a moment, and then go on again. its design appeared to be to get between the marmots and their burrows, intercept some of them, and get a hold of them without the trouble of digging them up--although that would be no great affair to it, for so strong are its fore-arms and claws that in loose soil it can make its way under the ground as fast as a mole. slowly and cautiously it stole along, its hind-feet resting all their length upon the ground, its hideous snout thrown forward, and its eyes glaring with a voracious and hungry expression. it had got within fifty paces of the marmots, and would, no doubt, have succeeded in cutting off the retreat of some of them, but at that moment a burrowing owl (_strix cunicularia_), that had been perched upon one of the mounds, rose up, and commenced hovering in circles above the intruder. this drew the attention of the marmot sentries to their well-known enemy, and their warning cry was followed by a general scamper of both tawnies and leopards towards their respective burrows. the blaireau, seeing that further concealment was no longer of any use, raised himself higher upon his limbs, and sprang forward in pursuit. he was too late, however, as the marmots had all got into their holes, and their angry "seek-seek," was heard proceeding from various quarters out of the bowels of the earth. the blaireau only hesitated long enough to select one of the burrows into which he was sure a marmot had entered; and then, setting himself to his work, he commenced throwing out the mould like a terrier. in a few seconds he was half buried, and his hindquarters and tail alone remained above ground. he would soon have disappeared entirely, but at that moment the boys, directed and headed by norman, ran up the hill, and seizing him by the tail, endeavoured to jerk him back. that, however, was a task which they could not accomplish, for first one and then another, and then basil and norman-- who were both strong boys--pulled with all their might, and could not move him. norman cautioned them against letting him go, as in a moment's time he would burrow beyond their reach. so they held on until francois had got his gun ready. this the latter soon did, and a load of small shot was fired into the blaireau's hips, which, although it did not quite kill him, caused him to back out of the hole, and brought him into the clutches of marengo. a desperate struggle ensued, which ended by the bloodhound doubling his vast black muzzle upon the throat of the blaireau, and choking him to death in less than a dozen seconds; and then his hide--the only part which was deemed of any value--was taken off and carried to the camp. the carcass was left upon the face of the hill, and the red shining object was soon espied by the buzzards and turkey vultures, so that in a few minutes' time several of these filthy birds were seen hovering around, and alighting upon the hill. but this was no new sight to our young voyageurs, and soon ceased to be noticed by them. another bird, of a different kind, for a short time engaged their attention. it was a large hawk, which lucien, as soon as he saw it, pronounced to be one of the kind known as buzzards (_buteo_). of these there are several species in north america, but it is not to be supposed that there is any resemblance between them and the buzzards just mentioned as having alighted by the carcass of the blaireau. the latter, commonly called "turkey buzzards," are true vultures, and feed mostly, though not exclusively, on carrion; while the "hawk buzzards" have all the appearance and general habits of the rest of the falcon tribe. the one in question, lucien said, was the "marsh-hawk," sometimes also called the "hen-harrier" (_falco uliginosus_). norman stated that it was known among the indians of these parts as the "snake-bird," because it preys upon a species of small green snake that is common on the plains of the saskatchewan, and of which it is fonder than of any other food. the voyageurs were not long in having evidence of the appropriateness of the indian appellation; for these people, like other savages, have the good habit of giving names that express some quality or characteristic of the thing itself. the bird in question was on the wing, and from its movements evidently searching for game. it sailed in easy circlings near the surface, _quartering_ the ground like a pointer dog. it flew so lightly that its wings were not seen to move, and throughout all its wheelings and turnings it appeared to be carried onwards or upwards by the power of mere volition. once or twice its course brought it directly over the camp, and francois had got hold of his gun, with the intention of bringing it down, but on each occasion it perceived his motions; and, soaring up like a paper-kite until out of reach, it passed over the camp, and then sank down again upon the other side, and continued its "quarterings" as before. for nearly half-an-hour it went on manoeuvring in this way, when all at once it was seen to make a sudden turning in the air as it fixed its eyes upon some object in the grass. the next moment it glided diagonally towards the earth, and poising itself for a moment above the surface, rose again with a small green-coloured snake struggling in its talons. after ascending to some height, it directed its flight towards a clump of trees, and was soon lost to the view of our travellers. lucien now pointed out to his companions a characteristic of the hawk and buzzard tribe, by which these birds can always be distinguished from the true falcon. that peculiarity lay in the manner of seizing their prey. the former skim forward upon it sideways--that is, in a horizontal or diagonal direction, and pick it up in passing; while the true falcons--as the merlin, the peregrine, the gerfalcon, and the great eagle-falcons--shoot down upon their prey _perpendicularly_ like an arrow, or a piece of falling lead. he pointed out, moreover, how the structure of the different kinds of preying birds, such as the size and form of the wings and tail, as well as other parts, were in each kind adapted to its peculiar mode of pursuing its prey; and then there arose a discussion as to whether this adaptation should be considered a _cause_ or an _effect_. lucien succeeded in convincing his companions that the structure was the effect and not the cause of the habit, for the young naturalist was a firm believer in the changing and progressive system of nature. chapter nineteen. an odd sort of decoy-duck. two days after the adventure with the blaireau, the young voyageurs arrived at cumberland house--one of the most celebrated posts of the hudson's bay company. the chief factor, who resided there, was a friend of norman's father, and of course the youths were received with the warmest hospitality, and entertained during their stay in the best manner the place afforded. they did not make a long stay, however, as they wished to complete their journey before the winter should set in, when canoe-travelling would become impossible. during winter, not only the lakes, but the most rapid rivers of these northern regions, become frozen up, and remain so for many months. nearly the whole surface of the earth is buried under deep snow, and travelling can only be done with snow-shoes, or with sledges drawn by dogs. these are the modes practised by the indians, the esquimaux, and the few white traders and trappers who have occasion in winter to pass from one point to another of that icy and desolate region. travelling under such circumstances is not only difficult and laborious, but is extremely perilous. food cannot always be obtained--supplies fall short, or become exhausted--game is scarce, or cannot be found at all, as at that season many of the quadrupeds and most of the birds have forsaken the country, and migrated to the south--and whole parties of travellers--even indians, who can eat anything living or dead, roast or raw--often perish from hunger. our travellers were well acquainted with these facts; and being anxious, therefore, to get to the end of their journey before the winter should come down upon them, made all haste to proceed. of course they obtained a new "outfit" at the fort; but they took with them only such articles as were absolutely necessary, as they had many portages to make before they could reach the waters of the mackenzie river. as it required two of the party to carry the canoe, with a few little things besides, all the baggage was comprised in such loads as the others could manage; and of course that was not a great deal, for francois was but a lad, and lucien was far from being in robust health. a light axe, a few cooking utensils, with a small stock of provisions, and of course their guns, formed the bulk of their loads. after leaving the fort they kept for several days' journey up the saskatchewan. they then took leave of that river, and ascended a small stream that emptied into it from the north. making their first portage over a "divide," they reached another small stream that ran in quite a different direction, emptying itself into one of the branches of the mississippi, or churchill river. following this in a north-westerly course, and making numerous other portages, they reached lake la crosse, and afterwards in succession, lakes clear, buffalo, and methy. a long "portage" from the last-mentioned lake brought them to the head of a stream known as the "clear water;" and launching their canoe upon this, they floated down to its mouth, and entered the main stream of the elk, or athabasca, one of the most beautiful rivers of america. they were now in reality upon the waters of the mackenzie itself, for the elk, after passing through the athabasca lake, takes from thence the name of slave river, and having traversed great slave lake, becomes the mackenzie--under which name it continues on to the arctic ocean. having got, therefore, upon the main head-water of the stream which they intended to traverse, they floated along in their canoe with light hearts and high hopes. it is true they had yet fifteen hundred miles to travel, but they believed that it was all down-hill work now; and as they had still nearly two months of summer before them, they doubted not being able to accomplish the voyage in good time. on they floated down-stream, feasting their eyes as they went--for the scenery of the elk valley is of a most picturesque and pleasing character; and the broad bosom of the stream itself, studded with wooded islands, looked to our travellers more like a continuation of lakes than a running river. now they glided along without using an oar, borne onward by the current; then they would take a spell at the paddles, while the beautiful canadian boat-song could be heard as it came from the tiny craft, and the appropriate chorus "row, brothers, row!" echoed from the adjacent shores. no part of their journey was more pleasant than while descending the romantic elk. they found plenty of fresh provisions, both in the stream itself and on its banks. they caught salmon in the water, and the silver-coloured hyodon, known among the voyageurs by the name of "dore." they shot both ducks and geese, and roast-duck or goose had become an everyday dinner with them. of the geese there were several species. there were "snow-geese," so called from their beautiful white plumage; and "laughing geese," that derive their name from the circumstance that their call resembles the laugh of a man. the indians decoy these by striking their open hand repeatedly over the mouth while uttering the syllable "wah." they also saw the "brent goose," a well-known species, and the "canada goose," which is the _wild goose par excellence_. another species resembling the latter, called the "barnacle goose," was seen by our travellers. besides these, lucien informed them that there were several other smaller kinds that inhabit the northern countries of america. these valuable birds are objects of great interest to the people of the fur countries for months in the year. whole tribes of indians look to them as a means of support. with regard to ducks, there was one species which our travellers had not yet met with, and for which they were every day upon the look-out. this was the far-famed "canvass-back," so justly celebrated among the epicures of america. none of them had ever eaten of it, as it is not known in louisiana, but only upon the atlantic coast of the united states. norman, however, had heard of its existence in the rocky mountains--where it is said to breed--as well as in other parts of the fur countries, and they were in hopes that they might fall in with it upon the waters of the athabasca. lucien was, of course, well acquainted with its "biography," and could have recognised one at sight; and as they glided along he volunteered to give his companions some information, not only about this particular species, but about the whole genus of these interesting birds. "the canvass-back," began he, "is perhaps the most celebrated and highly-prized of all the ducks, on account of the exquisite flavour of its flesh--which is thought by some epicures to be superior to that of all other birds. it is not a large duck--rarely weighing over three pounds--and its plumage is far from equalling in beauty that of many other species. it has a red or chestnut-coloured head, a shining black breast, while the greater part of its body is of a greyish colour; but upon close examination this grey is found to be produced by a whitish ground minutely mottled with zig-zag black lines. i believe it is this mottling, combined with the colour, which somewhat resembles the appearance and texture of ship's canvass, that has given the bird its trivial name; but there is some obscurity about the origin of this. in colour, however, it so nearly resembles the `pochard,' or `red-head' of europe, and its near congener the red-head (_anas ferina_) of america, that at a distance it is difficult to distinguish them from each other. the last-mentioned species is always found associated with the canvass-backs, and are even sold for the latter in the markets of new york and philadelphia. a naturalist, however, can easily distinguish them by their bills and eyes. the canvass-back has red eyes, with a greenish black bill, nearly straight; while the eyes of the red-head are of an orange yellow, its bill bluish and concave along the upper ridge. "the canvass-back is known in natural history as _anas valisneria_, and this specific name is given to it because it feeds upon the roots of an aquatic plant, a species of `tape-grass,' or `eel-grass;' but botanically called `_valisneria_,' after the italian botanist, antonio valisneri. this grass grows in slow-flowing streams, and also on shoals by the seaside--where the water, from the influx of rivers, is only brackish. the water where it grows is usually three to five feet in depth, and the plant itself rises above the surface to the height of two feet or more, with grass-like leaves of a deep green colour. its roots are white and succulent, and bear some resemblance to celery--hence the plant is known among the duck-hunters as `wild celery.' it is upon these roots the canvass-back almost exclusively feeds, and they give to the flesh of these birds its peculiar and pleasant flavour. wherever the valisneria grows in quantity, as in the chesapeake bay and some rivers, like the hudson, there the canvass-backs resort, and are rarely seen elsewhere. they do not eat the leaves but only the white soft roots, which they dive for and pluck up with great dexterity. the leaves when stripped of the root are suffered to float off upon the surface of the water; and where the ducks have been feeding, large quantities of them, under the name of `grass wrack,' are thrown by the wind and tide upon the adjacent shores. "shooting the canvass-backs is a source of profit to hundreds of gunners who live around the chesapeake bay, as these birds command a high price in the markets of the american cities. disputes have arisen between the fowlers of different states around the bay about the right of shooting upon it; and vessels full of armed men--ready to make war upon one another--have gone out on this account. but the government of these states succeeded in settling the matter peacefully, and to the satisfaction of all parties." the canoe at this moment shot round a bend, and a long smooth expanse of the river appeared before the eyes of our voyageurs. they could see that upon one side another stream ran in, with a very sluggish current; and around the mouth of this, and for a good stretch below it, there appeared a green sedge-like water-grass, or rushes. near the border of this sedge, and in a part of it that was thin, a flock of wild fowl was diving and feeding. they were small, and evidently ducks; but the distance was yet too great for the boys to make out to what species they belonged. a single large swan--a trumpeter--was upon the water, between the shore and the ducks, and was gradually making towards the latter. francois immediately loaded one of his barrels with swan, or rather "buck" shot, and basil looked to his rifle. the ducks were not thought of--the trumpeter was to be the game. lucien took out his telescope, and commenced observing the flock. they had not intended to use any precaution in approaching the birds, as they were not extremely anxious about getting a shot, and were permitting the canoe to glide gently towards them. an exclamation from lucien, however, caused them to change their tactics. he directed them suddenly to "hold water" and stop the canoe, at the same time telling them that the birds ahead were the very sort about which they had been conversing--the "canvass-backs." he had no doubt of it, judging from their colour, size, and peculiar movements. the announcement produced a new excitement. all four were desirous not only of shooting, but of _eating_, a canvass-back; and arrangements were set about to effect the former. it was known to all that the canvass-backs are among the shyest of water-fowl, so much so that it is difficult to approach them unless under cover. while feeding, it is said, they keep sentinels on the look-out. whether this be true or not, it is certain that they never all dive together, some always remaining above water, and apparently watching while the others are under. a plan to get near them was necessary, and one was suggested by norman, which was to tie bushes around the sides of the canoe, so as to hide both the vessel and those in it. this plan was at once adopted--the canoe was paddled up to the bank--thick bushes were cut, and tied along the gunwale; and then our voyageurs climbed in, and laying themselves as low as possible, commenced paddling gently downward in the direction of the ducks. the rifles were laid aside, as they could be of little service with such game. francois' double-barrel was the arm upon which dependence was now placed; and francois himself leaned forward in the bow in order to be ready, while the others attended to the guidance of the vessel. the buck-shot had been drawn out, and a smaller kind substituted. the swan was no longer cared for or even thought of. in about a quarter of an hour's time, the canoe, gliding silently along the edge of the sedge--which was the wild celery (_valisneria spiralis_)--came near the place where the ducks were; and the boys, peeping through the leafy screen, could now see the birds plainly. they saw that they were not all canvass-backs, but that three distinct kinds of ducks were feeding together. one sort was the canvass-backs themselves, and a second kind very much resembled them, except that they were a size smaller. these were the "red-heads" or "pochards." the third species was different from either. they had also heads of a reddish colour, but of a brighter red, and marked by a white band that ran from the root of the bill over the crown. this mark enabled lucien at once to tell the species. they were widgeons (_anas americana_); but the most singular thing that was now observed by our voyageurs was the terms upon which these three kinds of birds lived with each other. it appeared that the widgeon obtained its food by a regular system of robbery and plunder perpetrated upon the community of the canvass-backs. the latter, as lucien had said, feeds upon the roots of the valisneria; but for these it is obliged to dive to the depth of four or five feet, and also to spend some time at the bottom while plucking them up. now the widgeon is as fond of the "celery" as the canvass-back, but the former is not a diver--in fact, never goes under water except when washing itself or in play, and it has therefore no means of procuring the desired roots. mark, then, the plan that it takes to effect this end. seated as near as is safe to the canvass-back, it waits until the latter makes his _somersault_ and goes down. it (the widgeon) then darts forward so as to be sufficiently close, and, pausing again, scans the surface with eager eye. it can tell where the other is at work, as the blades of the plant at which it is tugging are seen to move above the water. these at length disappear, pulled down as the plant is dragged from its root, and almost at the same instant the canvass-back comes up holding the root between his mandibles. but the widgeon is ready for him. he has calculated the exact spot where the other will rise; and, before the latter can open his eyes or get them clear of the water, the widgeon darts forward, snatches the luscious morsel from his bill, and makes off with it. conflicts sometimes ensue; but the widgeon, knowing himself to be the lesser and weaker bird, never stands to give battle, but secures his prize through his superior agility. on the other hand, the canvass-back rarely attempts to follow him, as he knows that the other is swifter upon the water than he. he only looks after his lost root with an air of chagrin, and then, reflecting that there is "plenty more where it came from," kicks up its heels, and once more plunges to the bottom. the red-head rarely interferes with either, as he is contented to feed upon the leaves and stalks, at all times floating in plenty upon the surface. as the canoe glided near, those on board watched these curious manoeuvres of the birds with feelings of interest. they saw, moreover, that the "trumpeter" had arrived among them, and the ducks seemed to take no notice of him. lucien was struck with something unusual in the appearance of the swan. its plumage seemed ruffled and on end, and it glided along in a stiff and unnatural manner. it moved its neck neither to one side nor the other, but held its head bent forward, until its bill almost touched the water, in the attitude that these birds adopt when feeding upon something near the surface. lucien said nothing to his companions, as they were all silent, lest they might frighten the ducks; but basil and norman had also remarked the strange look and conduct of the trumpeter. francois' eyes were bent only upon the ducks, and he did not heed the other. as they came closer, first lucien, and then basil and norman, saw something else that puzzled them. whenever the swan approached any of the ducks, these were observed to disappear under the water. at first, the boys thought that they merely dived to get out of his way, but it was not exactly in the same manner as the others were diving for the roots. moreover, none of those that went down in the neighbourhood of the swan were seen to come up again! there was something very odd in all this, and the three boys, thinking so at the same time, were about to communicate their thoughts to one another, when the double crack of francois' gun drove the thing, for a moment, out of their heads; and they all looked over the bushes to see how many canvass-backs had been killed. several were seen dead or fluttering along the surface; but no one counted them, for a strange, and even terrible, object now presented itself to the astonished senses of all. if the conduct of the swan had been odd before, it was now doubly so. instead of flying off after the shot, as all expected it would do, it was now seen to dance and plunge about on the water, uttering loud screams, that resembled the human voice far more than any other sounds! then it rose as if pitched into the air, and fell on its back some distance off; while in its place was seen a dark, round object moving through the water, as if making for the bank, and uttering, as it went, the same hideous human-like screams! this dark object was no other than the poll of a human being; and the river shallowing towards the bank, it rose higher and higher above the water, until the boys could distinguish the glistening neck and naked shoulders of a red and brawny indian! all was now explained. the indian had been duck-hunting, and had used the stuffed skin of the swan as his disguise; and hence the puzzling motions of the bird. he had not noticed the canoe--concealed as it was--until the loud crack of francois' gun had startled him from his work. this, and the heads and white faces of the boys peeping over the bushes, had frightened him, even more than he had them. perhaps they were the first white faces he had ever seen. but, whether or not, sadly frightened he was; for, on reaching the bank, he did not stop, but ran off into the woods, howling and yelling as if old nick had been after him: and no doubt he believed that such was the case. the travellers picked up the swan-skin out of curiosity; and, in addition to the ducks which francois had killed, they found nearly a score of these birds, which the indian had dropped in his fright, and that had afterwards risen to the surface. these were strung together, and all had their necks broken. after getting them aboard, the canoe was cleared of the bushes; and the paddles being once more called into service, the little craft shot down-stream like an arrow. chapter twenty. the ducks of america. lucien now continued his "monograph" of the american ducks. "there are," said he, "more than two dozen species of ducks on the waters of north america. these the systematists have divided into no less than _eighteen genera_! why it would be more easy to learn all that ever was known about all the ducks in creation, than to remember the eighteen generic names which these gentlemen have invented and put forward. moreover, the habits of any two species of these ducks are more similar than those of any two kinds of dogs. why then, i should ask--why this complication? it is true that the ducks do not resemble each other in every thing. some species are fonder of water than others. some feed entirely upon vegetable substances; others upon small fish, insects, crustacea, etcetera. some live entirely in the sea; others make their home in the freshwater lakes and rivers, while many species dwell indifferently, either in salt or fresh waters. some love the open wave; others the sedgy marsh; while one or two species roost upon trees, and build their nests in the hollow trunks. notwithstanding all this, there is such a similarity in the appearance and habits of the different species, that i think the systematists have improved but little, if anything, upon the simple arrangement of the true naturalist wilson, who--poor scotch _emigre_ as he was, with an empty purse and a loaded gun--has collected more original information about the birds of america than all that have followed him. he described the ducks of america under the single genus _anas_; and, in my opinion, described them in a more intelligent and intelligible manner than any one has done since his time--not even excepting another great and true naturalist, whose career has been longer, more successful, and happier; and whose fame, in consequence of his better fortune, has become, perhaps, higher and more extended. "the water-fowl of america," continued lucien--"i mean the swans, geese, and ducks, are of great importance in the fur countries where we are now travelling. at certain seasons of the year, in many parts, they furnish almost the only article of food that can be procured. they are all migratory--that is, when the lakes and rivers of these regions become frozen over in the winter they all migrate southward, but return again to breed and spend the summer. they do this, perhaps, because these wild territories afford them a better security during the season of incubation, and afterwards of moulting. it is not very certain, however, that this is the reason, and for my part i am inclined to think not, for there are also wild, uninhabited territories enough in southern latitudes, and yet they forsake these and migrate north in the spring. `their arrival in the fur countries,' writes a distinguished naturalist, `marks the commencement of spring, and diffuses as much joy among the wandering hunters of the arctic regions, as the harvest or vintage excites in more genial climes.' both by the indians and hunters in the employ of the hudson's bay company swans, geese, and ducks, are slaughtered by thousands, and are eaten not only when fresh killed, but they are salted in large quantities, and so preserved for winter use, when fresh ones can no longer be procured. of course, both indian and white hunters use all their art in killing or capturing them; and to effect this they employ many different methods, as decoying, snaring, netting, and shooting them: but cousin norman here could give a better description of all these things than i. perhaps he will favour us with some account of them." "the indians," said the young trader, taking up the subject without hesitation, "usually snare them. their most common way is to make a number of hedges or wattle fences projecting into the water at right angles to the edge of the lake, or, it may be, river. these fences are two or three yards apart, and between each two there is, of course, an opening, into which the birds swim, as they make towards the shore for their food. in these openings, then, the snares are set and tied so firmly to a post stuck in the bottom, that the birds, whether ducks, geese, or swans, when caught, may not be able to drag it away. to keep the snare in its place, it is secured to the wattles of the fence with tender strands of grass, that of course give way the moment the fowl becomes entangled. the snares are made out of deer sinews, twisted like packthread, and sometimes of thongs cut from a `parchment' deerskin, which, as you know, is a deerskin simply dried, and not tanned or dressed. the making of the fences is the part that gives most trouble. sometimes the timber for the stakes is not easily had; and even when it is plenty, it is no easy matter to drive the stakes into the bottom and wattle them, while seated in a vessel so crank as a birch canoe. sometimes, in the rivers where the water-fowl most frequent, the current is swift, and adds to this trouble. where the lakes and rivers are shallow, the thing becomes easier; and i have seen small lakes and rivers fenced in this way from shore to shore. in large lakes this would not be necessary, as most of the water-birds--such as the swans and geese--and all the ducks that are not of the diving kinds, are sure to come to the shore to feed, and are more likely to be taken close in to land than out in the open water. "the indians often snare these birds upon the nest, and they always wash their hands before setting the snare. they have a notion--i don't know whether true or not--that if their hands are not clean, the birds can smell the snare, and will be shy of going into it. they say that all these birds--and i believe it's true of all fowls that make their nests upon the ground--go into the nest at one side, and out at the opposite. the indians knowing this, always set their snares at the side where the bird enters, and by this they are more sure of catching them, and also of getting them some hours sooner. "besides snaring the water-fowl," continued norman, "the indians sometimes catch them in nets, and sometimes on hooks baited with whatever the birds are known to eat. they also shoot them as the white hunters do, and to get near enough use every sort of cunning that can be thought of. sometimes they decoy them within shot, by putting wooden ducks on the water near their cover, where they themselves are stationed. sometimes they disguise their canoes under brushwood, and paddle to the edge of the flock; and when the moulting season comes round, they pursue them through the water, and kill them with sticks. the swans, when followed in this way, often escape. with their strong wings and great webbed feet, they can flap faster over the surface than a canoe can follow them. i have heard of many other tricks which the indians of different tribes make use of, but i have only seen these ways i have described, besides the one we have just witnessed." norman was one of your practical philosophers, who did not choose to talk much of things with which he was not thoroughly acquainted. lucien now took up the thread of the conversation, and gave some further information about the different species of american ducks. "one of the most celebrated," said he, "is the `eider-duck' (_anas mollissima_). this is prized for its down, which is exceedingly soft and fine, and esteemed of great value for lining quilts and making beds for the over-luxurious. it is said that three pounds' weight of `eider down' can be compressed to the size of a man's fist, and yet is afterwards so dilatable as to fill a quilt of five feet square. the down is generally obtained without killing the bird, for that which is plucked from dead birds is far inferior, and has lost much of its elasticity. the mode of procuring it is to steal it from the nest, in the absence of the birds. the female lines the nest with down plucked from her own breast. when this is stolen from her, by those who gather the commodity, she plucks out a second crop of it, and arranges it as before. this being also removed, it is said that the male bird then makes a sacrifice of his downy waistcoat, and the nest is once more put in order; but should this too be taken, the birds forsake their nest never to return to it again. the quantity of `eider down' found in a single nest is sufficient to fill a man's hat, and yet it will weigh only about three ounces. "the eider-duck is about the size of the common mallard, or wild duck proper. its colour is black below, and buff-white on the back, neck, and shoulders, while the forehead is bluish black. it is one of the `sea-ducks,' or _fuligulae_, as the naturalists term them, and it is rarely seen in fresh water. its food is principally the soft mollusca common in the arctic seas, and its flesh is not esteemed except by the greenlanders. it is at home only in the higher latitudes of both continents, and loves to dwell upon the rocky shores of the sea; but in very severe winters, it makes its appearance along the atlantic coast of the united states, where it receives different names from the gunners-- such as `black-and-white coot,' `big sea-duck,' `shoal-duck,' and `squaw-duck;' and under these titles it is often sold in the markets of american cities. some suppose that the eider-duck could be easily domesticated. if so, it would, no doubt, prove a profitable as well as an interesting experiment; but i believe it has already been attempted without success. it is in the countries of northern europe where the gathering of the eider down has been made an object of industry. on the american continent the pursuit is not followed, either by the native or white settler. "another species common to the higher latitudes of both continents is the `king-duck,' so called from its very showy appearance. its habits are very similar to the `eider,' and its down is equally soft and valuable, but it is a smaller bird. "a still smaller species, also noted for its brilliant plumage, inhabits the extreme north of both continents. this is the `harlequin-duck;' or, as the early colonists term it, the `lord.' "but the `wood-duck' (_anas sponsa_) is perhaps the most beautiful of all the american species, or indeed of all ducks whatever--although it has a rival in the _mandarin duck_ of china, which indeed it very much resembles both in size and markings. the wood-duck is so called from the fact of its making its nest in hollow trees, and roosting occasionally on the branches. it is a freshwater duck, and a southern species--never being seen in very high latitudes; nor is it known in europe in a wild state, but is peculiar to the continent of america. it is one of the easiest species to domesticate, and no zoological garden is now without it; in all of which its small size--being about that of a widgeon--its active movements and innocent look, its musical _peet-peet_, and, above all, its beautiful plumage, make it a general favourite. "besides these, there are many others of the american ducks, whose description would interest you, but you would grow tired were i to give a detailed account of them all; so i shall only mention a few that are distinguished by well-known peculiarities. there is the `whistler' (_anas clangula_), which takes its trivial name from the whistling sound of its wings while in flight; and the `shoveller,' so called from the form of its bill; and the `conjuring,' or `spirit' ducks of the indians (_anas vulgaris_ and _albeola_), because they dive so quickly and dexterously, that it is almost impossible to shoot them either with bow or gun. there is the `old wife,' or `old squaw' (_anas glacialis_), so called from its incessant cackle, which the hunters liken to the scolding of an ill-tempered old wife. this species is the most noisy of all the duck tribe, and is called by the voyageurs `caccawee,' from its fancied utterance of these syllables; and the sound, so often heard in the long nights of the fur countries, has been woven into and forms the burden of many a voyageur's song. in some parts of the united states the caccawee is called `south-southerly,' as its voice is there thought to resemble this phrase, while at the time when most heard--the autumn-- these ducks are observed flying in a southerly direction. "besides these," continued lucien, "there are the teals--blue and green-winged--and the coots, and the widgeon--slightly differing from the widgeon of europe--and there is the rare and beautiful little ruddy duck (_anas rubida_), with its bright mahogany colour--its long upright tail and short neck--that at a distance give it the appearance of a duck with two heads. and there is the well-known `pintail,' and the `pochard' or `red-head;' and the `mallard,' from which comes the common domestic variety, and the `scoter,' and `surf,' and `velvet,' and `dusky,' ducks--these last four being all, more or less, of a dark colour. and there are the `shell-drakes,' or `fishers,' that swim low in the water, dive and fly well, but walk badly, and feed altogether on fish. these, on account of their toothed bills, form a genus of themselves--the `mergansers,'--and four distinct species of them are known in america." the approach of night, and the necessity of landing, to make their night camp, brought lucien's lecture to a close. indeed francois was glad when it ended, for he was beginning to think it somewhat tedious. chapter twenty one. the shrike and the humming-birds. the picturesque scenery of the elk appeared to be a favourite resort with the feathered creation. here our voyageurs saw many kinds of birds; both those that migrate into the fur countries during summer, and those that make their home there in the cold, dark days of winter. among the former were observed,--the beautiful blue bird of wilson (_sialia wilsoni_) which, on account of its gentle and innocent habits, is quite as much esteemed in america as the "robin" in england. another favourite of the farmer and the homestead, the purple martin, was seen gracefully wheeling through the air; while, among the green leaves, fluttered many brilliant birds. the "cardinal grosbeak" (_pitylus cardinalis_) with his bright scarlet wings; the blue jay, noisy and chattering; the rarer "crossbill" (_loxia_) with its deep crimson colour; and many others, equally bright and beautiful, enlivened the woods, either with their voice or their gaudy plumage. there was one bird, however, that had neither "fine feathers" nor an agreeable voice, but that interested our travellers more than any of the others. its voice was unpleasant to the ear, and sounded more like the grating of a rusty hinge than anything else they could think of. the bird itself was not larger than a thrush, of a light grey colour above, white underneath, and with blackish wings. its bill resembled that of the hawks, but its legs were more like those of the woodpecker tribe; and it seemed, in fact, to be a cross between the two. it was neither the colour of the bird, nor its form, nor yet its song, that interested our travellers, but its singular habits; and these they had a fine opportunity of observing at one of their "noon camps," where they had halted to rest and refresh themselves during the hot midday hours. the place was on one of the little islets, which was covered with underwood, with here and there some larger trees. the underwood bushes were of various sorts; but close to the spot where they had landed was a large thicket of honeysuckle, whose flowers were in full bloom, and filled the air with their sweet perfume. while seated near these, francois' quick eye detected the presence of some very small birds moving among the blossoms. they were at once pronounced to be humming-birds, and of that species known as the "ruby-throats" (_trochilus rolubris_), so called, because a flake of a beautiful vinous colour under the throat of the males exhibits, in the sun, all the glancing glories of the ruby. the back, or upper parts, are of a gilded green colour; and the little creature is the smallest bird that migrates into the fur countries, with one exception, and that is a bird of the same genus,--the "cinnamon humming-bird" (_trochilus rufus_). the latter, however, has been seen in the northern regions, only on the western side of the rocky mountains; but then it has been observed even as far north as the bleak and inhospitable shores of nootka sound. mexico, and the tropical countries of america, are the favourite home of the humming-birds; and it was, for a long time, supposed that the "ruby-throats" were the only ones that migrated farther north than the territory of mexico itself. it is now known, that besides the "cinnamon humming-bird," two or three other species annually make an excursion into higher latitudes. the "ruby-throats" not only travel into the fur countries, but breed in numbers upon the elk river, the very place where our travellers now observed them. as they sat watching these little creatures, for there were several of them skipping about and poising themselves opposite the flowers, the attention of all was attracted to the movements of a far different sort of bird. it was that one we have been speaking of. it was seated upon a tree, not far from the honeysuckles; but every now and then it would spring from its perch, dash forward, and after whirring about for some moments among the humming-birds, fly back to the same tree. at first the boys watched these manoeuvres without having their curiosity excited. it was no new thing to see birds acting in this manner. the jays, and many other birds of the fly-catching kind (_muscicapae_), have this habit, and nothing was thought of it at the moment. lucien, however, who had watched the bird more narrowly, presently declared to the rest that it was catching the humming-birds, and preying upon them--that each time it made a dash among the honeysuckles, it carried off one in its claws, the smallness of the victim having prevented them at first from noticing this fact. they all now watched it more closely than before, and were soon satisfied of the truth of lucien's assertion, as they saw it seize one of the ruby-throats in the very act of entering the corolla of a flower. this excited the indignation of francois, who immediately took up his "double-barrel," and proceeded towards the tree where the bird, as before, had carried this last victim. the tree was a low one, of the locust or _pseud-acacia_ family, and covered all over with great thorny spikes, like all trees of that tribe. francois paid no attention to this; but, keeping under shelter of the underwood, he crept forward until within shot. then raising his gun, he took aim, and pulling trigger, brought the bird fluttering down through the branches. he stepped forward and picked it up--not that he cared for such unworthy game, but lucien had called to him to do so, as the naturalist wished to make an examination of the creature. he was about turning to go back to camp, when he chanced to glance his eye up into the locust-tree. there it was riveted by a sight which caused him to cry out with astonishment. his cry brought the rest running up to the spot, and they were not less astonished than he, when they saw the cause of it. i have said that the branches of the tree were covered with long thorny spikes that pointed in every direction; but one branch in particular occupied their attention. upon this there were about a dozen of these spines pointing upward, and upon each spike _was impaled a ruby-throat_! the little creatures were dead, of course, but they were neither torn nor even much ruffled in their plumage. they were all placed back upwards, and as neatly spitted upon the thorns as if they had been put there by human hands. on looking more closely, it was discovered that other creatures, as well as the humming-birds, had been served in a similar manner. several grasshoppers, spiders, and some coleopterous insects were found, and upon another branch two small meadow-mice (_arvicolae_) had been treated to the same terrible death! to basil, norman, and francois, the thing was quite inexplicable, but lucien understood well enough what it meant. all these creatures, he informed them, were placed there by the bird which francois had shot, and which was no other than the "shrike" (_lanius_) or "butcher-bird"--a name by which it is more familiarly known, and which it receives from the very habit they had just observed. why it follows such a practice lucien could not tell, as naturalists are not agreed upon this point. some have asserted that it spits the spiders and other insects for the purpose of attracting nearer the small birds upon which it preys; but this cannot be true, for it preys mostly upon birds that are not insect-eaters, as the finches: besides, it is itself as fond of eating grasshoppers as anything else, and consumes large quantities of these insects. the most probable explanation of the singular and apparently cruel habit of the butcher-bird is, that it merely places its victims upon the thorns, in order to keep them safe from ground-ants, rats, mice, raccoons, foxes, and other preying creatures--just as a good cook would hang up her meat or game in the larder to prevent the cats from carrying it off. the thorny tree thus becomes the storehouse of the shrike, where he hangs up his superfluous spoil for future use, just as the crows, magpies, and jays, make their secret deposits in chinks of walls and the hollows of trees. it is no argument against this theory, that the shrike sometimes leaves these stores without returning to them. the fox, and dog, as well as many other preying creatures, have the same habit. wondering at what they had seen, the voyageurs returned to their camp, and once more embarked on their journey. chapter twenty two. the fish-hawk. a few days after, another incident occurred to our voyageurs, which illustrated the habits of a very interesting bird, the "osprey," or fish-hawk, as it is more familiarly known in america. the osprey (_falco halicetus_) is a bird of the falcon tribe, and one of the largest of the genus--measuring two feet from bill to tail, with an immense spread of wing in proportion, being nearly six feet from tip to tip. it is of a dark-brown colour above, that colour peculiar to most of the hawk tribe, while its lower parts are ashy white. its legs and bill are blue, and its eyes of a yellow orange. it is found in nearly all parts of america, where there are waters containing fish, for on these it exclusively feeds. it is more common on the sea-coast than in the interior, although it also frequents the large lakes, and lives in the central parts of the continent during summer, when these are no longer frozen over. it is not often seen upon muddy rivers, as there it would stand no chance of espying its victims in the water. it is a migratory bird, seeking the south in winter, and especially the shores of the great mexican gulf, where large numbers are often seen fishing together. in the spring season these birds move to the northward, and make their appearance along the atlantic coast of the continent, where they diffuse joy into the hearts of the fishermen--because the latter know, on seeing them, that they may soon expect the large shoals of herring, shad, and other fish, for which they have been anxiously looking out. so great favourites are they with the fishermen, that they would not knowingly kill an osprey for a boat-load of fish, but regard these bold fishing birds in the light of "professional brethren." in this case the old adage that "two of a trade never agree" is clearly contradicted. the farmer often takes up his gun to fire at the osprey-- mistaking it for the red-tailed buzzard (_buteo borealis_) or some other hawk, several species of which at a distance it resembles--but, on discovering his mistake, brings down his piece without pulling trigger, and lets the osprey fly off unharmed. this singular conduct on the part of the farmer arises from his knowledge of the fact, that the osprey will not only _not_ kill any of his ducks or hens, but that where he makes a settlement he will drive off from the premises all the hawks, buzzards, and kites, that would otherwise prey upon the poultry. with such protection, therefore, the osprey is one of the securest birds in america. he may breed in a tree over the farmer's or fisherman's door without the slightest danger of being disturbed in his incubation. i say _his_ incubation; but the male takes no part in this domestic duty, further than to supply his loved mate with plenty of fish while she does the hatching business. of course, thus protected, the osprey is not a rare bird. on the contrary, fish-hawks are more numerous than perhaps any other species of the hawk tribe. twenty or thirty nests may be seen near each other in the same piece of woods, and as many as three hundred have been counted on one little island. the nests are built upon large trees--not always at the tops, as those of rooks, but often in forks within twenty feet of the ground. they are composed of large sticks, with stalks of corn, weeds, pieces of wet turf, and then lined plentifully with dry sea-grass, or any other grass that may be most convenient. the whole nest is big enough to make a load for a cart, and would be heavy enough to give any horse a good pull. it can be seen, when the woods are open, to an immense distance, and the more easily, as the tree upon which it is built is always a "dead wood," and therefore without leaves to conceal it. some say that the birds select a dead or decaying tree for their nest. it is more probable such is the effect, and not the cause, of their building upon a particular tree. it is more likely that the tree is killed partly by the mass of rubbish thus piled upon it, and partly by the nature of the substances, such as sea-weed in the nest, the oil of the fish, the excrement of the birds themselves, and the dead fish that have been dropped about the root, and suffered to remain there; for when the osprey lets fall his finny prey, which he often does, he never condescends to pick it up again, but goes in search of another. boys "a-nesting" might easily discover the nest of the osprey; but were they inclined to despoil it of its three or four eggs (which are about the size of a duck's, and blotched with spanish brown), they would find that a less easy task, for the owners would be very likely to claw their eyes out, or else scratch the tender skin from their beardless cheeks: so that boys do not often trouble the nest of the osprey. a very curious anecdote is related of a negro having climbed up to plunder a nest of these birds. the negro's head was covered with a close nap of his own black wool, which is supposed by a certain stretch of fancy to have the peculiarity of "growing in at both ends." the negro, having no other protection than that which his thick fur afforded him, was assailed by both the owners of the nest, one of which, making a dash at the "darkie's" head, struck his talons so firmly into the wool, that he was unable to extricate them, and there stuck fast, until the astonished plunderer had reached the foot of the tree. we shall not answer for the truthfulness of this anecdote, although there is nothing improbable about it; for certain it is that these birds defend their nests with courage and fury, and we know of more than one instance of persons being severely wounded who made the attempt to rob them. the ospreys, as already stated, feed exclusively on fish. they are not known to prey upon birds or quadrupeds of any kind, even when deprived of their customary food, as they sometimes are for days, on account of the lakes and rivers, in which they expected to find it, being frozen over to a later season than usual. other birds, as the purple grakles, often build among the sticks of the osprey's nest, and rear their young without being meddled with by this generous bird. this is an important point of difference between the osprey and other kinds of hawks; and there is a peculiarity of structure about the feet and legs of the osprey, that points to the nature of his food and his mode of procuring it. his legs are disproportionately long and strong. they are without feathers nearly to the knees. the feet and toes are also very long, and the soles are covered with thick, hard scales, like the teeth of a rasp, which enable the bird to hold securely his slippery prey. the claws, too, are long, and curved into semicircles, with points upon them almost as sharp as needles. i have stated that an incident occurred to our party that illustrated some of the habits of this interesting bird. it was upon the afternoon of a saturday, after they had fixed their camp to remain for the following day. they had landed upon a point or promontory that ran out into the river, and from which they commanded a view of a fine stretch of water. near where they had placed their tent was the nest of an osprey, in the forks of a large poplar. the tree, as usual, was dead, and the young were plainly visible over the edge of the nest. they appeared to be full-grown and feathered; but it is a peculiarity of the young ospreys that they will remain in the nest, and be fed by the parent birds, until long after they might be considered able to shift for themselves. it is even asserted that the latter become impatient at length, and drive the young ones out of the nest by beating them with their wings; but that for a considerable time afterwards they continue to feed them--most likely until the young birds learn to capture their finny prey for themselves. this lucien gave as a popular statement, but did not vouch for its truth. it was not long, however, before both he and his companions witnessed its complete verification. the old birds, after the arrival of the voyageurs upon the promontory, had remained for some time around the nest, and at intervals had shot down to where the party was, uttering loud screams, and making the air whizz with the strokes of their wings. seeing that there was no intention of disturbing them, they at length desisted from these demonstrations, and sat for a good while quietly upon the edge of their nest. then first one, and shortly after the other, flew out, and commenced sailing in circles, at the height of an hundred feet or so above the water. nothing could be more graceful than their flight. now they would poise themselves a moment in the air, then turn their bodies as if on a pivot, and glide off in another direction. all these motions were carried on with the most perfect ease, and as if without the slightest aid from the wings. again they would come to a pause, holding themselves fixed in mid-air by a gentle flapping, and appearing to scrutinise some object below. perhaps it was a fish; but it was either too large a one, or not the species most relished, or maybe it had sunk to too great a depth to be easily taken. again they sail around; one of them suddenly arrests its flight, and, like a stone projected from a sling, shoots down to the water. before reaching the surface, however, the fish, whose quick eye has detected the coming enemy, has gone to the dark bottom, and concealed himself; and the osprey, suddenly checking himself by his wings and the spread of his full tail, mounts again, and re-commences his curvilinear flight. after this had gone on for some time, one of the birds--the larger one, and therefore the female--was seen to leave off hunting, and return to the nest. there she sat only for a few seconds, when, to the astonishment of the boys, she began to strike her wings against the young ones, as if she was endeavouring to force them from the nest. this was just what she designed doing. perhaps her late unsuccessful attempt to get them a fish had led her to a train of reflections, and sharpened her determination to make them shift for themselves. however that may be, in a few moments she succeeded in driving them up to the edge, and then, by half pushing, and half beating them with her wings, one after the other--two of them there were--was seen to take wing, and soar away out over the lake. at this moment, the male shot down upon the water, and then rose again into the air, bearing a fish, head-foremost, in his talons. he flew directly towards one of the young, and meeting it as it hovered in the air, turned suddenly over, and held out the fish to it. the latter clutched it with as much ease as if it had been accustomed to the thing for years, and then turning away, carried the fish to a neighbouring tree, and commenced devouring it. the action had been perceived by the other youngster, who followed after, and alighted upon the same branch, with the intention of sharing in the meal. in a few minutes, the best part of the fish was eaten up, and both, rising from the branch, flew back to their nest. there they were met by the parents, and welcomed with a loud squeaking, that was intended, no doubt, to congratulate them upon the success of their first "fly." chapter twenty three. the osprey and his tyrant. after remaining for some time on the nest along with the others, the old male again resolved to "go a-fishing," and with this intent he shot out from the tree, and commenced wheeling above the water. the boys, having nothing better to engage them, sat watching his motions, while they freely conversed about his habits and other points in his natural history. lucien informed them that the osprey is a bird common to both continents, and that it is often seen upon the shores of the mediterranean, pursuing the finny tribes there, just as it does in america. in some parts of italy it is called the "leaden eagle," because its sudden heavy plunge upon the water is fancied to resemble the falling of a piece of lead. while they were discoursing, the osprey was seen to dip once or twice towards the surface of the water, and then suddenly check himself, and mount upward again. these manoeuvres were no doubt caused by the fish which he intended to "hook" having suddenly shifted their quarters. most probably experience had taught them wisdom, and they knew the osprey as their most terrible enemy. but they were not to escape him at all times. as the boys watched the bird, he was seen to poise himself for an instant in the air, then suddenly closing his wings, he shot vertically downward. so rapid was his descent, that the eye could only trace it like a bolt of lightning. there was a sharp whizzing sound in the air--a plash was heard--then the smooth bosom of the water was seen to break, and the white spray rose several feet above the surface. for an instant the bird was no longer seen. he was underneath, and the place of his descent was marked by a patch of foam. only a single moment was he out of sight. the next he emerged, and a few strokes of his broad wing carried him into the air, while a large fish was seen griped in his claws. as the voyageurs had before noticed, the fish was carried head-foremost, and this led them to the conclusion that in striking his prey beneath the water the osprey follows it and aims his blow from behind. after mounting a short distance the bird paused for a moment in the air, and gave himself a shake, precisely as a dog would do after coming out of water. he then directed his flight, now somewhat slow and heavy, toward the nest. on reaching the tree, however, there appeared to be some mismanagement. the fish caught among the branches as he flew inward. perhaps the presence of the camp had distracted his attention, and rendered him less careful. at all events, the prey was seen to drop from his talons; and bounding from branch to branch, went tumbling down to the bottom of the tree. nothing could be more opportune than this, for francois had not been able to get a "nibble" during the whole day, and a fresh fish for dinner was very desirable to all. francois and basil had both started to their feet, in order to secure the fish before the osprey should pounce down and pick it up; but lucien assured them that they, need be in no hurry about that, as the bird would not touch it again after he had once let it fall. hearing this, they took their time about it, and walked leisurely up to the tree, where they found the fish lying. after taking it up they were fain to escape from the spot, for the effluvium arising from a mass of other fish that lay in a decomposed state around the tree was more than any delicate pair of nostrils could endure. the one they had secured proved to be a very fine salmon of not less than six pounds weight, and therefore much heavier than the bird itself! the track of the osprey's talons was deeply marked; and by the direction in which the creature was scored, it was evident the bird had seized it from behind. the old hawks made a considerable noise while the fish was being carried away; but they soon gave up their squealing, and, once more hovering out over the river, sailed about with their eyes bent upon the water below. "what a number of fish they must kill!" said francois. "they don't appear to have much difficulty about it. i should think they get as much as they can eat. see! there again! another, i declare!" as francois spake the male osprey was seen to shoot down as before, and this time, although he appeared scarcely to dip his foot in the water, rose up with a fish in his talons. "they have sometimes others to provide for besides themselves," remarked lucien. "for instance, the bald eagle--" lucien was interrupted by a cackling scream, which was at once recognised as that of the very bird whose name had just escaped his lips. all eyes were instantly turned in the direction whence it came-- which was from the opposite side of the river--and there, just in the act of launching itself from the top of a tall tree, was the great enemy of the osprey--the white-headed eagle himself! "now a chase!" cried francois, "yonder comes the big robber!" with some excitement of feeling, the whole party watched the movements of the birds. a few strokes of the eagle's wing brought him near; but the osprey had already heard his scream, and knowing it was no use carrying the fish to his nest, turned away from it, and rose spirally upward, in the hope of escaping in that direction. the eagle followed, beating the air with his broad pinions, as he soared after. close behind him went the female osprey, uttering wild screams, flapping her wings against his very beak, and endeavouring to distract his attention from the chase. it was to no purpose, however, as the eagle full well knew her object, and disregarding her impotent attempts, kept on in steady flight after her mate. this continued until the birds had reached a high elevation, and the ospreys, from their less bulk, were nearly out of sight. but the voyageurs could see that the eagle was on the point of overtaking the one that carried the fish. presently, a glittering object dropped down from the heavens, and fell with a plunge upon the water. it was the fish, and almost at the same instant was heard the "whish!" of the eagle, as the great bird shot after it. before reaching the surface, however, his white tail and wings were seen to spread suddenly, checking his downward course; and then, with a scream of disappointment, he flew off in a horizontal direction, and alit upon the same tree from which he had taken his departure. in a minute after the ospreys came shooting down, in a diagonal line, to their nest; and, having arrived there, a loud and apparently angry consultation was carried on for some time, in which the young birds bore as noisy a part as either of their parents. "it's a wonder," said lucien, "the eagle missed the fish--he rarely does. the impetus which he can give his body enables him to overtake a falling object before it can reach the earth. perhaps the female osprey was in his way, and hindered him." "but why did he not pick it up in the water?" demanded francois. "because it went to the bottom, and he could not reach it--that's clear." it was basil who made answer, and the reason he assigned was the true one. "it's too bad," said francois, "that the osprey, not half so big a bird, must support this great robber-tyrant by his industry." "it's no worse than among our own kind," interposed basil. "see how the white man makes the black one work for him here in america. that, however, is the _few_ toiling for the _million_. in europe the case is reversed. there, in every country, you see the million toiling for the few--toiling to support an oligarchy in luxurious ease, or a monarch in barbaric splendour." "but why do they do so? the fools!" asked francois, somewhat angrily. "because they know no better. that oligarchy, and those monarchs, have taken precious care to educate and train them to the belief that such is the _natural_ state of man. they furnish them with school-books, which are filled with beautiful sophisms--all tending to inculcate principles of endurance of wrong, and reverence for their wrongers. they fill their rude throats with hurrah songs that paint false patriotism in glowing colours, making loyalty--no matter to whatsoever despot--the greatest of virtues, and revolution the greatest of crimes; they studiously divide their subjects into several creeds, and then, playing upon the worst of all passions--the passion of religious bigotry--easily prevent their misguided helots from uniting upon any point which would give them a real reform. ah! it is a terrible game which the present rulers of europe are playing!" it was basil who gave utterance to these sentiments, for the young republican of louisiana had already begun to think strongly on political subjects. no doubt basil would one day be an m.c. "the bald eagles have been much blamed for their treatment of the ospreys, but," said lucien, "perhaps they have more reason for levying their tax than at first appears. it has been asked: why they do not capture the fish themselves? now, i apprehend, that there is a _natural_ reason why they do not. as you have seen, the fish are not always caught upon the surface. the osprey has often to plunge beneath the water in the pursuit, and nature has gifted him with power to do so, which, if i am not mistaken, she has denied to the eagles. the latter are therefore compelled, in some measure, to depend upon the former for a supply. but the eagles sometimes do catch the fish themselves, when the water is sufficiently shallow, or when their prey comes near enough to the surface to enable them to seize it." "do they ever kill the ospreys?" inquired francois. "i think not," replied lucien; "that would be `killing the goose,' etcetera. they know the value of their tax-payers too well to get rid of them in that way. a band of ospreys, in a place where there happens to be many of them together, have been known to unite and drive the eagles off. that, i suppose, must be looked upon in the light of a successful _revolution_." the conversation was here interrupted by another incident. the ospreys had again gone out fishing, and, at this moment, one of them was seen to pounce down and take a fish from the water. it was a large fish, and, as the bird flew heavily upward, the eagle again left its perch, and gave chase. this time the osprey was overtaken before it had got two hundred yards into the air, and seeing it was no use attempting to carry off the prey, it opened its claws and let it drop. the eagle turned suddenly, poised himself a moment, and then shot after the falling fish. before the latter had got near the ground, he overtook and secured it in his talons. then, arresting his own flight by the sudden spread of his tail, he winged his way silently across the river, and disappeared among the trees upon the opposite side. the osprey, taking the thing as a matter of course, again descended to the proper elevation, and betook himself to his work. perhaps he grinned a little like many another royal tax-payer, but he knew the tax had to be paid all the same, and he said nothing. an incident soon after occurred that astonished and puzzled our party not a little. the female osprey, that all this time seemed to have had but poor success in her fishing, was now seen to descend with a rush, and plunge deeply into the wave. the spray rose in a little cloud over the spot, and all sat watching with eager eyes to witness the result. what was their astonishment when, after waiting many seconds, the bird still remained under water! minutes passed, and still she did not come up. _she came up no more_! the foam she had made in her descent floated away--the bosom of the water was smooth as glass--not a ripple disturbed its surface. they could have seen the smallest object for a hundred yards or more around the spot where she had disappeared. it was impossible she could have emerged without them seeing her. where, then, had she gone? this, as i have said, puzzled the whole party; and formed a subject of conjecture and conversation for the rest of that day, and also upon the next. even lucien was unable to solve the mystery. it was a point in the natural history of the osprey unknown to him. could she have drowned herself? had some great fish, the "gar pike," or some such creature, got hold of and swallowed her? had she dashed her head against a rock, or become entangled in weeds at the bottom of the river? all these questions were put, and various solutions of the problem were offered. the true one was not thought of, until accident revealed it. it was saturday when the incident occurred. the party, of course, remained all next day at the place. they heard almost continually the cry of the bereaved bird, who most likely knew no more than they what had become of his mate. on monday our travellers re-embarked and continued down-stream. about a mile below, as they were paddling along, their attention was drawn to a singular object floating upon the water. they brought the canoe alongside it. it was a large fish, a sturgeon, floating dead, with a bird beside it, also dead! on turning both over, what was their astonishment to see that the talons of the bird were firmly fixed in the back of the fish! it was the _female osprey_! this explained all. she had struck a fish too heavy for her strength, and being unable to clear her claws again, had been drawn under the water and had perished along with her victim! chapter twenty four. the voyage interrupted. about ten days' rapid travelling down the elk river brought our party into the athabasca lake--sometimes called the "lake of the hills." this is another of those great bodies of fresh water that lie between the primitive rocks of the "barren grounds," and the more fertile limestone deposit upon the west. it is nearly two hundred miles long from west to east, and is only fifteen miles in breadth, but in some places it is so narrow and full of islands that it looks more like a broad river than a lake. its shores and many of its islands are thickly wooded, particularly upon the southern and western edges; and the eye of the traveller is delighted with many a beautiful vista as he passes along. but our voyageurs took little heed of these things. a gloom had come over their spirits, for one of their party had taken ill, and was suffering from a painful and dangerous disease--an intermittent fever. it was lucien--he that was beloved by all of them. he had been complaining for several days--even while admiring the fair scenery of the romantic elk--but every day he had been getting worse, until, on their arrival at the lake, he declared himself no longer able to travel. it became necessary, therefore, to suspend their journey; and choosing a place for their camp, they made arrangements to remain until lucien should recover. they built a small log-hut for the invalid, and did everything to make him as comfortable as possible. the best skins were spread for his couch; and cooling drinks were brewed for him from roots, fruits, and berries, in the way he had already taught his companions to prepare them. every day francois went forth with his gun, and returned with a pair of young pigeons, or a wood-partridge, or a brace of the beautiful ruffed grouse; and out of these he would make delicate soups, which he was the better able to do as they had procured salt, pepper, and other ingredients, at the fort. they had also brought with them a stock of tea--the real china tea--and sugar; and as the quantity of both was but small, this luxurious beverage was made exclusively for lucien, and was found by him exceedingly beneficial during his illness. to the great joy of all the invalid was at length restored to health, and the canoe being once more launched and freighted, they continued their journey. they coasted along the shores of the lake, and entered the great slave river, which runs from the athabasca into the great slave lake. they soon came to the mouth of another large river, called the peace. this runs into the great slave a short distance below lake athabasca, and, strange to say, the sources of the peace river lie upon the _western_ side of the rocky mountains, so that this stream actually runs across the mountain-chain! it passes through the mountains in a succession of deep gorges, which are terrible to behold. on both sides dizzy cliffs and snow-capped peaks rise thousands of feet above its rocky bed, and the scenery is cold and desolate. its head-waters interlock with those of several streams that run into the pacific; so that, had our voyageurs wished to travel to the shores of that ocean, they might have done so in their birch-bark canoe nearly the whole of the way. but this was not their design at present, so they passed the _debouchure_ of the peace, and kept on for the great slave lake. they were still upon the same water as the elk, for the great slave is only another name for that part of the river lying between the two lakes--athabasca and great slave. of course the river had now become much larger by the influx of the peace, and they were travelling upon the bosom of a magnificent stream, with varied scenery upon its banks. they were not so happy, however, as when descending the elk--not but that they were all in good health, for lucien had grown quite strong again. no, it was not any want of health that rendered them less cheerful. it was the prospect before them--the prospect of coming winter, which they now felt certain would arrive before they had got to the end of their journey. the delay of nearly a month, occasioned by lucien's illness, had deranged all their calculations; and they had no longer any hope of being able to finish their voyage in what remained of the short summer. the ice would soon make its appearance; the lakes and rivers would be frozen up; they could no longer navigate them in their canoe. to travel afoot would be a most laborious undertaking, as well as perilous in an extreme degree. in this way it is only possible to carry a very small quantity of provisions--for the traveller is compelled to load himself with skin-clothing in order to keep out the cold. the chances of procuring game by the way in that season are precarious, and not to be depended upon. most of the birds and many of the quadrupeds migrate to more southern regions; and those that remain are shy and rare. besides, great snow-storms are to be encountered, in which the traveller is in danger of getting "smoored." the earth is buried under a deep covering of snow, and to pass over this while soft is difficult, and at times quite impossible. all these circumstances were known to our young voyageurs--to norman better than any of them--and of course the prospect was a cheerless one--much more so than those unacquainted with the winter of these dreary regions would be willing to believe. it was the month of august, near its end, when they reached the great slave lake, in the latitude of degrees. the days had now become very short, and their journeys grew short in proportion. they already experienced weather as cold as an english winter. there were slight frosts at night--though not yet enough to cover the water with ice--and the midday hours were hot, sometimes too hot to be comfortable. but this only caused them to feel the cold the more sensibly when evening set in; and all their robes and skins were necessary to keep them warm during the night. the great slave lake, like the athabasca, is very long and very narrow. it extends full miles from east to west, but at its widest part is not over thirty, and in some places much less. along its northern shores lies the edge of the "barren grounds," and there nothing meets the eye but bleak and naked hills of primitive rock. on its southern side the geology is entirely of a different character. there the limestone prevails, and scarcely anything that deserves the name of hill is to be seen. there are fine forests too, in which poplars, pines, and birches, are the principal trees. the lake is filled with islands, many of which are wholly or partially covered with timber of these kinds, and willows also are abundant. there are fish of several species in its waters, which are in many places of great depth--sixty fathoms deep--and in some of the islands, and around the wooded shores, game exists in abundance in the summer season. even in winter it is not scarce, but then it is difficult to follow it on account of the deep snow. many of the animals, too, at this season become torpid, and are of course hidden in caves and hollow trees, and even in the snow itself, where no one can find them. notwithstanding all this, our voyageurs knew that it would be the best place for them to make their winter camp. they saw that to complete their journey during that season would be impossible. even had it been a month earlier it would have been a difficult undertaking. in a few days winter would be upon them. they would have to stop somewhere. there was no place where they could so safely stay as by the lake. one thing they would have there, which might not be found so plenty elsewhere, that was wood for their fire; and this was an inducement to remain by the lake. having made up their minds, therefore, to encamp on some part of it, they looked from day to day for a place that would be most suitable, still continuing their journey towards its western end. as yet no place appeared to their liking, and as the lake near its western point trends away towards the south, norman proposed that they should follow the shore no longer, but strike across to a promontory on the northern shore of the lake, known as "slave point." this promontory is of the limestone formation, and as norman had heard, is well wooded, and stocked with game. even buffaloes are found there. it is, in fact, the farthest point to the north-east that these animals range, and this presents us with a curious fact. it is the farthest point that the limestone deposit extends in that direction. beyond that, to the east and north, lie the primitive rocks of the barren grounds, into which the buffaloes never stray. thus we observe the connexion that exists between the _fauna_ of a country and its geological character. of course they all agreed to norman's proposal. the canoe was, therefore, headed for the open waters; and, after a hard day's paddling--for there was a head-wind--the voyageurs landed upon a small wooded island, about halfway over the lake, where they encamped for the night, intending next day to cross the remaining part. chapter twenty five. fishing under the ice. on awaking next morning, to their great surprise, they saw that the _lake was frozen over_! they had almost anticipated as much, for the night was one of the coldest they had yet experienced--so cold that one and all of them had slept but badly. as yet the ice was thin, but so much the worse. it was thick enough to prevent them from using the canoe, but too thin to bear their weight, and they now saw that they were _prisoners upon the island_! it was not without some feelings of alarm that they made this discovery; but their fears were allayed by reflecting, that they could remain upon the island until the ice either thawed away or became strong enough to bear them, and then they could cross upon it to the northern shore. with this consolation, therefore, they set about making their temporary quarters upon the island as snug as circumstances would permit. their apprehensions, however, began to return again, when several days had passed over, and the ice neither grew any thinner nor any thicker, but seemed to remain at a standstill. in the early part of the morning it was almost strong enough to bear them; but during the day the sun melted it, until it was little better than a scum over the surface of the water. the alarm of our voyageurs increased. their provisions were nearly out. there was no game on the islet--not so much as a bird--for they had beaten every bush, and found nothing. once or twice they thought of launching their canoe and breaking a way for it through the ice. but they knew that this proceeding would be one of much labour as well as danger. the islet was full ten miles from the shore, and they would therefore have to break the ice for ten miles. moreover, to stand up in a bark canoe, so as to get at the work, would be a difficult task. it could not be accomplished without endangering the equilibrium of the vessel, and indeed without upsetting it altogether. even to lean forward in the bow would be a perilous experiment; and under these considerations the idea of breaking a way was abandoned. but their provisions were at length entirely exhausted, and what was to be done? the ice was still too weak to carry them. near the shore it might have been strong enough, but farther out lay the danger. there they knew it was thinner, for it had not frozen over until a later period. it would have been madness to have risked it yet. on the other hand, they were starving, or likely to starve from hunger, by staying where they were. there was nothing eatable on the island. what was to be done? in the water were fish--they doubted not that--but how were they to catch them? they had tried them with hook and line, letting the hook through a hole in the ice; but at that late season the fish would not take a bait, and although they kept several continually set, and "looked" them most regularly and assiduously, not a "tail" was taken. they were about to adopt the desperate expedient, now more difficult than ever, of breaking their way through the ice, when, all at once, it occurred to norman, that, if they could not coax the fish to take a bait, they might succeed better with a net, and capture them against their will. this idea would have been plausible enough, had there been a net; but there was no net on that islet, nor perhaps within an hundred miles of it. the absence of a net might have been an obstacle to those who are ever ready to despair; but such an obstacle never occurred to our courageous boys. they had two _parchment_ skins of the caribou which they had lately killed, and out of these norman proposed to make a net. he would soon do it, he said, if the others would set to work and cut the deerskins into thongs fine enough for the purpose. two of them, therefore, basil and lucien, took out their knives, and went briskly to work; while francois assisted norman in twining the thongs, and afterwards held them, while the latter wove and knotted them into meshes. in a few hours both the skins were cut into fine strips, and worked up; and a net was produced nearly six yards in length by at least two in width. it was rude enough, to be sure, but perhaps it would do its work as well as if it had been twined out of silk. at all events, it was soon to have a trial--for the moment it was finished the sinkers were attached to it, and it was carried down to the edge of the water. the three "southerners" had never seen a net set under ice--for in their country ice is an uncommon thing, and indeed never freezes of sufficient thickness to carry the weight of a man. they were therefore very curious to know how the thing was to be done. they could not conceive how the net was to be stretched under the ice, in such a manner as to catch the fish. norman, however, knew all about it. he had seen the indians, and had set many a one himself. it was no new thing for him, and he set about it at once. he first crept out upon the ice to the distance of about twenty or thirty yards from the shore. he proceeded cautiously, as the ice creaked under him. having arrived at the place where he intended to set the net, he knelt down, and with his knife cut several holes in the ice, at the distance of about six feet from each other, and all in one line. he had already provided himself with a straight sapling of more than six feet in length, to one end of which he had attached a cord. the other end of this cord was tied to the net, at one of its corners. he now thrust the sapling through the first hole he had made, and then guided it so as to pass directly under the second. at this hole he took a fresh hold of the stick, and passed it along to the next, and so on to the last, where he pulled it out again, and of course along with it the string. the net was now drawn into the first hole, and by means of the cord already received through, was pulled out to its full length. the sinkers, of course, fell down in the water, and drew it into a vertical position. at both its upper corners the net was made fast above the ice, and was now "set." nothing more could be done until the fish came into it of their own accord, when it could be drawn out upon the ice by means of the cord attached; and, of course, by the same means could easily be returned to its place, and set again. all of them now went back to the fire, and with hungry looks sat around it, waiting the result. they had made up their minds, should no fish be caught, to get once more into the canoe and attempt breaking their way to the shore. summoning all their patience, therefore, they waited for nearly two hours, without examining the net. then norman and basil crawled back upon the ice, to see what fortune had done for them. they approached the spot, and, with their hearts thumping against their ribs, untied the knot, and commenced hauling out. "it certainly feels heavy," said basil, as he net was being drawn. "hurrah!" he shouted, "something kicks, hurrah!" and with the second "hurrah!" a beautiful fish was pulled up through the hole, and landed upon the ice. a loud "hurrah" was uttered in response by lucien and francois--who, fearing the ice might not bear so many, had remained upon the shore. a yard or two more of the net was cleared, and a second fish still larger than the former was greeted with a general "hurrah!" the two fish were now taken out--as these were all that had been caught--and the net was once more carefully set. basil and norman came back to the shore--norman to receive quite a shower of compliments from his companions. the fish--the largest of which weighed nearly five pounds-- proved to be trout; and it was not long before their quality was put to the proof. all declared they had never eaten so fine trout in their lives; but when the condition of their appetites is taken into account, we may infer that there was, perhaps, a little exaggeration in this statement. if hunger really makes good sauce, our voyageurs had the best of sauce with their fish, as each of them was as hungry as a half-famished wolf. they felt quite relieved, as far as present appetite went, but they were still uneasy for the future. should they not succeed in taking more fish--and it was by no means certain they should succeed--they would be no better off than ever. their anxiety, however, was soon removed. their second "haul" proved even more successful than the first--as five fish, weighing together not less than twenty pounds, were pulled up. this supply would enable them to hold out for a long time, but they had not much longer to remain on the islet. upon that very night there was one of those severe frosts known only in high latitudes, and the ice upon the lake became nearly a foot in thickness. they had no longer any fear of its breaking under their weight; and taking their canoe with all their "traps," they set out to cross over upon the ice. in a few hours they reached the shore of the lake, near the end of the promontory, where they chose a spot, and encamped. chapter twenty six. an odd alarm. the first thing our voyageurs did after choosing a suitable situation, was to build a log-hut. being young backwoodsmen this was but a trifle to them. all four of them knew how to handle an axe with dexterity. the logs were soon cut and notched, and a small cabin was put up, and roofed with split clap-boards. with the stones that lay near the shore of the lake they built a chimney. it was but a rude structure, but it drew admirably. clay was wanted to "chink" the cabin, but that could not be had, as the ground was hard frozen, and it was quite impossible to make either clay or mud. even hot water poured out would freeze into ice in a few minutes. this was a serious want--for in such a cold climate even the smallest hole in the walls will keep a house uncomfortable, and to fill the interstices between the logs, so as to make them air-tight, some soft substance was necessary. grass was suggested, and lucien went off in search of it. after a while he returned with an armful of half-withered grass, which all agreed would be the very thing; and a large quantity was soon collected, as it grew plentifully at a short distance from the cabin. they now set to work to stuff it into the chinks; when, to their astonishment, they found that this grass had a beautiful smell, quite as powerful and as pleasant as that of mint or thyme! when a small quantity of it was flung into the fire it filled the cabin with a fragrance as agreeable as the costliest perfumes. it was the "scented grass," which grows in great profusion in many parts of the hudson's bay territory, and out of which the indians often make their beds, burning it also upon the fire to enjoy its aromatic perfume. for the first day or two, at their new abode, the travellers had lived altogether on fish. they had, of course, brought their net with them from the island, and had set it near the shore in the same way as before. they had captured as many as they wanted, and, strange to say, at one haul they found no less than five different species in the net! one kind, a white fish, the _coregonus albus_ of naturalists, but which is named "tittameg" by the fur-traders, they caught in great plenty. this fish is found in nearly all the lakes and rivers of the hudson's bay territory, and is much prized both by whites and indians for its delicate flavour. at some of the trading posts it often forms, for weeks together, the only food which the residents can obtain; and they are quite satisfied when they can get enough of it. the tittameg is not a large fish; the largest attain to the weight of about eight pounds. there was another and still smaller species, which, from its colour, the voyageurs call the "poisson bleu," or blue fish. it is the _coregonus signifer_ of ichthyologists. it is a species of grayling, and frequents sharp-running water, where it will leap at the fly like a trout. several kinds of trout also inhabit the great slave lake, and some of these attain to the enormous weight of eighty pounds! a few were caught, but none of so gigantic proportions as this. pike were also taken in the net, and a species of burbot (_gadus lota_). this last is one of the most voracious of the finny tribe, and preys upon all others that it is able to swallow. it devours whole quantities of cray-fish, until its stomach becomes crammed to such a degree as to distort the shape of its whole body. when this kind was drawn out, it was treated very rudely by the boys--because its flesh was known to be extremely unsavoury, and none of them cared to eat it. marengo, however, had no such scruples, and he was wont to make several hearty meals each day upon the rejected burbot. a fish diet exclusively was not the thing; and as our party soon grew tired of it, the hunter basil shouldered his rifle, and strode off into the woods in search of game. the others remained working upon the cabin, which was still far from being finished. basil kept along the edge of the lake in an easterly direction. he had not gone more than a quarter of a mile, when he came upon a dry gravelly ridge, which was thickly covered with a species of pine-trees that resembled the scotch fir (_pinus sylvestris_). these trees were not over forty feet in height, with very thick trunks and long flexible branches. no other trees grew among them, for it is the nature of this pine--which was the "scrub" or grey pine (_pinus banksiana)_ to monopolise the ground wherever it grows. as basil passed on, he noticed that many of the trees were completely "barked," particularly on the branches; and small pieces of the bark lay scattered over the ground, as though it had been peeled off and gnawed by some animal. he was walking quietly on and thinking what creature could have made such a wreck, when he came to a place where the ground was covered with fine sand or dust. in this, to his astonishment, he observed what he supposed to be the tracks of human feet! they were not those of a man, but small tracks, resembling the footsteps of a child of three or four years of age. he was about stooping down to examine them more closely, when a voice sounded in his ears exactly like the cry of a child! this brought him suddenly to an erect attitude again, and he looked all round to discover who or what had uttered that strange cry. he could see no one--child or man--and strange, too, for he had a clear view through the tree-trunks for several hundred yards around. he was filled with curiosity, not unmixed with alarm; and, stepping forward a few paces, he was about to bend down and examine the tracks a second time, when the singular cry again startled him. this time it was louder than before, as if he was closer to whatever had uttered it, but basil now perceived that it proceeded from above him. the creature from which it came was certainly not upon the ground, but high up among the tops of the trees. he looked up, and there, in the fork of one of the pines, he perceived a singular and hideous-looking animal--such as he had never before seen. it was of a brown colour, about the size of a terrier-dog, with thick shaggy hair, and clumped up in the fork of the tree--so that its head and feet were scarcely distinguishable. its odd appearance, as well as the peculiar cry which it had uttered, would have alarmed many a one of less courage than our young hunter, and basil was at first, as he afterwards confessed, "slightly flurried;" but a moment's reflection told him what the animal was--one of the most innocent and inoffensive of god's creatures--the canada porcupine. it was this, then, that had barked the scrub-pines--for they are its favourite food; and it was its track-- which in reality very much resembles that of a child--that basil had seen in the sand. the first thought of the young hunter was to throw up his rifle, and send a bullet through the ungainly animal; which, instead of making any effort to escape, remained almost motionless, uttering, at intervals, its child-like screams. basil, however, reflected that the report of his rifle would frighten any large game that might chance to be near; and as the porcupine was hardly worth a shot, he concluded, upon reflection, it would be better to leave it alone. he knew--for he had heard lucien say so--that he would find the porcupine at any time, were it a week, or even a month after--for these creatures remain sometimes a whole winter in the same grove. he resolved, therefore, should no other game turn up, to return for it; and, shouldering his rifle again, he continued his course through the woods. as he proceeded, the timber became thinner. the scrub-pines gave place to poplar-trees, with here and there an undergrowth of willows. the trees stood far apart, and the willows grew only in clumps or "islands," so that the view was nearly open for many hundred yards around. basil walked on with all the silence and watchfulness of a true "still" hunter--for, among backwoodsmen, this species of hunting is so called. he ascended a low hill, and keeping a tree in front of him, looked cautiously over its crest. before him, and stretching from the bottom of the hill, was a level tract of considerable extent. it was bounded on one side by the edge of the lake, and on all the others by thin woods, similar to those through which the hunter had been for some time travelling. here and there, over the plain, there stood trees, far apart from each other, and in nowise intercepting the view for a mile or more. the ground was clear of underwood, except along the immediate edge of the lake, which was fringed by a thicket of willows. as basil looked over the hill, he espied a small group of animals near the interior border of the willows. he had never seen animals of the same species before, but the genus was easily told. the tall antlered horns, that rose upon the head of one of them, showed that they were deer of some kind; and the immense size of the creature that bore them, together with his ungainly form, his long legs, and ass-like ears, his huge head with its overhanging lip, his short neck with its standing mane, and, above all, the broad palmation of the horns themselves, left basil without any doubt upon his mind that the animals before him were moose-deer--the largest, and perhaps the most awkward, of all the deer kind. the one with the antlers was the male or bull-moose. the others were the female and her two calves of the preceding year. the latter were still but half-grown, and, like the female, were without the "branching horns" that adorned the head of the old bull. they were all of a dark-brown colour--looking blackish in the distance--but the large one was darker than any of the others. basil's heart beat high, for he had often heard of the great moose, but now saw it for the first time. in his own country it is not found, as it is peculiarly a creature of the cold regions, and ranges no farther to the south than the northern edge of the united states territory. to the north it is met with as far as timber grows--even to the shores of the polar sea! naturalists are not certain, whether or not it be the same animal with the elk (_cervus alces_) of europe. certainly the two are but little, if anything, different; but the name "elk" has been given in america to quite another and smaller species of deer--the wapiti (_cervus canadensis_). the moose takes its name from its indian appellation, "moosoa," or "wood-eater;" and this name is very appropriate, as the animal lives mostly upon the leaves and twigs of trees. in fact, its structure--like that of the camelopard--is such that it finds great difficulty in reaching grass, or any other herbage, except where the latter chances to be very tall, or grows upon the declivity of a very steep hill. when it wishes to feed upon grass, the moose usually seeks it in such situations; and it may often be seen browsing up the side of a hill, with its legs spread widely on both sides of its neck. but its favourite food is found at a more convenient height, and consists of the young shoots of many species of trees. it prefers those of the poplar, the birch-tree, and willows, and one kind of these last, the red willow, is its particular favourite. the "striped" maple (_acer striatum_) is also much relished by the moose-- hence the name "moose-wood," by which this tree is known among the hunters. it loves also the common water-lilies (_nympha_); and in summer it may be seen wading out into lakes, and plucking up their succulent leaves. it takes to the water also for other purposes--to cool its body, and rid itself of several species of gnats and mosquitoes that at this season torment it exceedingly. at such times it is more easily approached; and the indians hunt it in their canoes, and kill it in the water, both with spears and arrows. they never find the moose, however, in large numbers--for it is a solitary animal, and only associates in pairs during one part of the year, and in families at another season--as basil now found it. in winter the indians track it through the snow, following it upon snow-shoes. these give them the advantage of skimming along the surface, while the moose plunges through the deep drift, and is therefore impeded in its flight. notwithstanding, it will frequently escape from the hunter, after a _chase of several days' duration_! sometimes, in deep snow, a dozen or more of these animals will be found in one place, where they have got accidentally together. the snow will be trodden down until the place appears as if enclosed by a wall. this the hunters term a "moose-pound," and when found in such situations the moose are easily approached and surrounded--when a general _battue_ takes place, in which few or none of the animals are allowed to escape. i have said that basil's heart beat high at the sight of the moose. he was very desirous of killing one--partly on account of the novelty of the thing, and partly because he and his companions at the camp were anxious for a change of diet. moose-meat was the very thing; and he knew that if he could return to camp with a few pieces of this strung over his gun, he would receive a double welcome. he was well aware that the flesh of the moose was of the most savoury and delicate kind, and that the long pendulous upper lip is one of the "tit-bits" of the fur countries. moreover, the fine hide would be an acceptable addition to their stock, as it is the best of all deerskins for mocassins, as well as snow-shoes--articles which basil knew would soon be needed. for these reasons he was unusually desirous of killing one of the moose. he knew it would be difficult to approach them. he had heard that they were shyest at that very season--the beginning of winter--and indeed such is the case. no deer is so difficult to get a shot at as a moose in early winter. in summer it is not so--as then the mosquitoes torment these animals to such a degree that they pay less heed to other enemies, and the hunter can more easily approach them. in winter they are always on the alert. their sense of smell--as well as of sight and hearing--is acute to an extreme degree, and they are cunning besides. they can scent an enemy a long distance off--if the wind be in their favour--and the snapping of a twig, or the slightest rustle of the leaves, is sufficient to start them off. in their journeyings through the snow, when they wish to rest themselves, they make a sort of _detour_, and, coming back, lie down near the track which they have already passed over. this gives them an opportunity of hearing any enemy that may be following upon their trail, and also of making off in a side-direction, while the latter will be looking steadfastly ahead for them. basil had heard of all these tricks of the moose--for many an old moose-hunter had poured his tale into basil's ear. he proceeded, therefore, with all due caution. he first buried his hand in his game-bag, and after a little groping brought out a downy feather which had chanced to be there. this he placed lightly upon the muzzle of his rifle, and having gently elevated the piece above his head, watched the feather. after a moment, the breeze carried it off, and basil noted the direction it took. this is called, in hunter phrase, "tossing the feather," and gave basil the exact direction of the wind--an important knowledge in the present case. to basil's gratification he saw that it was blowing down the lake, and nearly towards himself. he was not exactly to leeward of the moose; but, what was better still, the willows that fringed the lake were, for he could see them bending from the deer, as the breeze blew freshly. he knew he could easily get among the willows; and as they were not yet quite leafless, and, moreover, were interspersed with tall reed-grass, they formed a tolerable cover under which he might make his approach. without losing time, then, he made for the willows, and placing them between himself and the game, commenced "approaching" along the shore of the lake. he had a full half-hour's creeping--at one time upon his hands and knees--at another, crawling flat upon his breast like a gigantic lizard, and now and then, at favourable spots, walking in a bent attitude. a full half-hour was he, and much pain and patience did it cost him, before getting within shot. but basil was a hunter, and knew both how to endure the pain and practise the patience--virtues that, in hunting as well as in many other occupations, usually meet with their reward. and basil was likely to meet with his, for on parting the leaves, and looking cautiously through, he saw that he had arrived at the right spot. within fifty yards of him he saw the high shoulders of the bull-moose and his great flat antlers towering over the tops of the willows, among the leaves of which the snout of the animal was buried. he also caught a glimpse of parts of the other three beyond; but he thought only of the bull, and it was upon him that he kept his eyes fixed. basil did not think of the quality of the meat, else he would have selected either the cow or one of the calves. had it been buffaloes he would certainly have done so; but as he had never killed a moose, he was determined to slay the leader of the herd. indeed, had he wished to shoot one of the others, it might not have been so easy, as they were farther off, and he could only see the tops of their shoulders over the willows. neither did the bull offer a fair mark. he stood face to face with the hunter, and basil fancied that a shot on the frontal bone might not kill him. he knew it would not kill a buffalo. there was only one other part at which he could aim--the fore-shoulder; and after waiting some moments for the animal to give him a fairer chance, he took aim at this and fired. he heard a loud cracking of hoofs, as the cow and calves shambled off over the plain, but he saw that the bull was not with them. he was down behind the willows. no doubt he was dead. chapter twenty seven. encounter with a moose. what was a rare thing for basil to do, he rushed forward without reloading his gun. a few springs brought him into the open ground, and in presence of the game. to his astonishment, the bull was not dead, nor down neither, but only upon his knees--of course wounded. basil saw the "crease" of the bullet along the neck of the animal as he drew near. it was only by a quick glance that he saw this, for as soon as the bull saw him he rose to his full height--his eyes flashing like a tiger's-- and setting his antlers in a forward position, sprang upon the hunter! basil leaped aside to avoid the encounter; and in the first rush was successful, but the animal turned suddenly, and, coming up a second time, raised his fore-feet high in the air, and struck forward with his long-pointed hoofs. basil attempted to defend himself with his rifle, but the piece was struck out of his hand in an instant. once more avoiding the forward rush of the infuriated beast, the young hunter looked around for some object to save him. a tree fell under his eye, and he ran towards it with all his speed. the moose followed close upon his heels, and he had just time to reach the tree and get around its trunk, when the animal brushed past, tearing the bark with his sharp antlers. basil now slipped round the trunk, and when the moose again turned himself the two were on opposite sides of the tree! the beast, however, rushed up, and struck the tree furiously first with his brow antlers, and then with his hoofs, uttering loud snorts, and at intervals a shrill whistling sound that was terrible to hear. the disappointment which the enraged animal felt, at seeing his enemy thus escape him, seemed to have added to his rage; and he now vented his spite upon the tree, until the trunk, to the height of six feet, was completely stripped of its bark. while this was going on, basil remained behind the tree, "dodging" round as the moose manoeuvred, and taking care always to have the animal on the opposite side. to have got into a safer situation he would have climbed the tree; but it happened to be a poplar, without a branch for many feet from the ground, and of too great a girth to be "embraced." he could do nothing, therefore, but remain upon the ground, and keep the tree-trunk between himself and the bull. for nearly an hour this lasted, the moose now remaining at rest for a few minutes, and then making fresh onsets that seemed to abate nothing in their fury. his rage appeared to be implacable, and his vengeance as tenacious as that of a tiger or any other beast of prey. the wound which the hunter had given him was no doubt painful, and kept his resentment from cooling. unfortunately, it was not a mortal wound, as basil had every opportunity of seeing. the bullet had hit the fore-shoulder; but, after tearing along the skin, had glanced off without injuring the bone. it had only enraged the bull, without crippling him in the least degree. basil began to dread the result. he was becoming faint with fatigue as well as hunger. when would he be relieved? when would the fierce brute feel inclined to leave him? these were questions which the hunter put to himself repeatedly, without being able to divine an answer. he had heard of hunters being killed by wounded moose. he had heard that these creatures will remain for days watching a person whom they may have "treed." he could not stand it for days. he would drop down with fatigue, and then the bull would gore and trample him at pleasure. would they be able to trace him from the camp? they would not think of that before nightfall. they would not think of him as "lost" before that time; and then they could not follow his trail in the darkness, nor even in the light--for the ground was hard as a rock, and he had made no footmarks. marengo might trace him. the dog had been left at the camp, as basil preferred "still-hunting" without him. but in his present situation the hunter's apprehensions were stronger than his hopes. even marengo might be baffled in lifting the scent. the trail was an exceedingly devious one, for basil had meandered round the sides of the hill in search of game. deer or other animals might have since crossed it, which might mislead the hound. it would be cold at night, and much colder next morning. there were many chances that no relief might reach him from the camp. impressed with this conviction, basil began to feel serious alarm. not despair, however--he was not the boy to despair. his mind only grew more alive to the necessity for action. he looked around to discover some means of escape. his gun lay not a hundred yards off. could he only get hold of the piece, and return safely to the tree again, he could there load it and put at end to the scene at once. but to reach the gun was impossible. the moose would bound after and overtake him to a certainty. the idea of getting the gun was abandoned. in the opposite direction to that in which the gun lay, basil perceived that there were other trees. the nearest was but a dozen yards from him; and others, again, grew at about the same distance from that one, and from each other. basil now conceived the idea of escaping to the nearest, and from that to the next, and by this means getting back into the thick forest. once there, he believed that he would be the better able to effect his escape, and perhaps reach the camp by dodging from tree to tree. he could beat the moose for a dozen yards--getting a little the start of him--and this he hoped to be able to do. should he fail in his short race, however--should his foot slip--the alternative was fearful. _it was no other than death_! he knew that, but it did not change his resolution to make the attempt. he only waited for the animal to work round between him and the tree towards which he intended to run. you will wonder that he did not prefer to have the moose on the other side. but he did not, for this reason--had the bull been there, he could have sprung after him at the first start; whereas, when heading the other way, basil believed he could brush close past, and gain an advantage, as the unwieldy brute, taken by surprise, would require some time in turning himself to give chase. the opportunity at length arrived; and nerving himself for the race, the hunter sprang past the moose, brushing the very tips of its antlers. he ran without either stopping or even looking back, until he had reached the tree, and sheltered himself behind its trunk. the moose had followed, and arrived but the moment after, snorting and whistling furiously. enraged at the _ruse_, it attacked this tree, as it had the other, with hoof and horns; and basil nimbly evaded both by keeping on the opposite side, as before. in a few minutes he prepared himself for a second rush, and once more started. a third tree was reached in safety--and then a fourth, and a fifth, and many others, in a similar manner--the moose all the while following in hot pursuit. basil had begun to hope that in this way he would get off, when, to his chagrin, he saw that an open space still intervened between him and the thick woods, upon which there were only a few trees, and those so small that not one of them would have sheltered him. this tract was full two hundred yards in width, and extended all along the edge of the thick forest. he dared not cross it. the moose would overtake him before he could get half the way; and he was obliged to give up the idea of making the attempt. as he stood behind the last tree he had reached, he saw that it branched, and the lowest branches grew but a little above his head. he could easily climb it, and at once resolved to do so. he would there be safe for the time, and could at least rest himself, for he was now weak with fatigue. he, therefore, stretched up his hands, and, laying hold of a branch, swung himself up into the tree. then climbing up a little higher, he sat down on one of the forks. the moose appeared as furious as ever; and ran round the tree, now striking it with his horns, and then rearing upon his hind-legs, and pouncing against the trunk with his hoofs. at times his snout was so close to basil, that the latter could almost touch it; and he had even drawn his hunting-knife, and reached down with the intent of giving the creature a stab. this last action led to a train of thought, and basil seemed suddenly to adopt some new resolution. leaving the fork where he had perched himself, he climbed higher up the tree; and, selecting one of the longest and straightest branches, commenced cutting it off close to the trunk. this was soon effected; and then, drawing it along his knee, he trimmed off all the twigs and tops until the branch became a straight pole, like a spear-handle. along one end of this he laid the handle of his knife; and with thongs, which he had already cut out of the strap of his bullet-pouch, he spliced the knife and pole together. this gave him a formidable weapon--for the knife was a "bowie," and had a long blade, with a point like a rapier. he was not slow in using it. descending again to the lowermost limbs, he commenced making demonstrations, in order to bring the moose within reach. this he very soon succeeded in doing; and the animal ran forward and reared up against the tree. before it could get upon its four legs again, basil had thrust it in the neck, giving full force to the blow. the blood rushed forth in a thick stream, as the jugular vein had been cut by the keen blade; and the huge brute was seen to totter in its steps, and then fall with a dull heavy sound to the earth. in a few moments the hunter had the satisfaction of perceiving that it was quite dead. basil now dropped out of the tree, and walking back to where his rifle lay, took up the piece and carefully reloaded it. he then returned to the moose, and opening the great jaws of the animal, gagged them with a stick. he next unspliced his knife, took off the gristly lips, and cut out the tongue. these he placed in his game-bag, and shouldering his rifle, was about to depart; when some new idea caused him to halt, put down his gun, and again unsheath his knife. once more approaching the carcass, he made an incision near the kidneys; and having inserted his hand, drew forth what appeared to be a part of the intestines. it was the bladder. he then looked around as if in search of something. presently his eye rested upon some tall reed-grass that was growing near. this was just what he wanted, and, pulling up one of the stems, he cut and fashioned it into a pipe. with this the moose-bladder was blown out to its full dimensions, and tied at the neck by a piece of thong. the other end of the thong was fastened to one of the branches of the tree above, so that the bladder dangled within a few feet of the carcass of the moose, dancing about with the lightest breath of wind. all these precautions basil had taken to keep the wolves from devouring the moose--for it was his intention to return and butcher it, as soon as he could get help. when he had hung the bladder to his liking, he put up his knife again; and, once more shouldering his rifle, walked off. on reaching the camp--which he did shortly after--the tongue of the moose was broiled without delay, and, after making a delicious meal of it, the whole party went off for the remainder of the meat. they found it all quite safe; although, had it not been for the bladder, not much of it would have been there--as no less than a dozen great gaunt wolves were seen lurking about, and these would have eaten it up in the shortest possible time. the bladder, however, had kept them off; for, strange to say, these creatures, who are as cunning as foxes, and can hardly be trapped, can yet be deceived and frightened by such a simple thing as a bladder dangling from a branch. the moose proved to be one of the largest of his kind. his height was quite equal to that of a horse; and his horns, flattened out to the breadth of shovels, weighed over sixty pounds. his carcass was not less than fifteen hundred pounds weight; and our voyageurs had to make two journeys to convey the meat to their camp. on the last journey, francois brought the porcupine as well--having found it on the very same tree where basil had left it! chapter twenty eight. life in a log-hut. the log-hut was finished on the st of september, and not a day too soon; for on that very day the winter set in with full severity. a heavy fall of snow came down in the night; and next morning, when our voyageurs looked abroad, the ground was covered to the depth of a foot, or more; and the ice upon the lake was also white. walking through the great wreaths now became very difficult; and the next thing to be done was the making of "snow-shoes." snow-shoes are an invention of the indians; and, in the winter of the arctic regions of america, are an article almost as indispensable as clothing itself. without them, travelling afoot would be impossible. in these countries, as already stated, the snow often covers the ground to the depth of many feet; and remains without any considerable diminution for six, and, in some years, eight or nine months. at times, it is frozen hard enough on the surface to bear a man without the snow-shoes; but oftener on account of thaws and fresh falls, it becomes quite soft, and at such times travelling over it is both difficult and dangerous. to avoid both the difficulty and the danger, the indians make use of this _very_ singular sort of foot-wear--called "snow-shoes" by the english, and "raquets" by the canadian voyageurs. they are used by all the indian tribes of the hudson's bay territory; and were it not for them these people would be confined to one place for months together, and could not follow the deer or other game. as almost all savages are improvident, and none more so than the north american indians, were they prevented for a season from going out to hunt, whole tribes would starve. indeed, many individuals of them perish with hunger as it is; and the life of all these indians is nothing more than one continued struggle for food enough to sustain them. in summer they are often in the midst of plenty; slaughtering deer and buffalo by hundreds, taking out only the tongues, and recklessly leaving the flesh to the wolves! in winter the very same indians may be seen without a pound of meat in their encampment--the lives of themselves and their families depending upon the success of a single day's hunt! but let us return to the snow-shoes. let us see what they are, and learn how they are made. any boy who has snared sparrows in snow-time, has, no doubt, done so by tying his snares upon a hoop netted across with twine or other small cord. now, if he will conceive his hoop bent into an oblong shape-- something like what the figure of a boat turned on its mouth would make in snow--and if he will also fancy the netting to consist of thongs of twisted deer-hide woven somewhat closely together, he will get a very good idea of an indian snow-shoe. it is usually from three to four feet long, by about a foot wide at the middle part, from which it tapers gently to a point, both at the heel and toe. the frame, as i have said, is like the hoop of a boy's bird-snare. it is made of light, tough wood, and, of course, carefully bent and polished with the knife. the slender branches of the "scrub-pine" (_pinus banksiana_) are esteemed excellent for this purpose, as their wood is light, flexible and tough in its fibres. this is also a favourite tree, where it grows, to make tent-poles, canoe-timbers, and other implements required by the indians; and these people use so much of it for their arrows, that it has received from the canadian voyageurs the name of _bois de fleche_ (arrow-wood). well, then, the frame of the snow-shoes being bent to its proper shape, two transverse bars are placed across near the middle, and several inches from each other. they are for the foot to rest upon, as well as to give strength to the whole structure. these being made fast, the netting is woven on, and extends over the whole frame, with the exception of a little space in front of the bars where the ball of the foot is to rest. this space is left free of netting, in order to allow play to the toes while walking. the mesh-work is made of thongs usually cut from the parchment-skin of a deer, and twisted. sometimes twisted intestines are used, and the netting exactly resembles that seen in "racquets" for ball play. the snow-shoe, when finished, is simply fastened upon the foot by means of straps or thongs; and a pair of them thus placed, will present a surface to the snow of nearly six square feet--more, if required, by making them larger. but this is enough to sustain the heaviest man upon the softest snow, and an indian thus "shod" will skim over the surface like a skater. the shoes used by all tribes of indians are not alike in shape. there are fashions and fancies in this respect. some are made--as among the chippewa indians--with one side of the frame nearly straight; and these, of course, will not do for either foot, but are "rights and lefts." generally, however, the shape is such that the snow-shoe will fit either foot. the snow-shoes having now become a necessary thing, our young voyageurs set about making a complete set for the whole party--that is, no less than four pairs. norman was the "shoemaker," and norman knew how. he could splice the frames, and work in the netting, equal to an indian squaw. of course all the others assisted him. lucien cut the moose-skin into fine regular strips; basil waded off through the snow, and procured the frames from the wood of the scrub-pine-trees where he had encountered the porcupine; and then he and francois trimmed them with their knives, and sweated them in the hot ashes until they became dry, and ready for the hands of the "shoemaker." this work occupied them several days, and then each had a pair of shoes fitted to his size and weight. the next consideration was, to lay in a stock of meat. the moose had furnished them with enough for present use, but that would not last long, as there was no bread nor anything else to eat with it. persons in their situation require a great deal of meat to sustain them, much more than those who live in great cities, who eat a variety of substances, and drink many kinds of drinks. the healthy voyageur is rarely without a keen appetite; and meat by itself is a food that speedily digests, and makes way for a fresh meal; so that the ration usually allowed to the _employes_ of the fur companies would appear large enough to supply the table of several families. for instance, in some parts of the hudson's bay territory, the voyageur is allowed eight pounds of buffalo-meat _per diem_! and yet it is all eaten by him, and sometimes deemed barely sufficient. a single deer, therefore, or even a buffalo, lasts a party of voyageurs for a very short time, since they have no other substance, such as bread or vegetables, to help it out. it was necessary, then, that our travellers should use all their diligence in laying up a stock of dried meat, before the winter became too cold for them to hunt. there was another consideration--their clothing. they all had clothing sufficient for such weather as they had yet experienced; but that would never do for the winter of the great slave lake, and they knew it. many deer must be killed, and many hides dressed, before they could make a full set of clothing for all, as well as a set of deerskin blankets, which would be much needed. as soon as the snow-shoes were finished, therefore, basil and norman went out each day upon long hunting expeditions, from which they rarely returned before nightfall. sometimes they brought with them a deer, of the caribou or reindeer species, and the "woodland" variety, which were plenty at this place. they only carried to camp the best parts with the skin, as the flesh of the woodland caribou is not much esteemed. it is larger than the other kind--the "barren ground caribou," weighing about one hundred and fifty pounds; but both its venison and hide are of inferior quality to those of the latter species. sometimes our hunters killed smaller game; and on several occasions they returned without having emptied their guns at all. but there was one day that made up for several--one grand day when they were extremely successful, and on which they killed a whole herd of moose, consisting of five individuals--the old bull, a spike buck--that is, a young buck, whose horns had not yet got antlers upon them--the cow, and two calves. these they had tracked and followed for a long distance, and had succeeded, at length, in running into a valley where the snow was exceedingly deep, and where the moose became entangled. there had been a shower of rain the day before that had melted the surface of the snow; and this had again frozen into an icy crust, upon which the deer lacerated their ankles at every plunge, leaving a track of blood behind them as they ran. under these circumstances they were easily trailed, and basil and norman, skimming along upon their snow-shoes, soon came up with them, and shot first one and then another, until the whole herd were stretched in the valley. they then butchered them, and hung the hides and quarters upon high branches, so as to secure them from wolves and wolverenes. when the job was finished, the whole place looked like a great slaughter-yard! next day a rude sledge was constructed; and the voyageurs, returning in full force, transported the meat to camp. huge fires were kindled outside the hut, and several days were spent in cutting up and drying the flesh. had our travellers been certain that the frost would have continued all winter, this would not have been necessary--since the meat was already frozen as hard as a brick. but they knew that a sudden thaw would spoil it; and, as there was plenty of good firewood on the spot, they were not going to run the risk of losing it in that way. they had now enough provision to last them for months; and hunting became no longer necessary, except to obtain fresh meat--which was, of course, preferable to the dry stock. hunting, also, gave them exercise and amusement--both of which were necessary to their health; for to remain idle and inactive in a situation such as that in which they were placed is the worst possible plan, and is sure to engender both sickness and _ennui_. indeed, the last grew upon them, notwithstanding all the pains they took to prevent it. there were days on which the cold was so extreme, that they could not put their noses out of the door without the danger of having them frost-bitten--although each had now a complete suit of deerskin clothing, made by lucien, the "tailor" of the party. upon such days they were fain to remain shut up in their hut; and, seated around their huge log-fire, they passed the time in cleaning their guns, mending their nets, stitching their clothes, and such-like employments. these days were far from being their dullest; for, what with the varied and scientific knowledge of lucien, which he took pleasure in imparting to his companions--what with the practical experience of norman amid scenes of arctic life, and the many "voyageur tales" he could tell--what with francois' merry jokes and _bon mots_-- and what with basil's _talent for listening_--not the least important element in a good _conversazione_,--our _quartette_ of young voyageurs found their indoor days anything but dull. this was all well enough for a while. for a month or two they bore their odd kind of life cheerfully enough; but the prospect of nearly six months more of it began to appal them, when they reflected upon it; and they soon found themselves longing for a change. hunting adventures, that at other times would have interested them, now occurred without creating any excitement; and the whole routine of their employments seemed monotonous. nearly all of them were boys of an active character of mind; and most of them were old enough to reason about the value of time. their idea of such a long isolation from civilised life, and, above all, the being debarred from following any useful pursuit, began to impress some of them forcibly. others, as francois, could not be contented for a very great stretch of time with any sort of life; so that all of them began to sigh for a change. one day, while conversing upon this theme, a bold proposal was made by basil. it was, that they should "strike camp," and continue their journey. this proposal took the others by surprise, but they were all just in the frame of mind to entertain and discuss it; and a long consultation was held upon the point. francois chimed in with the proposal at once; while lucien, more cautious, did not exactly oppose, but rather offered the reasons that were against it, and pointed out the perils of the undertaking. norman, of course, was appealed to--all of them looking to him as one whose advice, upon that question at least, was more valuable than their own. norman admitted the dangers pointed out by lucien, but believed that they might overcome them by a proper caution. on the whole, norman approved of the plan, and it was at length adopted. perhaps norman's habitual prudence was to some extent influenced on this occasion by the very natural desire he had of returning to what he considered his home. he had now been absent nearly two years, and was desirous of once more seeing his father and his old companions at the fort. there was another feeling that influenced nearly all of them: that was _ambition_. they knew that to make such a journey would be something of a feat, and they wished to have the credit of performing it. to minds like that of basil, even the danger had something attractive in it. it was resolved then to break up the encampment, and continue their journey. chapter twenty nine. travelling on snow-shoes. once their resolution was taken, they lost but little time in making preparations to carry it out. most of the articles required for such a journey were already in their hands. they had the proper dresses-- snow-shoes, skin-blankets, and gloves. they had prepared for themselves sets of "snow spectacles." these were made out of red cedar-wood. each pair consisted of two small thin pieces, that covered the eyes, joined together and fastened on by thongs of buckskin. in each piece an oblong slit served for the eye-hole, through which the eye looked without being dazzled by the snow. without this, or some like contrivance, travelling in the arctic regions is painful to the eyes, and the traveller often loses his sight. indeed, one of the most common infirmities of both the indians and esquimaux of these parts is blindness or soreness of the eyes, caused by the reflexion of the sunbeams from the crystals of the frozen snow. norman was aware of this, and had made the spectacles to guard against this peril. out of their spare skins they had made a small tent. this was to be carried along by marengo in a light sledge, which they had long since constructed, and taught the dog to draw. nothing else remained but to pack their provisions in the smallest bulk possible, and this was done, according to the custom of the country, by making "pemmican." the dry meat was first pounded until it became a powder; it was then put into small skin bags, made for the purpose, and the hot melted fat was poured in and well mixed with it. this soon froze hard, and the mixture--that resembled "potted meat,"--was now ready for use, and would keep for an indefinite time without the least danger of spoiling. buffalo-beef, moose-meat, or venison of any sort, thus prepared, is called "_pemmican_," and is more portable in this shape than any other. besides no further cooking is required--an important consideration upon those vast prairie deserts, where firewood is seldom to be procured without the trouble of carrying it a great distance. norman, who was the maker of the pemmican, had produced a superior article upon this occasion. besides the pounded meat and fat, he had mixed another ingredient with it, which rendered it a most delicious food. this third ingredient was a small purple-coloured berry--of which we have already spoken--not unlike the whortleberry, but sweeter and of a higher flavour. it grows through most of the northern regions of america; and in some places, as upon the red river and the elk, the bushes that produce it are seen in great plenty. when in flower, they appear almost white, so thickly are they covered with blossoms. the leaves are small, and generally of an oval shape; but there are several varieties of the bush, some of them having the dimensions and form of trees, of twenty-five feet in height. the berries have received different names in different parts of america. they are known as "shadberries", "june-berries", "service-berries," and by the canadian voyageurs they are called "le poire." even the botanists have given them a great variety of names, as _pyrus, mespilus, aronia, crataegus_, and _amelanchier_. no matter which may be the best name, it is enough to know that these little berries are delicious to eat when fresh, and when dried, after the manner of currants, are excellent to mix in puddings, as well as in pemmican. previous to the setting in of winter, our voyageurs had collected a large bagful upon the banks of the elk, which they had dried and stored away--expecting to stand in need of them for this very purpose. they now came into use, and enabled norman to make his pemmican of the very choicest quality. five bags of it were put up, each weighing over thirty pounds. one of these was to be drawn upon the sledge, along with the tent, the axe, and a few other articles. the rest were to be carried by the voyageurs themselves--each shouldering one, which, along with their guns and accoutrements, would be load enough. these arrangements being at length complete, the party bid adieu to their log-hut--gave a parting look to their little canoe, which still rested by the door--and then, shouldering their guns and bags of pemmican, set out over the frozen surface of the snow. of course before starting they had decided upon the route they were to take. this decision, however, had not been arrived at until after much discussion. lucien advised that they should follow the shore of the lake until they should reach the mackenzie river--which of course was now frozen up. its channel, he argued, would then guide them; and, in case their provisions should run short, they would be more likely to find game upon its banks than elsewhere, as these were wooded almost to the sea--in consequence of its head-waters rising in southern latitudes, and carrying with them a warmer climate. there was plausibility in lucien's argument, combined with much prudence. norman, however, advised a contrary course. he said that they would have to make a considerable journey westward before reaching the place where the mackenzie river flows out of the lake; and, moreover, he knew that the river itself was very crooked--in some places winding about in great curves, whose ends come near meeting each other. should they keep the course of the river, norman believed it would almost double their journey. a much shorter route, he said, would be obtained by striking across the country in a north-westerly direction, so as to reach the mackenzie near where another great stream--the river of the mountains--empties into it from the west. this would certainly be a more direct route, and they would avoid the windings of the river channel. norman's reasoning prevailed. basil and francois readily agreed to his plan, and lucien at length also gave his assent, but with some reluctance. norman knew nothing whatever of the route he was advising them to take. his former journeys up and down the mackenzie had been made in summer, and of course he had travelled by canoe, in company with the traders and voyageurs. he only knew that to strike across the country would be the shorter way. but "the shortest way is not always the nearest," says the proverb; and although lucien remembered this prudent maxim, the others did not give it a thought. before the end of their journey they received a practical lesson of its wisdom--a lesson they were not likely to forget. but they knew not what was before them, and they started off in high spirits. their first three or four days' journeys were without any event worth being chronicled. they travelled full twenty miles each day. the southerners had become quite skilful in the management of their snow-shoes, and they skimmed along upon the icy crust at the rate of three or four miles an hour. marengo and his sledge gave them very little trouble. there was full sixty pounds weight upon it; but to the huge dog this was a mere bagatelle, and he pulled it after him without any great strain. his harness was neatly made of moose-skin, and consisted of a collar with a back strap and traces--the traces meeting behind, where they were attached to the head of the sledge. no head-gear was necessary, as marengo needed not to be either led or driven. the sledge consisted of two or three light planks of smooth wood, laid alongside each other, and held together by transverse bands. in front it turned up with a circular sweep, so as not to "plough" the snow; and at the top of this curved part the traces were adjusted. the load was, of course, carefully packed and tied, so that the overturning of the vehicle did no damage whatever, and it could be easily righted again. marengo required no one to guide him, but followed quietly in the tracks of the snow-shoes, and thus avoided the trees, rocks, and other inequalities. if a rabbit or other creature started up, marengo knew better than to go galloping after it; he felt that he had a more important duty to perform than to throw away his time upon rabbit-hunting. each night a spot was chosen for the camp by the side of some lake or stream, where wood could be obtained for their fire. water was got by breaking a hole in the ice, and the little tent was always set up in a sheltered situation. upon the fifth day after leaving the log-hut the woods began to grow thinner and more straggling; and towards night of the same day they found themselves travelling through a country, where the timber only grew here and there in small clumps, and the individual trees were small and stunted. next day still less timber was seen upon their route; and when camping-time came, they were obliged to halt at a spot where nothing but willows could be procured for their fire. they had, in fact, arrived upon the edge of that vast wilderness, the barren grounds, which stretches in all its wild desolation along the northern half of the american continent, (from the great slave lake even to the shores of the arctic sea on the north, and to those of hudson's bay on the east). this territory bears an appropriate name, for, perhaps, upon the whole surface of the earth there is no tract more barren or desolate--not even the sahara of africa. both are deserts of immense extent, equally difficult to cross, and equally dangerous to the traveller. on both the traveller often perishes, but from different causes. on the sahara it is _thirst_ that kills; upon the barren grounds _hunger_ is more frequently the destroyer. in the latter there is but little to be feared on the score of water. that exists in great plenty; or where it is not found, snow supplies its place. but there is water everywhere. hill succeeds hill, bleak, rocky, and bare. everywhere granite, gneiss, or other primitive rocks, show themselves. no vegetation covers the steep declivities of the hills, except the moss and lichen upon the rocks, a few willows upon the banks of streams, the dwarf birch-tree (_betula nana_), or the scrub-pines, rising only to the height of a few inches, and often straggling over the earth like vines. every hill has its valley, and every valley its lake--dark, and deep, and silent--in winter scarce to be distinguished under the snow-covered ice. the prospect in every direction exhibits a surface of rocks, or bleak hills, half covered with snow. the traveller looks around and sees no life. he listens and hears no sound. the world appears dead and wrapped in its cold winding-sheet! amidst just such scenes did our voyageurs find themselves on the seventh day after parting from the lake. they had heard of the barren grounds,--had heard many fearful stories of the sufferings of travellers who had attempted to cross them; but the description had fallen far short of the actual reality. none of them could believe in the difficulties to be encountered, and the desolateness of the scene they were to witness, until now that they found themselves in its midst; and, as they proceeded on their journey, getting farther and farther from the wooded region, their apprehensions, already aroused by the wild aspect of the country, grew stronger and stronger. they began to entertain serious fears, for they knew not how far the barren tract extended along their route. on calculation they found they had provisions enough to last them for a month. that in some measure restored their confidence; but even then, they could not help giving way to serious reflections. should they get lost or retarded in their course by mountains, or other obstacles, it might take them longer than a month to reach some place where game was to be met with. each day, as they advanced, they found the country more hilly and difficult. precipices often bounded the valleys, lying directly across their track; and as these could not be scaled, it was necessary to make long _detours_ to pass them, so that some days they actually advanced less than five miles upon their journey. notwithstanding these impediments, they might still have got over the barren grounds without further suffering than the fatigue and necessary exposure to cold; but at this time an incident occurred, that not only frustrated all their calculations, but placed them in imminent danger of perishing. chapter thirty. the barren grounds. the barren grounds are not entirely destitute of animal life. even in winter--when they are almost covered with snow, and you would suppose that no living creature could procure subsistence upon them--even then they have their denizens; and, strange to say, there are many animals that choose them for their home. there is no part of the earth's surface so sterile but that some animated being can find a living upon it, and such a being nature adapts to its peculiar situation. for instance, there are animals that prefer the very desert itself, and would not thrive were you to place them in a country of mild climate and fertile soil. in our own species this peculiarity is also found--as the esquimaux would not be happy were you to transplant him from his icy hut amidst the snows of the arctic regions, and give him a palace under the genial skies of italy. among other creatures that remain all winter upon the barren grounds, are the wolves. how they exist there is almost a question of the naturalists. it is true they prey upon other animals found at times in the same district; but wolves have been met with where not the slightest traces of other living creatures could be seen! there is no animal more generally distributed over the earth's surface than the wolf. he exists in nearly every country, and most likely has at one time existed in all. in america there are wolves in its three zones. they are met with from cape horn to the farthest point northward that man has reached. they are common in the tropical forests of mexico and south america. they range over the great prairies of the temperate zones of both divisions of the continent, and in the colder regions of the hudson's bay territory they are among the best known of wild animals. they frequent the mountains, they gallop over the plains, they skulk through the valleys, they dwell everywhere--everywhere the wolf seems equally at home. in north america two very different kinds are known. one is the "prairie" or "barking" wolf, which we have already met with and described. the other species is the "common" or "large" wolf; but it is not decided among naturalists that there are not several distinct species of the latter. at all events, there are several varieties of it--distinguished from each other in size, colour, and even to some extent in form. the habits of all, however, appear to be similar, and it is a question, whether any of these varieties be _permanent_ or only _accidental_. some of them, it is well-known, are accidental--as wolves differing in colour have been found in the same litter--but late explorers, of the countries around and beyond the rocky mountains, have discovered one or two kinds that appear to be specifically distinct from the common wolf of america--one of them, the "dusky wolf," being much larger. this last is said to resemble the wolf of europe (the pyrenean wolf, _canis lupus_) more than the other american wolves do--for there is a considerable difference between the wolves of the two continents. those of the northern regions of america have shorter ears, a broader snout and forehead, and are of a stouter make, than the european wolves. their fur, too, is finer, denser, and longer; their tails more bushy and fox-like; and their feet broader. the european wolf, on the contrary, is characterised by a gaunt appearance, a pointed snout, long jaws, high ears, long legs, and feet very narrow. it is possible, notwithstanding these points of difference, that both may be of the same species, the difference arising from a want of similitude in the circumstances by which they are surrounded. for instance, the dense wool of the hudson's bay wolf may be accounted for by the fact of its colder habitat, and its broader feet may be the result of its having to run much upon the surface of the snow. the writer of this little book believes that this peculiar adaptation of nature--which may be observed in all her kingdoms--may explain the difference that exists between the wolves of the northern parts of america and those of the south of europe. he believes, moreover, that those of the southern parts of the american continent approximate more nearly to the pyrenean wolves, as he has seen in the tropical forests of mexico some that possessed all that "gaunt" form and "sneaking" aspect that characterise the latter. it would be interesting to inquire whether the wolves of siberia and lapland, inhabiting a similar climate to that of the northern parts of america, do not possess the same peculiarities as the north american kind--a point which naturalists have not yet considered, and which you, my boy reader, may some day find both amusement and instruction in determining for yourself. with regard to colour the wolves of both continents exhibit many varieties. in north america there are more than half-a-dozen colours of them, all receiving different names. there is the "grey wolf," the "white," the "brown," the "dusky," the "pied," and the "black." these trivial names will give a good enough idea of the colours of each kind, but there are even varieties in their markings. "yellow" wolves, too, have been seen, and "red" ones, and some of a "cream colour." of all these the grey wolf is the most common, and is _par excellence the wolf_; but there are districts in which individuals of other colours predominate. wolves purely black are plenty in many parts, and white wolves are often seen in large packs. even those of the same colour differ in size, and that to a considerable extent. and, what is also strange, large wolves will be found in one district of country, while much smaller ones _of the same colour and species_ inhabit another. the largest in size of american wolves are about six feet in length, the tail included; and about three feet in height, measuring to the tips of the standing fur. the tail is usually about one-third of the whole length. the habits of the american wolf are pretty much like those of his european cousin. he is a beast of prey, devouring all the smaller animals he can lay hold of. he pursues and overtakes the deer, and often runs down the fox and makes a meal of it. he will kill and eat indian dogs, although these are so near his own species that the one is often taken for the other. but this is not all, for he will even eat his own kind, on a pinch. he is as cunning as the fox himself, and as cowardly; but at times, when impelled by hunger, he becomes bolder, and has been known to attack man. instances of this kind, however, are rare. the american wolves burrow, and, like the fox, have several entrances to their holes. a litter of young wolves numbers five puppies, but as many as eight are often produced at one birth. during their journey through the barren grounds our voyageurs had frequently observed wolves. they were mostly grey ones, and of great size, for they were travelling through a district where the very largest kind is found. at times they saw a party of five or six together; and these appeared to be following upon their trail--as each night, when they came barking about the camp, our travellers recognised some of them as having been seen before. they had made no attempt to shoot any of them--partly because they did not want either their skins or flesh, and partly because their ammunition had been reduced to a small quantity, and they did not wish to spend it unnecessarily. the wolves, therefore, were allowed to approach very near the camp, and howl as much as they liked--which they usually did throughout the livelong night. what they found to allure them after our travellers, the latter could not make out; as they had not shot an animal of any kind since leaving the lake, and scarcely a scrap of anything was ever left behind them. perhaps the wolves were _living upon hope_. one evening our travellers had made their camp on the side of a ridge-- which they had just crossed--and under the shelter of some rough rocks. there was no wood in the neighbourhood wherewith to make a fire; but they had scraped the snow from the place over which their tent was pitched, and under it their skins were spread upon the ground. as the tent was a very small one, marengo's sledge, with the utensils and pemmican bags, was always left outside close by the opening. marengo himself slept there, and that was considered sufficient to secure all these things from wolves, or any other creatures that might be prowling about. on the evening in question, the sledge was in its usual place--the dog having been taken from it--and as our voyageurs had not yet had their supper, the pemmican bags were lying loosely about, one or two of them being open. there was a small rivulet at the foot of the ridge--some two hundred paces distant--and basil and francois had gone down to it to get water. one of them took the axe to break the ice with, while the other carried a vessel. on arriving near the bank of the rivulet, the attention of the boys was attracted to a singular appearance upon the snow. a fresh shower had fallen that morning, and the surface was still soft, and very smooth. upon this they observed double lines of little dots, running in different directions, which, upon close inspection, appeared to be the tracks of some animal. at first, basil and francois could hardly believe them to be such, the tracks were so very small. they had never seen so small ones before--those of a mouse being quite double the size. but when they looked more closely at them, the boys could distinguish the marks of five little toes with claws upon them, which left no doubt upon their minds that some living creature, and that a very diminutive one, must have passed over the spot. indeed, had the snow not been both fine-grained and soft, the feet of such a creature could not have made any impression upon it. the boys stopped and looked around, thinking they might see the animal itself. there was a wide circle of snow around them, and its surface was smooth and level; but not a speck upon it betrayed the presence of any creature. "perhaps it was a bird," said francois, "and has taken flight." "i think not," rejoined basil. "they are not the tracks of a bird. it is some animal that has gone under the snow, i fancy." "but i see no hole," said francois, "where even a beetle could have gone down. let us look for one." at francois' suggestion, they walked on following one of the dotted lines. presently they came to a place, where a stalk of long grass stood up through the snow--its seedless panicle just appearing above the surface. round this stalk a little hole had been formed--partly by the melting of the snow, and partly by the action of the wind upon the panicle--and into this hole the tracks led. it was evident that the animal, whatever it was, must have gone down the culm of the grass in making its descent from the surface of the snow! they now observed another track going from the hole in an opposite direction, which showed that the creature had climbed up in the same way. curious to know what it might have been, the boys hailed lucien and norman, telling them to come down. these, followed by marengo, soon arrived upon the spot. when lucien saw the tracks, he pronounced them at once to be those of the little shrew-mouse (_sorex parvus_), the smallest of all the quadrupeds of america. several of them had evidently been out upon the snow--as there were other dotted lines--and the tops of many stalks of grass were seen above the surface, each of which had formed a little hole around it, by which the mice were enabled to get up and down. norman, who had seen these little animals before, cautioned his companions to remain quiet awhile, and perhaps some of them might come to the surface. they all stopped therefore, and stood some time without moving, or speaking to one another. presently, a little head not much bigger than a pea was seen peeping up, and then a body followed, which in size did not exceed that of a large gooseberry! to this a tail was suspended, just one inch in length, of a square shape, and tapering from root to point, like that of any other mouse. the little creature was covered with a close smooth fur, of a clove-brown colour above, but more yellowish upon the belly and sides; and was certainly, as it sat upon the even surface of the snow, the most diminutive and oddest-looking quadruped that any of the party had ever beheld. they were just whispering to one another what means they should use to capture it, when marengo, whom basil had been holding quiet, all at once uttered a loud bay; and, springing out of the hands of his master, galloped off towards the camp. all of them looked after, wondering what had started the dog; but his strange behaviour was at once explained, and to their consternation. around the tent, and close to its entrance, several large wolves were seen. they were leaping about hurriedly, and worrying some objects that lay upon the ground. what these objects were was too plain. they were _the bags of pemmican_! part of their contents was seen strewed over the snow, and part was already in the stomachs of the wolves. the boys uttered a simultaneous shout, and ran forward. marengo was by this time among the wolves, and had set fiercely upon one of them. had his masters not been at hand, the fierce brutes would soon have settled the account with marengo. but the former were now close by, and the wolves, seeing them, ran off; but, to the consternation of the boys, each of them carried off a bag of the pemmican in his mouth with as much lightness and speed as if nothing encumbered them! "we are lost!" cried norman, in a voice of terror. "our provisions are gone!--all gone!" it was true. the next moment the wolves disappeared over the summit of the ridge; and although each of the boys had seized his gun, and ran after, the pursuit proved an idle one. not a wolf was overtaken. scarce a scrap of the pemmican had been left--only some fragments that had been gnawed by the ravenous brutes, and scattered over the snow. that night our travellers went to bed supperless; and, what with hunger, and the depression of spirits caused by this incident, one and all of them kept awake nearly the whole of the night. chapter thirty one. the rock-tripe. they left their skin-couch at an early hour, close after daybreak. hunger and anxiety drove them out of their tent. not a morsel of anything for breakfast! they looked abroad over the country, in order, if possible, to descry some living creature. none could be seen-- nothing but the wilderness waste of snow, with here and there the side of a steep hill, or a rock showing cold and bleak. even the wolves that had robbed them were no longer to be seen, as if these creatures knew that they had got all that was worth having, and had now taken themselves off to hunt for plunder elsewhere. the situation of our travellers was really one of extreme peril, although it may be difficult for you, young reader, to conceive why it should be so. they, however, knew it well. they knew that they might travel for days through that inhospitable region, without falling in with anything that would make a single meal for them. but less time than that would suffice to starve them all. already they felt the pangs of hunger--for they had not eaten since their breakfast of the preceding day, the wolves having interrupted their preparations for dinner. it was of no use remaining where they were; so, striking their tent once more, they travelled forward. it was but poor consolation to them that they travelled much lighter than before. they had nothing to carry but their guns, and these they had got ready for work--so that their journey partook somewhat of the character of a hunting excursion. they did not even follow a direct course, but occasionally turned to one side or the other, wherever a clump of willows, or any other roughness on the ground, looked like it might be the shelter of game. but during that whole day--although they travelled from near sunrise to sunset--not a living thing was seen; and for the second night they went supperless to bed. a man will bear hunger for many days--some more, some less--without actually dying of it; but at no period will his sufferings be greater than during the third or fourth day. he will grow more feeble afterwards, but the pain which he endures will not be greater. on the third day the sufferings of our party were extreme. they began to chew pieces of their skin-tent and blankets; but although this took the sharp edge off their appetites, it added nothing to their strength; and they still craved for food, and grew feebler. to use a poetical phrase, marengo now became the "cynosure of every eye." marengo was not very fat. the sledge and short rations had thinned him down, and his ribs could be easily traced. although the boys, and basil in particular, would have suffered much before sacrificing him, yet starvation will reconcile a man to part with his best friend. in spite of their friendship for marengo, his masters could not help scanning him from time to time with hungry looks. marengo was an old dog, and, no doubt, as tough as a piece of tan-leather; but their appetites were made up for anything. it was near midday. they had started early, as on the day before. they were trudging wearily along, and making but little progress. marengo was struggling with his sledge, feeble as any of the party. basil saw that the eyes of his companions were from time to time bent upon the dog; and though none of them said anything, he understood the thoughts that were passing within them. he knew that none of them wished to propose it--as basil was the real master of marengo--but their glances were sufficiently intelligible to him. he looked at the downcast countenance of the once merry francois,--at the serious air of norman-- at the wan cheek and sunken eye of lucien, whom basil dearly loved. he hesitated no longer. his duty to his companions at once overcame his affection for his faithful dog. "we must kill him!" said he, suddenly stopping, and pointing to marengo. the rest halted. "i fear there's no help for it," said norman, turning his face in every direction, and sweeping the surface of the snow with hopeless glances. francois also assented to the proposal. "let us make a condition," suggested lucien; "i for one could walk five miles farther." and as lucien said this, he made an effort to stand erect, and look strong and brave; but basil knew it was an effort of _generosity_. "no," said he,--"no, dear luce. you are done up. we must kill the dog!" "nonsense, basil, you mistake," replied the other; "i assure you i am far from being done up. i could go much farther yet. stay!" continued he, pointing ahead; "you see yonder rocks? they are about three miles off, i should think. they lie directly in our course. well, now, let us agree to this condition. let us give poor marengo a chance for his life. if we find nothing before reaching those rocks, why then--" and lucien, seeing marengo gazing up in his face, left the sentence unfinished. the poor brute looked up at all of them as though he understood every word that they were saying; and his mute appeal, had it been necessary, would not have been thrown away. but it did not require that to get him the proposed respite. all agreed willingly with lucien's proposition; and, shouldering their pieces, the party moved on. lucien had purposely understated the distance to the rocks. it was five, instead of three miles; and some of them made it full ten, as they were determined marengo should have the benefit of every chance. they deployed like skirmishers; and not a brake or brush that lay to the right or left of the path but was visited and beaten by one or other of them. their diligence was to no purpose. after two hours' weary work, they arrived among the rocks, having seen not a trace of either quadruped or bird. "come!" cried lucien in his now feeble voice, still trying to look cheerful, "we must pass through them. there is a chance yet. let him have fair play. the rocks were to be the limit, but it was not stated what part of them. let us pass through to the other side--they do not extend far." encouraged by the words of lucien, the party entered among the rocks, moving on separate paths. they had gone only a few paces, when a shout from norman caused the rest to look to him for an explanation. no animal was in sight. had he seen any? no; but something that gratified him certainly, for his voice and manner expressed it. "what is it?" inquired the others, all speaking at the same time. "_tripe de roche_!" answered he. "_tripe de roche_?" "yes," replied norman, "look there!" and he pointed to one of the rocks directly ahead of them, at the same time moving forward to it. the others hastened up after. on reaching the rock, they saw what norman had meant by the words _tripe de roche_ (rock-tripe). it was a black, hard, crumply substance, that nearly covered the surface of the rock, and was evidently of a vegetable nature. lucien knew what it was as well as norman, and joy had expressed itself upon his pale cheeks at the sight. as for basil and francois they only stood waiting an explanation, and wondering what value a quantity of "rock moss," as they deemed it, could be to persons in their condition. lucien soon informed them that it was not a "moss," but a "lichen," and of that celebrated species which will sustain human life. it was the _gyrophora_. norman confirmed lucien's statement, and furthermore affirmed, that not only the indians and esquimaux, but also parties of voyageurs, had often subsisted upon it for days, when they would otherwise have starved. there are many species,--not less than five or six. all of them possess nutritive properties, but only one is a palatable food--the _gyrophora vellea_ of botanists. unfortunately, this was not the sort which our voyageurs had happened upon, as it grows only upon rocks shaded by woods, and is rarely met with in the open barrens. the one, however, which norman had discovered was the "next best," and they were all glad at finding even that. the first thing to be thought of was to collect it, and all four set to peeling and scraping it from the rocks. the next thought was to make it ready for eating. here a new difficulty stared them in the face. the _tripe de roche_ had to be boiled,--it could not be eaten else,--and where was the fire? where was the wood to make one? not a stick was to be seen. they had not met with a tree during all that day's journey! they were now as badly off as ever. the _tripe de roche_ would be of no more use to them than so much dry grass. what could they do with it? in the midst of their suspense, one of them thought of the sledge-- marengo's sledge. that would make a fire, but a very small one. it might do to cook a single meal. even that was better than none. marengo was not going to object to the arrangement. he looked quite willing to part with the sledge. but a few hours before, it came near being used to cook marengo himself. he was not aware of that, perhaps, but no matter. all agreed that the sledge must be broken up, and converted into firewood. they were about taking it to pieces, and had already "unhitched" marengo from it, when basil, who had walked to the other side of the rocky jumble, cried back to them to desist. he had espied some willows at no great distance. out of these a fire could be made. the sledge, therefore, was let alone for the present. basil and francois immediately started for the willows, while norman and lucien remained upon the spot to prepare the "tripe" for the pot. in a short time the former parties returned with two large bundles of willows, and the fire was kindled. the _tripe de roche_, with some snow--for there was no water near--was put into the pot, and the latter hung over the blaze. after boiling for nearly an hour, the lichen became reduced to a soft gummy pulp, and norman thickened the mess to his taste by putting in more snow, or more of the "tripe," as it seemed to require it. the pot was then taken from the fire, and all four greedily ate of its contents. it was far from being palatable, and had a clammy "feel" in the mouth, something like sago; but none of the party was in any way either dainty or fastidious just at that time, and they soon consumed all that had been cooked. it did not satisfy the appetite, though it filled the stomach, and made their situation less painful to bear. norman informed them that it was much better when cooked with a little meat, so as to make broth. this norman's companions could easily credit, but where was the meat to come from? the indians prefer the _tripe de roche_ when prepared along with the roe of fish, or when boiled in fish liquor. our weary voyageurs resolved to remain among the rocks for that night at least; and with this intent they put up their little tent. they did not kindle any fire, as the willows were scarce, and there would be barely enough to make one or two more boilings of the rock-tripe. they spread their skins within the tent, and creeping in, kept one another as warm as they could until morning. chapter thirty two. the polar hare and great snowy owl. of course hunger kept them from sleeping late. they were up and out of the tent by an early hour. their fire was re-kindled, and they were making preparations for a fresh pot of rock-tripe, when they were startled by the note of a well-known bird. on looking up, they beheld seated upon the point of a rock the creature itself, which was the "cinereous crow" (_garrulus canadensis_), or, as it is better known, the "whiskey jack." the latter name it receives from the voyageurs, on account of the resemblance of its indian appellation, "whiskae-shaw-neesh," to the words "whiskey john." although sometimes called the "cinereous crow," the bird is a true jay. it is one of the most inelegant of the genus, being of a dull grey colour, and not particularly graceful in its form. its plumage, moreover, does not consist of webbed feathers, but rather more resembles hair; nor does its voice make up for the plainness of its appearance, as is the case with some birds. on the contrary, the voice of "whiskey jack" is plaintive and squeaking, though he is something of a mocker in his way, and frequently imitates the notes of other birds. he is one of those creatures that frequent the habitations of man, and there is not a fur post, or fort, in all the hudson's bay territory, where "whiskey jack" is not familiarly known. he is far from being a favourite, however, as, like his near relative the magpie, he is a great thief, and will follow the marten-trapper all day while baiting his traps, perching upon a tree until the bait is set, and then pouncing down, and carrying it off. he frequently pilfers small articles from the forts and encampments, and is so bold as to enter the tents, and seize food out of any vessel that may contain it. notwithstanding all this, he is a favourite with the traveller through these inhospitable regions. no matter how barren the spot where the voyageur may make his camp, his tent will hardly be pitched, before he receives a visit from "whiskey jack," who comes, of course, to pick up any crumbs that may fall. his company, therefore, in a region where all other wild creatures shun the society of man, endears him to the lonely traveller. at many of their camps our voyageurs had met with this singular bird, and were always glad to receive him as a friend. they were now doubly delighted to see him, but this delight arose from no friendly feelings. their guest was at once doomed to die. francois had taken up his gun, and in the next moment would have brought him down, had he not been checked by norman. not that norman intended to plead for his life, but norman's eye had caught sight of another "whiskey jack,"--which was hopping among the rocks at some distance--and fearing that francois' shot might frighten it away, had hindered him from firing. it was norman's design to get both. the second "whiskey jack," or, perhaps, it was the whiskey "jill," soon drew near; and both were now seen to hop from rock to rock, and then upon the top of the tent, and _one of them actually settled_ upon the edge of the pot, as it hung over the fire, and quietly looking into it, appeared to scrutinise its contents! the boys could not think of any way of getting the birds, except by francois' gun; and it was at length agreed that francois should do his best. he was sure of one of them, at least; so telling the others to get behind him, he fired at the more distant one where it sat upon the tent, and took the other on the wing. both shots were successful. the two jays fell, and were soon divested of their soft, silky, hair-like plumage, and dropped into the boiling pot. they did not weigh together more than about six or seven ounces; but even that was accounted something under present circumstances; and, with the _tripe de roche_, a much better breakfast was made than they had anticipated. no more of the lichen could be found. the rocks were all searched, but only a few patches--not enough for another full meal--could be obtained. the travellers had no other resource, therefore, but to continue on, and passing through the rocky ground, they once more embarked upon the wilderness of snow. during that whole day not a living creature gladdened their eyes. they saw nothing that was eatable--fish, flesh, fowl, or vegetable. not even a bit of rock-tripe--in these parts the last resource of starving men-- could be met with. they encamped in a plain, where not a tree stood-- not even a rock to shelter them. next morning a consultation was held. marengo was again the subject of their thoughts and conversation. should they kill him on the spot or go a little farther? that was the question. lucien, as before, interposed in his favour. there was a high hill many miles off, and in their proper course. "let us first reach yonder hill," proposed lucien. "if nothing is found before that, then we must part with marengo." the proposal was agreed to, and, striking their tent, they again set out. it was a toilsome long way to that hill--feeble and weary as they all were--but they reached it without having observed the slightest trace of animal life. "up the hill!" cried lucien, beckoning to the others, and cheering them with his weak voice, "up the hill!" on they went, up the steep declivity--marengo toiling on after them. the dog looked downcast and despairing. he really appeared to know the conditions that had been made for his life. his masters, as they crept upward, looked sharply before them. every tuft that appeared above the snow was scrutinised, and every inch of the ground, as it came into view, was examined. at length they crossed the escarpment of the hill, and stood upon the summit. they gazed forward with disappointed feelings. the hill-top was a sort of table plain, of about three hundred yards in diameter. it was covered with snow, nearly a foot in depth. a few heads of withered grass were seen above the surface, but not enough to subdue the uniform white that prevailed all over. there was no creature upon it; that was evident. a bird as big as a sparrow, or a quadruped as large as a shrew-mouse, could have been seen upon any part of it. a single glance satisfied all of them that no living thing was there. they halted without proceeding farther. some of them could not have gone another mile, and all of them were tottering in their tracks. marengo had arrived upon the summit, and stood a little to one side, with the sledge behind him. "_you_ must do it!" said basil, speaking to norman in a hoarse voice, and turning his head away. lucien and francois stepped aside at the same time, and stood as if looking down the hill. the countenances of all three betokened extreme sorrow. there was a tear in basil's eye that he was trying to wipe away with his sleeve. the sharp click of norman's gun was heard behind them, and they were all waiting for the report, when, at that moment, a dark shadow passing over the white declivity arrested their attention! it was the shadow of a bird upon the wing. the simultaneous exclamation of all three stayed norman's finger--already pressing upon the trigger--and the latter, turning round, saw that they were regarding some object in the air. it was a bird of great size--almost as large as an eagle, but with the plumage of a swan. it was white all over--both body and wings--white as the snow over which it was sailing. norman knew the bird at a glance. its thick short neck and large head--its broad-spreading wings, of milky whiteness, were not to be mistaken. it was the "great snowy owl" of the arctic regions. its appearance suddenly changed the aspect of affairs. norman let the butt of his rifle fall to the ground, and stood, like the rest, watching the bird in its flight. the snowy owl (_strix nyctea_) is, perhaps, the most beautiful, as it is one of the most powerful birds of its genus--of which there are more than a dozen in north america. it is a bird of the polar regions--even the most remote--and in the dead of winter it is found within the arctic circle, on both continents--although at the same season it also wanders farther south. it dwells upon the barren grounds as well as in wooded districts. in the former it squats upon the snow, where its peculiar colour often prevents it from being noticed by the passing hunter. nature has furnished it with every protection from the cold. its plumage is thick, closely matted, and downy, and it is feathered to the very eyes--so that its legs appear as large as those of a good-sized dog. the bill, too, is completely hidden under a mass of feathers that cover its face, and not even a point of its whole body is exposed. the owl is usually looked upon as a night-bird, and in southern latitudes it is rarely seen by day; but the owls of the northern regions differ from their congeners in this respect. they hunt by day, even during the bright hours of noon. were it not so, how could they exist in the midst of an arctic summer, when the days are months in duration? here we have another example of the manner in which nature trains her wild creatures to adapt themselves to their situation. at least a dozen species of owls frequent the territory of the hudson's bay company--the largest of which is the cinereous owl, whose wings have a spread of nearly five feet. some species migrate south on the approach of winter; while several, as the snowy owl, remain to prey upon the ptarmigan, the hares, and other small quadrupeds, who, like themselves, choose that dreary region for their winter home. our travellers, as i have said, stood watching the owl as it soared silently through the heavens. francois had thrown his gun across his left arm, in hopes he might get a shot at it; but the bird--a shy one at all times--kept away out of range; and, after circling once or twice over the hill, uttered a loud cry and flew off. its cry resembled the moan of a human being in distress; and its effect upon the minds of our travellers, in the state they then were, was far from being pleasant. they watched the bird with despairing looks, until it was lost against the white background of a snow-covered hill. they had noticed that the owl appeared to be just taking flight when they first saw it. it must have risen up from the hill upon which they were; and they once more ran their eyes along the level summit, curious to know where it had been perched that they had not seen it. no doubt, reflected they, it had been near enough, but its colour had rendered it undistinguishable from the snow. "what a pity!" exclaimed francois. while making these reflections, and sweeping their glances around, an object caught their eyes that caused some of them to ejaculate and suddenly raise their guns. this object was near the centre of the summit table, and at first sight appeared to be only a lump of snow; but upon closer inspection, two little round spots of a dark colour, and above these two elongated black marks, could be seen. looking steadily, the eye at length traced the outlines of an animal, that sat in a crouching attitude. the round spots were its eyes, and the black marks above them were tips of a pair of very long ears. all the rest of its body was covered with a soft white fur, hardly to be distinguished from the snow upon which it rested. the form and colour of the animal, but more especially its long erect ears, made it easy for them to tell what it was. all of them saw it was a hare. "hush!" continued norman, as soon as he saw it, "keep still all of you-- leave it to me." "what shall we do?" demanded basil. "can we not assist you?" "no," was the reply, uttered in a whisper, "stay where you are. keep the dog quiet. i'll manage puss, if the owl hasn't scared her too badly. that scream has started her out of her form. i'm certain she wasn't that way before. maybe she'll sit it out. lucky the sun's high--don't move a step. have the dog ready, but hold him tight, and keep a sharp look out if she bolts." after giving these instructions, that were all uttered quickly and in an under tone, norman moved off, with his gun carried across his arm. he did not move in the direction of the hare, but rather as if he was going from her. his course, however, bent gradually into a circle of which the hare was the centre--the diameter being the full breadth of the summit level, which was about three hundred yards. in this circle he walked round and round, keeping his eye fixed upon the crouching animal. when he had nearly completed one circumference, he began to shorten the diameter--so that the curve which he was now following was a spiral one, and gradually drawing nearer to the hare. the latter kept watching him as he moved--curiosity evidently mingling with her fears. fortunately, as norman had said, the sun was nearly in the vertex of the heavens, and his own body cast very little shadow upon the snow. had it been otherwise, the hare would have been frightened at the moving shadow, and would have sprung out of her form, before he could have got within range. when he had made some four or five circuits, norman moved slower and slower, and then stopped nearly opposite to where the others were. these stood watching him with beating hearts, for they knew that the life of marengo, and perhaps their own as well, depended on the shot. norman had chosen his place, so that in case the hare bolted, she might run towards them, and give them the chance of a flying shot. his gun was already at his shoulder--his finger rested on the trigger, and the boys were expecting the report, when again the shadow of a bird flitted over the snow, a loud human-like scream sounded in their ears, and the hare was seen to spring up, and stretch her long legs in flight. at the same instant the great snowy owl was observed wheeling above, and threatening to pounce upon the fleeing animal! the hare ran in a side-direction, but it brought her as she passed within range of the party by the sledge. the owl kept above her as she ran. a dozen leaps was all the hare ever made. a loud crack was heard, and she was seen to spring up and fall back upon the snow, dead as a doornail. like an echo another crack followed--a wild scream rang through the air, and the great white owl fell fluttering to the earth. the reports were not of a rifle. they were the louder detonations of a shot-gun. all eyes were turned towards francois, who, like a little god, stood enveloped in a halo of blue smoke. francois was the hero of the hour. marengo rushed forward and seized the struggling owl, that snapped its bill at him like a watch-man's rattle. but marengo did not care for that; and seizing its head in his teeth, gave it a crunch that at once put an end to its flapping. marengo was reprieved, and he seemed to know it, as he bounded over the snow, waving his tail, and barking like a young fool. they all ran up to the hare, which proved to be the "polar hare" (_lepus glacialis_), and one of the largest of its species--not less than fifteen pounds in weight. its fur, soft and white like swan-down, was stained with red blood. it was not quite dead. its little heart yet beat faintly, and the light of life was still shining from its beautiful honey-coloured eyes. both it and the owl were taken up and carried to the sledge, which was once more attached to marengo, as the party intended to go forward and halt under the shelter of the hill. "there must be some wood in this quarter," remarked norman: "i never knew this sort of hare far from timber." "true," said lucien, "the polar hare feeds upon willows, arbutus, and the labrador tea-plant. some of these kinds must be near." while they were speaking, they had reached the brow of the hill, on the opposite side from where they had ascended. on looking into the valley below, to their great joy they beheld some clumps of willows, and good-sized trees of poplar, birch, and spruce-pine (_pinus alba_), and passing down the hill, the travellers soon stood in their midst. presently was heard the chipping sound of an axe and crash of falling timber, and in a few moments after a column of smoke was seen soaring up out of the valley, and curling cheerfully towards the bright blue sky. chapter thirty three. the jumping mouse and the ermine. large as the hare was, she would have made but a meal for our four hungry voyageurs, had they eaten at will. by lucien's advice, however, they restrained themselves, and half of her was left for supper, when the "cook" promised to make them hare-soup. the head, feet, and other spare bits, fell to marengo's share. the owl, whose flesh was almost as white as its plumage, and, as norman well knew, most delicate eating, was reserved for to-morrow's breakfast. they had pitched their tent with the intention of remaining at that place all night, and continuing their journey next day; but, as it still wanted several hours of sunset, and the strength of all was considerably recruited, they resolved to hunt about the neighbourhood as long as they had light. it was of great importance that they should procure more game. the owl would make but a spare breakfast, and after that where was the next meal to come from? they had had a temporary relief, and while their strength lasted, they must use every effort to procure a further supply. the valley in which their new camp was placed looked well for game. it was a sort of oasis in the barren grounds. there was a lake and a considerable skirting of timber around it--consisting, as we have said, of willows, poplars, spruce-pine, and dwarf birch-trees (_betula nana_). the alpine arbutus, whose berries are the food of many species of animals, also grew upon the side of the hills; and the labrador tea-plant (_ledum palustre_) was found upon the low ground around the lake. the leaves of this last is a favourite food of the polar hare, and our voyageurs had no doubt but that there were many of these animals in the neighbourhood. indeed, they had better evidence than conjecture, for they saw numerous hare-tracks in the snow. there were tracks of other animals too, for it is a well-known fact that where one kind exists, at least two or three others will be found in the same habitat--all being connected together by a "chain of destruction." a singular illustration of this was afforded to lucien, who remained at the camp while the rest went out hunting. he had gathered some of the leaves of the labrador tea, and was drying them over the coals, intending to cheer his comrades with a cup of this beverage after supper. the hare-soup was boiling, and the "cook" sat listening to the cheerful sounds that issued from the pot--now and then taking off the lid to examine its savoury contents, and give them a stir. he would then direct his attention to the tea-leaves that were parching in the frying-pan; and, having shifted them a little, felt himself at liberty to look about for a minute or two. on one of these occasions, while glancing up, his attention was attracted to an object which appeared upon the snow at a short distance from where he sat. a wreath of snow, that had formed under the shelter of the hill, extended all around its base, presenting a steep front in every direction. this front was only two or three feet in height; but the top surface of the wreath was many yards wide--in fact, it extended back until it became blended with the slope of the hill. it was smooth and nearly level, but the hill above was steep, and somewhat rough and rocky. the steep front of the wreath came down within half-a-dozen paces of the fire where lucien was seated; and it was upon the top or scarpment of it that the object appeared that had drawn his attention. it was a small creature, but it was in motion, and thus had caught his eye. a single glance showed him that the little animal was a mouse, but of a somewhat singular species. it was about the size of the common mouse, but quite different in colour. the upper half of its body was of a light mahogany tint, while the lower half, including the legs and feet, were of a milky whiteness. it was, in fact, the "white-footed mouse" (_mus leucopus_), one of the most beautiful of its kind. here and there above the surface of the snow protruded the tops of arbutus-trees; and the little creature was passing from one of these to the other, in search, no doubt, of the berries that remain upon these trees all the winter. sometimes it ran from point to point like any other mouse, but now and then it would rear itself on its hind-legs, and leap several feet at a single bound! in this it evidently assisted itself by pressing its tail--in which it possesses muscular power-- against the snow. this peculiar mode of progression has obtained for it the name of the "jumping mouse," and among the indians "deer"-mouse, because its leap reminds them of the bounding spring of the deer. but there are still other species of "jumping mice" in america that possess this power to a greater degree even than the _mus leucopus_. lucien watched its motions without attempting to interfere with it, until it had got nearly out of sight. he did not desire to do injury to the little creature, nor was he curious to obtain it, as he had already met with many specimens, and examined them to his satisfaction. he had ceased to think of it, and would, perhaps, never have thought of it again, but, upon turning his eyes in the opposite direction, he observed another animal upon the snow. this creature had a far different aspect from the mouse. its body was nearly a foot in length, although not much thicker than that of the other! its legs were short, but strong, and its forehead broad and arched convexly. it had a tail more than half the length of the body, hairy, and tapering like that of a cat. its form was the well-known form of the weasel, and it was, in fact, a species of weasel. it was the celebrated _ermine (mustela erminea_), celebrated for its soft and beautiful fur, so long prized as an ornament for the robes of the rich. it was white all over, with the exception of its tail; and that, for about an inch or so at the tip, was covered with black silky hair. on some parts of the body, too, the white was tinged with a primrose yellow; but this tinge is not found in all animals of this species, as some individuals are pure white. of course it was now in its winter "robes;" but in the summer it changes to a colour that does not differ much from that of the common weasel. when lucien first saw it, it was running along the top of the wreath, and coming from the same direction from which the mouse had come. now and then it paused awhile, and then ran on again. lucien observed that it kept its nose to the ground, and as it drew nearer he saw that it was following on the same path which the other had taken. to his astonishment he perceived that it was _trailing the mouse_! wherever the latter had doubled or made a _detour_, the ermine followed the track; and where the mouse had given one of its long leaps, there the ermine would stop, and, after beating about until it struck the trail again, would resume its onward course at a gallop. its manoeuvres were exactly like those of a hound upon the fresh trail of a fox! lucien now looked abroad to discover the mouse. it was still in sight far off upon the snow, and, as lucien could see, busily gnawing at the arbutus, quite unconscious that its _greatest_ enemy was so near. i say greatest enemy, for the _mus leucopus_ is the _natural_ prey of the _mustela erminea_. the mouse was soon made aware of the dangerous proximity, but not until the ermine had got within a few feet of it. when it perceived the latter it shrunk, at first, among the leaves of the arbutus; but seeing there would be no protection there--as the other was still springing forward to seize it--it leaped up, and endeavoured to escape by flight. its flight appeared to be in alternate jumps and runs, but the chase was not a long one. the ermine was as active as a cat, and, after a few skips, its claws were struck into the mouse. there was a short, slender squeak, and then a "crunch," like the cracking of a hazel-nut. this last sound was produced by the teeth of the ermine breaking through the skull of its victim. chapter thirty four. the arctic fox and white wolf. lucien turned round to get hold of his rifle, intending to punish the ermine, although the little creature, in doing what it did, had only obeyed a law of nature. but the boy had also another design in killing it: he wished to compare it with some ermines he had seen while travelling upon lake winnipeg, which, as he thought, were much larger-- one that he had caught having measured more than a foot in length, without including the tail. he wished, also, to make some comparison between it and the common weasel; for in its _winter dress_, in the snowy regions, the latter very much resembles the ermine; and, indeed, the trappers make no distinction between them. with these ideas lucien had grasped his gun, and was raising himself to creep a little nearer, when his eye was arrested by the motions of another creature coming along the top of the wreath. this last was a snow-white animal, with long, shaggy fur, sharp-pointed snout, erect ears, and bushy tail. its aspect was fox-like, and its movements and attitudes had all that semblance of cunning and caution so characteristic of these animals. well might it, for it _was_ a fox--the beautiful white fox of the arctic regions. it is commonly supposed that there are but two or three kinds of foxes in america; and that these are only varieties of the european species. this is an erroneous idea, as there are nearly a dozen varieties existing in north america, although they may be referred to a less number of species. there is the arctic fox, which is confined to the cold northern regions, and which in winter is white. the "sooty fox" is a variety of the "arctic," distinguished from it only by its colour, which is of a uniform blackish brown. the "american fox" (_vulpes fulvus_), or, as it is commonly called, the "red fox," has been long supposed to be the same as the european red fox. this is erroneous. they differ in many points; and, what is somewhat curious, these points of difference are similar to those that exist between the european and american wolves, as already given. the "cross fox" is supposed by the indians and some naturalists to be only a variety of the last. it derives its name from its having two dark stripes crossing each other upon the shoulders. its fur from this circumstance, and perhaps because the animal is scarce, is more prized than that of the red variety. when a single skin of the latter is worth only fifteen shillings, one of the cross fox will bring as much as five guineas. another variety of the red fox, and a much more rare one, is the "black," or "silver" fox. the skins of these command six times the price of any other furs found in america, with the exception of the sea-otter. the animal itself is so rare that only a few fall into the hands of the hudson's bay company in a season; and mr nicholay, the celebrated london furrier, asserts that a single skin will fetch from ten to forty guineas, according to quality. a remarkable cloak, or pelisse, belonging to the emperor of russia, and made out of the skins of silver-foxes, was exhibited in the great london exposition of . it was made entirely from the neck-part of the skins--the only part of the silver-fox which is pure black. this cloak was valued at pounds; though mr nicholay considers this an exaggerated estimate, and states its true value to be not over pounds. george the fourth had a lining of black fox-skins worth pounds. the "grey fox" is a more southern species than any already described. its proper home is the temperate zone covered by the united states; although it extends its range into the southern parts of canada. in the united states it is the most common kind, although in that district there is also a "red fox," different from the _vulpes fulvus_ already noticed; and which, no doubt, is the red fox of europe, introduced by the early colonists of america. still another species, the smallest and perhaps the most interesting of any, is the "kit fox." this little creature is an inhabitant of the prairies, where it makes its burrows far from any wood. it is extremely shy, and the swiftest animal in the prairie country--outrunning even the antelope! when lucien saw the fox he thought no more of the ermine, but drew back and crouched down, in hopes he might get a shot at the larger animal. he knew well that the flesh of the arctic fox is highly esteemed as food, particularly by persons situated as he and his companions were, and he hoped to be able to add it to their larder. when first seen it was coming towards him, though not in a direct line. it was engaged in hunting, and, with its nose to the snow, was running in zig-zag lines, "quartering" the ground like a pointer dog. presently it struck the trail of the ermine, and with a yelp of satisfaction followed it. this of course brought it close past where lucien was; but, notwithstanding his eagerness to fire, it moved so rapidly along the trail that he was unable to take sight upon it. it did not halt for a moment; and, as lucien's gun was a rifle, he knew that a flying shot would be an uncertain one. in the belief, therefore, that the fox would stop soon--at all events when it came up with the ermine--he restrained himself from firing, and waited. it ran on, still keeping the track of the ermine. the latter, hitherto busy with his own prey, did not see the fox until it was itself seen, when, dropping the half-eaten mouse, it reared up on its hindquarters like a squirrel or a monkey, at the same time spitting as spitefully as any other weasel could have done. in a moment, however, it changed its tactics--for the open jaws of the fox were within a few paces of it--and after making a short quick run along the surface, it threw up its hindquarters, and plunged head-foremost into the snow! the fox sprang forward, and flinging his brush high in air, shot after like an arrow! both had now disappeared from lucien's sight. for a moment the surface of the snow was disturbed above the spot where they had gone down, but the next moment all was still, and no evidence existed that a living creature had been there, except the tracks, and the break the two creatures had made in going down. lucien ran forward until he was within a few yards of the place, and stood watching the hole, with his rifle ready--thinking that the fox, at least, would soon come up again. he had waited for nearly five minutes, looking steadily at this point, when his eye was attracted by a movement under the snow, at a considerable distance, quite fifty paces, from where he stood. the frozen crust was seen to upheave; and, the next moment, the head of the fox, and afterwards his whole body, appeared above the surface. lucien saw that the ermine lay transversely between his jaws, and was quite dead! he was about to fire, but the fox, suddenly perceiving him, shot off like an arrow, carrying his prey along with him. he was soon out of reach, and lucien, seeing that he had lost his chance, was about to return to the fire, when, all at once, the fox was observed to stop, turn suddenly in his tracks, and run off in a new direction! lucien looked beyond to ascertain the cause of this strange manoeuvre. that was soon ascertained. coming down from among the rocks was a large animal--five times the fox's size--but in other respects not unlike him. it was also of a snow-white colour, with long hair, bushy tail, and short erect ears, but its aspect was not to be mistaken. it was the great _white wolf_. when lucien first saw this new-comer, the latter had just espied the fox, and was about stretching out into a gallop towards him. the fox, _watching backwards_ as he ran, had not seen the wolf, until the latter was within a few springs of him; and now when he had turned, and both were in full chase, there was not over twenty yards between them. the direction in which they ran would bring them near to lucien; and so they came, and passed him--neither of them seeming to heed his presence. they had not got many yards farther, before lucien perceived that the wolf was fast closing on the fox, and would soon capture him. believing he would then stop, so as to offer him a fairer chance for a shot, lucien followed. the wolf, however, had noticed him coming after, and although the next moment he closed his great jaws upon the fox, he did not pause for a single instant, but, lifting the latter clear up from the ground, ran on without the slightest apparent diminution of speed! reynard was seen to struggle and kick, while he squeaked like a shot puppy; but his cries each moment grew feebler, and his struggles soon came to an end. the wolf held him transversely in his jaws--just as he himself but the moment before had carried the ermine. lucien saw there was no use in following them, as the wolf ran on with his prey. with some disappointment, therefore, he was about to return to the fire, where, to add to his mortification, he knew he would find his tea-leaves parched to a cinder. he lingered a moment, however, with his eyes still fixed upon the departing wolf that was just about to disappear over the crest of a ridge. the fox was still in his jaws, but no longer struggling. reynard looked limber and dead, as his legs swung loosely on both sides of the wolf's head. lucien at that moment saw the latter suddenly stop in his career, and then drop down upon the surface of the snow as if dead! he fell with his victim in his jaws, and lay half doubled up, and quite still. this strange action would have been a difficult thing for lucien to explain, but, almost at the same instant in which he observed it, a puff of blue smoke shot up over the ridge, and quickly following was heard the sharp crack of a rifle. then a head with its cap of raccoon skin appeared above the snow, and lucien, recognising the face of basil, ran forward to meet him. both soon stood over the body of the dead wolf, wondering at what they saw; but basil, far more than lucien--for the latter already knew the circumstances of that strange scene of death. first there was the great gaunt body of the wolf stretched along the snow, and quite dead. crossways in his mouth was the fox, just as he had been carried off; and across the jaws of the latter, lay the long worm-like body of the ermine, still retaining between its teeth the half-devoured remains of the white-footed mouse! a very chain of destroyers! these creatures died as they had lived, preying one upon the other! of all four the little mouse alone was an innocent victim. the other three, though morally guilty by the laws of man, yet were only acting in obedience to the laws of nature and necessity. man himself obeys a similar law, as basil had just shown. philosophise as we will, we cannot comprehend why it is so--why nature requires the sacrifice of one of her creatures for the sustenance of another. but although we cannot understand the cause, we must not condemn the fact as it exists; nor must we suppose, as some do, that the destruction of god's creatures for our necessities constitutes a crime. they who think so, and who, in consistency with their doctrines, confine themselves to what they term "vegetable" food, are at best but shallow reasoners. they have not studied nature very closely, else would they know that every time they pluck up a parsnip, or draw their blade across the leaf of a lettuce, they cause pain and death! how much pain we cannot tell; but that the plant feels, as well as the animal, we can clearly _prove_. probably it feels less, and it may be each kind of plant differs from others in the amount, according to its higher or lower organism. probably its amount of pleasure--its capability of enjoyment--is in a direct proportion to the pain which it endures; and it is highly probable that this double line of ratios runs in an ascending scale throughout the vegetable kingdom, gradually joining on to what is more strictly termed the "animal." but these mysteries of life, my young friend, will be interesting studies for you when your mind becomes matured. perhaps it may be your fortune to unravel some of them, for the benefit of your fellow-men. i feel satisfied that you will not only be a student of nature, but one of her great teachers; you will far surpass the author of this little book in your knowledge of nature's laws; but it will always be a happiness to him to reflect, that, when far advanced upon the highway of science, you will look back to him as one you had passed upon the road, and who _pointed you to the path_. though basil had shot the wolf, it was plain that it was not the first nor yet the second time he had discharged his rifle since leaving the camp. from his game-bag protruded the curving claws and wing-tips of a great bird. in one hand he carried a white hare--not the polar hare-- but a much smaller kind, also an inhabitant of these snowy regions; and over his shoulders was slung a fierce-looking creature, the great wild-cat or lynx of america (_lynx canadensis_). the bird in his bag was the golden eagle (_aquila chrysaetos_), one of the few feathered creatures that brave the fierce winter of a northern climate, and does not migrate, like its congeners the "white-head" and the osprey, to more southern regions. basil had returned alone--for the three, basil, norman, and francois, had taken different directions at setting cut. this they had done, in order to have as great a number of chances as possible of finding the game. norman came in a few minutes after, bearing a whole deer upon his shoulders--a glad sight that was--and, a short interval having passed, francois's "hurrah" sounded upon their ears, and francois himself was seen coming up the valley loaded like a little donkey with two bunches of large snow-white birds. the camp now exhibited a cheering sight. such a variety was never seen even in the larder of a palace kitchen. the ground was strewed with animals like a dead menagerie. there were no less than a dozen kinds upon it! the hare-soup was now quite ready, and was accordingly served up by lucien in the best style. lucien had dried a fresh "grist" of the tea-leaves, and a cheering cup followed; and then the party all sat around their log-fire, while each of them detailed the history of his experience since parting with the others. francois was the first to relate what had befallen him. chapter thirty five. the jerfalcon and the white grouse. "mine," began francois, "was a bird-adventure, as you all see--though what kind of birds i've shot i can't tell. one of them's a hawk, i'm sure; but it's a _white_ hawk, and that i never saw before. the rest, i suppose, are _white_ partridges. everything appears to be white here. what are they, luce?" "you are right about this first," answered lucien, taking up one of the birds which francois had brought back with him, and which was white all but a few spots of clove-brown upon its back. "this is a hawk, as you may tell, by its appearance, or rather i should say a `falcon,' for you must know there is a difference." "what difference?" demanded francois, with some eagerness of manner. "why the principal difference is the formation of their beaks or bills. the bills of the true falcons are stronger, and have a notch in the lower mandible answering to a tooth in the upper one. their nostrils, too, are differently formed. but another point of distinction is found in their habits. both feed on warm-blooded animals, and neither will eat carrion. in this respect the hawks and falcons are alike. both take their prey upon the wing; but herein lies the difference. the hawks capture it by skimming along horizontally or obliquely, and picking it up as they pass; whereas the true falcons `pounce' down upon it from above, and in a line nearly vertical." "then this must be a true falcon," interrupted francois, "for i saw the gentleman do that very thing; and beautifully he did it, too." "it is a falcon," continued lucien; "and of the many species of hawks which inhabit north america--over twenty in all--it is one of the boldest and handsomest. i don't wonder you never saw it before; for it is truly a bird of the northern regions, and does not come so far south as the territory of the united states, much less into louisiana. it is found in north europe, greenland, and iceland, and has been seen as far north on both continents as human beings have travelled. it is known by the name of `jerfalcon,' or `gyrfalcon,' but its zoological name is _falco islandicus_." "the indians here," interposed norman, "call it by a name that means `winter bird,' or `winterer'--i suppose, because it is one of the few that stay in these parts all the year round, and is therefore often noticed by them in winter time. the traders sometimes call it the `speckled partridge-hawk,' for there are some of them more spotted than this one is." "true," said lucien; "the young ones are nearly of a brown colour, and they first become spotted or mottled after a year or two. they are several years old before they get the white plumage, and very few individuals are seen of a pure white all over, though there are some without a spot. "yes," continued the naturalist, "it is the jerfalcon; and those other birds which you call `white partridges,' are the _very_ creatures upon which it preys. so _you_ have killed both the tyrant and his victims. they are not partridges though, but grouse--that species known as `willow-grouse' (_tetrao saliceti_)." and as lucien said this, he began to handle the birds, which were of a beautiful white all over, with the exception of the tail-feathers. these last were pitch-black. "ho!" exclaimed lucien, in some surprise, "you have two kinds here! were they all together when you shot them?" "no," answered francois; "one i shot along with the hawk out in the open ground. all the others i killed upon a tree in a piece of woods that i fell in with. there's no difference between them that i can see." "but i can," said lucien, "although i acknowledge they all look very much alike. both are feathered to the toes--both have the black feathers in the tail--and the bills of both are black; but if you observe closely, this kind--the willow-grouse--has the bill much stronger and less flattened. besides, it is a larger bird than the other, which is the `rock-grouse' (_tetrao rupestris_). both are sometimes, though erroneously, called `ptarmigan;' but they are not the true ptarmigan (_tetrao mutus_)--such as exist in north europe--though these last are also to be met with in the northern parts of america. the ptarmigan are somewhat larger than either of these kinds, but in other respects differ but little from them. "the habits of the `rock' and `willow' grouse are very similar. they are both birds of the snowy regions, and are found as far north as has been explored. the willow-grouse in winter keep more among the trees, and are oftener met with in wooded countries; whereas the others like best to live in the open ground, and, from your statement, it appears you found each kind in its favourite haunt." "just so," said francois. "after leaving here, i kept down the valley, and was just crossing an open piece of high ground, when i espied the white hawk, or falcon as you call it, hovering in the air as i'd often seen hawks do. well, i stopped and hid behind a rock, thinking i might have a chance to put a few drops into him. all at once he appeared to stand still in the air, and, then closing his wings, shot down like an arrow. just then i heard a loud `_whur-r-r_,' and up started a whole covey of white partridges--grouse, i should say--the same as this you call the `rock-grouse.' i saw that the hawk had missed the whole of them, and i marked them as they flew off. they pitched about a hundred yards or so, and then went plunge under the snow--every one of them making a hole for itself just like where one had poked their foot in! i guess, boys, this looked funny enough. i thought i would be sure to get a shot at some of these grouse as they came out again; so i walked straight up to the holes they had made, and stood waiting. i still saw the hawk hovering in the air, about an hundred yards ahead of me. "i was considering whether i ought to go farther on, and tramp the birds out of the snow; for i believed, of course, they were still under the place where the holes were. all at once i noticed a movement on the crust of the snow right under where the hawk was flying, and then that individual shot down to the spot, and disappeared under the snow! at the same instant, the crust broke in several places, and up came the grouse one after another, and whirred off out of sight, without giving me any sort of a chance. the hawk, however, had not come up yet; and i ran forward, determined to take him as soon as he should make his appearance. when i had got within shooting distance, up he fluttered to the surface, and--what do you think?--he had one of the grouse struggling in his claws! i let him have the right barrel, and both he and grousy were knocked dead as a couple of door-nails! "i thought i might fall in with the others again; and kept on in the direction they had taken, which brought me at last to a piece of woodland consisting of birches and willow-trees. as i was walking along the edge of this, i noticed one of the willows, at some distance off, covered with great white things, that at first i took for flakes of snow; but then i thought it curious that none of the other trees had the same upon them. as i came a little nearer, i noticed one of the things moving, and then i saw they were birds, and very like the same i had just seen, and was then in search of. so i crept in among the trees; and, after some dodging, got within beautiful shooting distance, and gave them both barrels. there, you see the result!" here francois triumphantly pointed to the pile of birds, which in all, with the jerfalcon, counted four brace and a half. one was the rock-grouse, which the falcon had itself killed, and the others were willow-grouse, as lucien had stated. francois now remained silent, while basil related his day's adventure. chapter thirty six. the hare, the lynx, and the golden eagle. "frank," began he, "has called his a `bird-adventure.' i might give mine somewhat of the same title, for there was a bird mixed up with it-- the noblest of all birds--the eagle. but you shall hear it. "on leaving the camp, i went, as you all know, up the valley. after travelling for a quarter of a mile or so, i came upon a wide open bottom, where there were some scattered willows and clumps of dwarf birch-trees. as luce had told me that such are the favourite food of the american hare, or, as we call it in louisiana, `rabbit,' i looked out for the sign of one, and, sure enough, i soon came upon a track, which i knew to be that of `puss.' it was fresh enough, and i followed it. it kept me meandering about for a long while, till at last i saw that it took a straight course for some thick brushwood, with two or three low birches growing out of it. as i made sure of finding the game there, i crept forward _very_ quietly, holding marengo in the leash. but the hare was not in the brush; and, after tramping all through it, i again noticed the track where she had gone out on the opposite side. i was about starting forth to follow it, when all at once an odd-looking creature made its appearance right before me. it was that fellow there!" and basil pointed to the lynx. "i thought at first sight," continued he, "it was our louisiana wild-cat or bay lynx, as luce calls it, for it is very like our cat; but i saw it was nearly twice as big, and more greyish in the fur. well, when i first sighted the creature, it was about an hundred yards off. it hadn't seen me, though, for it was not running away, but skulking along slowly--nearly crosswise to the course of the hare's track--and looking in a different direction to that in which i was. i was well screened behind the bushes, and that, no doubt, prevented it from noticing me. at first i thought of running forward, and setting marengo after it. then i determined on staying where i was, and watching it a while. perhaps it may come to a stop, reflected i, and let me creep within shot. i remained, therefore, crouching among the bushes, and kept the dog at my feet. "as i continued to watch the cat, i saw that, instead of following a straight line, it was moving in a circle! "the diameter of this circle was not over an hundred yards; and in a very short while the animal had got once round the circumference, and came back to where i had first seen it. it did not stop there, but continued on, though not in its old tracks. it still walked in a circle, but a much smaller one than before. both, however, had a common centre; and, as i noticed that the animal kept its eyes constantly turned towards the centre, i felt satisfied that in that place would be found the cause of its strange manoeuvring. i looked to the centre. at first i could see nothing--at least nothing that might be supposed to attract the cat. there was a very small bush of willows, but they were thin. i could see distinctly through them, and there was no creature there, either in the bush or around it. the snow lay white up to the roots of the willows, and i thought that a mouse could hardly have found shelter among them, without my seeing it from where i stood. still i could not explain the odd actions of the lynx, upon any other principle than that it was in the pursuit of game; and i looked again, and carefully examined every inch of the ground as my eyes passed over it. this time i discovered what the animal was after. close in to the willows appeared two little parallel streaks of a dark colour, just rising above the surface of the snow. i should not have noticed them had there not been two of them, and these slanting in the same direction. they had caught my eyes before, but i had taken them for the points of broken willows. i now saw that they were the ears of some animal, and i thought that once or twice they moved slightly while i was regarding them. after looking at them steadily for a time, i made out the shape of a little head underneath. it was white, but there was a round dark spot in the middle, which i knew to be an eye. there was no body to be seen. that was under the snow, but it was plain enough that what i saw was the head of a hare. at first i supposed it to be a polar hare--such as we had just killed--but the tracks i had followed were not those of the polar hare. then i remembered that the `rabbit' of the united states also turns white in the winter of the northern regions. this, then, must be the american rabbit, thought i. "of course my reflections did not occupy all the time i have taken in describing them. only a moment or so. all the while the lynx was moving round and round the circle, but still getting nearer to the hare that appeared eagerly to watch it. i remembered how norman had manoeuvred to get within shot of the polar hare; and i now saw the very same _ruse_ being practised by a dumb creature, that is supposed to have no other guide than instinct. but i had seen the `bay lynx' of louisiana do some `dodges' as cunning as that,--such as claying his feet to make the hounds lose the scent, and, after running backwards and forwards upon a fallen log, leap into the tops of trees, and get off in that way. believing that his northern cousin was just as artful as himself," (here basil looked significantly at the "captain,") "i did not so much wonder at the performance i now witnessed. nevertheless, i felt a great curiosity to see it out. but for this curiosity i could have shot the lynx every time he passed me on the nearer edge of the circle. round and round he went, then, until he was not twenty feet from the hare, that, strange to say, seemed to regard this the worst of her enemies more with wonder than fear. the lynx at length stopped suddenly, brought his four feet close together, arched his back like an angry cat, and then with one immense bound, sprang forward upon his victim. the hare had only time to leap out of her form, and the second spring of the lynx brought him right upon the top of her. i could hear the child-like scream which the american rabbit always utters when thus seized; but the cloud of snow-spray raised above the spot prevented me for a while from seeing either lynx or hare. the scream was stifled in a moment, and when the snow-spray cleared off, i saw that the lynx held the hare under his paws, and that `puss' was quite dead. "i was considering how i might best steal up within shooting distance, when, all at once, i heard another scream of a very different sort. at the same time a dark shadow passed over the snow. i looked up, and there, within fifty yards of the ground, a great big bird was wheeling about. i knew it to be an eagle from its shape; and at first i fancied it was a young one of the white-headed kind--for, as you are aware, these do not have either the white head or tail until they are several years old. its immense size, however, showed that it could not be one of these. it must be the great `_golden' eagle_ of the rocky mountains, thought i. "when i first noticed it, i fancied that it had been after the rabbit; and, seeing the latter pounced upon by another preying creature, had uttered its scream at being thus disappointed of its prey. i expected, therefore, to see it fly off. to my astonishment it broke suddenly out of the circles in which it had been so gracefully wheeling, and, with another scream wilder than before, darted down towards the lynx! "the latter, on hearing the first cry of the eagle, had started, dropped his prey, and looked up. in the eagle he evidently recognised an antagonist, for his back suddenly became arched, his fur bristled up, his short tail moved quickly from side to side, and he stood with glaring eyes, and claws ready to receive the attack. "as the eagle came down, its legs and claws were thrown forward, and i could then tell it was not a bald eagle, nor the great `washington eagle,' nor yet a fishing eagle of any sort, which both of these are. the fishing eagles, as lucien had told me, _have always naked legs_, while those of the true eagles are more feathered. so were his, but beyond the feathers i could see his great curved talons, as he struck forward at the lynx. he evidently touched and wounded the animal, but the wound only served to make it more angry; and i could hear it purring and spitting like a tom-cat, only far louder. the eagle again mounted back into the air, but soon wheeled round and shot down a second time. this time the lynx sprang forward to meet it, and i could hear the concussion of their bodies as they came together. i think the eagle must have been crippled, so that it could not fly up again, for the fight from that time was carried on upon the ground. the lynx seemed anxious to grasp some part of his antagonist's body--and at times i thought he had succeeded--but then he was beaten off again by the bird, that fought furiously with wings, beak, and talons. the lynx now appeared to be the attacking party, as i saw him repeatedly spring forward at the eagle, while the latter always received him upon its claws, lying with its back upon the snow. both fur and feathers flew in every direction, and sometimes the combatants were so covered with the snow-spray that i could see neither of them. "i watched the conflict for several minutes, until it occurred to me, that my best time to get near enough for a shot was just while they were in the thick of it, and not likely to heed me. i therefore moved silently out of the bushes; and, keeping marengo in the string, crept forward. i had but the one bullet to give them, and with that i could not shoot both; but i knew that the quadruped was eatable, and, as i was not sure about the bird, i very easily made choice, and shot the lynx. to my surprise the eagle did not fly _off_, and i now saw that one of its wings was disabled! he was still strong enough, however, to scratch marengo severely before the latter could master him. as to the lynx, he had been roughly handled. his skin was torn in several places, and one of his eyes, as you see, regularly `gouged out.'" here basil ended his narration; and after an interval, during which some fresh wood was chopped and thrown upon the fire, norman, in turn, commenced relating what had befallen him. chapter thirty seven. the "alarm bird" and the caribou. "there wasn't much `adventure' in my day's sport," said he, "though i might call it a `bird-adventure' too, for if it hadn't been for a bird i shouldn't have had it. i shot a deer--that's all. but maybe it would be curious for you to know how i came to find the animal, so i'll tell you. "the first thing i did after leaving here was to climb the hill yonder,"--here norman pointed to a long hill that sloped up from the opposite shore of the lake, and which was the direction he had taken, as basil and francois had gone right and left. "i saw neither bird, beast, nor track, until i had reached the top of the hill. there i got a good view of the country ahead. i saw it was very rocky, without a stick of timber, and did not look very promising for game. `it's no use going that way,' i says to myself; `i'll keep along the ridge, above where frank's gone. he may drive some varmint out of the hollow, and i'll get a crack at it, as it comes over the hill.' "i was about to turn to the left when i heard the skreek of a bird away ahead of me. i looked in that direction; and, sure enough, saw one wheeling about in the air, right above the rocky jumble with which the country was covered. "now it's a mighty curious bird that i saw. it's a sort of an owl, but, i should say myself, there's a sprinkling of the hawk in it--for it's as much like the one as the other." "no doubt," interrupted lucien, "it was one of the day owls of these northern regions, some of which approach very near to the hawks, both in shape and habits. this peculiarity arises from the fact of the long summer day--of weeks in duration--within the arctic circle, requiring them to hunt for their prey, just as hawks do; and therefore nature has gifted them with certain peculiarities that make them resemble these birds. they want the very broad faces and large tufted heads of the true owls; besides the ears, which in the latter are remarkable for their size, and also for being operculated, or with lids, in the former are not much larger than in other birds of prey. the small hawk-owl (_strix funerea_), which is altogether a northern bird, is one of this kind." "very well," continued norman, "what you say may be very true, cousin luce; i only know that the bird i am speaking about is a mighty curious little creature. it ain't bigger than a pigeon, and is of a mottled-brown colour; but what i call it curious for is this:--whenever it sees any creature passing from place to place, it mounts up into the air, and hovers above them, keeping up a constant screeching, like the squalling of a child--and that's anything but agreeable. it does so, not only in the neighbourhood of its nest--like the plover and some other birds--but it will sometimes follow a travelling party for hours together, and for miles across the country. from this circumstance the indians of these parts call it the `alarm bird,' or `bird of warning,' because it often makes them aware of the approach either of their enemies or of strangers. sometimes it alarms and startles the game, while the hunter is crawling up to it; and i have known it to bother myself for a while of a day, when i was after grouse. it's a great favourite with the indians though--as it often guides them to deer, or musk-oxen, by its flying and screaming above where these animals are feeding. "just in the same way it guided me. i knew, from the movements of the bird, that there must be something among the rocks. i couldn't tell what, but i hoped it would turn out to be some creature that was eatable; so i changed my intention, and struck out for the place where it was. "it was a good half-mile from the hill, and it cost me considerable clambering over the rocks, before i reached the ground. i thought to get near enough to see what it was, without drawing the bird upon myself, and i crouched from hummock to hummock; but the sharp-eyed creature caught sight of me, and came screeching over my head. i kept on without noticing it; but as i was obliged to go round some large rocks, i lost the direction, and soon found myself wandering back into my own trail. i could do nothing, therefore, until the bird should leave me, and fly back to whatever had first set it a-going. in order that it might do so, i crept in under a big stone that jutted out, and lay quiet a bit, watching it. it soon flew off, and commenced wheeling about in the air, not more than three hundred yards from where i lay. this time i took good bearings, and then went on. i did not care for the bird to guide me any longer, for i observed there was an open spot ahead, and i was sure that there i would see something. and sure enough i did. on peeping round the end of a rock, i spied a herd of about fifty deer. they were reindeer, of course, as there are no others upon the `barren grounds,' and i saw they were all does--for at this season the bucks keep altogether in the woods. some of them were pawing the snow to get at the moss, while others were standing by the rocks, and tearing off the lichens with their teeth. it so happened that i had the wind of them, else they would have scented me and made off, for i was within a hundred yards of the nearest. i was not afraid of their taking fright, so long as they could only see part of my body--for these deer are so stupid, or rather so curious, that almost anything will draw them within shot. knowing this, i practised a trick that had often helped me before; and that was to move the barrel of my gun, up and down, with the same sort of motion as the deer make with their horns, when rubbing their necks against a rock or tree. if i'd had a set of antlers, it would have been all the better; but the other answered well enough. it happened the animals were not very wild, as, likely, they hadn't been hunted for a good while. i bellowed at the same time,--for i know how to imitate their call--and, in less than a minute's time, i got several of them within range. then i took aim, and knocked one over, and the rest ran off. that," said norman, "ended my adventure--unless you call the carrying a good hundred pounds weight of deer-meat all the way back to camp part of it. if so, i can assure you that it was by far the most unpleasant part." here norman finished his narration, and a conversation was carried on upon the subject of reindeer, or, as these animals are termed, in america, "caribou." lucien said that the reindeer (_cervus tarandus_) is found in the northern regions of europe and asia as well as in america, but that there were several varieties of them, and perhaps there were different species. those of lapland are most celebrated, because they not only draw sledges, but also furnish food, clothing, and many other commodities for their owners. in the north of asia, the tungusians have a much larger sort, which they ride upon; and the koreki, who dwell upon the borders of kamschatka, possess vast herds of reindeer--some rich individuals owning as many as ten or twenty thousand! it is not certain that the reindeer of america is exactly the same as either of the kinds mentioned; and indeed in america itself there are two very distinct kinds--perhaps a third. two kinds are well-known, that differ from each other in size, and also in habits. one is the "barren ground caribou," and the other, the "woodland caribou." the former is one of the smallest of the deer kind--the bucks weighing little over one hundred pounds. as its name implies, it frequents the barren grounds, although in winter it also seeks the shelter of wooded tracts. upon the barren grounds, and the desolate shores and islands of the arctic sea, it is the only kind of deer found, except at one or two points, as the mouth of the mackenzie river--which happens to be a wooded country, and there the moose also is met with. nature seems to have gifted the barren ground caribou with such tastes and habits, that a fertile country and a genial clime would not be a pleasant home for it. it seems adapted to the bleak, sterile countries in which it dwells, and where its favourite food--the mosses and lichens--is found. in the short summer of the arctic regions, it ranges still farther north; and its traces have been found wherever the northern navigators have gone. it must remain among the icy islands of the arctic sea until winter be considerably advanced, or until the sea is so frozen as to allow it to get back to the shores of the continent. the "woodland caribou" is a larger variety--a woodland doe being about as big as a barren ground buck--although the horns of the latter species are larger and more branching than those of the former. the woodland kind are found around the shores of hudson's bay, and in other wooded tracts that lie in the southern parts of the fur countries--into which the barren ground caribou never penetrates. they also migrate annually, but, strange to say, their spring migrations are southward, while, at the same season, their cousins of the barren grounds are making their way northward to the shores of the arctic sea. this is a very singular difference in their habits, and along with their difference in bulk, form, etcetera, entitles them to be ranked as separate species of deer. the flesh of the woodland caribou is not esteemed so good an article of food as that of the other; and, as it inhabits a district where many large animals are found, it is not considered of so much importance in the economy of human life. the "barren ground caribou," on the other hand, is an indispensable animal to various tribes of indians, as well as to the esquimaux. without it, these people would be unable to dwell where they do; and although they have not domesticated it, and trained it to draught, like the laplanders, it forms their main source of subsistence, and there is no part of its body which they do not turn to some useful purpose. of its horns they form their fish-spears and hooks, and, previous to the introduction of iron by the europeans, their ice-chisels and various other utensils. their scraping or currying knives are made from the split shin-bones. the skins make their clothing, tent-covers, beds, and blankets. the raw-hide, cleared of the hair and cut into thongs, serves for snares, bow-strings, net-lines, and every other sort of ropes. the finer thongs make netting for snow-shoes--an indispensable article to these people--and of these thongs fish-nets are also woven; while the tendons of the muscles, when split, serve for fine sewing-thread. besides these uses, the flesh of the caribou is the food of many tribes, indians and esquimaux, for most of the year; and, indeed, it may be looked upon as their staple article of subsistence. there is hardly any part of it (even the horns, when soft) that is not eaten and relished by them. were it not for the immense herds of these creatures that roam over the country, they would soon be exterminated--for they are easily approached, and the indians have very little difficulty, during the summer season, in killing as many as they please. norman next gave a description of the various modes of hunting the caribou practised by the indians and esquimaux; such as driving them into a pound, snaring them, decoying and shooting them with arrows, and also a singular way which the esquimaux have of taking them in a pit-trap built in the snow. "the sides of the trap," said he, "are built of slabs of snow, cut as if to make a snow-house. an inclined plane of snow leads to the entrance of the pit, which is about five feet deep, and large enough within to hold several deer. the exterior of the trap is banked up on all sides with snow; but so steep are these sides left, that the deer can only get up by the inclined plane which leads to the entrance. a great slab of snow is then placed over the mouth of the pit, and revolves on two axles of wood. this slab will carry the deer until it has passed the line of the axles, when its weight overbalances one side, and the animal is precipitated into the pit. the slab then comes back into a horizontal position as before, and is ready to receive another deer. the animals are attracted by moss and lichens placed for them on the opposite side of the trap--in such a way that they cannot be reached without crossing the slab. in this sort of trap several deer are frequently caught during a single day." norman knew another mode of hunting practised by the esquimaux, and proposed that the party should proceed in search of the herd upon the following day; when, should they succeed in finding the deer, he would show them how the thing was done: and he had no doubt of their being able to make a good hunt of it. all agreed to this proposal, as it would be of great importance to them to kill a large number of these animals. it is true they had now provision enough to serve for several days--but there were perhaps months, not days, to be provided for. they believed that they could not be far from the wooded countries near the banks of the mackenzie, as some kinds of the animal they had met with were only to be found near timber during the winter season. but what of that? even on the banks of the great river itself they might not succeed in procuring game. they resolved, therefore, to track the herd of deer which norman had seen; and for this purpose they agreed to make a stay of some days at their present camp. chapter thirty eight. a battle with wolves. next morning they were up by early daybreak. the days were now only a few hours in length, for it was mid-winter, and they were but three or four degrees south of the arctic circle. of course they would require all the day for the intended hunt of the caribou, as they might have to follow the track of the herd for many miles before coming up with the animals. lucien was to remain by the camp, as it would never do to leave the animals they had already lulled without some guard. to have hung them on the trees, would have put them out of the reach of both wolves and foxes; but the lynx and wolverene are both tree-climbers, and could easily have got at them there. they had reason to believe there were wolverenes about; for these fierce and destructive beasts are found in every part of the fur countries--wherever there exist other animals upon which they can prey. eagles, hawks, and owls, moreover, would have picked the partridges from the branches of the trees without difficulty. one proposed burying them in the snow; but norman assured them that the arctic foxes could scent them out, and dig them up in a few minutes. then it was suggested to cover them under a pile of stones, as there were plenty of these lying about. to this norman also objected, saying that the wolverene could pull off any stones they were able to pile upon them--as this creature in its fore-legs possesses more than the strength of a man. besides, it was not unlikely that one of the great brown bears,--a species entirely different from either the black or grizzly bears, and which is only met with on the barren grounds--might come ranging that way; and he could soon toss over any stone-heap they might build. on the whole it was better that one of the four should remain by the camp; and lucien, who cared less about hunting than any of them, willingly agreed to be the one. their arrangements were soon completed, and the three hunters set out. they did not go straight towards the place where norman had found the deer upon the preceding day, but took a cross-cut over the hills. this was by norman's advice, who guided himself by the wind--which had not changed since the previous day. he knew that the caribou in feeding always travel _against_ the wind; and he expected therefore to find them somewhere in the direction from which it was blowing. following a course, which angled with that of the wind, they kept on, expecting soon to strike the trail of the herd. meanwhile lucien, left to himself, was not idle. he had to prepare the flesh of the different animals, so as to render it fit to be carried along. nothing was required farther than to skin and cut them up. neither salting nor drying was necessary, for the flesh of one and all had got frozen as stiff as a stone, and in this way it would keep during the whole winter. the wolf was skinned with the others, but this was because his fine skin was wanted. his flesh was not intended to be eaten--although only a day or two before any one of the party would have been glad of such a meal. not only the indians, but the voyageurs and fur-traders, while journeying through these inhospitable wilds, are often but too delighted to get a dinner of wolf-meat. the ermine and the little mouse were the only other creatures of the collection that were deemed uneatable. as to the arctic fox and the lynx, the flesh of both these creatures is highly esteemed, and is white and tender, almost as much so as the hares upon which they feed. the snowy owl too, the jerfalcon, and the eagle, were looked upon as part of the larder--the flesh of all being almost as good as that of the grouse. had it been a fishing eagle--such as the bald-head--the case would have been different, for these last, on account of their peculiar food, taste rank and disagreeable. but there was no danger of their falling in with a fishing eagle at that place. these can only exist where there is _open_ water. hence the cause of their annual migrations to the southward, when the lakes and rivers of the fur countries become covered with their winter ice. though lucien remained quietly at the camp he was not without adventures to keep him from wearying. while he was singeing his grouse his eye happened to fall upon the shadow of a bird passing over the snow. on looking up he saw a very large bird, nearly as big as an eagle, flying softly about in wide circles. it was of a mottled-brown colour; but its short neck and great round head told the naturalist at a glance that it was a bird of the owl genus. it was the largest of the kind that lucien had ever seen, and was, in fact, the largest known in america--the "great cinereous owl" (_strix cinerea_). now and then it would alight upon a rock or tree, at the distance of an hundred yards or so from the camp; where it would watch the operations of lucien, evidently inclined to help him in dissecting some of the animals. whenever he took up his gun and tried to approach within shot, it would rise into the air again, always keeping out of range. lucien was provoked at this--for he wished, as a naturalist, to examine the bird, and for this purpose to kill it, of course; but the owl seemed determined that he should do no such thing. at length, however, lucien resolved upon a plan to decoy the creature within shot. taking up one of the grouse, he flung it out upon the snow some thirty yards from the fire. no sooner had he done so, than the owl, at sight of the tempting morsel, left aside both its shyness and prudence, and sailed gently forward; then, hovering for a moment over the ground, hooked the grouse upon its claws, and was about to carry it off, when a bullet from lucien's rifle, just in the "nick of time," put a stop to its further flight, and dropped the creature dead upon the snow. lucien picked it up and brought it to the camp, where he passed some time in making notes upon its size, colour, and other peculiarities. the owl measured exactly two feet in length from the point of the bill to the end of the tail; and its "alar spread," as naturalists term it, was full five feet in extent. it was of a clove-brown colour, beautifully mottled with white, and its bill and eyes were of a bright gamboge yellow. like all of its tribe that winter in the arctic wilds, it was feathered to the toes. lucien reflected that this species lives more in the woods than the "great snowy owl," and, as he had heard, is never found far out on the barren grounds during winter. this fact, therefore, was a pleasant one to reflect upon, for it confirmed the testimony which the travellers had already obtained from several of the other creatures they had killed--that is to say, that they must be in the neighbourhood of some timbered country. lucien had hardly finished his examination of the owl when he was called upon to witness another incident of a much more exciting nature. a hill, as already mentioned, or rather a ridge, rose up from the opposite shore of the lake by which the camp was pitched. the declivity of this hill fronted the lake, and sloped gradually back from the edge of the water. its whole face was smooth and treeless, covered with a layer of pure snow. the camp commanded a full view of it up to its very crest. as lucien was sitting quietly by the fire a singular sound, or rather continuation of sounds, fell upon his ear. it somewhat resembled the baying of hounds at a distance; and at first he was inclined to believe that it was marengo on a view-hunt after the deer. on listening more attentively, however, he observed that the sounds came from more than one animal; and also, that they bore more resemblance to the howling of wolves than the deep-toned bay of a bloodhound. this, in fact, it was; for the next moment a caribou shot up over the crest of the hill, and was seen stretching at full gallop down the smooth declivity in the direction of the lake. not twenty paces in its rear followed a string of howling animals, evidently in pursuit of it. there were a dozen of them in all, and they were running exactly like hounds upon the "view holloa." lucien saw at a glance they were wolves. most of them were dappled-grey and white, while some were of a pure white colour. any one of them was nearly as large as the caribou itself; for in these parts-- around great slave lake--the wolf grows to his largest size. the caribou gained upon them as it bounded down the slope of the hill. it was evidently making for the lake, believing, no doubt, that the black ice upon its surface was water, and that in that element it would have the advantage of its pursuers, for the caribou is a splendid swimmer. nearly all deer when hunted take to the water--to throw off the dogs, or escape from men--and to this habit the reindeer makes no exception. down the hill swept the chase, lucien having a full view both of pursuers and pursued. the deer ran boldly. it seemed to have gathered fresh confidence at sight of the lake, while the same object caused its pursuers a feeling of disappointment. they knew they were no match for a caribou in the water, as no doubt many a one had escaped them in that element. it is not likely, however, that they made reflections of this sort. there was but little time. from the moment of their appearance upon the crest of the hill till the chase arrived at the edge of the lake, was but a few seconds. on reaching the shore the caribou made no stop; but bounded forward in the same way as if it had been springing upon water. most likely it expected to hear a plunge; but, instead of that, its hoofs came down upon the hard ice; and, by the impulse thus given, the animal shot out with the velocity of a skater. strange to say, it still kept its feet; but, now seemingly overcome by surprise, and knowing the advantage its pursuers would have over it upon the slippery ice, it began to plunge and flounder, and once or twice came to its knees. the hungry pursuers appeared to recognise their advantage at once, for their howling opened with a fresh burst, and they quickened their pace. their sharp claws enabled them to gallop over the ice at top speed; and one large brute that led the pack soon came up with the deer, sprang upon it, and bit it in the flank. this brought the deer upon its haunches, and at once put an end to the chase. the animal was hardly down upon the ice, when the foremost wolves coming up precipitated themselves upon its body, and began to devour it. it was about the middle of the lake where the caribou had been overtaken. at the time it first reached the ice, lucien had laid hold of his rifle and run forward in order to meet the animal halfway, and, if possible, get a shot at it. now that the creature was killed, he continued on with the design of driving off the wolves, and securing the carcass of the deer for himself. he kept along the ice until he was within less than twenty yards of the pack, when, seeing that the fierce brutes had torn the deer to pieces, and perceiving, moreover, that they exhibited no fear of himself, he began to think he might be in danger by advancing any nearer. perhaps a shot from his rifle would scatter them, and without further reflection he raised the piece, and fired. one of the wolves kicked over upon the ice, and lay quite dead; but the others, to lucien's great surprise, instead of being frightened off, immediately sprang upon their dead companion, and commenced tearing and devouring it, just as they had done the deer! the sight filled lucien with alarm; which was increased at seeing several of the wolves--that had been beaten by the others from the quarry--commence making demonstrations towards himself! lucien now trembled for his safety, and no wonder. he was near the middle of the lake upon slippery ice. to attempt running back to the camp would be hazardous; the wolves could overtake him before he had got halfway, and he felt certain that any signs of fear on his part would be the signal for the fierce brutes to assail him. for some moments he was irresolute how to act. he had commenced loading his gun, but his fingers were numbed with the cold, and it was a good while before he could get the piece ready for a second fire. he succeeded at length. he did not fire then, but resolved to keep the charge for a more desperate crisis. could he but reach the camp there were trees near it, and one of these he might climb. this was his only hope, in case the wolves attacked him, and he knew it was. instead of turning and running for this point, he began to back for it stealthily and with caution, keeping his front all the while towards the wolves, and his eyes fixed upon them. he had not got many yards, when he perceived to his horror, that the whole pack were in motion, and _coming after him_! it was a terrible sight, and lucien, seeing that by retreating he only drew them on, stopped and held his rifle in a threatening attitude. the wolves were now within twenty yards of him; but, instead of moving any longer directly towards him, they broke into two lines, swept past on opposite sides of him, and then circling round, met each other in his rear. _his retreat was cut off_! he now stood upon the ice with the fierce wolves forming a ring around him, whose diameter was not the six lengths of his gun, and _every_ moment growing shorter and shorter. the prospect was appalling. it would have caused the stoutest heart to quail, and lucien's was terrified. he shouted at the top of his voice. he fired his rifle at the nearest. the brute fell, but the others showed no symptoms of fear; they only grew more furious. lucien clubbed his gun--the last resort in such cases--and laid around him with all his might; but he was in danger of slipping upon the ice, and his efforts were feeble. once down he never would have risen again, for his fierce assailants would have sprung upon him like tigers. as it was, he felt but little hope. he believed himself lost. the teeth of the ferocious monsters gleamed under his eyes. he was growing weaker and weaker, yet still he battled on, and swept his gun around him with the energy of despair. such a struggle could not have continued much longer. lucien's fate would have been sealed in a very few minutes more, had not relief arrived in some shape or other. but it did come. a loud shout was heard upon the hill; and lucien, glancing suddenly towards it, saw several forms rushing downward to the lake! it was the hunting party returned, and in a moment more they were crossing the ice to his rescue. lucien gaining confidence fought with fresh vigour. the wolves busy in their attack had either not heard or were regardless of the new-comers; but the "crack, crack" of the guns--repeated no less than four times--and then the nearer reports of pistols, made a speedy impression upon the brutes, and in a short while half their number were seen tumbling and kicking upon the ice. the rest, uttering their hideous howls, took to flight, and soon disappeared from the valley; and lucien, half dead with fatigue, staggered into the arms of his deliverers. no less than seven of the wolves were killed in the affray--two of which lucien had shot himself. one or two were only wounded, but so badly, that they could not get away; and these were handed over to the tender mercies of marengo, who amused himself for some time after by worrying them to death. the hunting party had made a good day of it. they had fallen in with the caribou, and had killed three of them. these they were bringing to camp, but had dropped them upon the hill, on perceiving the perilous position of lucien. they now went back, and having carried the deer to their camping-place, were soon engaged in the pleasant occupation of eating a savoury dinner. lucien soon recovered from his fright and fatigue, and amused his companions by giving an account of the adventures that had befallen him in their absence. chapter thirty nine. end of the "voyage." our party remained several days at this place, until they had made a fresh stock of "pemmican" from the flesh of the caribou, several more of which they succeeded in killing; and then, arranging everything anew, and taking with them such skins as they wanted, they continued their journey. they had two days' hard travelling through a rocky mountainous country, where they could not find a stick of wood to cook their meals with, and were exposed to cold more than at any other place. both francois and lucien had their faces frost-bitten; but they were cured by norman, who prevented them from going near a fire until he had well rubbed the parts with soft snow. the rocks through which they passed were in many places covered with the _tripe de roche (gyrophora_) of several species; but our voyageurs cared nothing about it so long as their pemmican lasted, and of that each of them had nearly as much as he could carry. in the most dreary part of the mountains they chanced upon a herd of those curious animals, the musk-oxen, and shot one of them; but the meat tasted so rank, and smelt so strongly of musk, that the whole of it was left to the wolves, foxes, and other preying creatures of these parts. on the third day, after leaving their camp by the lake, a pleasant prospect opened before them. it was the valley of the mackenzie, stretching to the west, and extending north and south as far as the eye could reach, covered with forests of pine and poplar, and other large trees. of course the landscape was a winter one, as the river was bound up in ice, and the trees themselves were half-white with frozen snow; but after the dreary scenery of the barren grounds, even this appeared warm and summer-like. there was no longer any danger they should be without a good fire to cook their dinners, or warm themselves at, and a wooded country offers a better prospect of game. the sight, therefore, of a great forest was cheering; and our travellers, in high spirits, planted their tent upon the banks of the great northern river. they had still many hundred miles to go before arriving at their destination; but they determined to continue their journey without much delay, following the river as a guide. no more "near cuts" were to be taken in future. they had learned, from their recent experience, that "the shortest way across is sometimes the longest way round," and they resolved to profit by the lesson. i hope, boy reader, you too will remember it. after reaching the mackenzie the voyageurs halted one day, and upon the next commenced their journey down-stream. sometimes they kept upon the bank, but at times, for a change, they travelled upon the ice of the river. there was no danger of its giving way under them, for it was more than a foot in thickness, and would have supported a loaded waggon and horses, without even cracking. they were now drawing near the arctic circle, and the days grew shorter and shorter as they advanced. but this did not much interfere with their travelling. the long nights of the polar regions are not like those of more southern latitudes. they are sometimes so clear, that one may read the smallest print. what with the coruscations of the aurora borealis, and the cheerful gleaming of the northern constellations, one may travel without difficulty throughout the livelong night. i am sure, my young friend, you have made good use of your globes, and need not be told that the length of both nights and days, as you approach the pole, depends upon two things--the latitude of the place, and the season of the year; and were you to spend a whole year _leaning against the pole itself_, (!) you would _live but one day and one night_--each of them six months in length. but no doubt you know all these things without my telling you of them, and you are impatient to hear not about that, but whether the young voyageurs safely reached the end of their journey. that question i answer briefly at once--they did. some distance below the point where they had struck the mackenzie, they fell in with a winter encampment of dog-rib indians. some of these people had been to the fort to trade; and norman being known to them, he and his southern cousins were received with much hospitality. all their wants were provided for, as far as it lay in the power of these poor people to do; but the most valuable thing obtained from the indians was a full set of dogs and dog-sledges for the whole party. these were furnished by the chief, upon the understanding that he should be paid for them on his next visit to the fort. although the reindeer of north america are not trained to the sledge by the esquimaux and indians, several kinds of dogs are; and a single pair of these faithful creatures will draw a full-grown man at a rate that exceeds almost every other mode of travelling--steam excepted. when our voyageurs, therefore, flung away their snow-shoes, and, wrapped in their skin cloaks, seated themselves snugly in their dog-sledges, the five hundred miles that separated them from the fort were soon reduced to nothing; and one afternoon, four small sledges, each carrying a "young voyageur," with a large bloodhound galloping in the rear, were seen driving up to the stockade fence surrounding the fort. before they had quite reached the gate, there was a general rush of trappers, traders, voyageurs, _coureurs-des-bois_, and other _employes_, to reach them; and the next moment they were lost in the midst of the people who crowded out of the fort to welcome them. this was their hour of happiness and joy. to me there is an hour of regret, and i hope, boy reader, to you as well--the hour of our parting with the "young _voyageurs_." the end. bart keene's hunting days or the darewell chums in a winter camp by allen chapman author of "bart stirling's road to success," "working hard to win," "bound to succeed," "the young storekeeper," "nat borden's find," etc. [illustration: _the_ goldsmith _publishing co._ cleveland ohio made in u.s.a.] copyright, , by cupples & leon company contents chapter page i. a midnight expedition ii. the missing diamond bracelet iii. a fruitless search iv. in the shooting gallery v. an initiation vi. an unexpected meeting vii. getting ready for camp viii. an odd letter ix. off to camp x. a railroad accident xi. putting up the tents xii. the place of the turtles xiii. the mud volcano xiv. bart's first shot xv. fenn falls in xvi. frank makes pancakes xvii. treed by a wildcat xviii. the mysterious man again xix. lost in the woods xx. a night of misery xxi. unexpected help xxii. christmas in camp xxiii. footprints in the snow xxiv. a shot in time xxv. ned's rabbit trap xxvi. a visit to town xxvii. the man with the turtle xxviii. the pursuit xxix. bart's best shot xxx. the diamond bracelet--conclusion bart keene's hunting days chapter i a midnight expedition "hold on there! go easy, now, fellows," cautioned bart keene to his two chums, as they stole softly along in the darkness. "what are you making all that racket for, ned?" "it wasn't me; it was frank." "i couldn't help it," came from frank roscoe in a whisper. "i stumbled on a stone." "well, don't do it again," retorted bart. "first thing you know some one will hear us, and the jig will be up." "and then we can't play the joke on stumpy," added ned wilding. "of course not," went on bart. "easy now. come on. keep behind me in a line, and walk in the shadows as much as possible. we're almost there." the three lads bent upon playing a peculiar trick on their chum, fenn, or "stumpy" masterson, kept on toward the darewell high school, at which they were students. the building set well back from the street, and the campus in front was now flooded with brilliant moonlight. it was close to midnight, and to approach the institution unobserved, to take from it certain objects, and to steal away without having been noticed, was the object of the three conspirators. "are you coming?" asked bart, as he turned around to observe what progress his companions were making. he saw ned and frank standing still, crouched in the shadow of a leafless tree. "what's the matter?" he continued, somewhat anxiously. "thought i heard a noise in the building," whispered frank, hoarsely. "you're dreaming," retorted bart. "come on. it's getting late, and we want to finish." "yes, and it's as cold as greenland," added ned. the boys had on light overcoats, for winter was near at hand. once more the two advanced, and joined bart. the three were now in the shadow of one of the wings of the school, and, as far as they knew, had not been seen. "which way are you going in?" asked ned, of bart, who was leading this midnight expedition. "through the side court, and in at the girls' door. that's most always open, as riggs, the janitor, lives on that side of the school, and he doesn't take the trouble to lock the door, as his house is so near." "good idea," commented frank. "lead on, falstaff, an' may he who----" "cut it out," advised bart sharply. "this is no time to spout shakespeare stuff." once more the three advanced. suddenly bart stopped, and ned, who was close behind, collided with him. "what's wrong now?" whispered ned, as soon as he caught his breath. "hush!" cautioned bart. "i saw a man just then! he was right by the front door of the school." bart had come to a halt in the shadow of a buttress, just before stepping across an open space that led to the court. "a man," murmured ned. "probably it was riggs, the janitor." "no, he was too tall for riggs," answered bart. "besides, he didn't limp, as riggs does, from a leg that was once broken. no, this man wasn't riggs." "what was he doing?" asked frank. "standing near the front door, as if he was going in. then he seemed to change his mind. i think--there he is again!" exclaimed bart, suddenly, and he shrank farther back into the dense shadows, his chums following his example. at the same instant ned and frank caught sight of the man. the stranger approached the front door as if afraid of being seen, and, every now and then, he turned about, as the boys could notice to take an observation. as they looked on they saw him suddenly open the front door, after fumbling about the lock, and enter the school, closing the portal behind him. "well, what do you think of that?" gasped bart, after a moment's pause. "he's a burglar!" declared frank. "let's go tell the police," suggested ned. "no, wait a minute," advised bart, putting restraining hands on his two chums. "don't tell the police." "why not?" ned wanted to know. "because they might ask what we were doing around the school at night, and we don't want to tell--do we?" "that's so," agreed frank. "maybe that chap isn't a burglar, after all." "you're right," came from ned. "what could a burglar steal in the school?" "books, and instruments from the laboratory," was bart's contribution to the opinions. "but i, myself, don't believe he is a burglar. possibly he is some one whom riggs hired to help out with the sweeping and dusting." "let's wait and see," suggested frank, and this was agreed to. silently the chums, from their place of hiding, kept their eyes on the school. presently there was a flicker of light in the windows of one of the upper rooms. "there!" exclaimed ned, "what did i tell you! he's a new janitor, sweeping out," for the light moved to and fro. "what room is that?" asked bart. "professor long's--the place where we're bound for," answered frank. "hush! not so loud," pleaded bart. "some one may hear you, and get on to our trick. i guess you're right. we'll wait until he gets out of the way." "it may be a long time, and fenn may come looking for us," ventured ned. "can't help it," decided bart. "we can't go in while the man is there." there seemed no way out of it, and the three chums crouched in the shadows, waiting. it was cold, and more than once they wished they had not started to play the joke on fenn, but they were not going to give up now. they saw the light, moving to and fro, but it did not leave the room where they had first observed it--the classroom of professor long, the science teacher. "he must be giving that a good cleaning," remarked bart. hardly had he spoken than the light disappeared. a few minutes later it was visible on the floor below, and then it could be traced, as the person carrying it, descended. "he's coming out," declared ned. "so much the better," commented frank. an instant later the front door opened and the man who had gone in, hurried out. he seemed in great haste for, giving a quick look around, he darted away from the school, down the front walk, and up the street. "fellows, that was no janitor!" declared bart. "i believe he was a burglar!" "but he didn't have any bundles," declared frank. "if he had stolen anything, he'd have to pack it up, as anything of value in the school is quite bulky. i don't believe he took anything." "then why did he run?" demanded bart. this was a poser for his chums, until frank said: "it may have been one of the teachers who went back after some papers he forgot." "didn't look like any of the teachers," said bart. "besides the teachers wouldn't run, as if the police were after them, and they wouldn't act as frightened as that man did." "well, what are we going to do about it?" asked ned. "if we're going to play that joke, let's get busy. we won't say anything about seeing the man unless something developes, and i don't believe it will. come on in. the front door seems to be open. we can go in that way, instead of around through the court; less chance of riggs seeing us." "all right," agreed bart, "only i wish i knew who that man was." the time was to come when the boys would have given a great deal to have been able to penetrate the identity of the mysterious stranger. but the three chums gave little heed to that now, for they were intent on playing a joke that bart had evolved. a little later, finding the front door unlocked, they were inside the school, just as the distant town clock boomed out the hour of midnight. chapter ii the missing diamond bracelet there were three lads who had entered the darewell high school so mysteriously at midnight, and, had any one seen them, who was acquainted with them, he would have at once asked: "where is the fourth member of the quartette? where is stumpy masterson?" for there were four lads in the town of darewell who were so inseparable that they had come to be known as "the darewell chums." their names you are already familiar with, and some of my readers have met them before in the previous books of this series. in the first volume, entitled, "the heroes of the school," there was related how the four friends took part in a strange mystery, and how they got at the bottom of it. at one time they went up in a balloon, and were captured by some men who were their enemies, so that, for a time, it looked dubious for the lads. but our heroes were wide-awake, and resourceful, and managed to take care of themselves. their home, as i have said, was in the town of darewell, which was located on the still river, a stream that flowed into lake erie. living not far from that great body of water, the four chums often made trips to it, though more frequently they went swimming in or sailing on the river, in summer, and skated on it in winter. in the second volume of the series, called "ned wilding's disappearance," a story was told of how ned tried to become a millionaire on his own account. he speculated in stocks, and to do this he had to go to new york. there he became mixed up in some peculiar transactions, and he thought it was necessary for him to disappear to avoid arrest. his chums, who followed him to the city, tried for some time in vain to find him, and poor ned suffered many hardships before the affair was finally straightened out. "frank roscoe's secret" was the title of the third volume. there always seemed to be a mystery about frank roscoe, and his chums could never penetrate it. at times he was moody and distraught, and he seemed to have some secret that worried him. he made no confidant of any one and succeeded in avoiding all inquiries. the four lads went camping, and it was hoped that frank would forget his troubles, but, instead, he seemed to get right into the thick of them. frank, for some years, had believed his father dead, but it transpired that he was not. mr. roscoe was kept in a private insane asylum, though he had full possession of his reason, only he was made ill by drugs constantly administered to him by men who had an interest in keeping him out of the way. how he was rescued, and the perils the boys ran in saving him after they had released him from the institution, you will find set down in the third book. in the fourth book, called "fenn masterson's discovery," there was related the details of a long trip the chums took on the great lakes. they were aboard a vessel commanded by captain wiggs, and almost from the start the boys were involved in a mystery. they were pursued by strange men, when they landed to witness a large grain elevator on fire, and eventually they succeeded in causing the breaking up of a gang of chinese smugglers, and a band of scoundrels who were secretly taking valuable minerals from a cave, under land owned by a man whom the boys had once befriended. it was not until after some strenuous happenings that these events had come to pass, and, more than once, our friends were in danger. but fenn masterson succeeded in getting on the trail of the mystery, through an odd discovery he had made, and, though he was captured by the enemy, he used his eyes and ears to good advantage, so that when his friends came he could lead them to the secret cave. following the exciting events of their cruise on the great lakes, the boys had returned to darewell, and had resumed their studies at the high school, where they were great favorites with the other pupils. at the time this story opens the fall term was well under way, and football was the chief sport, our heroes playing on the first team of the school. the reason for the midnight visit of bart, frank and ned to the school was this: stumpy, the missing member of the quartette, was an odd sort of lad, always making collections of one thing or another. sometimes it was postage stamps, or postmarks, and again minerals, or jackknives, or butterflies. the day of the midnight visit, when the darewell chums, together with bart's sister alice (who wanted to be a trained nurse) and her chum, jennie smith, were in a drug store getting soda and cream, fenn had pulled from his pocket, together with his handkerchief, a small mud turtle. there had been a wild scramble on the part of the girls, and some ladies in the store, before fenn recaptured the reptile. "what's that for?" bart had asked. "oh, nothing," fenn had answered, as casually as possible. "it certainly _is_ something," ned had insisted, and they had badgered fenn until he finally admitted that he was now collecting mud turtles, and had a number of them in a pen at home. this had at once given bart his cue for playing a joke, and it might be mentioned that the fun-loving youth never let go by a chance to play a trick. a little later, that same afternoon, after fenn had been sufficiently "rigged" over his new fad, bart keene might have been seen whispering cautiously to ned and frank. his proposal was that the three of them should pay a surreptitious visit to the school that friday night, and, from the room of professor long, the science teacher, take a number of turtles, snakes and small alligators which the instructor kept for the use of his class in biology. the three conspirators planned to remove the reptiles, take them to fenn's house, slyly put them in with his collection of turtles, and then see what their chum would say when he found his number of reptiles so unexpectedly increased. the plan found favor on the part of ned and frank. they had met at bart's home after supper, and started off, leaving word with alice, that if fenn accidentally came, he was to be detained, entertained, or something done to him, to prevent him from becoming suspicious over the absence of the three lads. but fenn, or stumpy, which he was more frequently called, had no suspicions, and did not leave his house that night. meanwhile, as told in the first chapter, bart and the others had gone to the school, had suffered a momentary alarm at the sight of the mysterious man, and had finally gained an entrance through the front door, unexpectedly found open. "well, we're in here, what's next on the program?" asked ned, of bart. "go ahead up stairs, and don't make any more noise than you have to." long familiarity with the interior arrangements of the high school enabled the three lads to ascend the stairs without the aid of a light. bart, as a precaution, however, had brought along a pocket electric flash lamp, to use when they reached the case of live reptiles. they got to the room where professor long gave instruction, and when bart sent out little flashes of light, all gazed quickly around. "no traces of any burglar here," observed frank. "guess you're right," admitted bart. "but we surely saw some one up here with a light." "might have been one of riggs' friends," commented ned. "anyhow he isn't here now. come on, and let's finish. it's getting late. the cabinet of turtles, alligators and snakes is over here," and he led the way across the almost dark room, for the electric lamp only gave light in a small circle. professor long was more enthusiastic over science than are most teachers, and he used live animals to illustrate points in biology, evolution and kindred studies. hence he had quite a collection of reptiles, which were kept in a case especially constructed for them, where they could be fed and watched, and live under conditions as nearly approaching those of nature as possible. the three conspirators proposed "borrowing" a few specimens, smuggling them into stumpy's collection, which was kept in a shack in his back yard, and, after witnessing his surprise, they would take professor long's reptiles back to the school. the interval between the closing of the school friday night and the monday morning opening gave them time for this. "get some of the toads, lizards, alligators and snakes, besides the mud turtles," advised bart, "and take care that the beggars don't bite you. i don't want to get blood poison, even if my sister is studying to be a trained nurse. here, i'll hold the light, and you fellows can put the creatures in the bags." "yes, you will!" exclaimed frank, somewhat indignantly. "you want us to run all the risks! no, sir, you put the lamp down and pitch in yourself. if we get bit, so do you." "but the lamp won't give any light unless i press the spring," explained bart, for the electric switch was thus operated. "i'll show you how to make it," volunteered ned. "i can fasten the spring with a match," which he proceeded to do, the light glowing without any one touching the spring. bart had no further excuse, and assisted his chums in transferring to the bags he had brought a large part of professor long's collection. the reptiles made little resistance, though one of the large turtles did nip frank slightly. "never mind, alice will put on some carbolic salve or peroxide," said bart, cheerfully. "i guess we've got enough now. look out, there's a snake going to get away!" he grabbed the lively reptile just in time, and stuffed it into his bag. the three conspirators hurried away from the school, and made their way to the back yard of fenn's house. the shack was fastened with a simple catch, which bart had no difficulty in loosening. then, working quickly and silently, the three chums made a large addition to fenn's collection. the snakes, turtles, lizards and frogs from the school cabinet were put in the boxes with fenn's pets, and the small doors fastened. then the hut was closed. "now we must be on hand here early to-morrow morning," said bart, as they sneaked away. "sure. we'll pretend to fenn that we are anxious to see his collection," said ned. "he'll be only too glad to take us out here, and then we can see his expression, when he catches sight of the visitors. oh, we'll be on hand all right!" and then the trio went to their homes. early the next morning, bart, ned and frank called on fenn. he had not been in evidence the night before, so they felt sure their trick had not been discovered. he came to the door in response to their whistles. "say, you fellows are on the job early, aren't you?" inquired stumpy, with just a shade of suspicion in his tones. "we want to have a little football practice," answered bart. "and we came to see if you'd show us your collection of turtles." "hey? what's that?" asked fenn, quickly. "that's straight, stumpy," added ned. "we won't hurt 'em, will we, fellows?" "sure not," agreed frank. his suspicions lulled to rest, fenn led the way to the shack in the back yard. "i haven't fed 'em yet," he remarked. "i was just going to when you chaps came along. i haven't had my breakfast yet." "oh, it's awful to have to pay these social calls on young ladies!" mocked bart, pretending to yawn. "it keeps you up so late, and morning comes too soon." "aw, cut it out," advised fenn, with an injured air, but he blushed. "now, no poking the turtles," he stipulated, as he opened the shack door. "visitors are politely requested not to feed or annoy the animals," quoted bart, from some menagerie sign. "do they eat much?" he asked of fenn. "oh, not much, especially in cool weather. they're sort of sluggish then. i haven't got many yet, but i expect to--" by this time fenn had the door open, and the sight that met his eyes almost bereft him of speech. for, to his small collection had been added nearly all the reptiles from the high school. snakes reared up their heads and hissed at him. from the corner of one cage a large mud turtle stuck out its leathery neck. a fat toad, one of many, squatted on the box of worms fenn kept for his "pets," and two alligators, like twins, waved their long tails to and fro. "for the love of mike, what have you here?" cried bart, pretending to be frightened. "good land! you never said you had so many!" added ned. "is it safe to go in? let me hide behind you, stumpy. you're so fat and juicy that they'd grab you first," said frank. for a moment fenn did not speak. then he understood the joke that had been played. "you fellows think you're awful smart; don't you?" he demanded. "well, all i've got to say is----" "that you're stung! eh, stumpy, my lad?" cried bart good naturedly, clapping his chum on the back. "take your medicine like a man. you're stung good and proper. we thought your animals would be lonesome, so we added a few for luck. pretty, aren't they?" and, at the sight of fenn's bewildered face, bart went off in a paroxysm of mirth, finally lying down on the ground outside the shack, and rolling over and over. frank and ned joined him, and their howls brought mrs. masterson to the back door to see what was the matter. as soon as she saw the four chums she knew, without being told, that it was some joke. "it wouldn't be them, if they weren't up to something," she observed, as she went on getting breakfast. fenn was not long proof against the infectious laughter of his chums. the frown faded from his face, and a smile replaced it. soon, he too, was laughing heartily at the joke played on him. "all i've got to say," he remarked, "is that you fellows went to a lot of work to get a laugh. you must have brought nearly all the school collection," for he recognized the professor's specimens. "we did," admitted bart, "but it was worth it all; eh, fellows?" the boys paused to admire fenn's "pets" as well as to take a more careful view of the reptiles they had "borrowed" from the school. then bart and his two chums put back into the bags the snakes, lizards, turtles, toads and alligators belonging to the professor, and hurried back with them to the school. they were lucky in escaping observation by the janitor, and soon the science-cabinet cages held their former tenants. there was a football game that afternoon, in which the four chums took part, playing hard and well, their team winning the contest by a narrow margin. they took a short walk, sunday, discussing the game, and talking rather vaguely of the possibility of going to a winter camp that year. "i think it would be just the cheese, fellows," observed bart. "it would, and the crackers, too," conceded ned. "but i don't see how we can manage it." "maybe we can," declared frank indefinitely. when the four chums went to school the following monday morning they were made aware that something unusual had taken place. it was not so much in what was said, as in an indefinable air of expectancy on the part of several members of the faculty. after the usual opening morning services, principal mccloud advanced to the edge of the platform in the assembly hall, and remarked: "young gentlemen, i have something to say to you. after i have finished, mr. long, the science teacher, has a few words to add." at once bart cast apprehensive looks at his chums. had the "borrowing" of the specimens been discovered? it looked so. "some time between friday night and this morning," went on the principal, "this school was entered, and some objects were taken from the science cabinets." there was no doubt about it. the blow had fallen. bart, ned and frank prepared to "take their medicine." "it has been discovered," continued mr. mccloud, "that several specimens of snakes, lizards, toads and alligators were surreptitiously removed from professor long's cabinet. this would not have been so serious, for, whoever took them, brought them all back again--that is all save one. i regret to report that one of the finest and largest specimens of mud turtles is missing. now professor long has a word to say." mr. long, who was a small man, with a bustling, nervous manner, came briskly to the edge of the platform. "i can only confirm what professor mccloud has said," he began. "while i regret exceedingly that any persons, least of all pupils of this school, whom i may say we suspect, could so far forget themselves as to run the risk of damaging my collection of reptiles, that is not the worst i have to speak about. the loss of the mud turtle is serious, for it was a rare kind, but there is something else missing. it is a valuable diamond bracelet, belonging to my wife. she gave it to me, as she was going away on a little trip, to take to the jewelers to have the setting of some of the stones tightened, and i placed it in the cabinet with the reptiles for safe keeping, until school should be closed, friday. i forgot all about it until this morning, and when i went to look for it, i discovered that my collection had been disturbed. "it was easy to see," went on mr. long, "that some one had taken the reptiles out, and placed them back, for they were not in their proper cages. it was also easy to see that my wife's diamond bracelet was missing. it is valued at over a thousand dollars, and i presume was taken by accident, or, perhaps, for a joke. in either case i shall be glad to have it back. "i might add that i have certain clews as to who were the midnight visitors to the school, for one of them dropped his knife, and it has his name on it." bart frantically felt in his pocket, and then, conscious that many eyes were on him, sat still, but a guilty flush suffused his face. "if the bracelet is returned to me," went on mr. long, "all will be well. if not, i must take--" he hesitated a moment--"strenuous measures," he added. "i will await in the principal's office, any one who may wish to see me," he concluded significantly, after a pause. "you are dismissed to your classes," said principal mccloud. "any one who wishes to see professor long has permission to do so." the boys arose, and filed from the assembly hall; the girls were on the floor below. bart looked at frank and ned. then fenn whispered: "maybe the missing turtle is in with mine." "maybe," bart whispered back. "but what of the diamond bracelet? we never took it!" "the man--the stranger--who was in the school just before us?" replied ned. "fellows, i guess we'd better make a clean breast of it to mr. long!" chapter iii a fruitless search there was much buzzing and whispering among the pupils as they marched to their classrooms--whispering which the teachers and principal thought best to ignore under the circumstances, for the morning announcement had been an unusual one. bart, fenn, ned and frank were in the same grade, and their first morning period was taken up with a latin recitation. all four were doing some hard thinking as they got out their books in mr. kenton's room. bart keene was the first of the four chums to make up his mind. he felt a certain responsibility, since he had proposed the joke. "mr. kenton," he asked, "may i be excused for a moment?" "what for, keene?" inquired the latin instructor. "i wish to--to speak to professor long." there was an audible gasp of astonishment from bart's classmates at this. ned and frank started to their feet, to utter a protest. they saw bart's motive, but they were not going to let him bear the brunt of the punishment alone. there was a curious look on the face of fenn. "you may go, keene," went on the instructor. "may i also?" exclaimed frank, and again there was a buzz of excited whispers. the other lads knew what bart's request meant. "silence!" called mr. kenton, sharply. "one at a time is enough," he added grimly. "we will proceed with the lesson. ned wilding, you may begin to translate." discipline held sway once more, and the boys settled back into their seats. bart, conscious that the eyes of every lad in the room were on him, walked out. he found professor long in the chemical laboratory, preparing for some class work. "ah, keene," remarked the science instructor, as he mixed some unpleasant-smelling liquids in a test tube. "did you wish to see me?" "yes--yes, sir," stammered bart. "you said--that is--i--er--i was the one who took the collection of reptiles," blurted out the uneasy lad. "but i didn't take the diamond bracelet! we didn't see anything of it! i hope you'll believe me! you don't know how unpleasant it is to be accused. at one time i--that is my chums and i--were accused of blowing up the school tower with dynamite, and----" "yes, i remember that happening," went on mr. long, gravely. "you were innocent on that occasion." "and we are innocent now!" burst out bart. "we--that is i--took the turtles and the alligators, but we--that is i--never saw the bracelet. are you sure it was in the cabinet, mr. long?" "very sure, bart. but you might save yourself some embarrassment by telling me all the details. i'm glad to see you willing to bear all the blame, but, if you were alone in the escapade, how is it that i found ned wilding's knife, and this handkerchief with frank roscoe's name on it," and the instructor, with a smile, held up the articles he mentioned. "i--i dropped ned's knife," replied bart. "i had borrowed it." "and frank's handkerchief?" "i--i didn't have that," and bart looked confused. "i think i can guess how it was," said mr. long at length. "you were all four after my collection, and----" "not all four!" interrupted bart. "fenn wasn't there. you see we were playing a joke on him," the lad went on, in a burst of confidence, realizing that it was useless to try to shoulder all the blame. "ned, frank and i came in here friday night and got the things. i knew i had lost ned's knife, but i didn't think i'd dropped it here. but fenn wasn't along. we took the things to his house, and put them in the pen with his reptiles. he is making a collection." "so i understand," remarked mr. long. "therefor i have a proposal to make. it is barely possible that in gathering up the toads, alligators and turtles from my cabinet that you boys picked up the bracelet with them. you may have dropped it in the place where fenn keeps his collection. perhaps if you go there and look you will find it, and also the missing turtle, which i value highly. but, of course, the bracelet is more valuable, and as it was a birthday present to mrs. long she will feel the loss very much. will you kindly go and look? i am sure mr. mccloud will excuse you." "i'll be glad to make a search!" exclaimed bart, eagerly. "perhaps if ned and frank----" "just what i was about to propose," interrupted the instructor. "i'll request the principal to let you four boys leave your classes this morning, to make a hunt for the missing bracelet--and the turtle. don't forget that." "i'm--i'm very sorry--sorry we disturbed your collection, professor long," stammered bart, "but i know we never touched, or saw, the diamond bracelet." "i know you didn't mean to take the bracelet," went on mr. long, a bit stiffly. "of course it was a foolish, and, at the same time, a risky trick to play, and, while i believe you had no intention of keeping the bracelet, i cannot but believe that in some way you removed it from the cabinet, either in catching up one of the reptiles hurriedly, or otherwise. i shall be glad to talk with ned and frank. but now i suggest that you go to fenn's house and make a search." "we never took or saw the bracelet, professor!" declared bart, with great earnestness. he felt, somehow, just as he did the time the unjust accusation of blowing up the school tower was made against him and his chums, as related in a former volume of this series. "well," remarked the teacher, "i can only say that you boys were the only ones in the school after the closing hours friday. some time between then and this morning, the reptiles were taken and returned--that is all but one large turtle--and the diamond bracelet belonging to my wife. there can be but one conclusion, and i----" "we were not the only ones in the school between friday night and this morning!" exclaimed bart, and instantly his thoughts reverted to the stranger who had acted so mysteriously. "what do you mean?" asked the instructor, quickly. "i mean--the janitor," replied bart, with a sudden change in his tone. he had started to mention the man, but concluded not to. he had several reasons for this, as will develop presently. "there is where you are mistaken," declared professor long. "the janitor, and two assistants whom he hired, cleaned out the school late friday afternoon. i know, for i remained here to go over some of my class records. it was late when i left, and the janitor had finished before i was ready to go. i know this because riggs asked me to be sure and close the front door and put the spring lock on when i came out. i was the last person to leave the school friday night, and i locked the door. riggs had gone. the reason why he did his cleaning work friday night, and not saturday, as is usual, was because he wanted to go away over sunday. he did go, i understand, so you see you boys were the only ones in the school." "and did you lock the front door after you?" asked bart with a sudden suspicion in his mind, as he thought of the mysterious man. "i did, certainly. why do you ask?" "oh--nothing--only i thought--i--" again bart was about to speak of the midnight visitor to the school, and again he refrained. "by the way, how did you boys get in the school?" asked professor long, suddenly. "i--er--we--that is----" "never mind," hastily interrupted the instructor, "i should not have asked that. i have no wish to pry further into this matter than is necessary. believe me, i appreciate your motive in making a clean breast of it. i do not care to know all the details. boys will be boys, i suppose. only get me back the diamond bracelet and the turtle. i will see mr. mccloud at once, and i'm sure he will let you make a search at fenn's house." bart's opportunity had passed. if he only had mentioned the fact that he and his chums found the front door open, and had seen a mysterious man enter the school, things might have turned out differently, and much trouble have been averted. but now it was too late. mr. long hurried to the office of the principal, and returned shortly with permission for the four chums to go and make a search. "but why didn't you tell him about the man we saw?" asked ned, as they were on their way to fenn's house. "because," answered bart. "that's a regular girl's reason," objected frank. "well," answered bart desperately, somewhat weary and nervous over the ordeal through which he had gone, "the chief reason was that if i told that, i'd have to tell why we didn't notify the police. that's where we made a mistake. if that fellow was a thief, and took the bracelet, we should have called the police." "we didn't know he was a thief--we don't know it yet," declared frank. "no, but when we saw a stranger sneaking into the school, we should have had gumption enough to notify the authorities," insisted bart. "that's where we were slow. i didn't want to make it any worse. if we find the bracelet, all right; we won't have to tell how silly we were." "and if we don't find it--which is very likely to be the case--what then?" asked fenn. "well, we didn't take it, that's certain," decided frank. "neither by accident nor intentionally--did we take that bracelet." "then the man we saw, did," said ned. "yes, and he's far enough off by now," observed frank. "fellows, i'll bet he was the thief!" "how could he be?" asked bart. "he didn't know the bracelet was in the cabinet. besides, no ordinary person would think of looking among a lot of reptiles for anything valuable." "well, if we don't find it i think we'd better tell about the man," was fenn's opinion. "it will be too late then," insisted bart. "too late? why?" frank wanted to know. "because if we come back without the missing turtle and bracelet, and tell about having seen a mysterious man enter the school just before we did, on friday night, every one will say we made up the story to shield ourselves. no, the best way, if we can't find that diamond ornament, is to keep mum about the man." "and let them accuse us?" cried frank, indignantly. "for a while--yes," replied bart. "it won't be the first time, and probably not the last. but i don't mean by that for us to sit still under the accusation." "what _do_ you mean?" asked fenn. "i mean to find the missing bracelet, stumpy!" was the emphatic answer. "that's what we've got to do! it's up to us! we didn't take it, but perhaps that man did. if so we've got to find him as well as the bracelet. come on, now, not so much talking. let's get busy, but, remember, if we don't find the bracelet now, we must keep mum about the man, if we don't want to be laughed at, as well as accused." there was a momentary discussion, but bart's chums agreed with him, as they usually did. they hastened on to fenn's house, and at once began a frantic search about the yard and in the shack where the lad kept his reptiles. but there was no sign of the bracelet. fenn lifted out every one of his turtles, toads and kindred specimens, and the place was gone over carefully. so was the route the boys had taken to and from the school. but it was a fruitless search. "fellows, let's look for the mud turtle, anyhow," suggested ned. "maybe we can find that for professor long, if we can't get the bracelet." they looked in every likely and unlikely place for the missing turtle, but it had vanished as completely as had the bracelet. they were loath to give up the hunt, but concluded that there was nothing else to do. as they were about to return to the school much cast down and dispirited, to report no progress, fenn exclaimed: "fellows, i have just thought of something." "out with it," ordered bart. "i believe the mud turtle has the bracelet!" exclaimed the stout youth. "the mud turtle? are you crazy?" demanded ned. "no, i'm not," answered fenn, with a show of indignation. "listen! the missing mud turtle was a large one, and a species that has a very long neck. now it would be the easiest thing in the world for the turtle to get the diamond bracelet over his neck, and walk off with it. one of mine once got his neck in an iron ring, and i didn't know it for quite a while, as the folds of skin on the reptile's neck hid the iron. i'll wager that's what's happened in this case. we'll find that the turtle is wearing mrs. long's diamond bracelet on its neck!" "nonsense!" exclaimed bart. "well, there might be something in it," admitted ned. "let's have another look for that turtle, fellows." "we'll look for the turtle all right," agreed bart, "but as for expecting to find mrs. long's diamond bracelet on its neck--why you fellows are crazy to think of such a thing. you might as well expect to find hickory nuts growing on a peach tree. you're loony! off your trolley! you've got bats in your belfry, as the poet says," and, when frank and ned thought it over, they were inclined to agree with their chum. chapter iv in the shooting gallery fenn's suggestion gave a new impetus to the hunt, which was renewed with energy. mrs. masterson, who heard from the boys what had taken place, joined them in searching through the long grass of the back yard for the turtle. but it was not to be found. "it's very likely a good distance from here," said fenn, who was well versed in the habits of the reptiles. "they go slow, but they keep it up, and this one has had two days' start. we'll have to hunt farther off than this for him." "then that's what we'll do!" declared frank. "we'll organize ourselves into a hunting party for a diamond-studded turtle," and he laughed. "it's no laughing matter, though," declared bart. "if we go back and tell that kind of a yarn we'll look ridiculous." "then why tell it?" inquired ned. "let's keep mum about that part of it, too. we'll simply report to professor long that we can't find his wife's bracelet, or the turtle, either, but every spare minute we get we'll be on the lookout for the reptile." "and the man, too," added fenn. "we want to find out who he was." "of course," agreed bart. "we should have given the alarm when we saw him going in the school, but it's too late now. come on back, and take our medicine." it was not a very happy quartette of lads who made their way back to the darewell high school. they went directly to professor long, who turned his physics class over to another instructor, and conducted the chums to his private room. "well?" he asked suggestively. "we couldn't find the bracelet or the turtle," said bart. "i was afraid not," was mr. long's quiet comment. "i have notified the detectives." "you--you're not going to have us arrested--are you?" blurted out frank. "my father----" "have no fears on that score," answered the professor. "i have not the slightest grounds for thinking you boys _stole_ the bracelet," and, perhaps unconsciously, he emphasized the word. "we never took the bracelet!" declared ned stoutly. "of that i am not so sure," was the retort. "i do not accuse you--that would not be right. you have accused yourselves, after a fashion. what i think is this: i believe the bracelet was accidentally taken out of the cabinet in the confusion, and, perhaps, dropped on the way to fenn's house. that is why i am sending for the police. some person may have picked it up, and may be keeping it. i believe that is all now. you may return to your classes," and though he tried to speak calmly, there was a note of disappointment, not to say displeasure, in mr. long's voice. naturally the story was all over the school by the noon recess, and bart and his chums were besieged with questions. they had held a brief consultation, and resolved to make only certain statements. these were to the effect that though they had played the trick with the reptiles, they knew nothing of the bracelet, and their search for that and the turtle, had been without avail. needless to say, that few, if any, of the students had the least suspicion against the chums. nor, for that matter, did any of the faculty entertain any unjust thoughts. it was regarded more as an accident. mr. long being the party who suffered, could, perhaps, be excused for thinking that perhaps the boys had taken the bracelet in a joke, and were now afraid to return it. in fact he hardly knew what to believe. in due time the police came to the school, made an investigation and questioned our heroes. they went away as wise as they came. but, as several days passed, and there was no trace of the bracelet, there was an undefined air of suspicion directed against the chums. it was not in so many words, but nevertheless they felt it. two weeks passed, during which, in all of their spare time, bart and his chums made a search for the turtle in such places as the reptiles were wont to be found. but, of course, they discovered none wearing a diamond bracelet on its neck, though they did find a few specimens which fenn added to his collection. it was not the time of year when turtles abounded. several football games were played, and there seemed to be no ill spirit manifested against the four lads, until one saturday about three weeks after the disappearance of the diamond ornament. then, during a hotly-contested game with the fernwood high school, one of the opposing players remarked to bart, after a hard scrimmage: "we're not used to playing against diamond robbers, and maybe that's why we can't break through your line." bart's answer was a blow that knocked the sneering lad down, and resulted in bart being ruled out of the game. from then on the darewell eleven seemed to go to pieces, and they lost the game. there were many sore hearts among the students that night, and accusing glances were cast at bart. his chums felt his position deeply. "i know it was a hasty thing to do," said bart, contritely, "but i couldn't help it." from then on there seemed to be a spirit manifested against the four chums, and, naturally, they resented it. the others would not desert bart, and when he refused to apologize to the lad he had struck, and was permanently ruled off the eleven, ned, frank and fenn resigned. they resisted the pleading of the manager to remain, so that the school eleven would not be crippled. "it's the school's place to stick by us, as much as it is ours to stick by the eleven," declared frank. "the fellows are beginning to think we took that bracelet. we'll show them that we didn't, and, in the meanwhile, it's better that we don't take part in any games." his chums agreed with him, and for a time it seemed as if they would be sent to coventry. but a calmer spirit prevailed, and when some of the school societies took up the matter it was agreed that the four had a right to do as they pleased, and that the lad who had made the offensive remark was in the wrong; and so matters quieted down. but the football season ended anything but brilliantly for darewell, and the four chums felt this bitterly in their hearts, though they could do no differently than they had done. "i should think you boys would hire a detective on your own account," said alice keene to her brother, one november evening, when the four chums were at bart's house. "you could get one easily, and perhaps he could locate the bracelet for you." "we'll do it ourselves," remarked bart firmly. "if we could only find the turtle we'd have it, i'm sure," declared fenn, who had not lost faith in his odd theory. "we've looked in every likely place where turtles are around here," said frank. "yes; and now we ought to go farther off," came from ned. "i say fellows, what's the matter with going on a little hunting expedition soon? the weather is just right, we all have guns, and i think the trip would do us good." "why not make it a big hunting expedition while we're at it?" suggested frank. "a big one? what do you mean?" asked bart. "why, i mean go camping, as we did not long ago. we don't mind the cold, or ice and snow. we could make a winter camp, around the christmas holidays, and have lots of sport." "and a christmas tree in the woods!" cried alice. "that would be lovely! jennie smith and i would come out and see you--if it wasn't too far." "yes, jennie'd recite poetry, and you'd insist on making us drink hot ginger tea, so as not to catch cold," observed bart. alice looked a little hurt, until ned added: "well, i'm sure ginger tea would be all right in a snow storm, such as we had the last time we camped in the winter." "of course," agreed alice, gratefully. "it would be a good thing to get away from school and the town of darewell for a while, at least," was bart's opinion. "people are beginning to think we really stole that bracelet." "oh, bart!" remonstrated alice, reproachfully. "well, it's the truth," he went on doggedly. "i'd as soon have 'em say it as look it. i'd like to get away for that reason, and, of course, it would be sport to have a winter camp again." "then let's do it," proposed ned. "at the same time we can look for mud turtles." "you won't see many, unless there's a thaw," was fenn's opinion. "but you can count on me going." "and me," added frank and ned. "hasn't anything been learned of the missing bracelet yet?" asked mrs. keene, coming into the room, in time to hear some of the conversation. "no," answered her son, "and it's my opinion that it never will be found, until--" he paused in some confusion. "until when?" asked his mother. "until we locate it," finished bart. "well, fellows, let's talk of a winter camp. maybe we can manage it around the holidays. we don't get much of a vacation, but i guess we could afford to take an extra week." "is your gun in shape again, since you broke it?" asked ned. "sure. i fixed that spring," replied bart. "i'll show you. come on up to my den. i'm not allowed to have firearms in the dining-room," and he led the way, his chums following. from then on, until the three left, the talk was a conglomeration of powder, shot, shells, guns, game and camp-life. the weeks passed. little mention was made of the bracelet now, but mr. long showed by his manner that he had not forgotten the loss of it. he was not exactly distrustful of the boys, but his bearing was, to say the least, a bit suspicious. one evening, following an examination in school, bart remarked to his chums, as they gathered at his house: "come on down to the shooting gallery. they've got some new guns there, and i want to try them. it's good practice if we're going camping. besides, i'm full of latin verbs and greek roots, and i want to clear my mind." "you don't need any practice," remarked ned. "you can beat us all to pieces shooting." "i have to keep in practice, though," asserted bart, who, to give him credit, was quite expert with the rifle. a little later the four were in the gallery, trying their skill with the new rifles which the proprietor had purchased. "here's one that ought to suit you, bart," remarked the man in charge, who was well known to the boys. "it's well balanced. try that small target." "no, i want something moving, clayton," replied bart. "start off the birds and beasts." these were small images of birds and squirrels that moved around on a sort of endless chain arrangement. clayton, the man in charge of the gallery, set the machinery in motion, and the painted effigies began to go around. bart raised the rifle--a repeater--to his shoulder, took quick aim, and fired. a bird was knocked over, then a squirrel went down, and, in rapid succession he repeated this until he had fifteen hits to his credit, out of a possible sixteen. "fine!" cried ned, enviously. "i should have had 'em all," announced bart with a shake of his head. "here, some of you fellows try." they did, but could not do nearly as good as had bart. then bart contented himself with making bullseyes at a stationary target, though frank and ned made another effort to equal bart's record with the moving objects. frank came the nearest with ten. "now i'll try for sixteen out of sixteen," announced bart, as clayton reloaded the weapon for him. by this time a crowd had gathered in the gallery, which, being a new amusement resort in town, was quite an attraction. bart paid no attention to the spectators grouped back of him, but, with the coolness a veteran shot might envy, he began. report after report rang out, and at each burst of flame and puff of smoke a bird or a squirrel toppled over, until fifteen straight had gone down. "that's the stuff!" cried one man, enthusiastically, as bart was about to make his last shot. "hush!" cautioned clayton, but bart did not mind. he fired his last bullet, and knocked over his sixteenth target, only he did not hit it as squarely as he had the others. "that's very good shooting, my lad," remarked a man who had stood near bart's elbow. "very good indeed. would you like to try your skill with me; on a little wager?" "i never bet," answered bart, coolly, as he tried to get a glimpse of the man's face. but the latter wore a slouch hat, which was pulled well down over his eyes, shading his features. "oh, i don't mean a bet," was the quick answer. "i only meant that the loser would pay the bill for cartridges," and he laughed, not unpleasantly. as bart had often done this with his chums, and other lads in town, he had no objection to it, and the arrangement was made. "what shall it be, sixteen straight?" asked the stranger, as he carefully selected a gun. "double it if you like," replied bart, who was just warming up to his work. "ah, you're game, i see," was the laughing comment. "well, i'm willing. will you go first?" "i'll shoot sixteen shots, then you can do the same, then i'll take sixteen more, and you can finish," answered bart, and this arrangement was made. by this time word had gotten around that some remarkable shooting was going on in the gallery, and it was packed almost to the doors. bart and the stranger had difficulty in getting room to aim properly. bart started off, and in rapid succession made sixteen straight targets of the moving objects. there was a cheer, and it was repeated when his rival duplicated the lad's performance. bart was not exactly annoyed, but he felt that his reputation was at stake. he was easily accounted the best shot in darewell, but now it seemed likely that he would have to share the honors with this stranger. bart felt himself wishing that the man would show his face, but the soft hat remained pulled down well over the fellow's eyes. bart began on his second round, and all went well until the last shot. then, in some unaccountable manner, he missed it clean. still, his performance was a fine one. the stranger said nothing as he took his place. slowly and confidently he pulled the trigger, and worked the lever that ejected the discharged shell, and pumped a new bullet into place. for fourteen shots he never made a miss. then, on the fifteenth of the second round he made a blank by a narrow margin. a start of annoyance betrayed itself. at best he could but tie bart. once more the gun sent out flame and smoke. "missed!" called out clayton, quickly, as he looked at the target. bart had won. the stranger paused a moment, as if to make sure that he had lost, and then, throwing down on the counter the price for his shots and bart's, he turned to leave the place. several stared at him, for it seemed as if he should have said something, or congratulated his rival, but he did not. he pushed his way through the press of men and boys, and reached the outer door. then, by some accident, a man brushed against him, and the stranger's hat came off. bart, who was looking at him, could not repress an exclamation of astonishment. "what's the matter?" asked clayton. "nothing--nothing," murmured bart, quickly. "come on, show us some fancy shooting," urged sandy merton, who at one time had been an enemy of the chums, but who was now on friendly terms with them. "no--i can't--now," answered bart, a bit shortly. "come on, fellows," he called to ned, frank and fenn. they followed him, wondering at his haste. bart was making his way rapidly to the door. once outside he gazed up and down the street. it was deserted, and lay cold and silent under the moon. "he's gone!" exclaimed bart, in disappointed tones. "who?" inquired ned. "that man--the man i shot against." "well, what difference does that make? did you want another contest? you beat him." "i know it," spoke bart quietly. "but do you know who he was?" "no," answered frank and fenn together. "he was the man we saw getting into the school the night mrs. long's diamond bracelet was taken!" answered bart. "that's the man who can prove that we are innocent--that's the thief! come on, let's see if we can catch him!" and bart started off on a run. chapter v an initiation hardly appreciating bart's explanation, his chums set off after him. down the moonlit street they sped, their footsteps ringing out on the frosty night. but though they could not have been far behind the man who had engaged in the shooting contest with bart, they caught no glimpse of him. "i guess it's no use," remarked the leader, pulling up as he peered down a deserted alley. "he's given us the slip." "do you really think it was the same man?" asked fenn. "sure. didn't i have a good look at his face?" "yes, i know you did this time, but we didn't have at the school the night we were hiding in the shadow. are you sure it's the same man?" "of course. i had a good look at him just as he was entering the front door of the school. the moon was as bright as it is to-night, and he had his hat pushed back. oh, it's the same fellow all right. besides, didn't he run when he found out his face had been seen? i thought there was something suspicious about him when i was shooting against him, but i couldn't tell what it was. however, he realized that we were after him." "i don't see how that can be," spoke frank. "he doesn't know we're the fellows who are accused of taking the bracelet, for he is a stranger in town. and, anyway, he doesn't know that we saw him entering the school--that is providing it's the same man, bart." "oh, it's the same man all right, and i wouldn't be surprised but that he was suspicious of us. else why did he hurry away so quickly? i wish we could have caught him." "maybe we'd better notify the police," suggested ned. "no," declared bart. "we've gotten along so far without their help, and we'll work this out alone. besides, the minute we notify the police we'll have to explain why we didn't tell about the man before, and that won't do. no, we'll keep mum. let's look a little farther." they continued on down the main street, with short excursions into alleys and side thoroughfares, but all to no purpose. no trace of the man was to be seen, and they returned home tired from their run, and somewhat discouraged. the chums said nothing to their folks of their experience at the gallery, though bart's fame as a shot spread among his school companions, and there was some speculation as to who the stranger might have been. "whoever he was, he's almost as good a shot as you are, bart," remarked sandy merton. "you ought to arrange for a return match with him." "perhaps i would--if i could find him," agreed bart. "that's so he did go out rather suddenly," went on sandy. "do you know who he was?" "no, i wish i did," murmured bart, and then he changed the subject, fearing sandy might ask leading questions. the police had practically given up looking for the diamond bracelet, and professor long made no further references to it, though it was easy to see by his manner that he had not forgotten it. an undefinable air of suspicion hung over the four chums, though fenn, from the fact that he had not entered the school, was, more or less, exempt. but he would not have it so. "no," stumpy said, "if one of us is guilty we all are--only, as a matter of fact, none of us is. we'll find that bracelet yet, and the missing turtle, too. if not this fall or winter, we will this spring. i know a new swamp where lots of turtles are, and we'll have a try at that some day," he told his chums. meanwhile matters at school continued to fill most of the time of the chums. the darewell institution was a large one, and, of late, a number of secret societies had been formed among the junior and senior students. sandy merton was president of one of the junior organizations, known as the "shamma shig," in comic reference to some of the college greek letter fraternities. "why don't you fellows join our society?" sandy asked bart and his chums, one day. "i'm afraid we'd be ballotted against, and it would spoil our good records," answered fenn. "get out!" exclaimed sandy, good-naturedly. "come on, let me propose your names. we want a bigger membership, and i can guarantee that you'll get through all right." "what about the initiation?" asked frank. "some we've been through have been pretty stiff." "well, we don't claim to have the easiest rites in the school, but they're not so fierce," replied the president proudly. "i can tip the fellows off, and we can make an exception in your cases, if you like, only----" "no, you don't!" exclaimed bart, quickly. "we'll take all that's coming to us--that is if we join. we'll think about it." the chums talked matters over among themselves that night, and came to the conclusion that it would be a good plan to join the "shamma shigs." "all right, then, we'll do it," concluded bart. "i'll let sandy know, and he can get the goat ready for us to ride." the initiation took place three days later, in the afternoon, and was held before a "crowded house" in the barn owned by sandy's uncle. "here are four worthy and gentle knights, who seek admission to our ranks," announced sandy, who was disguised with a sheet, all splashed over with red paint, to represent blood. he had a hickory nut in his mouth, to make his voice sound deep and hoarse, and was supported on either side by one lad in a purple sheet, and another one in yellow, the trio forming the "mystic three." bart, fenn and the others were put through some strenuous exercises, including the riding of a "goat" which was a saw-horse, with knots and bumps of wood nailed here and there on it, to represent bones. they were dipped into the rain-water barrel by means of a rope and pulley, and they were cast from "the terrible height into the awful chasm," which ordeal consisted merely in being pushed down a space of about three feet, upon some hay, but being blindfolded was supposed to make up for the difference. then they had to climb a steep "mountain" which was an old horse tread-mill, geared up unusually high, and finally had to "drink the terrible cup," which was supposed to be some horrible mixture, but which was really only molasses, ginger and water. "now for the final test," proposed sandy, to the four. "are ye ready for the last act, or are ye timid and do ye shrink back from the terrible danger that confronts ye? if so, speak, an' ye shall be allowed to depart in peace. but, if ye would brave the awful dangers and gloom of the bottomless pit, say the word, an' then shall ye be true knights of the shamma shigs." "go ahead, we're ready," replied bart, irreverently. "let her flicker," added ned. "'tis well--blindfold them," ordered sandy, giving his red-spotted robe a shake. "what, again?" asked frank. sandy did not answer, but thick bandages were put over the eyes of the candidates. then from sounds that took place in the barn they knew that a horse was being hitched up. "we're going to have a ride," observed fenn. "quiet, stumpy," cautioned bart, in a whisper. "keep still, and let's see if we can catch on to what they're doing." a little later their hands and feet were bound, and the candidates were put into a large wagon, and the drive began. it lasted for some time, and, try as they did, bart and his chums could not imagine in which direction they were being taken. but, as they were familiar with the country for several miles in any point of the compass from darewell, they were not worried. "halt!" sandy finally ordered, and the creaking, jolting wagon came to a stop. "ye have one more chance, candidates," went on the president, as he touched the foreheads of the four with something cold and clammy--a hand, from the feel of it, but it was only a rubber glove, filled with cracked ice. "one more chance ere ye dare the dangers of the bottomless pit," went on sandy. "wilt withdraw?" "naw, let her go," replied fenn nonchalantly. "'tis well. the bottomless pit awaits ye," threatened sandy, and then, one at a time, the four were carefully lowered over the side of the wagon, down into some depths, as they supposed, but in reality only a short distance, so strangely are distances rendered when one is blindfolded. "ye are now in the pit, whence there is no escape," went on sandy, "but, if ye are true knights, and no craven cowards ye will come to no harm. in one hour's time we shall release ye. bide here until we return." his voice sounded faint and far away, but it was only because he was speaking into a pasteboard box he had brought along for that purpose. then the sound of the wagon departing was heard, and the four chums were left, sitting they knew not where, with their hands and feet tied, and their eyes bandaged. chapter vi an unexpected meeting "well," remarked fenn, after a somewhat long pause, "i don't know how you fellows feel about it, but i think they've rather put it all over us; eh bart?" "somewhat," admitted the leader of the darewell chums. "but it isn't so bad as i expected. i wonder where we are, anyhow?" "might be ten miles away," observed frank. "i'll wager we're not more than half a mile from home," came from ned. "they drove roundabout to fool us." "that's what i think," remarked bart. "anyhow we've got to stay here an hour, and i don't much fancy it, either. but since we've gone this far we might as well go the whole distance, i suppose. it's a good thing it's comparatively warm, or it wouldn't be any fun staying here. where are we, anyhow." "i'm going to find out!" declared fenn suddenly. "how, stumpy?" asked frank. "i've almost got one hand loose. i'll soon have it out, and then i'm going to take off this bandage. there's no use of us staying here like a lot of chickens tied up, when we can just as well get away." "that's the trouble--we can't get away," came from frank. "i've been trying for the last ten minutes to loosen these cords, but i can't slip a single knot. they knew how to tie 'em all right." "you just watch me," called fenn, who was squirming about on a bed of leaves. "watch you--yes, with our eyes bandaged," said ned, sarcastically. "that's a hot one." "patience, noble knight," mocked the stout lad, "and i'll soon release ye." "stumpy is so fat that they didn't have rope enough to tie him," remarked bart. "that's the reason he thinks he can get loose." "i don't think it, i know it!" cried fenn in triumph a few seconds afterward. "i've got both hands out, and now here comes off my bandage." a moment later fenn uttered a cry. "what's the matter?" asked bart, making an unsuccessful attempt to get rid of the ropes binding his arms and legs. "why we're in oak swamp, or, right on the edge of it," replied fenn. "they brought us farther than i thought they did. but we'll fool 'em all right. we'll get loose, skip out, and when they come back they won't find us. wait until i get these ropes off my legs, and i'll help you fellows." fenn was as good as his word. a few seconds later he was free from his bonds, and, in turn, he released bart, frank and ned. they all looked around in some surprise, for they had no idea that they had been brought so far from home. the wagon had traveled faster than they had suspected. "oak swamp," mused bart. "it's a good thing it's coming on winter instead of summer, or we'd be eaten up with mosquitoes. well, let's get out of here. i don't like the place." indeed it was gloomy and dismal enough at any time, but now, on a late fall evening, with darkness fast approaching, it was anything but an inviting place. the swamp derived its name from a number of scrub oak trees that grew in it. during the summer it was a treacherous place to visit, for there were deep muck holes scattered through it, and more than one cow, and several horses, had broken out of the pastures, and wandered into the wet place, only to sink down to their deaths. it was said that several years before a man had endeavored to cross the swamp, had been caught in a bog hole, and sucked down into its depths, his body never having been recovered. so it was with a feeling of no little satisfaction that bart and his chums found themselves able to leave the gloomy place sooner than they had expected. "it'll be a good joke on the others," remarked ned, as he gathered into a heap, the rope fetters that had bound him. "we'll sneak away, and when those fellows come back for us they'll think we've rolled into the swamp, and sunk, and they may make a search for us. let's hide the cords and bandages." "sure," agreed frank. "we'll turn the tables on them." "well, whatever we do, let's get away from here," suggested fenn. "it's too gloomy for my notion. look, there's the ledge they lowered us from. it isn't two feet high, but it seemed like a hundred," and he pointed to a small ledge of rock, where sandy merton and his mates had stood as they lowered from the wagon the lads who were being initiated. had it not been that sandy stood on the end of the vehicle, he would not have been high enough to bring about the delusion of the boys going down into some bottomless pit. the four chums had gathered up the severed ropes, and, folding the bandages up in them, hid them all under a big stone. then they started for home. oak swamp was several miles from the town of darewell, but there was a fairly good road between the places, since the swamp was but slightly off to one side of the main thoroughfare. as the four started off, with fenn in the lead, they chuckled to think of the blank looks of the initiating team, when the members should return for the candidates, to find them missing. "i almost wish we could stay, and hide, and hear what they'll say," observed ned, laughing at the prospect. "i don't. i want to get home," came from frank. "ugh! this is a gloomy place after dark." suddenly fenn, who was some distance in the lead, jumped to one side. "what's the matter; see a snake?" called bart. "a snake, this time of year? not much, but it's a whopping big mud turtle," cried the fleshy lad. "i'm going to catch it, fellows. maybe it's the one that got away from professor long's collection. that's the only way i can account for a turtle being out of doors at this season of the year." "and while you're at it look and see if it hasn't got a diamond bracelet on its neck, and a wedding ring on its toes, stumpy," advised bart, mockingly. "if it has, it'll be all to the mustard, and we'll be cleared of suspicion. look and see if it has its teeth filled with gold, while you're about it, but, above all, don't forget the diamond bracelet." "aw, let up, can't you?" begged stumpy. "what's the use of poking fun at a fellow all the while, just because i made one break. besides a turtle _might_ get its neck through the bracelet." "oh rats!" was bart's reply. "but catch the turtle, if you're going to." fenn made a grab for the slow moving reptile, and caught it. he examined it carefully in the fast-fading light. "well, pick off the diamond bracelet; why don't you?" asked bart, chuckling at his joke. "dry up!" advised fenn, still looking at the turtle. "chuck it away, and come on," suggested ned. "chuck it away? i will not!" retorted fenn indignantly. "this is a rare kind of turtle, it must have been dug up out of its winter hole by some one. i'm going to keep it for my collection." "what? haven't you given that up by this time?" asked bart. "i supposed that you'd be gathering specimens of snowflakes, or samples of dog biscuit by this time," for he knew fenn's failing, and a month, at most, was the period devoted to any new fad. but this time fenn seemed more in earnest. "no, i'm going to keep this," went on the amateur collector. "it's a good one. i shouldn't be surprised but what professor long would be glad to get it for his collection," and fenn gazed admiringly at the turtle. "here's another," announced frank suddenly. "and there is a third one," and he pointed to two more of the reptiles crawling sluggishly along. fenn ran over and examined them, but he took care not to lose his first specimen. "they're a common variety," he declared. "i don't want 'em for my collection, and professor long has several like them." "and neither one wears a diamond bracelet--how sad," chimed in bart, laughingly. "that's all right--make fun if you want to," said fenn, a bit sharply, "but it's no joke to be under the disgrace of the implied accusation that we stole the bracelet." "i know it," agreed bart soberly, "but looking for mud turtles that might possibly have it on their necks isn't going to help matters any. we might much better look for the man who was in the school just before we were. if any one took it, he did--not some turtle." "oh, it's possible that a turtle did poke its head and neck through the bracelet when it was in the cabinet," said ned, "but, of course, it's out of the question to think that we can find that turtle, or, for that matter, that the bracelet would remain on the turtle's neck." "guess you're right," admitted stumpy. "well, i've got a good turtle for my collection, anyhow." "isn't it funny so many of 'em are out to-day?" asked ned, as the four walked on, fenn carefully carrying his prize. "it's so near winter i should think they'd be going to sleep, like a bear, in a hollow log, if they do sleep in logs." "oh, they curl up and go to sleep in some warm place for the winter," declared fenn, who considered himself a sort of authority on the reptiles. "but the reason so many are out to-day is because it has suddenly turned warmer. they'll soon be going into permanent winter quarters though. but come on, it's getting dark. let's get a move on." "i shouldn't wonder but what we'd have snow," observed bart, casting a look at the clouds. "it's about time." "i wish it would," said ned, "or else that we'd have skating. but what about going camping, bart? have you thought any more about it?" "yes, and i think i can arrange so we can go. i feel just like going off in the woods with our guns." "to hunt mud turtles with diamond bracelets," put in frank, with a laugh. "yes, mud turtles or anything else that comes our way," went on bart. "yes, i think we'll have a winter camp this season, and if we do--" he stopped suddenly, and appeared to be looking at some object just ahead in the woods, for the boys were now out of the swamp proper. bart's chums followed his gaze. "there's a man," observed fenn, in a low voice. "yes, and he seems to be looking for something," remarked bart, guardedly. "he's poking away the leaves with a stick. look at him." the man was, as yet, not aware of the presence of the boys. he was walking slowly along, with his head bent over, as if eagerly scanning the ground. now and then he poked away the dead leaves with his stick. a moment later, as the four chums could see in the little light that lingered after an early sunset, the man stooped over, and picked up something. "a turtle! he's looking for mud turtles!" gasped fenn, for it could be seen that the man had picked up one of the reptiles that seemed to be unusually numerous that day. unconsciously fenn had spoken louder than he intended, and the man heard him. he turned quickly, gave one startled look at the boys, appearing ill at ease at the unexpected meeting, and then, wheeling around, he made off through the woods, soon being lost to sight amid the trees. "he took the turtle with him!" exclaimed fenn. "he must be collecting them, too!" "yes, and did you notice who he was?" asked bart, who appeared to be laboring under some excitement. "no. who?" gasped ned. "the mysterious stranger who entered the school just before we did--the man who shot against me at the gallery! fellows, it's the same man--we must catch him!" and, as he had done that night in the shooting gallery, bart darted after the stranger, followed by his chums, fenn still carrying the turtle. chapter vii getting ready for camp "come on, fellows!" exclaimed bart, as he stumbled on ahead. "we mustn't lose sight of him again! there's some mystery about that man. i believe he stole the diamond bracelet." slipping, and almost tripping over sticks, fallen trees, stumps and stones, the chums hurried on. but the man had a number of advantages. he had a start of several hundred feet, darkness was coming on, and he evidently knew the paths through the woods better than did the boys, for when they caught occasional glimpses of him he appeared to be running at full speed, whereas they had to go slowly, and pick their way. at last they could see him no more, and, as it seemed to grow rapidly darker, the boys were forced to give up the chase. "well, wouldn't that get on your nerves?" bart demanded of his chums, as they stopped for breath. "that's the third time we've seen that man, and the second time he's gotten away." "the next time he sees us he'll know enough to run without waiting to take a second look at us," observed frank, grimly. there was little use lingering longer in the woods, the chums decided, so, after a last look about, hoping for a sight of the mysterious stranger, they once more started for home. it was quite dark as they got out on the main highway, and to their great delight they saw approaching jed sneed, a teamster whom they knew. he readily consented to give them a ride back to town. as they were nearing the centre of darewell ned exclaimed: "by jove, i believe it's snowing! i felt a flake on my face." "you're right," added bart, a moment later. "it _is_ snowing," and a little flurry of white flakes confirmed his words. "yes, and i don't like to see it," remarked jed, the teamster, as he cracked his whip, to hasten the pace of his horses. "why not?" asked frank. "because it's a sign we're going to have a long, hard winter," went on the man, who was rather an odd character, and a great believer in signs of various kinds. "it's a sure sign of a hard winter when it snows just before the new moon," jed went on. "it'll be new moon to-night, and we're going to have quite a storm. besides it's down in my almanack that we're going to have a bad spell of weather about now. i shouldn't wonder but what we'd have quite a fall before morning," and certainly it seemed so, for the flurry was increasing. "sandy and those fellows will have lots of fun hunting for us," remarked ned with a chuckle. "they'll think we've been snowed under." "i see sandy merton, and two or three lads in a wagon, just before i met you chaps," observed jed. "they asked me if i'd met you, but i hadn't--up to then. what's up? been playing jokes on each other?" "they tried one on us, but i think it's on them," said bart. "well, here's where i get off, fellows. come over to-night, and we'll have a talk," and bart was about to descend from the wagon, as his street was reached first. "hold on! wait a minute! don't get down on that side!" cried jed, earnestly. "what's the matter; is the step on this side broken?" asked bart, in some alarm, as he hastily checked himself. "no, but you started to get down with your left foot first," explained the teamster. "that's sure to bring the worst kind of bad luck on a fellow. my team might run away before i get two blocks further. it's a bad sign to get out with your left foot first. don't do it." "oh, jed, you're a regular old woman!" exclaimed bart good-naturedly, for he and his chums were on familiar terms with the teamster. nevertheless the lad did as requested, and changed his position, so as to leave the wagon in accordance with the superstitious notions of jed. "that's better," remarked the man, with an air of relief, as bart descended. "yes," he added, as he drove on, "we're going to have quite a storm." he was right, for that night the ground was covered with the white flakes, but the thermometer did not get down very low. after supper bart's three chums called on him, and, a little later they received an unexpected visit from sandy merton and some of his friends. the latter were much worried when they had gone back to oak swamp, and had failed to find a sign of the candidates whom they had initiated into the "shamma shig" society. "say, that's a nice trick to play on a fellow," declared sandy, indignantly, when he found that bart and his friends were safe and snug at home. "we've been hunting all around that swamp in the dark for you, and we're all wet and muddy. why didn't you stay there?" "didn't think it was healthy," observed bart, with a chuckle. "you told us you wouldn't be back for an hour, so we concluded to leave. you should tie your ropes better, sandy." "we weren't going to leave you there an hour," went on the president of the secret society. "that was only a joke on you." "well, our coming away was only a joke on you," declared ned with a grin. "are we full-fledged members now, sandy?" "i suppose so," was the somewhat ungracious answer. then as sandy's chums declared that the manner in which they had been outwitted by the four chums was perfectly fair, it was agreed to call the incident closed, and consider the initiation finished. "you're now regular members," declared sandy, "and you can come to the meeting to-night, if you want to." the chums went to a "hall" that had been fitted up over the barn of sandy's uncle. it had all the features of a regular secret society meeting room, with inner and outer sentinels, a hole cut in the door, through which doubtful visitors could be scrutinized; and once inside a more or less blood-curdling ritual was gone through with. but the boys enjoyed it, and, his good nature restored by presiding at the function, sandy told how he and his friends had been much alarmed at finding bart and his companions missing, and how they had searched in vain for them. a thaw, a few days after the storm, removed most of the snow, but it remained long enough for some coasting, in which our heroes took part. meanwhile they had made some guarded inquiries regarding the mysterious man, but had learned nothing. no one else seemed to have observed him, or, if they had, they thought nothing of it. nor was any trace found of the missing diamond bracelet. the police had practically given up work on the case, but the boys had not. they felt the stigma that still attached to them, and they resolved, if it was at all possible, to remove it. the parents of the lads were somewhat indignant that there should be even a suspicion against them, but there seemed to be no help for it, and mr. long, thinking to better matters, offered a reward for the return of the property. but he had no answers. "well, bart, what about camp?" asked ned, one cold morning in december, when an overcast sky gave promise of more snow. "i was just thinking it was time we got down to business about it," was the reply. "i'm ready to go, if you fellows are. i've spoken to my folks, and they're willing i should take two weeks out of school, besides the regular christmas holidays. there's not much doing the week before that vacation, and not much the one after. that will give us nearly a month--the last half of december and the first half of january." "good idea," commented frank. "i'm sure i can go. dad is going west to visit some relatives, and, as i don't care about making the trip, i'm sure he'll let me go to a winter camp." "i haven't asked yet, but i'm sure i can go," said fenn, and ned was also hopeful. "well, suppose we go down to my house after school, and look over our camping stuff," suggested bart, for the tents, stoves and other paraphernalia was kept in his barn. the boys had gone camping several times before, both winter and summer, and had a very complete outfit, as is known to those who have perused the other volumes of this series. bart's idea met with favor and, when lessons for the day were over, the four chums were overhauling cots, inspecting the big tent and seeing if the portable stove was in good condition. it was a dark, lowering afternoon, and, since morning, the promise of more snow had been added to by several flurries of the white flakes. "well, everything seems to be in good shape," observed bart at length. "we've got about two more weeks of school, and then we'll cut it, and hike for the woods. we must look up a good place, and you and stumpy had better find out for sure if you can go, ned." "we will," they promised. "all right, then come on out, and let's try a few shots," went on bart. "i've got some new cartridges, with smokeless powder, and i want to see how they work." a little later the four chums were ready to take turns with two rifles bart owned. the target was set up in the deserted orchard, and the fun began. bart was easily the best shot of the four, and this was so soon demonstrated that he consented to take his aim in difficult positions, such as firing with his back to the target, using a mirror to sight with. he did other "stunts" which, i have no doubt, some of my readers have seen done in "wild west" shows, or on the stage. "there's no use talking, bart," observed ned, "you can put it all over us when it comes to handling a rifle." "well, i've had more practice," said bart modestly. "you fellows will do as good when you've had more experience." "i'm afraid not," spoke fenn, with a sigh. "here, see if i can hit that tin can on the fence post." he raised the weapon, sighted it carefully, and pulled the trigger. there was no smoke, for the powder was of the self-consuming type, but a bright sliver of flame shot from the muzzle of the gun, plainly visible in the fast-gathering darkness. the can was not touched, but, an instant after fenn fired, some one beyond the fence set up a great shouting. "great caesar, stumpy, you've shot some one!" gasped bart. poor fenn turned a sickly color, and the rifle fell from his nerveless hands. the shouts continued, and there was a commotion in the bushes. a little later alice keene, with her hands full of bandages, and carrying a small medicine chest, rushed from the house and past the group of terror-stricken lads toward the fence, whence the yells continued to come. "oh!" cried the girl. "i was afraid some one would get hurt when you boys used those horrid guns! you had better telephone for a doctor, bart, while i go see if i can stop the bleeding! who is hurt?" "we--we don't know," faltered fenn. "i was shooting at a can, but i missed it. i didn't know anybody was in the bushes." bart hurried into the house to telephone for a physician, while alice in the rôle of a red-cross nurse, hurried on toward the fence. the shouts were growing fainter now. the boys, with white faces, followed her. chapter viii an odd letter "suppose he is dead?" faltered fenn, as he stumbled along. "will--will i be arrested." "don't worry until you see who it is, and how badly he is hurt," advised frank. they were soon at the fence. ned and frank parted the bushes that grew higher than the topmost rail, and plunged on through. fenn followed, but alice was going farther up, where she knew there was a gate. the sight that met the eyes of the boys was most reassuring. standing up on his big wagon was jed sneed, calmly pitching off cord wood into a pile. the fuel was evidently for bart's house. "were you--are you--that is--you aren't dead; are you?" gasped fenn. "is--is anybody?" "not that i know of," answered jed, as he straightened up. "but i come pretty nigh bein'. as nigh as i want to. i just heard a bullet sing over my head, as i was stooping down to get hold of a stick. who was shooting, anyhow?" "i--i was," faltered stumpy. "i missed the tin can i aimed at. did i come very close to you?" "i didn't take time to measure the distance," announced jed dryly, "but it was close enough." "we heard you yell," said frank, "and we thought some one was killed. we didn't know it was you." "i was hollering at the horses, partly," explained the man. "the pesky critters won't stand still when they hear shootin'. so it was you fellows; eh? well, i ought to have knowed better than to come out with this load of wood to-day. jest as i was startin' a black cat run right across the road in front of the horses, and that's one of the very worst kind of bad signs. i should have turned back, but mr. keene wanted this wood to-day, so i kept on. then, as if one warnin' wasn't enough, i had another. jest as i was turnin' in this back way, thinkin' it would be a little shorter, three crows flew over my head, goin' south. they must have stayed up pretty late, but there's no worse sign than three crows, unless it's to meet a snake with his tail toward you. but, as mr. keene wanted the wood, i come on, and look what was the result--i was nearly killed." "oh, i guess the bullet didn't come so near you as you thought," suggested ned, partly for fenn's benefit. "fenn usually fires high, and he missed the can clean. then, you're down in a sort of hollow here, and i guess it was well over your head." "i hope so," remarked jed. "a miss is as good as a mile, i guess. still, it was partly my own fault, for not payin' attention to them signs. you can make up your minds i won't tempt fate that way again. i'll turn back next time when a black cat crosses in front of me. and then, too, i ought to have give you chaps warnin'. i heard you shootin' as i drove up, and then, when it stopped, i s'posed you was done. then when that one shot came, and whizzed over my head, i thought it was all up with me. i hollered some, to let you know i was here, and to quiet the team. then i went on tossin' off the wood." fenn breathed easier. some color was beginning to come back into his cheeks. a moment later alice came hurrying along, having found the gate. "is he badly hurt?" she asked. "have they got him in the wagon? perhaps you'd better drive right to the hospital mr. sneed," for she knew the teamster, who did odd jobs around town. "wa'al, i don't mind drivin' to the hospital for ye," announced jed with a grin, "but there ain't no need for it." "don't tell me he's--" but alice paused, not willing to utter the fatal word. several rolls of bandages fell from her hands. "oh, i'm all right," went on jed. "i'll live to be an old man if i wait to be shot, i guess. whoa, there, ponies," this last to his team. "then isn't any one hurt?" asked alice, and though she was undoubtedly glad of it, there was a distinct note of disappointment in her voice. "no one," explained ned, as he told how it had happened. jed took part of the blame, for not announcing his presence, but, nevertheless, fenn was a bit shaky for some time after the incident, and ned and the others were nervous. "the doctor will be right over!" suddenly cried bart, bursting through the bushes. "who is it, and is he badly hurt?" then he had to be told how it was, and he hurried back into the house to countermand the order for the physician. alice gathered up her bandages, and with her box of remedies retraced her steps. she had missed a chance to practice for her chosen profession, but she was glad of it. a more careful investigation of how fenn had stood when he shot, and a calculation of the angle at which he held the rifle, showed that the bullet must have gone well over jed's head, so it was not so bad as at first thought. "but it was mostly my own fault," concluded the odd man, as he drove away. "never again will i keep on when i see a black cat--" he stopped suddenly, checked his team, and got out of the empty wagon. "what's the matter now?" asked frank. "there's a horseshoe in the field there, and it's turned the wrong way for luck," explained jed, as he picked it up. "i was drivin' right toward it--must have come off one of my horses when i was comin' around to get a good place to toss off the wood." "anyway it had the curved, or open side, toward me, and if you go toward a horseshoe that way it's a sure sign that you'll have no luck in a year. a mighty sure sign, too." "what are you going to do?" asked bart, as he saw jed put the shoe back on the ground again. "oh, i just turned it around again. now i can drive toward it right, and i'll have good luck--you see," which he proceeded to do, and, after his wagon had passed the shoe, he got out again, picked it up, and then went on, well satisfied with himself. as the days went on the weather grew colder. there were frequent snow storms, and the snow did not melt. the christmas holidays were approaching, and the boys were preparing for camp life, each lad having secured permission to take some time out of school. one night, when the four chums were at fenn's house, getting ready some things, and talking of the fun they expected to have, there came a knock on the front door. as the boys were the only ones downstairs, fenn volunteered to answer it. "though i don't know who can be calling at this hour," he remarked, for it was nearly ten o'clock. he opened the door, and his startled exclamation brought his chums to his side. "there's no one here!" cried the stout lad, "but i was sure i heard a knock--didn't you?" "sure," replied bart, and the others nodded. "there has been some one here," went on bart. "see the footprints in the snow. it's snowed since we came. some one ran up, knocked, and ran away again." "i wonder what for?" murmured fenn, looking up and down the deserted street. "probably a joke. maybe it was sandy merton." "whoever it was, he left something," said frank, suddenly. "what?" asked fenn. "this letter," answered frank, picking up a missive from the doorstep. the white envelope, so much like the snow, had not at first been noticed. "bring it in and see what it says," proposed bart, and soon, under the light of the gas in the dining-room, the boys were perusing the strange missive. "it's to me," said fenn, as he rapidly scanned it. "but what in the world does it mean? and it has no signature. listen to this fellows," and he read: "'mr. fenn masterson, "'dear sir:--i understand you have quite a collection of mud turtles. would you be willing to part with them? i mean for a consideration, of course. if you would kindly communicate with me. i will pay you a good price for all the turtles you have. but i must make this stipulation, which, at first may seem odd to you. but i have a reason for it. i can not meet you personally. if you are willing to sell your turtles will you write a note to that effect, and leave it in the dead sycamore tree on the edge of oak swamp? that is the only way in which you can communicate with me. kindly let me hear from you soon.'" as fenn had said, there was no signature. he turned the strange letter over and looked at the back. it was blank. "well, wouldn't that jar you!" exclaimed bart, as he took the note from fenn's hand. chapter ix off to camp "this must be a joke," remarked fenn, at length, after he had once more read the note. "sandy merton, or some of the other fellows, who want to have some fun with us, wrote that." "i think not," said frank, thoughtfully. "why?" inquired ned. "some man wrote that," went on frank. "that's no boy's handwriting. there's too much character to it. what are you going to do about it, fenn?" "nothing, i guess. of course, i'd sell my turtles and things, if i got a chance, for i think i'm going to collect different kinds of wood now, and----" "what did i tell you?" interrupted ned triumphantly. "i knew fenn's fad wouldn't last much longer." "it would, if we weren't going camping," declared the stout youth, with vigor. "only when i'm away there'll be nobody to look after the things. mother is afraid to feed 'em, and dad won't, so if i had a good chance to get rid of 'em i'd do it. only i wouldn't do business with a fellow like this, who doesn't sign his name, and who wants me to act as if i was leaving money in response to a black-hand note. i'll not pay any attention to it." "i would, if i were you," said frank, quietly, but with some determination. "you would?" asked bart, in some surprise. "sure. i think there's something back of this," went on frank. "if i were fenn i'd enter into a correspondence with him, and try to find out what was at the bottom of it." "what do you think it is?" asked ned. "let's make another examination of the letter, detective style, and see what we can deduce from it." "i think the man who wrote that letter is the same man we have met several times--the mysterious stranger who entered the school--the man who stole the diamond bracelet," spoke frank, quickly. "then if you've got it all figured out, we don't need to puzzle over this letter," decided ned. "oh, i don't say i'm altogether right," came from frank quickly. "that's only one theory." "and i think it a good one," added bart. "fenn, suppose you answer this letter, and leave your reply in the dead sycamore tree." "what shall i say?" asked the heavy-weight chum. "oh, you don't need to be specific. say you don't like to do business this way, that you prefer to meet the writer. then we'll leave the letter in the tree, hide, and nab him when he comes for it." "good!" cried ned. "that's the stuff. regular detective business, fellows. come on, fenn, write the letter." "i think that would be a good plan," commented frank, who, being more sober-minded than his chums usually were, often said the final word when some scheme was afoot. "if the writer wants to resort to such tactics as leaving an anonymous letter on the doorstep, we can retaliate by playing the spy on him. get busy, fenn." "when shall we leave it in the tree?" asked the stout lad. "to-morrow," answered bart promptly. "we haven't any too much time before going to camp. we'll try to catch him to-morrow, and maybe we can solve the mystery of the diamond bracelet." it took some time to compose a letter to the satisfaction of all four lads, as each one had some suggestion to make, but it was finally done, and enclosed in a strong, manilla envelope, ready to be left in the dead sycamore tree. then the chums planned to go to oak swamp the next afternoon, early. the appointed time found them at the place, and, as they came in sight of the tree, they adopted precautionary tactics previously agreed upon. "for," bart explained, "we want to catch that man, and we've got to go about it right. he's given us the slip a number of times. now, naturally, he'll expect us to-day, and he'll be in hiding somewhere near the tree. look around carefully, and see if we can't spot him before we deposit the letter." accordingly, the lads made a cautious approach, but there was no sign of a man, or any one else near the big tree. the approach to the swamp appeared deserted, and on that afternoon, with a dull, leaden sky overhead, and a mournful wind sighing through the trees, oak swamp was anything but a cheerful place. "it's going to snow," observed ned, as they walked slowly on toward the tree. "keep quiet," advised bart, in a sharp whisper. "the man may be in hiding." there were patches of snow on the ground about the sycamore, but an examination of them did not disclose any human footprints, though there were squirrel and rabbit tracks which gave the boys hope that they would get plenty of game when they went to their winter camp. "he hasn't been here," was fenn's opinion, as he took his letter and stuck it in a conspicuous place in a crack in the bark. "then we'll hide and wait for him," decided bart. the four lads hid themselves in the thick underbrush not far from the tree, where each one could command a good view of it, and the path leading to it. they agreed, on a signal from bart, to rush out, and, if possible, grab the mysterious man in case he should appear. then began a period of waiting, and it was made all the more tiresome from the fact that the boys could not be together and talk. they had to crouch down, in uncomfortable positions, not moving, for fear of betraying themselves, and, of course, it was out of the question to talk. the hours dragged. it seemed to grow dark suddenly, but it was due to the thickening of the storm clouds overhead. then came some flurries of snow, which ceased from time to time, and then, with a suddenness that was startling, the storm broke. "no use waiting any longer," called fenn, rising up from behind his bush, and peering through the swirling flakes. "he won't come now." "keep quiet, he may," ordered bart, and though the storm raged, they kept up their vigil half an hour longer. by this time it was so dark that the sycamore tree could scarcely be distinguished, and even bart declared it was useless to remain longer. they started for home, the storm increasing every minute, and they left the letter in the tree, in case the man might arrive. "this will be fine weather for camping," cried ned exultantly, as he plowed through a small drift. they began their preparations for camping the next day. it did not take them long to get their things in readiness, for they had spent several days overhauling their outfits. the tents, one for sleeping and the other for cooking and eating in, were rolled up, cots were folded, the stove, cooking pots and pans, were placed in boxes, provisions were purchased, and the bedding examined. of course, the lads did not forget their guns, and they had a good supply of ammunition. as to the location of their camp, they had settled on it only after a strenuous debate. fenn and frank were for going to the one where they had previously had such good luck hunting wild turkeys, but bart and ned wanted to go to a less frequented part of the state, where larger game, such as an occasional bear or deer, could be had, and, in the end they carried their point, though it meant a longer trip, and necessitated going by railroad. finally all was in readiness, the last of the packing had been done, good-byes had been said, alice had made up a little medicine chest for her brother, and jennie smith had even composed an "original poem" in honor of the occasion. jed sneed had taken the camp stuff to the express office in his big sled, and was to come back for the four chums, who carried their guns with them. the storm had hardly ceased, and there was plenty of snow on the ground. "what'll you boys do if you get snowed in?" asked mr. keene as he watched his son and the others getting in jed's sled, for the start was made from bart's house. "oh, we'll wait until it thaws," replied ned. "take care of yourselves," admonished mrs. keene. "and drink hot ginger tea in case you get wet," ordered alice, with her most professional air. "all right," chorused the boys. "all ready?" asked jed, as he looked around. "all ready!" replied bart. "gid-dap!" called jed, cracking the whip, and the horses plunged forward into a drift, the bells jingling a merry tune. the start for camp had been made. chapter x a railroad accident jogging along the road to the depot, the four chums asked each other all sorts of questions, as to whether this or that article had been included in the camping outfit. for so much remained to be done at the last minute, in spite of preparations some time ahead, that they were afraid something would be forgotten. but, fortunately, everything necessary seemed to have been put in the packages, which had been shipped on ahead, so they would be there when the campers arrived. they were to get out at the railroad station of cannistota, and drive ten miles into the woods. "say, what did you do about your mud turtles, fenn?" asked bart, as the sled bumped along, for the road was rough. "oh, i arranged with sandy merton to feed them. i'm going to pay him for it. he promised to look after them. i hope he doesn't forget. hello! there he comes now. hello, sandy!" called fenn, as he saw the president of the shamma shig secret society plodding along through the snow. "hello," responded sandy, transferring his bundle of books from one arm to the other. "say, but you fellows are lucky chaps! cutting out several weeks of school, and going off hunting. i wish i was you!" "don't forget my turtles," pleaded fenn. "i'll attend to 'em, stumpy," promised sandy. "bring me back a bear skin; will you?" "if we get enough for ourselves we will," agreed bart, and sandy went on to school, looking back at the chums with envious eyes, for, as has been explained, the campers left about a week before the christmas holidays began. "well, maybe we'll have a good time--i mean of _course_ we will," said frank, "but, all the same, sandy is better off than we are--in one respect." "how?" asked ned. "he isn't under suspicion of having stolen a valuable diamond bracelet." "that's right. hang it all! i wish we could clear that thing up," remarked bart, with energy. "never mind, maybe it will clear itself up before we get back." "whoa!" called jed, suddenly, pulling up his team. "what's the matter?" asked ned. "the nigh horse jest stumbled with its left fore foot," explained the driver, as he got out of the sled. "hurt?" inquired bart. "no, but it's a sign of bad luck, and i don't like it, especially when you fellows are going off on a pleasure trip." "what are you going to do?" frank wanted to know, for jed was kicking away the snow in front of the horses. "i'm looking for a black stone," he explained. "if you can find a black stone, after a horse stumbles like that, it's all right." the boys wanted to laugh at the almost childish superstition exhibited by jed, but did not want to make him feel bad, so they managed to keep sober faces, as he kicked about in the small drifts. finally he uttered a triumphant cry. "i've found it!" he announced, as he pocketed a small black stone. "now it will be all right. gid-dap, ponies," and the horses started off again, utterly indifferent to signs of all kinds. the four chums talked of nothing but camp on the way to the station, and, as for jed, he was so occupied in watching for signs and omens, good and bad, that he was not a brilliant conversationalist. just as they approached the depot the driver pulled sharply to the right, turned out of the main road, and urged his horses in a circle around the standpipe of the water tank that supplied the locomotive tenders. then he swung the team up to the platform. "why did you do that?" asked ned, in curiosity. "for good luck," replied jed. "nothing better for good luck than going around in a circle just before you start off on a journey. it's sure to bring you back safe, and i want to see you lads again." "how do you make it out that a circle will bring any one back safe?" inquired frank. "because, it stands to reason, don't it?" asked jed, with conviction. "a circle's round, ain't it? very well, bein' round it hasn't got any end, nor yet any beginnin'. that means you've got to come back to the place where you started. i know a circle always brings good luck when you're goin' on a journey. i know it for sure. once i went over to hampton junction without goin' around in a circle before i started. what was the result? a feller stole my pocketbook that had a dollar an' nineteen cents in it. don't tell me there's nothing in signs." the boys laughed, and jed did not seem to mind. they leaped out on the station platform, and paid the teamster, who wished them all sorts of good luck, in addition to having worked the "circle degree" on them, as ned expressed it. "here!" exclaimed jed suddenly, as the chums were about to go and purchase their tickets, and he held out a black object to bart. "what is it?" inquired the lad. "that black, lucky stone i picked up when the horse stumbled. take it along. it will keep you from having an accident, bart." the youth was about to refuse, but not wishing to hurt jed's feelings he put the rock in his pocket. a little later the train pulled in, and, getting aboard, the four chums waved a farewell to jed, who could be observed standing up in his sled, making some queer signs, evidently with the idea of bringing more good luck. "well, we're off at last," remarked ned, as the train gathered speed, "and some of jed's signs seem to be coming true." "how do you make that out?" asked frank. "it's going to clear," replied ned, with a look at the sky. "i shan't mind snow, after we've got our camp established, but it's no fun to set up tents in a storm, so i'm glad it's going to clear. jed's signs are all right." it was a ride of several hours to cannistota, and the boys beguiled the time as best they could. about noon, when the train was passing through a lonely mountainous region, where the woods were as dense as if they had never been cut, frank remarked: "well, what do you say to lunch? it's about time," for they had brought along a goodly supply of food, as they could get no meals on the train. "i'm with you," announced bart, as he reached up to the rack over the seats for the baskets. he was standing on his tip-toes, for the rack was high, and was just taking down one of the small hampers, when there came a sudden crash, followed by a ripping, tearing sound, and before bart knew what had happened he was deposited in a heap on top of fenn, who, in turn, was mixed up with frank and ned. bart lay stunned for a few seconds and then, as he picked himself up, and the other lads regained their feet, they saw that every passenger in the car had been hurled from his or her seat. "what happened?" cried bart. at the same moment from the car in which were the four chums, as well as from the other coaches, there arose the shrill screams of women, and the crying of children. the train had rolled on for a few feet, after the crash, but had come to a sudden stop. "an accident!" cried fenn. "the train's wrecked! come on, let's get out," and he scrambled to his feet and started for the door as the conductor and a brakeman ran through the car toward the engine. chapter xi putting up the tents after the first paralyzing shock of the crash the passengers seemed to come to their senses. women who had been screaming ceased, and children stopped their frightened crying. men began to gather themselves together, to crawl out from under seats where the sudden stop had thrown them, and prepared to leave the car. "what's the matter, conductor?" called bart to that official, as he was hurrying out of the car. "don't know--yet," was the answer flung back over his shoulder. "we'll go see," spoke ned. "anyhow, our car's not smashed; that's one good thing." "no, and it doesn't seem to have left the track," observed frank. "maybe we only hit an obstruction." by this time the four chums were out of their car, and they were followed by a number of men passengers. from other cars a like stream was pouring. one glance sufficed to show that whatever the wreck was, it was not a terrible one, for there were no telescoped coaches, and, in fact, none seemed to have left the rails, while as for the engine that, too, seemed to be in its usual place at the head of the coaches. the crowd was moving toward the forward end, and thither bart and his companions went. matters were becoming quiet, and it was evident that no one was seriously hurt. the boys found quite a throng around the engine, and they could now see that the cab, on one side, was splintered, and that the forward end of the coach next to the engine, which was the baggage car, was also damaged. "what's the matter? what happened?" scores of voices asked the railroad men, who, including the fireman and engineer, were examining the locomotive. "driving rod broke," explained the conductor. "it threshed around like a flail, and smashed the cab, on the fireman's side of the engine. luckily he was putting on coal, or he'd been killed. then the engineer threw on the emergency brake, and the front end of the baggage car crumpled up. luckily it's no worse. has any one heard of any persons being hurt?" the conductor asked the crowd. "i guess bruises and cuts from broken windows will be about the extent of the injuries, conductor," replied a fat man. "but how long are we likely to be delayed here? i have an important engagement in vailton to-day." "we'll have to wait until we can telegraph for another engine," replied the railroad man. "it will take several hours, i'm afraid." there were some expressions of dismay, but, in general, the crowd was thankful that it was no worse. the engineer and fireman were busy trying to get the bent driving rod loose from where it had jammed up somewhere in the interior of the locomotive. "let's go back in our car, and look after our things," proposed bart. "we can't do any good here, and it's cold," for they had rushed out without their overcoats. the other passengers were returning to their coaches by this time, leaving the problem of moving the train with the railroad men. the four chums had been in their seats but a short time, having found their possessions somewhat scattered, but safe, when a brakeman came hurrying in. he hastened to the glass-fronted toolbox, fastened near the ceiling in the center of the car. "i've got to get out that sledge-hammer, axe and saw," he explained to a woman, who was sitting in the seat under the case. "may i ask you to move, madam?" she did so, and then the brakeman was in a quandary, for it was necessary to break the glass in order to get at the tools. the trainman looked about helplessly, for he had not been on the road long. bart saw his difficulty. "here, i'll break the glass," volunteered the lad. "stand back," bart produced the black, lucky stone which jed had given him, and threw it through the glass front. there was a crashing, splintering sound, and the glass was in fragments. the brakeman could get at the tools, which he quickly did, hurrying out with them. "well, that lucky stone came in handy, after all," remarked ned. "it sure did," agreed bart, "though he could have used the end of a flag stick just as well, if he had thought of it." while the engineer, firemen, and some of the brakemen worked over the disabled engine, another trainman walked back to the nearest telegraph office to summon a relief engine. meanwhile the passengers waited with what patience they could. "well, suppose we eat now," proposed bart. "good!" exclaimed frank. "pass out the sandwiches," which bart proceeded to do. in the seat across the aisle from the boys was a little girl. hungrily she eyed the food as it came out of the baskets, and, in a voice that could be heard from one end of the car to the other, she piped out: "mamma, i'm hungry. why didn't we bring some lunch?" "hush, dear," said the child's mother. "we will soon be at our station, and we can get something to eat." "not very likely to be there soon, ma'am," observed the fat man, who was in a hurry. "by jove, i wish i'd thought to bring a snack. i will, next time i travel on this road." "but, mamma, i'm awful hungry," insisted the child, as she gazed eagerly at the chums who were munching away in great enjoyment. "hush!" begged the mother, but the child repeated her request for something to eat. "here," spoke bart, suddenly, and passed over a chicken sandwich to the little girl. "will you let her take it?" he asked the mother. "certainly, but i'm afraid it will be robbing you." "not at all, we have plenty. perhaps you'd like one too?" and bart handed the woman one, which she received with thanks. "i'll give you a dollar for two sandwiches, young man," said the fat man, eagerly. bart hesitated. at the same time several other children in the car, seeing the girl eating, began to demand food. "i say, fellows," said bart, quickly. "i'll tell you what's let's do! we'll distribute our lunch among the youngsters on the train. there must be several of them, and they're all hungry. it will be some time before they can get to where there's lunch." to the credit of the darewell chums be it said that they did not hesitate a moment. "go ahead," exclaimed ned, and the others nodded assent. "i wish you'd accept my offer before you came to that conclusion," sighed the fat man. "but go ahead. the kids will be glad to get it. i'll have to dine off chocolate caramels, i guess." bart's plan was soon in operation, to the delight of a number of boys and girls, no less than their distracted mothers. as for the chums, they had each eaten a sandwich before giving away their lunch, and they thought they could stand it until they got to cannistota. they were given an informal vote of thanks by the grateful parents. then ensued tedious waiting until the relief engine came. there were many murmurs, and much fault-finding, but there was no help for it. the candy boy sold out his stock of sweet stuff in record time, even down to the chewing gum. at length a welcome whistle was heard, and soon the train was under way again. "well," remarked ned, as he settled back in his seat, "we will enjoy our supper, anyhow." "yes," remarked bart. "i don't altogether believe in jed's good luck signs. i'd just as soon he would have omitted some of 'em." "oh, well, we'll be in camp to-morrow," announced frank. "then we can eat whenever we feel like it." the chums were late in arriving in cannistota, and they went at once to a hotel. they had arranged to do this anyhow, as they knew there would not be time to put up tents the same day that they started off on their camping trip. after a substantial meal, to make up for their light dinner, they inquired at the express office, and learned that their camp stuff had arrived safely. they arranged for a teamster to take it to the woods where they had decided to pitch their tents, and early the next morning they were under way. "it's a dandy day," observed fenn, as he looked at the cloudless sky overhead, and saw the piles of snow on every side. "a little too warm," was bart's opinion. "still, it may not be thawing so much in the woods. i'm anxious to get a shot at something. we can't hunt deer, you know, when there's tracking snow, but i hear there are bears where we are going." "a feller i know killed a big one last week, not a great ways from where you're going," observed the teamster. "that's the stuff!" cried bart, as he looked to make sure he had his favorite rifle. in due time the camping site was reached, the teamster helped them unload, and then drove back, leaving the four chums alone in quite a lonely stretch of wilderness. but they were used to depending on themselves, they knew they had plenty of food, and they hoped to procure more with their guns. "first thing on the programme is to make the camp-fire, and then set up the tents," declared bart, who constituted himself a sort of leader. previous experience stood the boys in good stead, and in a short time a roaring fire was blazing, and a kettle of soup in the making was suspended over it. then the canvas shelters were put up. it was not easy work, and the boys labored hard, but at last the white tent stood among the trees, making a picturesque spot in the wilderness. then the cooking shelter was put up, and the stove set, after which fenn, who constituted himself cook on this occasion, served dinner. the rest of the day was spent in cutting firewood, seeing to the fastenings of the tents, putting up cots, arranging their baggage and food supplies, and in putting together their shot guns and rifles, for each lad had two weapons. by this time it was nearly night-fall, and some lanterns were lighted, and hung within and without the tent, giving the place a cheerful look. as fenn was walking about, getting ready for a late supper, he stumbled over something, and nearly fell. "what's that, a tree root?" asked bart. "if it is, chop it out, or we'll all be doing the same thing." "it wasn't a tree root," observed fenn, as he turned to examine the object. "by cracky, boys!" he exclaimed. "look here! it's a whopping big mud turtle!" chapter xii the place of the turtles fenn's chums hurried over to where, in the gleam of a lantern, he was contemplating the slow-moving reptile. the turtle was a large one, of a common species, and was ambling along as if it did not at all mind the attention it had attracted. "grab it, fenn!" exclaimed ned. "it'll be a dandy for your collection." "that's what it will," agreed the stout youth, and he grabbed up the turtle, which at once drew in its tail, head and claws, presenting no vantage spot to an enemy. "by caesar, here's another!" exclaimed bart, a moment later. "another turtle, fenn!" "yes, and here's a third one!" added frank. "it's a big one, too, fenn. shall i catch it for you?" "wait a minute, fellows," replied fenn, earnestly. "don't touch those turtles!" "why not?" asked ned. "are they poisonous?" "no, but there's something queer about so many being out in the woods in the middle of winter. it isn't natural. there is something out of the ordinary, and we must see what it is." "maybe they're hunting for the one of their number who wears the diamond bracelet," suggested bart, with a laugh, for, in spite of the gravity of the loss, he could not forbear an occasional joke at fenn's rather odd theory. "no, it isn't that," went on fenn earnestly. "but i did have a notion that perhaps the turtles might have escaped from the queer man who wrote and offered to buy my collection--the man we suspect of stealing the bracelet." "why he isn't in this vicinity," remarked frank. "you don't know whether he is or not," was fenn's answer. "this seems to be a good place for turtles, though i can't understand why they should be out in cold weather. but perhaps there is some reason for it." there was, and a strange one, as the boys soon discovered. "anyhow, they're here," observed ned, "and what are we going to do about it?" "don't touch 'em, i want to see in what direction they are traveling," called fenn, who, as soon as he had placed in a safe place the turtle he had caught, came over to where his chums were contemplating the other two. "they're both heading for the same place, wherever that is, if that's any help to you," remarked bart. "yes," spoke fenn, "it may indicate something," and he looked at the big reptiles, who were crawling along. "they're going in the same way as the one was you got," declared frank, and the others confirmed this. for some minutes fenn observed the movements of the turtles, until they disappeared under some bushes. then he straightened up and said: "well, i don't believe that mysterious man is in this vicinity, and certainly none of these turtles is wearing a diamond bracelet. i admit i'm away off on that, fellows. but there's something queer here, and i'm going to get at the bottom of it. it isn't natural for turtles to be out so plentiful this time of year, and there must be some cause for it." "fenn, you can theorize about turtles all you like, but i want my supper," called ned. "same here," came from frank. "dish it up, cook!" thereupon fenn gave over watching the turtles, and, a little later, seated cozily in the tent, the chums partook of a supper of canned baked beans, with hard-tack or pilot biscuit, and coffee. then they sat around, discussing various matters, from the railroad accident to their arrival in camp. cots were provided, with plenty of blankets, so they would not suffer from cold, and as an additional precaution a small fire was kept going in the small, sheet-iron, wood-burning stove, which they had brought along to warm the sleeping tent. "ah, fellows, this is something like life," remarked bart, as he arranged himself on his cot. "listen to the wind howling outside. we'll have more snow, i expect, before morning." "let it snow!" exclaimed frank. "we're all right now. we'll have to have our christmas tree here, fellows. did you bring anything along to put on it?" "oh, we'll hang up our stockings instead of having a tree," suggested ned with a laugh. "but what's the matter with you, fenn? why are you so quiet?" "he's thinking of some of the girls he left behind him," mocked bart. "aren't you, stumpy? which particular one last gave you a lock of her hair?" "oh, cut it out!" begged fenn. "i wasn't thinking of such nonsense at all. i was wondering where those turtles came from. this is a regular stamping place for them, and in the morning i'm going to go on a search." "do you really think so many of them around here means anything?" asked frank. "it means something, certainly," replied fenn. "this part of the state is noted for turtles, however, there being a number of different species, but i never knew before that they came out in winter. that's what puzzles me." "maybe we're over a hidden volcano, and it's warmer than anywhere else in the neighborhood," suggested ned. "maybe," assented fenn, "only it doesn't seem very warm just now. there's a draught somewhere. bur-r-r-r! no wonder!" he exclaimed. "the tent flap has come open. who fastened it?" "i did," confessed frank. "i'll fix it." the canvas was soon made secure, and then, while the wind whipped itself into a gale outside, the boys fell asleep in their warm tent, fenn's last thoughts being about a place where he had seen the three turtles. chapter xiii the mud volcano bart's first act, on awakening in the morning, was to go to the tent flap, and look out. then he called to his companions, who were still asleep: "say fellows, it's a fine day; only it's snowing." "did you wake us up to tell us that?" demanded ned, as he turned over for another nap. "well, you don't want to sleep all day, do you?" asked bart, looking at his watch. "it's eight o'clock. if we're going to do any hunting we'd better get a move on." there was much yawning and stretching, but finally the chums were up and dressed, and breakfast was served. "now for a nice lot of game," exclaimed bart, as he got out his rifle, and looked over his supply of ammunition. "i think i'll load for bear to-day." "do you mean to say you expect to go shooting in this storm?" asked frank, for it was still snowing. the white flakes were of a considerable depth on the ground, but the two tents, standing as they did under some gigantic pine trees, were much protected. "of course we're going hunting to-day," declared bart. "that's what we came for. some bear steak wouldn't go at all bad, especially as we can't get fresh meat here." "no, nor fresh bread, either," added ned. "i miss my rolls with my coffee." "i'm going to bake some biscuits for dinner," declared fenn. "i brought along some self-raising flour." "good for you, stumpy!" cried ned. "pity, though, you didn't bring along some self-baking bread, and some washless dishes." "well, if we're going, let's go," proposed frank. "will it be safe to leave our stuff in camp, unprotected?" "we can't take it with us," said bart. "besides, there isn't any one within ten miles of this place. that's why i wanted to camp here. it will be all right. well, i'm ready if you are." "i'm going to take my shot-gun," decided frank. "maybe i'll see some wild turkeys or some partridge. they'll do if bart doesn't get his bear." fenn, instead of getting ready his gun, as the others were going, had gone to the box where he had placed the large turtle, captured the night previous. "for cats' sake!" exclaimed ned, "aren't you done playing with that yet, fenn?" "i'm not playing," was the retort. "i'm going to try an experiment." "aren't you going hunting with us?" asked bart. "not this morning. i'm going to solve this mystery of the turtles, if i can. besides you fellows will shoot all that's necessary. i'll stay around here, and get ready for a partridge pot-pie or a bear roast, just as you prefer." "oh, come on hunting," pleaded bart. "what's the fun in staying here?" "well, i don't know as i shall stay right in camp," went on fenn. "i'm going to make this turtle lead me to where the other ones went. in other words, i'm going to use this one as a guide." "you're crazy!" scoffed ned. "maybe," admitted fenn, calmly. "you fellows go on with your hunting, and when you come back maybe i'll have something to show you." they tried to induce fenn to accompany them, but he was firm in his determination to solve the "turtle mystery," as he called it, and, in the end, bart, ned and frank tramped off through the storm, for it was still snowing, while the stout lad remained behind, watching the turtle, which he had placed on a cleared place on the ground in front of the tent. "now go ahead, my fine fellow," spoke fenn to the reptile. "which way do you want to head?" the turtle seemed undecided about it, for some time after fenn had placed it on the ground it did not move, but remained with head, legs and tail withdrawn into the protecting shell. but fenn was patient, and knew better than to poke the reptile to make it move. presently a long, snake-like neck was thrust out, and black, beady eyes glanced cautiously around, while the parrot jaws were slightly parted, as if to ward off any attack. fenn kept behind the turtle, which, in a few minutes, finding that it was not disturbed, stuck out its legs, and began to raise itself up, as if taking an observation. then it turned partly around, and, to fenn's delight, started to crawl in the same direction as that taken by the other two reptiles the previous evening. "that's the stuff!" cried fenn. "that confirms my theory. there's some place where these turtles hang out, and i'm going to find it. the three we found must have wandered away from the common camping ground of the turtles of this vicinity, but they all head back toward it. now i'm going to find it." he did not wait for the reptile he had captured to lead him to the place. that would have taken too long, but, after quickly scratching his initials on the back of the turtle's shell, together with the date, so he would know the reptile again, fenn replaced it on the ground, and started off through the woods in the indicated direction. he had his gun with him, but he did not expect to do any shooting, and he carried a pocket compass, for the woods were unfamiliar to him. for a long distance fenn tramped on, plowing through the woods, making turns now and then to avoid streams, partly frozen over, leaping them when he could, fording them at other times, for he had on high, water-proof hunting boots, but keeping as nearly as he could in the proper course. "maybe i'll find a well-protected cave, where the turtles live during winter," thought the stout lad, as he made his way under some low hemlock trees, well laden with a blanket of snow. "if i do, i can get some new specimens, anyhow, and perhaps enough to sell to that man who wrote me the letter. mighty queer about him. i wonder who he was? i wonder if, by any possibility, he could be up here in these woods?" this idea caused fenn to look around somewhat apprehensively, but there was no one in sight. he did see something, however, that caused his heart to beat faster, and this was a brace of plump partridges on a tree, not far away. "i wonder if i can shoot straight enough to bag them?" murmured the lad, as he quickly raised his gun, and banged away, first with the left, and then with the right barrel. somewhat to his surprise when the smoke cleared away, fenn saw the two birds lying in the snow. he had made a good shot. "well, we won't go hungry to-night, anyway," was his comment, as he picked them up and put them in the pockets of his hunting coat. "but i'm going to keep on," he added. he had gone perhaps half a mile farther, when he suddenly stopped and sniffed the air suspiciously. "sulphur spring," he remarked, half aloud. "guess i'll go take a look at it. whew! it's strong enough. i don't need any other guide than my nose." making sure of the direction in which the strong odor of sulphur was wafted to him, fenn temporarily abandoned his quest for the place of the turtles. the odor grew more pronounced, for some sulphur springs are so strongly impregnated with that chemical in solution that the smell carries for miles, especially on a windy day. the region where the chums had gone camping, as they learned later, was well supplied with these freaks of nature. a few minutes later fenn had come upon the object of his search. the spring gushed out from the side of a hill, and so strong was the sulphur that the stones, over which the spring, and the stream resulting from it, flowed were a yellowish white. "whew!" exclaimed fenn again. "this ought to be good for whatever ails you, but i don't like it." he remained looking at the spring for a few minutes, and, as he was about to move away he was startled by a deep, booming sound in the woods, off to his left. fenn started. "blasting?" he exclaimed aloud, in a questioning tone. "no, it can't be that, either," he added. "they wouldn't be blasting around here!" the next moment he heard a pattering around him, and several large globules of mud came down, seemingly from the sky. some struck on his hands, and others dotted the white snow about him. "that's queer," murmured the lad. "it's raining mud--or else--" he paused a moment, as the remembrance of the booming sound returned to him. "no," he added, "there must be a spouting, boiling spring around here. that's what it is! i'm on the track of it now." fenn dashed off to the left, through the forest. he was eager to see what had caused the curious shower of mud. in a few minutes he came to a little clearing in the woods--a clearing remarkable, among other things, from the fact that the ground there was devoid of snow. there was a warm, damp look about it, too, as when, in a snow storm, the sidewalk over a bakery oven is devoid of the white flakes. but that was not the most curious thing that met fenn's eyes. he made out numerous mud turtles crawling about over the patch of ground that was free from snow. there must have been a score of the reptiles. then, as fenn looked, a curious thing happened. he had just noted that, in the centre of the clearing, there was a large patch of water, and, a moment later the middle of this spring seemed to lift itself bodily up. up and up the water spouted, and in an instant its comparative purity was changed to a deep mud color, as a miniature geyser of earth and liquid shot upward. "a mud volcano!" exclaimed fenn, as he understood what the phenomenon was. "a mud volcano! this explains the mystery of the turtles!" an instant later he was under a shower of mud from the boiling spring. chapter xiv bart's first shot fenn made a dash for the shelter of a spruce tree, and watched the descending shower of mud and water. it was soon over, and he stepped out again, to view the curious volcano. he crossed the open space, free from snow, and a number of turtles scurried away at his advance. "that's how it is," remarked the lad, "that the turtles are so numerous around here. it's as warm as toast around that mud volcano, and they don't have to hibernate. the ones we found near our camp must have wandered away in search of food, and were on their way back here. i've solved part of the mystery, anyhow. now to examine this curious place." the boiling spring, or mud volcano, as such phenomenons are variously called, consisted, in the main, of a large pool of muddy colored water, lying at the foot of a hill. all around it were dead trees, and the smell of sulphur, though not so strong as at the first spring fenn had visited, was plainly noticeable. the water had a dead, stagnant look, after the eruption, and fenn was careful not to approach too close, for he could not tell when the spring would spout up again. he saw a number of turtles on logs and bits of wood that extended out into the pool, and others plunged from the bank into the water at his approach. "they don't seem to mind the sulphur and the mud," said fenn to himself. the lad had read in his school books of the mud volcanoes. they are of a type similar to the hot geysers of yellowstone park, though not so large or numerous. though called boiling springs in some parts of the country they do not boil or bubble on the surface, as a rule, though there is a constant supply of warm water from some subterranean source, so, that, as in the case with the spring fenn was viewing, the water ran over from the pool, and trickled off through the woods. mud volcanoes or boiling springs, while not common, are to be met with in new york and pennsylvania. the writer recently visited a large one in new york state, near lake ontario. it was around christmas, and a cold blustering day, yet the water from the spring was quite warm, and had melted the snow for quite a distance in all directions. the water was impregnated with sulphur and salt, and though there was not an eruption when the writer was present, there were marks on surrounding trees showing where mud had been hurled to a height of thirty or forty feet. there are various theories to account for the action of the mud volcanoes. one is that steam is formed away below the surface, and, seeking an outlet, throws the mud and water with it. another is that the force of water, flowing from some mountain lake, by an underground passage, spouts up through the boiling spring, being heated in some manner in its passage. but fenn did not trouble himself much about these theories as he looked at the curious spring. it was a gloomy, lonesome place, and the presence of so many turtles, some of them very large, added to the uncanny aspect. "well, there are turtles enough here to stock several collections," murmured fenn. "lots of different kinds, too. i will take some home i guess. now if i had that mysterious man's address i'd send him word. this mud volcano will be a curious thing to show the other fellows. i wonder how warm the water is?" he approached, to thrust his hand into the edge of the spring, when an ominous rumbling beneath his feet warned him. he jumped away just in time, and, as he ran for the shelter of the trees, there was another upheaval of mud, and he received a share of it. he remained in the shelter until the spring subsided, and then made his way back to camp. his chums were there when he arrived, and something in their looks prompted fenn to ask: "well, where's the bear steak, and the partridges for roasting." "no luck," declared bart in disgust. "never saw a bit of game! i guess we camped in the wrong place." "oh, no we didn't!" exclaimed fenn in triumph, as he produced the two plump birds from his pockets. "here's what i got, besides bagging a boiling spring for my morning's work." "say, where'd you get those?" asked bart eagerly. "come on, show us?" begged ned. "time enough," responded the stout lad. "i'm going to have dinner now, and then we'll have these birds, roasted, for supper. there's more where they came from. now i'll tell you about the mud volcano," which he did, graphically, so that his chums were eager to go and see it. but they decided to wait until the next day, and to have a good supper of roast partridge that night. fenn cooked his game to perfection, and was given a hearty vote of thanks. a visit to the mud volcano was made the next day, and there were found to be more turtles than on fenn's visit. the volcano was observed in action, much to the wonderment of the three lads, who had never seen anything like it, and once ned, who was too venturesome, was caught under an unusually large shower of mud. "well, let's go hunting now," proposed bart, after a pause. "i haven't had a decent shot since we came to camp. i've got to get that bear before i go back." they tramped off through the woods, their eyes eager for a sight of game, large or small. each one had a compass, so that if they became separated they could make their way back to camp, for the forest was dense. the snow had ceased, and the weather was clear and cold. fenn and frank had shotguns, and elected to try to bag some wild turkeys or partridges, so they went off to one side, while bart and ned, with their rifles, kept together. suddenly bart, after an hour's tramping in the woods, with never a sight of anything larger than a rabbit, which he would not fire at, came to an abrupt stop. ned, who was right behind him, halted also. "what is it?" he whispered. "what is that over there?" asked bart, also in a whisper, and he pointed to a black object near some bushes. "a stump," replied ned promptly. "do stumps move?" inquired bart. "of course not." "well that one did, so it isn't a stump. i think it's a bear." bart's opinion was unexpectedly confirmed the next moment, for the animal turned and uttered a loud "woof!" as it sniffed at the snow at the foot of the bush, evidently in search of something to eat. bart dropped to one knee, and took quick aim. it was his first shot since arriving at camp, and it was one worthy of much care, for bears were none too common to risk missing one. the rifle cracked, but there was no cloud of smoke, for bart was using his new smokeless cartridges. the lad pumped another bullet into the barrel, and fired again, for the bear had not moved after the first report. then, as the echoes of the rifle died away, the two lads saw the animal quickly rear itself upon its hind legs, and swing around in their direction. chapter xv fenn falls in "shoot again, bart!" cried ned. "you missed him!" bart had pumped another cartridge into place, but before he could pull the trigger the bear staggered a few paces toward him, and then fell in a convulsive heap. there was no need to fire again. "he's dead!" cried bart, exultantly, as he leaped forward. "my first bear, though it did take two shots to settle him." but as he saw a few minutes later, when he examined his prize, the first bullet would have done the work, had he waited long enough, for it was in a vital spot. "now to get him to camp," proposed ned, when he and his chum had sufficiently admired the dead bear. "we'll have enough fresh meat for a week." "yes," assented bart. "let's see how we're going to get him back." he raised the fore end of the bear, by his paws, and grunted. "what's the matter--heavy?" asked ned. "try it and see," advised bart. ned did so, and grunted in his turn. the truth of the matter was that the bear, though not of full size, was fat and plump, and of greater weight than the boys expected. then, too, the weight was "dead," which made it all the more awkward to carry. bart and ned tried again, by turns, and both together, but the bear was too much for them. "we'll have to get fenn and frank to help us," said bart and he fired his rifle three times, in quick succession, and then, after a pause, twice, more slowly--the prearranged call for assistance. fenn and frank came running up a little later, fearing that some accident had happened, and they were much relieved when they found that their help was wanted in transporting the bear. at fenn's suggestion a long pole was cut, the bear's paws were tied together and the pole thrust through them, and then, with two lads on either end of the shaft, and bruin swinging between, the journey back to camp was safely made. bart insisted on skinning his prize, saying he was going to make a rug of the hide, and the best portions of the meat were cut off for future use. as it was desired to allow the flesh to cool a bit before using it, the campers prepared a meal of the food they had in stock, reserving the bear steaks for supper. the rest of the day was spent around camp, several improvements being made, with a view of rendering life more comfortable during their stay. the bear steak, broiled with pieces of bacon stuck on it, was voted most delicious, and fenn ate so much that he said it made him sleepy. it grew much colder in the night, and before morning there was a demand for more blankets on the part of frank and ned. as there were no more, bart volunteered to get up and replenish the fire in the stove, for it had died down. as he was putting on more wood he suddenly paused, and seemed to be listening. then he quietly went to the tent flap and peered out into the darkness, illuminated by a lantern hanging from the ridge pole. "what's the matter?" asked ned. "did you see another bear, bart?" "i thought i heard some one walking around," was the answer. "it's snowing again. i don't see any one." he went back to bed, every one sleeping more in comfort now that the tent was warmer. in the morning, bart was the first one up, and he opened the tent flap. as he looked out, noting that the sun was shining, though the weather was cold, the lad uttered a cry of astonishment. "what's the matter?" asked fenn, pausing in his dressing operations. "some one _was_ sneaking around last night!" declared bart. "see the footprints!" the campers rushed from the tent in various stages of negligee, and stared at a track of human footprints, clearly visible in the new-fallen snow. "whoever it was he came close to our tent, and was evidently going to look in, when i must have frightened him off by getting up to put wood on the fire," said bart. "who was it?" asked ned. "i'm sure i don't know," responded bart, "only it was some one who evidently wanted to get away unobserved. look, you can trace where he came out of the woods, approached our tent very cautiously, and then, when i frightened him, he took it on the run." this was easy to confirm by the spaces between the footprints, for when the midnight visitor had approached slowly and stealthily the marks were comparatively close together, but where he had run they were far apart. "let's get dressed, and have a look around," said fenn. but though they searched for some time they could not find the intruder, even if his footsteps were plainly visible, leading off into the forest. "we'll get breakfast and trace him up," suggested frank. "might as well do that as anything else." "let's look and see if he's taken anything," suggested fenn. "no need to do that, stumpy," was bart's opinion. "you can tell by his tracks that he wasn't near enough to our camp to have stolen anything. even the bear meat is safe," and he looked to where it was suspended on a tree limb, by means of a long rope, a precaution taken to keep it out of the way of prowling animals. with their guns in readiness for any game, the four chums set out after breakfast on the trail of the unknown, midnight visitor. the marks were easy to follow, for very little snow had fallen after bart had replenished the wood in the stove. "say, do you notice which way he's heading?" asked fenn, excitedly, when they had gone on about a mile. "not particularly," said frank. "why?" "he's gone to the mud volcano--that's where he's gone, fellows!" declared the stout youth. "i wonder what he wants there? maybe he's after mud turtles. maybe he's the same man who wrote to me." "he might be almost anybody, stumpy," was ned's opinion. "we can't tell until we see him. get a move on." the footsteps were becoming fainter now, for the wind had drifted the snow across them in a number of places, but they were sufficiently visible to indicate that the man had kept on in the direction of the boiling spring. just before the boys reached that phenomenon, the marks vanished altogether, coming to an abrupt stop in the snow, but it was evident that this was due to the wind covering the tracks with white crystals from the drifts, and not because the man had mysteriously vanished. "well, we may as well go on to the spring," spoke fenn. "maybe we'll find him there." but the vicinity of the mud volcano was deserted, though numerous mud turtles were crawling about over the warm ground, which was devoid of snow. "i'm going closer and have a look," decided fenn, as he started away from his chums. "better be careful, stumpy," warned bart. "it doesn't look as if there had been an eruption lately, and you may catch it all of a sudden." "oh, i'll chance it," said the heavy-weight lad. he walked close to the edge of the spring, which was motionless save for the water that ran from it. fenn was looking for footprints in the soft ground, but he and his chums had made so many on their own account, on their previous visits to the place, and, as they were still visible (for the ground had not frozen), the amateur detective was at a loss. "there doesn't seem to be anything here," announced fenn, as he turned to come away. hardly had he spoken than he was seen to jump back. that is, he tried to do so, but he was too late. an instant later he was observed to throw up his hands and slowly sink into the marshy ground on the edge of the warm spring. "help! help!" cried poor fenn, as he felt himself going down. "help, fellows!" chapter xvi frank makes pancakes "fellows, he's fallen in a quicksand!" yelled bart. "come on, help him out!" "look out we don't get in it ourselves," cautioned frank, but it was from no desire to shirk any danger in rescuing his chum that he was thus thoughtful. rather he wanted to be on the safe side. "go ahead, bart and ned. i'll get some tree branches, in case you can't reach him," he added. ned and bart started on a run toward their unfortunate chum. poor fenn was engulfed almost to his shoulders, and was struggling ineffectually to get out. "don't worry, we'll save you!" called bart encouragingly. "hold on, stumpy." "that's the trouble--there's nothing to hold on to," panted fenn. "is the water hot?" asked ned. "no, only warm; but i'm in as much mud as i am water. give me a hand, and pull me out." bart and ned advanced to do so, but, to their dismay they found that they were themselves sinking in. as they had approached on this side of the boiling spring on a previous occasion, much closer to the water than they now were, it was evident that there had been a shifting of the earth underneath the surface. "we can't come any closer, stumpy," announced bart. "we'll sink in ourselves." he was about to go back. "don't--don't leave me!" begged the unfortunate lad, making another attempt to lift himself out of the slough. "don't go back on me, bart!" "we won't. we were only trying to think of a way to get you out," answered bart, as he held ned back from going too close. "here, this will do it," cried frank, running up at that moment with a long, tree branch. "take hold of this, stumpy, and we'll haul you out." standing where the ground was firm, frank thrust forward the branch, bart and ned assisting their chum. fenn grasped desperately at the other end, and his three companions braced themselves. there was a straining, a long, steady pull and fenn slowly began to emerge from the hole. once he was started it was an easy matter to pull him out completely, and in a few seconds he was out of danger, and standing beside his chums on solid earth. but such a sight! he was covered with mud almost from his head to his feet. it dripped from his clothes, and his hands were thick with it, while some had even splashed on his face. he had not been rescued more than a minute before there came a rumbling sound, and a spray of mud and water shot up into the air. the volcano was in eruption, and fenn had been saved in the nick of time, for the place where he had been sucked down was right on the edge of the disturbance. "how did it happen?" asked frank. "it was so quick i can't tell," answered the muddy lad. "all i know is that i went down and seemed to keep on going." "better come over to where the water flows out of the spring, and wash off," suggested ned, and fenn agreed with him. the water with which he removed the worst of the mud from his clothes was unpleasant smelling, impregnated as it was with salt and sulphur, but there was no help for it. as the three labored to get fenn into some sort of presentable shape, numerous turtles crawled around them, evidently disturbed by the unaccustomed visits. "well, i'll do, i guess," remarked fenn, at length, trying to catch a glimpse of himself in the little stream of water. "wow, but that's dirty mud, though!" "next time don't go so near," cautioned bart. "you should have told me that first," answered fenn, with a grim smile. with a final look at the place of the mud volcano the boys turned back toward camp. they had not learned much, save that the mysterious visitor had come in the direction of the boiling spring--why, they could not fathom. fenn spoke of getting some of the less common turtles to add to his collection, but his chums persuaded him to wait until they were ready to go home. fenn's first work, when he reached the tent, was to change his clothes, and then, making a good fire in the wood stove he took a bath, with water melted from snow. he felt better after this, and was about to proceed with the getting ready of supper, for they had taken their lunch with them on their tramp to the spring, and had made coffee on the way. "fenn, you sit down and rest, and i'll get the meal," suggested frank, good-naturedly. "i think i'll give you fellows a treat." "what'll it be?" asked ned. "how would pancakes go?" inquired frank with a triumphant air. "can you make 'em?" asked bart, doubtfully. "sure. i did it at home once; for dad and me. we have some prepared flour here, and the directions are on the package. you fellows go outside, and when the cakes are ready i'll call you in to supper." "that suits me," observed bart, and the others assented joyfully. leaving frank in the cook-tent, they busied themselves about various things, awaiting the call for supper, and with no great amount of patience, for they were hungry. "do you fellows smell anything," asked bart, after a long wait, and he sniffed the air strongly. "you don't mean to say frank's burning those cakes, do you?" inquired ned anxiously. "no, i don't smell him cooking them at all," answered bart. "they ought to be pretty nearly done by this time, for it doesn't take long. maybe he's in trouble. i'm going to take a look." he advanced cautiously to peer into the cook tent, whence came a series of rather queer sounds. bart took one look through the flap, and then beckoned to his chums. "look, but don't laugh," he cautioned them. it was well he did, for the sight that met their eyes made them want to howl. frank was in the midst of the tent, surrounded by several pots, pans, pails, dishes and other receptacles, filled with pancake batter. he was industriously stirring more in the bread-pan, and there was a puzzled look on his face. "hang it all," frank's chums heard him mutter, "i can't seem to get this stuff right. guess it needs more flour." he put some into the batter he was mixing, and then stirred it. "now it's too thick," he remarked. "it needs more water." he poured the fluid in with a too lavish hand, it seemed, for he murmured: "gee whiz! can't i get this right? now i've got it too thin. i'll have to empty part of it out." he looked around for something into which to pour part of the batter, but every available dish in the tent seemed to be filled. "no use saving it," frank went on. "i'll just throw some of it away. i've got lots left." he emptied part of the batter into a refuse pail, and his face wore such a worried expression as he came back to his task, that bart and his two chums could not hold back their laughter any longer. as they burst into peals of mirth, frank glanced up, and saw them spying on him from the tent flap. "hu! you fellows think you're mighty smart, i guess!" he muttered. "how are you coming on?" asked bart "are you stocking up for fear of a blizzard, frank?" then the comical side of the situation struck the volunteer cook, and he, too, joined in the fun. "it's funny how this thing came out," said frank, with a dubious air. "first the batter was too thick, and then, when i put more water in, it was too thin. then i had too much, and i had to empty some of it out. then i did the same thing over again, and had to keep on emptying. i never could seem to get it right, and i've used up nearly a sack of flour. i put the flavoring in, too." "flavoring? what flavoring?" asked fenn quickly. "cocoanut, i guess it was. i found it in a cocoanut box, anyhow." "i never heard of cocoanut flavoring in pancakes," said fenn dubiously, "but maybe it's all right. but i'll show you how to mix 'em, frank. we'll just put two or three dishes of this batter together in the pan, add a little more flour, and some salt, and it'll be ready to bake," and, as he talked fenn soon beat up the batter to the right consistency, for he had a knack of cooking. then a frying pan was put on the stove, for they had brought along no regular griddle, it was greased, and frank, who insisted on doing the rest, was allowed to pour out the batter, and do the turning. this part he managed fairly well, and soon he had a big plate full of nicely-browned cakes. "seems to me they smell sort of funny," remarked ned, as he sat down to the table, and helped himself liberally. "oh, that's only your imagination," declared frank. "they're all right. eat hearty, fellows, there's lots of 'em." there was--enough for a squad. fenn poured out a liberal amount of maple syrup on his pile of cakes. he put a generous piece of the top brown one in his mouth. the next minute he uttered a yell, and made rush for the outside of the tent. "wow! oh!" he cried on his way. "why, what's the matter?" asked frank, as fenn hastily drank several glasses of water on his return. "what did you say you flavored those cakes with?" demanded the stout youth, while bart and ned paused, with their forks half raised to their mouths. "cocoanut," answered frank. "soap powder, you mean!" exclaimed fenn, as he made a dash for the box that served as a cupboard, and took out a pasteboard package that had contained cocoanut. "i put soap powder in this to have handy when i washed the dishes," explained the fleshy youth, "and you flavored the cakes with it, frank. wow! wow!" "oh punk!" groaned bart, as he pushed his plate away from him, "and i was counting on griddle cakes!" frank cautiously smelled of the pile of cakes on his plate. "guess you're right," he admitted dubiously. "i'm sorry fellows, but my pancakes are a failure." chapter xvii treed by a wildcat they made the best of it, laughing and joking, and the meal was finished on some victuals that remained from the day before. frank was inclined to blame himself, and, after that, fenn, because the latter had put the soap powder into the cocoanut box, but the amateur cook's chums were good-natured over his failure, and comforted him with the proverb "accidents will happen in the best of regulated camps." the weather the following day turned out unexpectedly warm, and, as bart, fenn and ned elected to remain in camp, and straighten it out somewhat, besides cleaning their guns, and mending some torn clothes, frank said: "guess i'll go off, and try my luck, if you fellows don't mind. maybe i can bag something." "going alone?" asked bart, looking up from his rifle, which he had taken apart. "if you wait until after dinner i'll go along." "i don't mind going alone," was frank's rejoinder, and this was true, for, however good a chum he might be to the other lads, he was rather an odd chap, and frequently went off on solitary strolls. his friends were used to this, and did not mind. "aren't you going to take a rifle?" asked ned. "you might see some big game." "guess not. i'm after birds. you fellows have scared off all the deers and bears," and, with a light shotgun over his shoulder frank set out. it was lonesome enough in the woods, after leaving the winter camp, to suit almost any one who was fond of solitude, and frank really rejoiced in the calm and quietness all about him. the only sound was the occasional flutter of a bird in the branches, or the soft, slushing noise made by snow toppling from the trees to the ground. frank walked on, his eyes alert for a sign of any game that would restock the camp larder, but, for a long time he saw nothing. he had covered about three miles, and was beginning to think that he would have his trip in vain, when, as he went down into a little gully, where the snow lay rather deeper than on the level, he heard a noise, and saw a movement in the underbrush. "there's something!" he exclaimed half aloud, and he swung his gun around. "now let's see what sort of a shot i am." he advanced cautiously, thinking he might flush a covey of birds. but the sound was not repeated, and, look as he did, frank could see nothing. with ready gun, and eyes that gazed eagerly forward, he kept on, making as little noise as possible. suddenly he heard a yelping bark, followed by a shrill cry of agony, and there was a great commotion in a clump of bushes about a hundred feet directly in front of him. some animal or animals were evidently threshing about in the underbrush. "a dog! it's a dog, and something has caught it!" exclaimed frank. "maybe it's a bear! i wish i had my rifle!" he had no thought of turning back, even though he had but a light shotgun. the commotion increased, the yelping and barking finally dying out, to be succeeded by a low moan, and then there was a silence, and frank could hear the crunching of bones. "poor dead beast," he murmured. "maybe i can get a pop at the other creature; and if i get close enough, and put two charges of shot into it at short range, and in the right spot, i may kill it. i'm going to try, anyhow." he little knew the danger he was running, for he had had, as yet, no view of the creature upon which he was creeping. as he walked forward he stepped on a dead branch, concealed by the snow, and it broke with his weight, a sharp snap sounding in the still forest. instantly the crunching of bones ceased, there was a slight movement where the fight had taken place, and a savage growl resounded. "i'm in for it now," mused frank. "i've got to see it through. i can't run, but i don't like that growl." he stood still for a moment, hoping the beast would show itself. then he advanced a few more steps. as he got to one side of the concealing bushes he saw a curious sight. a big, lithe, tawny creature, with ears laid back, and with flashing eyes, was crouched down over some smaller animal, savagely regarding the boy. it had been rending and tearing the smaller creature, and, at a glance frank saw that it was a fox. it had been the whines and barking of the fox that he had heard, and the groans had come when death followed the stroke of the sharp claws of the wildcat, for it was that savage and tawny beast that now glared at frank--a wildcat disturbed at its meal. frank saw before him one of the tragedies of the forest. the fox had been preying on a wild turkey, as was evidenced by the half-consumed carcass, and the feathers scattered all about. then along had come the wildcat, intent on a meal, had crept upon the feasting fox, had leaped down from a tree, and, with the quickness of light, had given the death stroke. now frank had come, the fourth factor in the woodland tragedy. for a moment the lad stood regarding the savage creature, whose blazing eyes never left his face. then, as cautiously as he could, frank brought his gun to bear. oh, how he wished he had his rifle now, for well he knew that more than a charge of small shot was needed to kill the big cat. "but if i can give her both barrels at once, right in the eyes, maybe it will do for her," he mused quickly. once more came the menacing growl, and the cat crouched for a spring. from her jaws dripped foam and blood. frank raised his gun, and took quick aim. he pulled both triggers together, and the recoil nearly sent him over backwards. but he recovered his balance with an effort, and gazed through the smoke at the crouching creature. to his horror, instead of seeing her stretched out dead, or writhing in the final struggle, the lad saw the big, tawny body bounding over the snow toward him. on she came, growling and snarling, and frank saw that he had fired too high, and that with the small shot he had only succeeded in slightly wounding the wildcat on top of the head. the creature's eyes had escaped, and, now with the yellow orbs blazing with deadly hate and anger, she leaped forward as though to serve the lad as she had served the fox. "can i get in another shot?" thought frank. he "broke" his breach-loader, the empty shells flew out, and his hand sought his belt, to slip in two fresh cartridges. to his horror he found that they would not fit! he had brought out his smaller gauge shotgun, and the cartridges in it were the only ones available. they had been fired. those in his belt were too large. and the wildcat was bounding toward him! there was but one thing to do, and frank did it. wheeling quickly he raced for the nearest tree which would sustain him. fortunately there was one not far away. he managed to reach it well ahead of the wildcat, and began scrambling up. he dropped his gun, since it was useless, and only hindered him in his ascent. and he needed to make all the haste he could, for he was hardly well up out of reach of the cruel claws, before the enraged brute bounded against the foot of the tree with a snarl. "she'll come up after me, as sure as fate!" thought frank desperately. "i've got to stop her in some way." the cat began climbing, an easy task with her long, sharp claws. frank reached up, and saw, over his head a dead branch, that was big and sufficiently strong for his purpose. working with feverish energy he broke it off, and, when the big cat's head was close enough the young hunter brought the large end of the stick down on the skull with all his might. with a howl of rage the big beast loosed its hold, and dropped back to the earth. then it looked upward, glaring at frank as if wondering what kind of a foe he was. but not daunted by the reception she met, the animal once more began climbing up. once more frank raised the club, and dealt her another severe blow. "i hope i crack your skull!" he murmured. but alas for his hopes! the blow was well delivered, and sent the cat back snarling and growling, but the force of it broke the branch off close to the lad's hand, and the best part of his weapon fell to the ground. "i'm done for, if she comes back at me!" he thought, but the cat had no such intentions, at present at least. the two blows on the head had stunned her. down at the foot of the tree crouched the brute, as if to announce that she would wait there until after dark, when she would have the advantage. "i'm in for it now," mused the lad. "treed by a wildcat, and nothing with which to shoot her. i _am_ in a pickle. the fellows won't know where to look for me, and i can't fire any shots to call them. i _am_ up against it." he made himself as comfortable as possible on his small perch. at his first movement the cat started up from her crouching position, as if to be on the alert, but, seeing that her prey did not attempt to descend, she again stretched out, and began moving her paw over the place where the shot had torn her scalp. for half an hour frank sat there, turning over the situation in his mind. he hoped the cat might tire of waiting, or go back to the fox she had killed, but the animal showed no such intentions. noon came, and there was no change. frank was tired and cramped, and he began to feel the pangs of hunger. he moved about, seeking to be comfortable, and every time he shifted his position the wildcat would growl, as if resenting it. "maybe when i don't come home to dinner the fellows will come looking for me," thought the treed lad. "they may be able to trace my footsteps." but the afternoon began to wane, and no relief came. frank was desperately weary, and was beginning to be alarmed. not only was the prospect of a night in the tree most unpleasant, but he feared that after dark he could not watch to ward off the approach of the beast, whose ability to see after nightfall was better than was his. then, too, he feared that his muscles might get numb, and that he would fall. "well, i'll cut another club, and have it in readiness," frank thought, and, as there were no more suitable dead limbs that would serve, he whittled off with his knife, a tough green branch, that would answer as a club. this movement on his part was resented by the cat, who raised up and tried her fore paws on the tree trunk, tearing off bits of bark. but she did not venture to climb. the memory of the blows on the head probably deterred her. it began to get dusk. the cat seemed to know this, and began prowling about the foot of the tree, as if waiting until the veil of night had completely fallen before making another attack. now and then she growled and once howled dismally. "maybe she's got a mate," thought frank. "if two of them come at me----" he didn't like to dwell on that. the big cat curled herself at the foot of the tree, and looked up at the boy, not far above her head. then, as frank carefully shifted his position, to get rid of a cramp in his left leg, his fingers came in contact with his belt filled with cartridges. "oh, if i had only brought the right size, or else had my other gun," he mused regretfully. "there'd soon be a different story to tell. as it is----" he paused, struck by a sudden thought. "by jove! i'll try it!" he cried. "wonder why i didn't think of it before." taking out a cartridge, and bracing himself in the crotch of a limb so as to have both hands free, he dug out, with his knife, the wad that held the shot in place. he let the leaden pellets fall to the ground. at this the cat growled, but the lad paid no attention to her. next he removed the wad over the powder, and poured the black grains out into his hand. from his pocket he took a piece of paper, and, emptying the powder into this he laid it in his cap, which he managed to balance on a limb in front of him. working rapidly in the fast-gathering darkness he emptied several cartridges, until he had a sufficient quantity of powder in the paper. this he wadded up tightly, leaving one end twisted into a sort of fuse. next he tied a string to his improvised bomb. with trembling fingers he lighted the fuse, and then, when it was burning well, he began to lower the paper of powder toward the wildcat. the beast snarled as she saw the tiny flame approaching, but she did not withdraw. rather she reared on her hind feet, and was about to strike at the little tongue of fire. this was better than frank hoped for. an instant later there was a big puff of flame, and a dull report. the powder in the paper had exploded almost in the face of the wildcat. with a scream of rage and pain the creature dropped to all fours, and began clawing the dirt and snow. the fire had burned her severely, and she was wild with pain. "good!" exulted frank. "i wish i had another!" he peered down at the snarling cat, and began to open more cartridges. but it was too dark to see to work, and he had to stop, for he spilled the powder. suddenly, above the yelps and growls of the brute, the lad in the tree heard a hail far off in the woods. he listened a moment, and then shouted: "here i am, fellows. over here! i'm treed by a wildcat! look out!" "we're coming," shouted bart's voice. "where are you?" frank rapidly twisted some paper together, lighted it, and waved the improvised torch above his head. he hardly dared descend yet. a shout told him that his light had been seen. then, off through the woods, he saw the flicker of a lantern. "come up easy," he cautioned. "the brute is still here, though i burned her some." he dropped the blazing paper to the ground. it flared up, and the cat, with a snarl, sprang away. an instant later a shot rang out, and the beast turned a somersault, falling over backward--dead. bart had seen the tawny body in the gleam from the burning paper, and had fired in the nick of time. "you can come down now, frank," he cried, as he and the other chums rushed up to where the wildcat was still twitching in death. chapter xviii the mysterious man again frank's story was soon told, and he was helped back toward camp by his comrades, for he was stiff from his long position in the tree. "you want to be more careful of your gun, next time," cautioned bart, "and take the right one." "yes, and you want to take some grub with you," added fenn. "you never can tell what will happen in the woods. hungry, aren't you?" "don't mention it," begged frank, earnestly. "i could even eat pancakes flavored with soap powder." "well, we'll soon be in camp," remarked ned. "we've got plenty to eat there. we would have started searching for you long before this, but we supposed you had taken some grub, and would stay all day. but when it got dark, and you didn't show up, we feared something had happened." "something had," observed frank earnestly. "we had tramped about for some time before we saw the puff of the explosion," went on bart. "you had a great head on you, frank, to think of that." "i had to think of something," was the response. "wow! but that beast was a savage one!" they reached camp in due time, and frank was provided with a good meal, and plenty of hot coffee. the warm weather continued for the next two days, and the air was almost like spring. the boys thoroughly enjoyed it, and went on long tramps through the woods. they were on the lookout for the mate of the wildcat, but saw no further traces of the ugly beasts. there was a stream, not far from camp, and there the chums went one day, cut a hole through the ice, which was too thick to melt much, and fished for pickerel, with such good luck that they had a fish dinner that day. then on several succeeding days they went hunting, getting some wild turkeys, and some wild ducks, which gave them a variety of food for their larder. for a week they lived this way, and bart was in hopes of bagging a deer, since the snow had disappeared, and it was lawful to shoot them. but, though he tramped far and near he did not see any. once he descried one on top of a distant hill, but it was too far off for a successful shot, and when he started on the trail the animal dashed into a thick forest, and was soon lost. bart returned to camp, somewhat dispirited. he practiced at a target occasionally, as did his chums, but they could not begin to equal bart in making bullseyes, though ned ran his friend a close second. the boys tramped about, did the work necessary in camp, hunted and fished and thoroughly enjoyed life during the mild weather of the unexpected thaw. not that they did not enjoy it when it was cold and snapping, or even snowing, but they could do much more when the weather was milder. "but we'll pay for this," declared bart one day, when they had started on their second week of camp life. "we'll have a storm soon, i'm thinking." "let it come," declared fenn. "we're ready for it, and the folks know we're all right," for they had walked to a cross-roads rural free delivery box that day, and deposited some letters to go to darewell, as they knew the mail carrier would collect the missives. "you won't get your deer if the snow comes," spoke frank, "and, by the looks of the sky, we'll have a flurry before night." "i know it, and that's the reason i'm going out this afternoon, and have another try for it. are you fellows coming?" "i'm not," announced fenn. "too tired. i'm going to stay here and chop wood. you fellows won't do it, and we've got to have some for the fires." "i'll help," agreed frank. "will you come, ned?" went on bart. "nope, i'm going to clean my gun. there'll be some good shooting after the storm, and i want to be ready for it." "all right, then i'll go alone," decided bart. "i want a deer," and putting a supply of cartridges in his belt, and seeing that his gun magazine was filled, he started off. for some time bart tramped on without a sight of anything. then, when he was going through a lonely part of the forest, if one part of that uninhabited place was more lonely than another, he was startled by a crashing sound in the underbrush. he started, and threw up his gun in anticipation, but he could not help laughing when a big rabbit, as startled as the lad was himself, stood up and looked at him. "skip away, bunny," remarked bart with a laugh, "i'm looking for bigger game than you," and he kept on, while the hare scurried for cover. bart covered several miles, and, almost unconsciously, he found that he was traveling in the direction of the mud volcano, or boiling spring, having swung around in a half-circle since leaving camp. "by jinks!" exclaimed the youth, as he came to a halt in the midst of a little clearing, "i believe i've got an idea. that mud volcano water is partly salty. now, why shouldn't deer go there to get the salt? they love it and i may catch one there. i never thought of that before. i've read of 'salt licks,' where deer congregate, but i never figured out that our boiling spring might be one. i'll keep on to there, and maybe i'll get a shot." this gave a new direction to his chase, and he turned to make his way to the spring. he had not taken ten steps before he was again startled by a crashing in the underbrush. he thought it was another rabbit, and he was about to pass on when he looked up, and saw, through the leafless trees, a big buck gazing full at him. it was only for an instant, and before bart could bring his rifle to bear the deer had bounded off. "he's headed for the boiling spring!" cried bart in his excitement. "now i'll get him! i hope i get a shot before it begins to snow, and it's likely to do it any minute now." bart started off rapidly in the direction taken by the buck, with his gun in readiness for a quick shot, though he hardly hoped to get one until he had continued the chase for some time longer. the crashing in the bushes encouraged him, and told him that his quarry was ahead of him, and on he rushed. almost before he knew it he was within sight of the boiling spring, and he checked his pace, hoping to come upon the buck licking the salty deposit from the rocks in the little stream that flowed from the place where the mud volcano was. he thought the animal might even stop for a drink in a fresh spring, that was not far from the salty one. as bart peered through the bushes, with his rifle ready to throw up to his shoulder, he was conscious of some movement in the underbrush on the other side of the spring. "he's made a circle, and he's here ahead of me--on the other side," thought the lad. "i think i've got him!" with eager eyes he watched. the bushes continued to move and vibrate. something seemed to be coming down to the edge of the spring. bart's nerves were on edge. his hands were almost trembling, but he controlled himself by an effort, and he raised his gun slowly to take aim. he saw something brown moving amid the brambles. it looked like the head of a deer. bart slowly and cautiously raised his gun to his shoulder. he drew a bead on the brown object. a moment later, and just as the lad was about to press the trigger, there stepped into view a man! it was a man and not a deer that bart had been about to fire at, and a cold chill came over him. he had paused just in time. but as he looked at the individual whom he had mistaken for a deer he felt a second tremor of excitement, for, as he had a glimpse of his face bart was made aware that the man was none other than the one about whom there was such a mystery--the man who had sneaked into the schoolhouse the night the diamond bracelet was stolen--the midnight visitor at the camp, perhaps. at the same instant that bart was aware of this the man saw him. he hesitated--made a gesture as if of despair, and turned to dive into the bushes. a moment later there came a sudden snow squall, shutting off from bart's view the man he had so nearly shot. chapter xix lost in the woods pausing for an instant to get his bearings, bart dashed forward, circled around the edge of the mud volcano, and ran on in the direction he had seen the man take. "i'm going to catch him," thought the lad, fiercely. "i'm going to get at the bottom of this. why does he seem to be following us--hanging around our camp? what's he doing here? did he take the diamond bracelet? i'm going to find out some of those things--when i catch him." he added the last with a grim smile, for, as he went on, and the snow storm increased in fury, bart was aware that he had no easy task before him. the swirling white flakes were now so thick that he could hardly see five feet in advance, and he was soon made unpleasantly aware of this, for he collided, with no little force, into a tree. the shock threw him backward, and he nearly dropped his gun, but it had one good effect, for it made him pause to consider what he was doing. "i wonder if there's any use in me going on like this?" bart reflected. "he's got a good start of me, and he evidently knows these roads as well as i do. guess i'd better go back to camp, get the fellows, and then see if i can trail him. though if it keeps on snowing it's not going to be easy to see his footprints. i wonder if i can hear anything of him?" he paused in a listening attitude, but the only sounds that came to him were those of the wind howling through the leafless branches of the trees, and the swish of the snowflakes as they swirled downward. once bart heard a crashing amid the underbrush to one side. he darted in that direction, thinking it was the fugitive. there came, at that instant, a lull in the storm, and, peering at the lad from under the shelter of a pine tree was the big buck, the chase of which had led to such unexpected results. bart fired, point blank, but he saw the deer bound away, and he knew he had only wounded it slightly, if at all. he started after it, but a moment later the snow began again, more thickly than before, and everything was blotted out. "that settles it," murmured bart, grimly, "back to camp for mine. no use keeping up the chase to-day." it was not without considerable regret that the lad retraced his steps. he wanted, very much, to get the buck, and he wanted still more to capture the mysterious man who seemed to be playing such an important part in the lives of himself and his chums. "i'll get the other fellows, and then we'll see if we can't trail him," mused bart, as he neared the camp. to his delight, just before he reached it, the snow ceased falling, and he felt that now there was a chance to trace the man by means of his footsteps, for they would not be covered by the white crystals. but there was the promise of more snow, and bart knew they had little time to spare. "come on, boys!" cried bart, when he came in sight of the tents, and saw ned and the others sweeping away the snow from the front entrances. "come on. i'm after him!" "who?" demanded frank. "the mysterious man! come--no time to lose!" and bart rapidly told what he had seen. "wait until i get my gun, and i'll be with you!" cried fenn. "aren't we going to have dinner first?" asked ned. "we'll eat a light lunch, and take a snack with us," proposed frank. "we don't want to waste too much time." in a little while they were ready to start, each one with a few sandwiches, while bart, in addition, carried a small coffee pot, and a supply of the ground material for making the beverage in the woods; water could be had by melting snow over a fire they would build. bart led the way toward the mud volcano, the location of which was now well fixed in the minds of the boys. "here's where i first sighted the deer," bart explained when he reached the place. "by jinks! i wish i could have potted him, though! he was a beaut!" "and where did you see our mysterious friend?" asked frank. "not until i got to the spring. we'll soon be up to it." but when they reached the spot, which, because of the warmth of the water, contained no trace of snow, though elsewhere the ground was white, there was, of course, no evidences of the man, save for blurred footprints. "that's right where he stood," declared bart, "and he went off in this direction." "then it's up to us to follow," asserted ned. "we can see his tracks. they're pretty plain now, but they won't be in a little while, for it's going to snow more." they hurried on, trailing the man like officers of the law after a criminal. the footprints were plainly visible in the snow, being blurred occasionally by little drifts that had blown over them. they showed that the man had run a good part of the way, for the marks were far apart and irregular. they had gone on for perhaps a mile, seeing no sign of their quarry, but loath to give up, when there was a sudden darkening of the atmosphere, the wind increased in violence, and then the air was again filled with flying flakes, so thick that the lads could not see ten feet ahead. "might as well give up now," called bart. "his tracks will be covered in five minutes." "let's wait a bit, and see if it stops snowing," proposed frank, and they did, standing in the shelter of some trees. but the white flakes showed no inclination to stop, and with something like despair in their hearts the four chums prepared to return to camp. "and it's about time, too," remarked ned, looking at his watch. "it's after five, and it will soon be dark. let's eat. i'm hungry." "oh, wait a while," advised bart. "we'll soon be back at camp. i think i know a short cut, and then we can have a hot supper." "well, go ahead," agreed frank. "a short cut will be just the thing. i'm tired." bart started off with an air of confidence, hesitated a moment, and then plunged his hand in his pocket. "well, i'll be hanged!" he burst out. "what's the matter?" inquired fenn. "my compass--i haven't got it. let me take one of you fellow's." "i haven't any," said fenn. "left it in camp." "so did i," added frank and ned. "you did?" asked bart, blankly. there was a pause--the boys knew what it meant to be out in the woods in a snowstorm, without the little swinging needle to guide them. "what did you do with the one you had, bart?" asked frank. "you had one, didn't you, when you were out after the deer, and saw the man?" "sure i did, but i took it out of my pocket when i stuffed this lunch in, and must have forgotten to put it back. i remember now, i left it on the box in the tent. but i thought you fellows would sure have one." "well, we haven't," said frank, with an uneasy laugh. "what's to be done?" "oh, i dare say we can get back--somehow," went on bart. "come on, fellows. i think i know the way." they started off, with no light hearts, and tramped through the blinding snow, but it was with little confidence. several times bart stopped to get his bearings. once he and fenn disputed about a certain turn, and bart so insisted that he was right, that the other two lads agreed with him. it grew darker, and they wandered into drifts, stumbled into unexpected hollows, and brought up against trees, sometimes falling over stumps. at last bart said: "fellows, there's no use going on this way any farther. i'm off the track. i shouldn't have started out. the fact of the matter is that we're lost in the woods, and we've got to make the best of it!" chapter xx a night of misery bart's announcement brought looks of blank astonishment and dismay to the faces of his chums. they had so depended on him, that, to have him go back on them in this fashion, was a shock. "are you sure we're lost?" asked ned, slowly. "no doubt of it, in my mind," answered bart, and he laughed a little. the strain of keeping up the pace on a route he was not at all sure of, was harder than admitting the fact of being lost in the wilderness. "what are we going to do?" asked fenn, rather helplessly. "the first thing to do will be to gather wood for a fire before it's too dark to see," announced bart, with assumed if not real cheerfulness. "then we'll make a blaze, and eat." the mention of food was cheering in itself, to say nothing of the prospect of a fire, and then, too, the act of being busy took from the minds of the lads the thoughts that they were lost. in a short time they had gathered quite a pile of wood. some of it was dry, for it was under the low-lying branches of spruce and hemlock trees, and the snow had been kept from it. from the interior of hollow logs some "punk" was obtained, and this, together with some dead branches, that had lodged in a hollow under a big rock, made enough fuel to get a blaze started. "but where are we going to stay to-night?" asked frank, when the flickering flames had dispelled some of the darkness. "don't worry about that," advised bart. "some of these fir trees are as good as a tent, and nearly as dry. we can stay under them until morning." "will we be any better off by morning?" asked ned, dubiously. "lots better," replied bart, cheerfully. "but let's get ready for some hot coffee. lucky we brought the pot along. ned, you gather some snow in it, and we'll put it on to melt. fenn, you get some flat stones, to make a sort of fireplace. frank, you cut some branches from that hemlock, and make cots under that big tree over there. i'll help. that will be our tent to-night. everybody get busy, now." ordering his chums about in this way was the best thing bart could have done, and, in a short time, everyone was so occupied that he had no time to think of the unpleasant situation. soon the coffee was boiling away, and bart had arranged an old log, under the shelter of a tree, for a table. thereon their frugal meal was spread out. luckily each lad carried a drinking cup with him, and this served in which to dispense the coffee. they had no milk, of course, but bart had been thoughtful enough to bring along some sugar, so the beverage was not at all unpalatable. then, by the light of the campfire, they sat about, munched their sandwiches, drank the strong coffee, and talked of their afternoon's adventure. "why, that isn't a half bad place to sleep," remarked fenn, as he looked at the "bunk" bart and frank had made. "sure, it's great," added ned, but it was probably the cheerfulness engendered by a hot drink and food that made them see things with more hopeful eyes. they had no blankets, but they wore thick clothing, and had on heavy coats, so their situation was not so bad. besides, the weather was not cold, though it was growing more so, and the snow still fell thickly. the heavy branches of the tree under which the boys crawled, served to protect them. they stretched out, and hoped to be able to sleep, in order that morning might come the more quickly, but either the strong coffee, or the unusual situation, kept them wide awake. they lay close together, for the sake of warmth, but first bart would turn over, restlessly, and then, in sequence, fenn, ned and frank would do the same thing. "what's the matter; can't you fellows sleep?" asked ned, at length. "no; can you?" inquired bart. "nope. let's talk." "all right. say, what do you suppose that man was doing around the mud volcano?" ventured frank. they had discussed this, in all its bearings, several times that afternoon, but it was a subject full of new possibilities, and they eagerly welcomed another chance to talk about it. "i think he was after mud turtles," said bart. "say," asked fenn, suddenly, "did it ever strike you fellows that this fellow might be a detective?" "a detective?" gasped the other three. "yes; after us," went on stumpy. "you know we're suspected of taking that bracelet. it hasn't been found, and what would be more natural than for professor long to hire a private detective, and have him shadow us. i didn't think of that until just now, but i'll wager i'm right. you'll find that man is a detective, and he's watching us; trying to get a trace of the bracelet. maybe he thinks we have it, and are going to hide it off in the woods here." "say!" cried bart, "that's not a bad 'think' of yours, stumpy. i wouldn't be surprised but what you are right," and then they fell to discussing that aspect of the case. it was quite a reversal of the former situation. instead of them being after the mysterious man, he might be after the chums. "but how do you account for him entering the school that night, before the bracelet was stolen?" asked frank. "maybe he was shadowing us--or, rather, you fellows--" said fenn, who, as will be remembered, was not present on that occasion. "or, maybe we're mistaken, and the man bart saw to-day may not have been the one who entered the school." "oh, he's the same one," declared bart, with conviction. there was more discussion, and, if it did nothing more, it served a good turn, for it shunted the thoughts of the lads into new channels, and they began to feel sleepy. but, just as they were about to doze off, there came an exclamation of dismay from bart. "what's the matter?" asked bart. "stream of water trickling down my neck," was the answer. "i believe it's raining!" there was no doubt of it. instead of turning colder it had grown warmer, and the snow had changed to rain. the tree, thick as were the branches, was little protection against the rain, and, as it increased to a regular downpour, the plight of our heroes was miserable in the extreme. there was nothing to be done but make the best of it. they huddled together, turned up the collars of their coats, and tried to crawl to spots more or less protected. but they were soon pretty wet, and, to add to their misery, they saw their fire die down, and go out. "wow! this is fierce!" exclaimed ned, as a stream of water trickled down his neck. "i wish it was morning. it wouldn't be so bad if we could travel." but there was no help for it, and they had to sit there in the storm and darkness, waiting for daylight. chapter xxi unexpected help never had hours seemed to drag so slowly. there was nothing to be heard save the drip, drip of the rain in the forest, and the mournful sound of the wind in the trees. once bart went out, and tried to coax into a blaze the few, faint, remaining embers of the fire, but it was out of the question. he did have it started, but a swaying of the trees overhead sent down a shower of drops, and the blaze was completely extinguished. "hang the luck!" exclaimed bart, as he hurried back into the partial shelter of the tree under which were his chums. "it's all my fault, for not keeping my compass." "no, we should have kept ours," declared fenn. "it's up to us, too." "well, then, i shouldn't have seen that mysterious man," went on bart, determined to blame himself in some fashion, "and we wouldn't have come on this wild-goose chase." "no, it's a good thing you did see him," said frank. "we want to know what he's up to." "i only hope he's as badly off as we are," put in ned, with a shiver. "but say, fellows," he went on, in a few minutes, "don't you think it's slacking up some?" they all listened. there was no doubt about it, the rain was less in violence, but the wind was rising. "maybe it's going to clear," suggested fenn. "if it does, it'll be colder," was bart's opinion. it did clear, shortly after that, and there was a decided drop in temperature. through the boughs of their shelter the boys could see the stars coming out. miserable, and feeling chilled to the bone, the chums crowded close together. it soon grew so cold that they had to come out of their shelter to move about and get their blood in circulation. but this served a good purpose, for it gave them something to do. at last a faint streak of light appeared in the east--the herald of the rising sun--and, a little later, the red rim of old sol appeared. never was the big luminary more welcome. "now for a fire!" cried ned, "that is, if we can find any dry wood." they did manage to pick up a few sticks from inside a hollow log where they had placed them the night before, in anticipation of some emergency, and soon they were warming themselves in front of the flames. but there was nothing to eat, and no coffee left, though bart did manage to make a potful of what passed for it out of the grounds of what they had used the night before. "well, let's start for camp," proposed frank, when they had drunk the hot, if not palatable beverage. "think you can find the way, bart?" "i guess so--i'll try, anyhow." they started off, getting the direction as best they could by the sun, and for an hour tramped forward, feeling, on the whole, rather miserable, but hoping to soon be in camp. several hours passed, and they seemed to be no nearer the place where their tents were. bart's face wore a puzzled look. he stared around at the trees, as if they would help him solve the problem. then he said: "fellows, i'm sorry, but i don't know where we are." "lost again, do you mean?" asked ned. "i don't believe we've been un-lost, if that's the proper term," went on bart. "i guess we haven't been on the right path since last night." "what are we going to do?" asked frank, helplessly. "i'm as hungry as a bear." "and i'm almost frozen," added bart, with a shiver, "so you're no worse off than the rest of us," and there was a note of impatience in his voice. the chums looked at each other. their plight was disagreeable, not to say desperate. they knew that the forest in which they had encamped was large in extent, and was seldom visited. if they had to spend another night and day in it the consequences might be serious. "well," began bart, "i suppose the only thing to do is to keep on. we may strike the right path. there are several trails around here." he was about to start off again, when they were all startled by hearing a crackling in the underbrush. it seemed to come from their left. "get your gun ready, bart," whispered fenn. "maybe it's a deer." "maybe it's that mysterious man," came from ned. bart had raised his rifle, and, a moment later some one emerged from the thick trees, and stood on the edge of a little clearing, confronting the boys. the newcomer was a youth of about their own age, and on his back was evidently a camping pack. he carried a gun, and at the sight of bart, with half-raised rifle, the other slowly brought his weapon around for quick use. but fenn, who had been staring at the latest arrival with eager eyes, suddenly cried out: "it's william perry! don't you know him, fellows? the lad whose mother took us in at the time of the blizzard--william perry--whom we found in a snowbank in new york!" "william perry?" faltered bart, lowering his rifle. "william perry?" came from ned and frank, in a sort of a chorus. "the darewell chums!" exclaimed the other lad, while wonder spread over his face. "the darewell chums here?" fenn started toward william on the run. he was soon shaking hands with him, and leading him over to where ned, frank and bart stood. "however in the world did you get here?" asked bart. "are you lost, too?" "no," replied william perry, "i'm working for a lumber company, and i'm on my way from one camp to another. i had to spend last night in the woods. but what are you doing here?" "we've been out in the woods all night, too," said frank. "we're camping, but we lost our way," and he quickly explained the circumstances. "where's your camp?" asked william, who, as my readers will remember, was the son of the widow in whose house the chums found shelter during a blizzard that overtook them when they were on a hunting trip, as told in the second volume of this series entitled "the darewell chums in the city." later they found william in new york. he had gone to become a sailor, but had deserted because of a brutal captain, and went into hiding. he was found half frozen in a snowbank, from which the chums rescued him, and sent him back home. "our camp?" repeated bart, in answer to william's questions, "i only wish we knew where it was." "i mean what's it near?" went on william. "oh, the mud volcano," replied frank, "if you know where that is." william did, and quickly said so. "i've been working for this lumber concern for about six months," he went on, "and i know these woods pretty well. but i always go prepared to spend a night in them, as i had to last night." "and can you show us the way to our camp?" asked ned. "sure. you're not more than five miles from it. i guess you've been going around in a circle. come on, i'll show you," and with the confidence of experience william perry led the way through the woods. he had appeared in the nick of time. chapter xxii christmas in camp with new hope in their hearts the chums followed william. they did not mind the cold or hunger now, but hurried on, intent on reaching their tents, donning dry clothing, and starting a roaring fire. then they would have something to eat. on the way william told them of his new position. following his experience in new york, after he had run away from the cruel sea captain, he had worked at odd jobs. then, on his return to his home, near darewell, the chums' fathers had gotten a good position for him. some time previous to his opportune meeting with the lost lads, william explained, he had taken service with the lumber company, which owned most of the woods where the winter camp was. it was part of the youth's duties to go from camp to camp with documents and messages. "it's fine, too," he said, "when the weather is good. when it's too bad, i stay in camp with the men, but i must have made a miscalculation this time, for i was caught in the storm. but it happened for the best, after all." "that's what," agreed bart. "if it hadn't been for you i don't know what we'd have done. can you stay in camp with us for a while?" "well, long enough to have dinner, if you've got enough to eat." "oh, we've got plenty," ned assured him. "bart's a good shot, you know," and the chums took turns in explaining how they had come to make a winter camp in the woods. they said nothing about the missing diamond bracelet, however, nor about the mysterious man. camp was reached none too soon for the comfort of our heroes. they found nothing disturbed, and from their stock of dry wood, under one tent, a roaring fire was made. the lads changed to dry clothes, had a hot meal, which william perry shared with them, and then he said he must be on his way. "can't you spend a week with us?" invited frank, as the lumber lad was about to go. "i'm afraid not. this is my busy season, you know." "i have it!" cried fenn. "let's hear it, stumpy," suggested bart. "out with it." "well," went on the fleshy lad, "next tuesday is christmas. you don't have to work christmas, do you, william?" "no, i guess not." "then i'll tell you what to do. spend christmas here with us. we're going to have a good time. not much in the way of presents, for we didn't bring any out in the woods, but we'll have a christmas tree, even if bart does want to hang up his stockings," and fenn winked at his chums. "it sounds good," spoke william, wistfully. "i don't believe i can get home for christmas, or i would go see my folks." "and we'll have roast wild turkey, rabbit stew, partridge potpie and bear steak, also some venison, if bart has any luck," went on fenn. "it sounds better and better." "and then there's going to be a plum pudding," added fenn proudly. "a plum pudding!" they all cried. "yes, i brought all the materials along. we're going to have a regular plum pudding for christmas!" "then i'm coming," promised william. "i'll get along now, and hurry on to the lumber camp. i'll ask the boss for a few days off, so i can get here saturday, and stay over until the next wednesday, which will be the day after christmas." they voted that plan a good one, and soon afterward william was tramping back through the woods, having promised to be on hand at the time specified. the chums felt no ill effects from their night in the woods, for they followed bart's advice and took plenty of hot ginger tea, made from the materials alice had supplied. the next few days were busy ones for the campers. they made some improvements about the tents, arranged an extra bed for william, and brought in a good supply of wood, which was put under shelter. bart went hunting several times, and did manage to get a buck, but it was smaller than the one he had chased. several rabbits, a number of partridges, and some wild turkeys were shot, which, together with the supplies already on hand, promised an abundance for christmas. fenn, meanwhile, true to his promise, was busy over the plum pudding, which, he said, would take several days to make. "i should think it would," remarked ned, one afternoon, when fenn was occupied with chopping bowl and knife in the cook tent. "it's a wonder you didn't start last fourth of july, stumpy." "that's all right, i know how to make this pudding," asserted fenn, with a superior air. "he's mighty proud of it," whispered frank to ned, as they moved away. "i wish we could play some joke on him." "maybe we can." "i'll think of one," went on frank, who had not yet gotten over his failure with the pancakes, for which he partly blamed fenn. william arrived that saturday afternoon, and was soon made to feel at home in the camp. he was given a spare gun, and on the monday before christmas, all five went for a hunt, though they did not expect to go far from camp. they bagged some small game, and bart made a remarkable kill of a brace of partridges, getting one each with his left and right barrels, when it seemed that both birds would escape. "that's fine shooting, bart," remarked william. "oh, bart's a good shot," answered ned proudly, and not at all jealous. but before long bart was destined to make a more remarkable shot than that. as the boys had said there was to be practically nothing in the way of giving each other presents while in camp. fenn, for the joke of the thing, rigged up a small christmas tree, on which were hung pretended gifts. "well, let's get to bed early to-night," suggested frank on christmas eve. "and get up a good appetite for my plum pudding," suggested fenn. "it's a dandy! i've got it all made, and all i have to do is to warm it, and make the sauce. it's in that box," and he pointed proudly to one in the cook tent. christmas was ushered in with a snow storm, which made the woods a place of beauty. it was not very cold, and the boys, jumping from their beds, wished each other the joys of the season. most of the work of getting ready the dinner had been done the day previous, so there was little work christmas morning. they went hunting, but did not see anything to shoot, and, in fact they did not need anything, as the larder was well stocked. "now," ordered fenn, on their return, "get a move on, fellows. get the table set, and i'll look after the other things," for the turkey and some partridges had been partly cooked the day previous, and needed only a final turn in the oven. several dainties had been brought from home, in anticipation of this feast, and they were now set out. such a dinner as it was! eaten in the midst of a silent wilderness, with the keen sharp air of winter all about, the boys had appetites that would have been the envy and despair of a person troubled with dyspepsia. "well, have you had enough, fellows?" asked fenn, as he stood over the platters of turkey and partridge. "too much," groaned bart. "i hope you have room for the pudding," spoke fenn, anxiously. "don't say you can't eat some of my plum pudding! why i have a regular sauce, made from a recipe in a book, to eat on it." "oh, i guess we can tackle a slice," remarked william, and fenn went proudly to the stove, where the pudding was being kept hot, and soon had it on the table, flanked by two bowls of savory sauce. "let me carve it," begged ned, with a look at frank and bart. "i'll serve it, fenn. you've done enough." "all right," agreed the manufacturer of the pudding. ned carefully inserted a knife in the smoking heap on the plate. fenn looked proudly on, as a generous piece was passed to william, as the guest of the day. then bart and frank were served. the latter gave a sudden outcry. "i say, fenn!" he demanded. "is this a joke, or what? i thought you were going to give us plum pudding!" "so i am. what's that on your plate?" "i don't know what it is," declared frank, indignantly, "only i know it isn't plum pudding. it looks like dough, but it's got the queerest collection of plums in it that i ever saw. look, here's a piece of rubber boot, part of a shoe, some pine cones, some sticks of wood, stones, part of a rope, some brass cartridges and some flannel bandages. plum pudding! take a look," and frank passed to the astonished fenn, the plate of the dubious looking mess. chapter xxiii footprints in the snow for several seconds fenn said nothing. he sat and gazed in blank dismay at the odd conglomeration on the plate that frank had passed to him. at last he asked faintly: "is it--is it all this--this way?" "mine is," declared bart. "and mine," added ned, while william simply passed up his plate for inspection. "it's a trick! a mean trick!" burst out fenn indignantly. "and i know who did it! frank roscoe, you did this to get even with us for my mistake about putting soap powder in the cocoanut box, so that it got into the pancakes! but that wasn't my fault." "you had no right to take the cocoanut out of a box, and put soap powder in without telling a fellow," replied frank. "if it hadn't been for that my cakes would have been a success, and i suppose if you'd been more careful your plum pudding wouldn't have so much trash in. as it is i don't see how we can eat it," and he poked gingerly at the mess on his plate. "well, you fellows may call this a joke, but i don't!" burst out fenn, now angry in earnest, and he started to leave the table. "hold on, old chap. wait a minute," advised bart, soothingly. "i guess it's gone far enough. william, just hand out the other pudding, will you?" the visitor, with a grin, took a covered dish from behind the stove, where it had been set to keep warm. he lifted off the cover, and displayed to the astonished fenn the original plum pudding, smelling most delicious, and smoking hot. "try some of this," said ned. "maybe it will be better." "but i--what--where--what makes--is it----" stammered fenn, and then his chums burst into a laugh. "yes, it's the original pudding," explained frank. "we just wanted to have a little fun with you, that's all. we hid away the pudding you made, and, at the last minute, substituted one of our own that contained all the odds and ends we could pick up in camp, held together with a lot of dough. i guess we can throw it away now, and eat the real thing," and he emptied his plate, and those of his companions, of the dubious mess, and dished out some of the real plum pudding. "ah! um! this is something like!" murmured ned, with his mouth full. "great stuff, stumpy!" "do you like it?" asked the now delighted fenn. "sure!" came in an enthusiastic chorus, and the christmas dinner was well rounded off by the pudding that fenn had made with such care. william spent the remainder of the day in camp with his friends. they went for a walk in the afternoon, did some shooting at targets, for bart decreed that the game must have a holiday as well as the hunters, and at night, inside the snug tent, with the fire blazing brightly in the stove, and the cold wind blowing outside, they spent a jolly evening, singing songs and telling stories. william bade his friends good-bye the next morning, and started off through the woods, with his pack upon his back. the chums felt a little lonesome after his departure, but it soon wore off, for there was much to do, to get in wood and water, straighten up the camp, and prepare for a storm, which, according to all the evidences, was soon to break. it did that night. all the next day, the following night, and part of the next day the wind blew with unabated violence, and the snow was heaped in big drifts. fortunately the camp was in a sheltered position, and the drifts were not high immediately around it, but when the boys ventured out they found it hard traveling, for the snow was deep. all around, the woods were covered with a mantle of white, which had sifted down through the trees, while the firs, spruces, hemlocks and pines, which had heavy foliage that caught the white crystals, were mounds of white. "it's a good thing we had plenty to eat," observed bart, as he and his chums looked around the camp, "for we never could have gotten it during the storm." "that's right," agreed fenn, "but, as it is, we'll have to get something soon, unless we want to live on canned stuff. the fresh meat is nearly gone." for, while practically prisoners in their tents during the storm, they had eaten considerable, and the cupboard was somewhat depleted. "oh, we'll soon stock up again," declared bart. "it will be good hunting now, and, though we can't shoot any deer, i may get a chance at another bear, and there will be plenty of rabbits and game birds. we'll take a chance at it after breakfast." they started out, taking care to have their compasses with them, though they did not expect to go far. no bears were to be seen, but partridge, pheasants and wild turkeys were plentiful, and, in addition to getting a supply of these, they shot several rabbits. in the tent that evening, before going to bed, the boys were cleaning their guns, in anticipation of a hunt the following day. suddenly fenn, who was nearest the flap, uttered a word of caution. "listen," he said in a whisper. "i think i hear something." the others became silent at once, but they heard nothing. "guess it was the wind, stumpy," observed bart, as he put an oiled rag down the barrel of his rifle. "maybe," assented the stout lad, as he arose and peered out. he came back, remarking: "i didn't see anything, but i thought i heard some one prowling around." it was not until the next morning that the boys recalled the incident of the night previous. then frank, who was walking about the cleared space in front of the tents, to get up an appetite, as he expressed it, uttered a cry of wonder. "look here!" he shouted. "what?" cried fenn, running up to him. "a turtle!" went on frank, picking up one of the reptiles that was slowly crawling along, made sluggish by the cold. "here's a mud turtle, and see, some one has been walking around here," and he pointed to footprints in the snow. "i was sure i heard some one last night," declared fenn, triumphantly. "that mysterious man again, i'll wager a cookie!" exclaimed bart. "but what is the turtle doing here? is it the same one you had, stumpy?" "no, it's a different kind. maybe that mysterious man dropped it, and was hunting around for it." "hard to tell," remarked frank. "anyhow, isn't it rather queer, stumpy, to see mud turtles out this time of year?" "sure it is. they don't come out by themselves to play around in the snow. either some one dug this one up, or some one had it and dropped it. well, i guess the best thing we can say is that it's part of the mystery. if we could only meet with that man who seems so afraid of meeting us, matters might be explained. as it is----" fenn could only finish by a shrug of his shoulders. chapter xxiv a shot in time for some time the young hunters discussed the curious happening, but they could arrive at no solution of the mystery. fenn took the turtle, and put it in a box back of the stove, hardly knowing why he did so, except that he had some notion of adding it to his collection, or of giving it to professor long. "well, there's no use talking about it any more," decided bart. "let's get ready and go off on another hunting trip. we haven't got much longer to stay here--not more than two weeks." this suited his companions, and soon they were cleaning their guns, sorting cartridges and fitting them in their belts, taking care not to make the mistake frank did, when he was treed by the wildcat; and looking to their clothing and hunting boots. that afternoon fenn was seen to be busy in the cook tent. he looked out now and then, disclosing a face on which were many spots of flour. "what you up to now, stumpy?" asked bart, who had finished his hunting preparations. "making something good for grub?" "sure," answered fenn. "how does meat pie strike you?" "all right, as long as it isn't made of rubber boots and flannel bandages," answered frank. "not this time," declared stumpy. "there'll be no monkey-shines with this pie. we'll have it hot for breakfast before we start off hunting." he was busy all the rest of that afternoon, and, judging by the time he spent over it, the pie was going to be an elaborate affair. fenn was the first one up the next morning. he tumbled out of his blankets, made a hurried toilette, and, a few minutes later was heard to excitedly cry out: "here! that'll do you fellows! a joke's a joke, but this is too much! where did you put it, you lobsters?" "where did we put what?" asked bart, sticking his head out of the tent flap. "why this unseemly noise, stumpy, my son?" "you know well enough. where's the meat pie?" "you don't mean to tell us you've gone and walked in your sleep, and eaten that meat pie we were to have for breakfast; have you?" cried ned. "no, i haven't; but some of you fellows have hidden it," declared fenn. "come on, now. this is enough of that joke. tell me where it is, bart, and i'll warm it up for breakfast." "why, i haven't seen it, stumpy." bart's voice had the ring of innocence. "then you hid it, frank." "not on your life. i've got too good an appetite." "then ned must have put it somewhere. tell us, ned." "search me!" cried ned, earnestly. "i never touched it, stumpy. where did you put it when you went to bed?" "in the cook tent, high up on a box. some of you fellows must have taken it, for snow fell in the night, and there wasn't a track going into the tent when i came out here. you fellows took it before you came in to bed. own up, now!" "i didn't!" declared bart, and the others asserted their innocence. "well, somebody has it!" insisted stumpy, earnestly. "the meat pie is gone, and it was a dandy, too!" his distress was evident. the other lads, likewise, felt the loss of their chief breakfast dish. stumpy looked at them with an eye of suspicion, but they gazed frankly back at him. "that mysterious man----" began frank. "wait a minute," suggested bart, who had finished dressing. "i'll take a look." he went carefully out to the cook tent, and made several observations. then he stooped down and carefully brushed off the light layer of snow that had fallen during the night. when the undercrust was exposed he uttered an exclamation. "there's the tracks of the thief who stole the meat pie, stumpy," he said, pointing to some marks in the snow. "who was it?" asked ned. "a fox," answered bart. "he sneaked into the tent after we had gone to bed, and took the pie off the top of the box where fenn had set it. then he carried it off, and the snow obligingly came and covered up his tracks. i guess if we look far enough we can find the basin that held the pie, where the fox dropped it." they made a circle about the camp, and soon fenn uttered a cry of triumph. "here's the pan!" he called. "it's empty. no meat pie for breakfast this morning," he added regretfully. "i wish we could shoot that fox!" exclaimed ned vindictively. "as it is you'll have to give us pancakes, fenn." there was no help for it. the pie dish had been licked clean, though how the fox had managed to carry it from the tent was something of a mystery. however, fenn soon stirred up a mess of cakes from self-raising flour, and a hot breakfast was partaken of, while hunting plans for that day were discussed. "i'm going to look for the thieving fox," declared fenn. "the idea of that dandy pie going to waste!" "no foxes," insisted bart. "nothing less than bear to-day, fellows. we don't want to bother with small game," and they started out. but the bears seemed to have warning of the approach of the young nimrods, for none was in evidence, though there were tracks in the snow, which bart, enthusiastic sportsman that he was, followed hopefully for some distance, until they disappeared down in a deep gulch, where even he did not think it wise to follow. "let's separate a bit," suggested frank, after another mile or two had been covered. "i think there are too many of us here. ned and i will go off together, and you and stumpy do the same, bart." "all right," agreed the stout lad, and bart nodded assent. "come on over this way, stumpy," called bart to his partner. "we'll get all the bears, and leave the rabbits for those fellows." it was about an hour after this that bart, who had gone on a little in advance of fenn, whose wind was not of the best, heard a grunt of surprise from his stout comrade. mingled with it was an expression of fear. the lads had just passed through a little clearing, and fenn had stopped to look back. in an instant bart saw what fenn was gazing at. it was a noble buck, with wide, branching antlers, and he stood on the edge of the little glade, glaring, as if in defiance, at those who had invaded his home. as bart looked he saw fenn raise his rifle. "don't! don't shoot, stumpy!" called bart. "it's against the law. there's tracking snow!" but it was too late. the stout lad's rifle cracked, and by the start the buck gave bart knew his chum had wounded the animal. the next instant, after a savage shake of his big head, with the spreading horns, and a stamping of his sharp hoofs, the angry animal sprang forward, straight at fenn. the lad was excited, and was trying to pump another cartridge into the chamber, but the mechanism of his gun had jammed. "jump, fenn! jump to one side!" shouted bart, bringing his rifle around. there was no time to think of the game laws. his chum was in danger, and he would be justified in shooting. but before he could fire the buck was upon poor fenn. with one sweep of his sharp horns the beast swept the lad aside, knocking him down. then, with lowered head, the animal tried to gore the prostrate lad. fenn saw his one chance for safety, and took it. he scrambled up, grabbed the horns, and held on like grim death. the buck reared, swung around and tried to strike fenn with the knife-like hoofs. then a curious thing happened. one of the hoofs went through fenn's loose belt, and this so tangled up animal and boy that they both went down in the snow, and rolled over. "fenn will be killed," gasped bart, and his heart almost stopped beating. but the buck struggled to his feet again, and succeeded in getting his leg free from the belt. fenn had again grabbed hold of the horns of the infuriated animal, which, at that instant swung around, presenting a good shot to bart. should he fire? could he hit the buck and not injure his chum? it was ticklish work, but the need was great. bart decided in an instant, took quick aim and fired. chapter xxv ned's rabbit trap bart was using a new kind of powder, and there was no need to wait for the cloud of smoke to clear away to see the result of his shot. he beheld, an instant after the report of his rifle, the big buck swaying unsteadily. the lad was about to fire again, but there was no need, for the animal slowly sank to the snow-covered earth, and fell with a thud. "jump back, stumpy! jump back!" yelled bart, fearing that the heavy animal would crash on top of fenn. but, though the stout lad was incapable of leaping back, he managed to push himself out of danger, from the hold he had on the horns. then he rolled over the snow, now red from the blood of the buck. bart rushed up, with rifle ready for another shot, but there was no need. his one bullet had struck a vital spot, and the big animal was breathing his last. then bart turned his attention to his chum. fenn was lying curiously white and still upon the snow, and, as bart looked, he saw a stream of blood coming from under where the lad was stretched out. "fenn! stumpy! are you hurt?" he cried, laying down his gun, and endeavoring to raise fenn's head. as he did so he saw that the lad's wound was in his arm, where the sharp prongs of the deer had cut a gash. it was bleeding freely, and bart knew this must be stopped. not in vain had he listened to his sister's almost constant talks about first aid to the injured. bart recollected some of alice's instructions, and, a moment later he was binding up the cut with some bandages which he had stuck in his pocket with the idea of using to clean his gun, but which now served a more useful purpose. bart was glad to see that, as he wound the linen rags around fenn's arm, the flow of blood ceased. then, rubbing the unconscious lad's face with snow, bart noted a wave of returning color, and, a moment later, fenn opened his eyes. "is anybody hurt?" he asked, slowly. "you're the only one--except the buck," answered bart, with a sigh of relief, "and you're not so badly off, i guess, that is, unless you're wounded some other place besides the arm." "no, i think that's all. but what happened to the buck?" and fenn looked around. "there he is," replied bart, pointing to the dead animal. "you certainly had nerve to tackle him by the horns, stumpy." "no, i didn't," was the simple answer. "it was all i could do. it was either that or let him gouge me, and i didn't want to do that. did you shoot him?" "yes, and it was close work, too, for your head was almost in the way." "but you did it!" exclaimed fenn, enthusiastically. "you saved my life, bart, and--" but fenn could say no more. the nervous shock was too much for him, and he put out his hand and silently clasped that of his friend. "oh, it was easy once i made up my mind to fire," went on bart. "i drew a bead on him, and i thought of the game laws, but i knew i was justified." "it was a corking good shot," exclaimed fenn, admiringly. "you're a wonder with the rifle, bart." "oh, not so much, i guess. but how about you? can you walk?" "yes, i'm all right. i got scared there for a while, especially when that brute got his leg down inside my belt. i thought it was all up with me." "so did i. you shouldn't have fired at him." "i know it, but i let her go before i thought. i'm done with hunting for a while." "nonsense, you'll be at it again in a few days. but, if you can walk, let's get back to camp, and get the other fellows. then we'll come after our meat. we'll have enough venison for a month." fenn was rapidly recovering from the effects of his encounter with the buck, though he was still a trifle shaky. he managed to march along, however, and it was found that the cut on his arm was his only injury, except for some bruises and a severe shaking up. the boys managed to get the buck on some tree branches, after fenn and bart had returned to camp, where they found ned and frank waiting for them, and they dragged the carcass over the snow to the tents. there it was cut up, and hung in trees, out of the way of foxes, or other prowling beasts. with enough food in camp for the rest of their stay, the four chums now took things a little easier, only going out for occasional game birds. fenn's injury seemed to be healing from the effects of the medical salve put on from the box alice had provided. it was one afternoon, three days later, that ned was observed to be busy with an empty box, some big rubber bands, and string. "what are you up to now?" asked frank. "you'll see," was the answer. "i don't know whether it will work or not, so i'm not going to say what it is." a little later ned started off through the woods, carrying his contrivance. his chums were busy about camp, cleaning their guns, bringing in wood or water, and "slicking up" generally, and so paid little attention to ned. it wasn't until half an hour afterward that, hearing startled cries in the woods, from the direction of a little clearing where rabbits were numerous, that bart exclaimed: "something's happened to ned! hurry up!" they ran to the place, and saw a curious sight. ned was lying on the snow-covered ground, his hands stretched toward a sapling while his feet seemed encased in the box at which he had been working a short time previous. "what's the matter?" panted bart. "get me loose first, and i'll tell you," cried ned. "are you fast?" asked frank. "fast? of course i am! can't you see for yourself. i'm caught by my hands and feet in some rabbit traps i was setting." "serves you right," commented bart, trying not to laugh. "you ought to be a sportsman, and shoot your game." "i didn't want to shoot 'em," explained ned. "i wanted to catch 'em alive and tame 'em. hurry up and get me out; will you, fellows?" they soon released him. his feet were caught under a box, which was weighted down with rocks, while his hands were held in a slip-noose of heavy cord that was fast to the tree, which had been bent over to act as a spring. ned was stretched out like a prisoner "pegged-out" in the army. he was soon released, and explained that as he was setting the noose trap, his feet had unexpectedly gotten under the box trap, which was sprung, and then the noose slipped, holding him fast at both ends. chapter xxvi a visit to town "well," remarked bart, as they walked back to camp with ned, "there's no use setting any traps now, ned. the rabbits were watching you, and they saw just how they worked, so you couldn't catch the simplest bunny in these woods." "i'll make another kind of trap," declared ned. "i want a rabbit to keep fenn's turtle company." "don't bother about it," said fenn, dryly. "why not?" "because my turtle got away in the night. he went back to the boiling spring, to join the others for a new year's celebration, i guess." "that's so, to-morrow is the last day of this year," observed frank. "we ought to celebrate it in some way." "we will," said bart. "we'll sit up, and watch the old year out and the new one in, and fire our guns off at twelve o'clock. but what's the matter, stumpy?" for fenn was holding the arm injured by the buck, and on his face was an expression of pain. "it's been hurting considerable since morning," explained the stout youth. "let me look at it," demanded bart, and, when the bandages were taken off, there was disclosed a red and angry sore. the arm was much inflamed. "i was afraid of this," said bart. "we've got to go to town and let a doctor look at this. you may get blood poisoning, stumpy." "oh, i guess not. can't you put some of the stuff on from the box alice gave us?" "i'm afraid to take any chances. besides, i don't think there is anything strong enough for blood poison in the box. no, fellows, we'll go to cannistota. it's only ten miles. we can easily walk there and back in a day, and, if the doctor thinks it better for stumpy to stay in town over night, so he can treat him, why we can arrange for that, too. we'll start in the morning, early." "then we'll see some of the celebration," put in frank. "what celebration?" "why the new year's doings that william perry said were always held in cannistota. don't you remember?" "sure, that's right," agreed bart. "it will do us good to make the trip. game is getting rather scarce around here now, and we must begin to think of getting back. we certainly have had a swell time, and i don't want anything to happen to fenn's arm. "so get ready, fellows, and we'll make a trip to town, and see what civilization looks like. it seems as if we'd been away six months, instead of three weeks." "shall we take our guns?" asked frank. "might as well. no telling what game we'll see on our way back, and going in. we'll fix up the camp so if we have to stay away over night it will be all right, though i don't imagine any one will bother it." "unless it's that mysterious man," said ned, significantly. "he may come snooping around." "well, if he does we can't help it," replied bart, "only i'd like to catch him." "and i'd like to get back mrs. long's diamond bracelet!" exclaimed frank, with a flash of his dark eyes. "it's not pleasant to be considered a thief!" "nobody really believes we took it," declared fenn. "well, don't let's talk about it," declared bart. "we will try to have a good time in town--that is, if fenn's arm doesn't get any worse." "oh, i don't believe it will," answered the injured lad, pluckily. but the sore was very painful. preparations for leaving camp were soon under way. the chums had an early breakfast the next morning--their last breakfast of the year, as ned laughingly remarked--and then, with fenn's arm well wrapped up, so he would not take cold in it, and each of the other lads carrying a gun, they started off for the town of cannistota. the weather was pleasant, though a bit cold, and the sun was shining brightly on the snow which still covered the ground. the going at first was heavy, for it was through the woods, over a trail hard to discern, but when they struck the lumber road, leading into cannistota, the traveling was easier. they saw no game, save some rabbits, and a few squirrels, but they would not shoot at these. they could not make very good time, and it was nearly noon when they came in sight of the town, which lay in a valley, surrounded on all sides by hills. "now for the doctor," decided bart, "and then we'll see what's going on." "and get dinner," added ned, who was fond of his meals. "sure," added frank, who was no less a good handler of knife and fork. as the lads entered the main street of the town they were struck by the festive appearances on every side. stores and houses were draped with flags and bunting, while from several electric-light poles men were stringing long wires, with small incandescent bulbs of various colors fastened on at intervals. this was in the centre of the place, where the two main streets crossed, and, on inquiring, the lads learned that it was planned to hold a sort of procession, with the old year, typified by father time, going out, while the new year came in. this formality would occur in the centre of the town, under a canopy of colored electric lights. in addition there were to be bands of music, songs, and other numbers on a festive program. "say, we ought to stay and take this in," suggested ned, as he saw the carnival spirit manifested on every side. "maybe we will," assented bart, "after we hear what the doctor says about fenn's arm." the medical man looked grave when he saw the injury caused by the buck's horn. "there is nothing to be unduly alarmed about," he said, "but it is well that you came in time. it needs attention, and while fresh cool air, such as you get in camp, is good, i shall have to treat the wound with antiseptics. you must remain in town at least three days." the boys were a little dismayed to hear this, but as they had made tentative plans to be away from camp if necessary, it did not altogether upset their calculations. the doctor gave fenn some medicine, dressed the sore, and recommended the lads to a quiet hotel, to stay while the wound was being looked after. "you'll enjoy your visit to cannistota," the doctor said with a smile, "for we always have a good time here on new years. there is plenty of excitement." the boys were soon to find that this was true in an unusual sense, for they took part in a most exciting scene. "well," remarked fenn, as they came away from the office of the medical man, "it might be worse. what'll we do now?" "let's eat," suggested ned, and they all fell in with this proposal. chapter xxvii the man with the turtle the chums took their meal at one of the two hotels in cannistota, and, liking the appearance of the place, which the doctor had recommended, they made arrangements to stay there for a few days, during which time fenn's arm was to receive treatment. they had adjoining rooms, and, once they had visited them, and left the few belongings they had brought from camp, they were ready to go out into the street again, and watch the preparations being made to celebrate the advent of the new year that night. "i know one thing we'd better do," remarked frank, as they strolled along. "what's that?" inquired bart. "send telegrams to the folks at home, telling them where we are, and wishing them good luck for the new year." "good!" exclaimed fenn, "but don't say anything about my sore arm. my folks might worry." this was agreed to, and then each lad wrote his own telegram, explaining briefly why he was not in the woods, the carnival forming a good reason for the change. "this will be a good plan in case they have any word to send us," remarked ned. "a telegram will reach us at the hotel, but it never would at camp." bart had taken his rifle with him when they left the hotel, and when his companions joked him about it, asking him if he expected to see a bear or a deer in the town, bart replied: "i want to take it to a gunmaker's and get a screw set in a little deeper," referring to one on the lock mechanism. "it works loose every once in a while, and now's a good time to have it fixed, when i'm not likely to have a use for the rifle. i intend to do a lot of hunting when we get back to camp." as the chums strolled on, they saw, on every side, more evidences of the carnival spirit. on several side streets, as well as on the main ones, flags and bunting were in evidence, and colored electric lights were being strung. linemen were high up on poles arranging extra wires, and others, below, were passing up the colored bulbs, or pliers, and other tools needed by their mates on the high poles. the boys watched this for some time, and then, at bart's suggestion, they strolled toward the centre of the village. there a still busier scene was observed. there were a number of linemen on the tall poles, and, as the boys looked on, the current was turned into the hundreds of various-hued bulbs, to test them. it was early afternoon, and much yet remained to be done in order to get the decorations completed. the lads found a gunsmith in his shop, not far from the intersection of the main streets, and he was soon at work on bart's rifle, talking as he worked. the boys told him of their experience in camp, and the necessity for their visit to town. "got scratched by a buck; eh?" remarked the old gunsmith as he gazed from under his bushy white eyebrows at the lads. "that happened to me once. their horns seem to sort of poison a wound. i guess it's because the critters rub their antlers up against all sorts of trees and bushes. they get poisonous juices on 'em." soon the lads were again strolling along the street. the afternoon was passing, and presently the town, which was now thronged with visitors, would be in the full sway of the carnival. fenn was walking ahead of his chums, looking in the store windows, and taking care that he did not collide with persons in the crowd, and so injure his sore arm. the stout youth saw, just ahead of him, an establishment devoted to the sale of pets of various kinds. there were pigeons, white rats, puppies, gold fish, some monkeys and parrots, and scores of canary birds. as several specimens were on exhibition in the windows quite a crowd was gathered about watching the antics of a pair of monkeys. fenn, always interested in such things, drew closer, motioning to his chums, who were walking slowly, to join him. as he turned back toward the store he saw a man entering--a man, at the sight of whom, the stout lad started, and looked at him again, more sharply. "i wonder if it can be--yes, it's the same man--the mysterious man we've been after so long!" murmured fenn. "he's going in that store! i hope he didn't see me." he got behind a couple of men who were close to the window, and watched until he had seen the person he had observed close the door, after entering the store. then fenn turned to address his chums who were now at his side. "what's the matter?" asked bart, laughing. "you look as if you had seen a ghost, stumpy." "i've seen something more substantial than a ghost," replied the lad, "i've seen the man who stole the diamond bracelet, fellows!" "where?" gasped ned and frank. "hush! not so loud," cautioned fenn, for several persons were curiously observing the four lads. "he's in that store," went on the stout youth. they could hardly believe him, but fenn soon told them the circumstances, and repeated his belief in the positiveness of his identification. "i'm sure it was the same man," he said. "well, we'll soon see," declared bart. "he'll have to come out, some time or other, and then we can tell. we'll just wait here a while." a little later they were all startled to see the man, about whom there seemed to be such a mystery, come hurriedly from the store. "there he is!" exclaimed fenn. "it's him, all right," assented bart, in low tones. "now what shall we do; follow him?" the man turned south on the main street, and began walking rapidly away. at that instant fenn caught sight of a package in his hand. it was a paper bundle, but, as the stout lad looked, he saw projecting from it the long, snake-like neck of a mud turtle. "he's got a turtle!" cried fenn, excitedly. "let's chase after him! we must solve this mystery now or never!" chapter xxviii the pursuit fenn darted forward, and would have taken after the man on the run, only bart put forth a restraining hand. fenn looked at his chum in surprise. "easy, stumpy," murmured the tall lad, as he drew his fleshier companion out of hearing of the crowd in front of the animal store. "do you want to give the whole thing away? several times we've lost trace of this man because we were in such a rush, and i don't want it to happen again. you nearly spoiled everything, stumpy." "i'm sorry," faltered fenn, "but i want to get at him, and have him explain." "so do we all," went on bart, "but we can do it better by going slow and easy. he hasn't seen us, and we can trail him and see where he goes." "did you notice what he had in the paper?" asked the fat lad excitedly. "what was it?" asked frank, who had not caught fenn's first exclamation. "a mud turtle. that's what he got in the store." "say, you had better talk lower," cautioned frank, for fenn had spoken loudly. "people in the crowd are beginning to notice us." "oh, i guess there's no danger," decided bart. "there are lots of strangers in town to-day, and we won't attract much attention. but we must take after this fellow. we'll trail him carefully now. he's still on this side of the street, and he's going slowly," bart announced, after taking an observation over the heads of the crowd still in front of the store window. "fenn and i will take this side of the street, and you and ned can take the other side, frank. if either of us miss our man we'll meet later at the hotel. go ahead now, and keep out of his sight. go slow, as if you were only looking at the sights, but keep your eye on the man. we'll try and find where he belongs, who he is, and why he collects turtles." through the crowds that were constantly increasing in size the four lads threaded their ways, two on one side of the street, and two on the other. ahead of them was the mysterious man. he seemed to have no idea that he was being followed, and appeared only to be looking at the sights. at times the boys found difficulty in keeping within the proper distance of him, and once ned and frank lost him, but they soon picked him up again, and kept on. he wore a light-colored cap, which made him conspicuous in the press of people. the man seemed to be in no hurry to get anywhere. he strolled leisurely along, looking in store windows, or pausing to observe the linemen stringing the wires. the boys were after him, and their experience in the woods, trailing game, now served them in good stead. though they looked carefully, they could not see any package in the man's hand now, and they wondered what he had done with the turtle. the pursuit led to the outskirts of the town, and, as the streets became less congested there was danger of the boys being detected in their chase, but fortunately for them the man took a notion to swing down through a side street and retrace his steps, back toward the centre. then the pursuit was rendered less likely to be observed. reaching the middle of the town the man paused to look at a lineman who was on top of a particularly tall pole, making some final adjustments to the wires and lamps. as the boys halted, not to come too close to their quarry, they saw the lineman signal to have the current turned on. the lamps glowed, but something seemed to be wrong, for he called for the power to be turned off while he adjusted a switch. there seemed to be some delay over cutting off the current, and the lineman waited. the crowd was thicker near the pole, and, not wishing to let the mysterious man escape, bart and fenn, who were on the same side of the street as he was, drew nearer to him in the throng. frank and ned were on the other side of the street. the former chums could observe the object of their pursuit more closely now. he did not seem to be a hardened character, but on the contrary, his face was refined, and his manner seemed gentle, though there was a curious, cunning air about him. while the lineman on the tall pole was waiting for some of his fellow workmen to change the switch, he looked down into the press of people. he seemed to recognize some one, and waved his hand. to the surprise of bart and fenn the mysterious man waved back to the man on the pole. "did you see that?" exclaimed fenn, and in his excitement he had spoken aloud. the next instant he regretted it, for the man, turning, saw him. he gave a start of surprise, and then a look of fear seemed to come over his face. he gave one glance up at the lineman on his tall perch, waved what seemed to be a farewell, and darted away through the crowd. "after him, stumpy!" whispered bart, excitedly. "he'll get away, i'm afraid!" the lads started to make their way out of the throng of people who were all about them. the mysterious man, too, was at this same disadvantage. suddenly, amid the stillness that seemed to settle over the crowd, as they watched the lineman reach far over to make a distant connection, there sounded a cry of fear and pain. high up in the air there was a flash of bluish fire, a sizzling, as of red-hot iron plunged into water, and then a shower of sparks. "the lineman! the lineman!" screamed several. "he's on a live wire!" pausing in their efforts to get out of the crowd, and take up the pursuit, bart and fenn saw the lineman leaning over in a dangerous position. he was in a net-work of wires, and all about him seemed to be long, forked tongues of blue flame, while vicious sparks shot from one wire to the other. the unfortunate man had caught hold of the outer end of a cross-arm on the pole, and, while his feet were on one lower down, he was thus held in this strained position. around his waist was a leather belt, passed about the pole, and this also retained him in position. his cry of alarm had brought several other linemen to the foot of the pole. "are you shocked, george?" called one, anxiously. "no," came the faint reply, "not yet, but something has gone wrong. one of the wires has broken, and has charged all the others. i'm safe as long as i lean over this way, but i can't get back, and i can't get down." "unhook your belt and slide down," suggested one. "i can't. if i let go with my hands i'll come up against the wires carrying the main current, and, if i do----" he did not finish, but they all knew what he meant. the crowd was horror-struck. the man was in the midst of death. he could not move to come down, for fear of coming in contact with wires, which, though previously harmless, were now dangerous because the broken conductor, carrying a heavy charge, had fallen over them, making them deadly. "hold on, and i'll come up to you!" shouted a lineman, preparing to ascend the pole. "no, don't," cried the unfortunate man. "have the current cut off at the power house!" yelled a voice in the crowd below. "yes! that's the thing to do!" echoed a score of others. a man ran out of the crowd to the telephone--the same telephone over which word had been sent to the power station to turn the power on for the preliminary test. in a few seconds central had given the frantic man the main electrical station. "cut off the power--cut off the power!" he cried. "one of the linemen on the pole is in danger of being shocked to death." anxiously he waited for the reply. none came. "ring again, central!" he called frantically. over the wire he heard the distant ringing of the bell in the power station. the delay seemed like an hour, though it was only a few seconds. "why don't they answer? why don't they answer?" cried the man desperately. "ring 'em again, central. ring hard!" "i am ringing hard," responded central. "there doesn't seem to be any one there." "there must be!" insisted the man. "it's a matter of life and death! the current must be shut off!" he waited, moving about nervously, while holding the receiver to his ear. those near him could not imagine what was the trouble. then came a click in the receiver that showed that some one was at the other end of the wire. "hello! hello!" cried the man who was trying to have the power cut off. "why didn't you answer before. why don't you shut off the current? there's a man being killed--what's that?" he fairly yelled the last words, and those near him saw a look of horror spread over his face. "what's that?" he shouted. "the electrician has stepped out you say? what? he thought the power was to be left on? oh! he'll be back in five minutes? but that will be too late. can't you--hold on there--don't go away--what's that--yes, i hear you but--don't go away--do something--pull out the switch--do something--never mind the electrician--you do it--don't go away--don't go away--ah--it's too late!" he turned to those standing near him at the telephone. "the only electrician now at the power station stepped out after turning on the current," the man explained dully, as he hung up the receiver. "there was some mistake. he thought the wiring was finished, and that the power was to remain turned on. so he went out, and he left a green man in charge, who doesn't know anything about the engines, or dynamos. this man said he'd run out and get the electrician. i tried to stop him--tried to make him understand that he, himself, must do something--must shut off the current--but i couldn't get it through his head. he dropped the telephone, and ran out after the electrician. now there's no way of shutting off the power until the engineer gets back, and, by that time----" he paused significantly, and rushed out. nothing more could be done at the telephone. it was as if the wire was broken. up on his high perch the lineman was becoming weaker from the strain, and the fear of death. he looked down at the crowd below. bart and fenn gazed upward. how they wished they could help! "is that man--that mysterious man gone?" asked bart, in low tones. "yes," replied fenn, "he's hurrying down the street. we'd better take after him, if we want to catch him. he's getting to be very suspicious of us. we ought to catch him." "i know it. if we could only signal ned or frank we might run some chance----" at that moment another lineman, standing near bart, turned to him, and asked excitedly, as he saw the rifle in the lad's hand: "are you a good shot? a man's life may depend on it! can you shoot straight?" "pretty straight," answered bart, wondering what was coming next. the lineman was excited, he approached nearer to bart, and motioned to his friend high up on the pole--the man from whom death seemed but a short distance away. "is your rifle loaded? then, if it is, for mercy sakes fire and see if you can sever that main feed wire," and the lineman pointed to a thick conductor, which was shooting out blue sparks, and which had charged all the other wires with the deadly current. "see if you can cut that wire," went on the lineman eagerly. "it's the only chance to save his life!" bart hesitated. he turned to see the man whom they had pursued, making his escape. if he got away it might mean that they would never see him again--never have the theft of the diamond bracelet solved. it was a choice between the honor of the darewell chums and the life of a man. which would bart choose? there could be but one answer to this question. chapter xxix bart's best shot bart turned to fenn. he was just about to whisper to his chum to take up the pursuit of the mysterious man, leaving him to attempt a difficult shot to save the life of the lineman, but at that instant there was a swaying in the crowd, and a boy stumbled up against fenn's sore arm. the injured lad uttered a cry of pain. his face turned white, and he was struggling to stay on his feet. "catch him! he's going to faint!" cried some one, and faint poor fenn did, being caught in the arms of two men. bart felt his brain reeling, but, by a strong effort he held himself together. there was now no chance of continuing the pursuit of the mysterious man. fenn was being carried to a place where he could be cared for. it was impossible to communicate with ned and frank, who were on the other side of the street, and bart could not go away and leave the man on the pole to die. there was no help for it. he must stay and try, by a most difficult shot, to sever the dangerous wire. "will you do it? can you do it?" asked the lineman who had proposed the extreme measure to the lad. "it's the only chance. can you cut that wire?" "i think so," was the quiet answer. no one in that crowd knew under what a strain bart keene was at that moment. no one associated the now unconscious fenn with him, and no one dreamed that bart was anxious to continue after a man who he believed to be a criminal, and who was fast making his escape. "can you hold on a minute longer, george?" called a workman on the ground, up to the lineman on the pole. "yes," came back the faint answer, "but it's hard work. can't you shut off the current? if i make a move i'm a goner. can't you turn off the current?" "we're going to try to cut the wire," went on the man who had thought of the plan. "we can't get the current shut off right away. listen carefully, george. hold as still as you can. there's a lad here with a rifle. he's a good shot, he says, and he's going to fire at the live wire until he cuts it. it's going to be a close shave for you, as the wire is pretty near to your head. have you nerve enough to stand it?" "i--i guess so," came the hesitating answer. "go ahead!" the crowd below was scarcely breathing. the man on the pole could be seen straining himself to maintain his perilous position. he looked down. death was below him, and on every side, and none dare climb the pole to help him. the rifle seemed the only chance, unless some one could go five miles to the power house, and have the current turned off, or unless the electrician returned, and this would take so long that the man's hold would loosen, and he would either fall, or be shocked to death. it all depended on bart, and the lad knew that he must now shoot true, if he never shot straight again. it was to be his best shot--a well-nigh tragic shot. "clear a space for the lad!" ordered the lineman, as he and his fellows began making a circle about bart. "give him room. have you got plenty of cartridges, young man?" bart nodded. he felt that he could not speak, and he knew that the chamber of his rifle was filled. yet he hoped to do the trick with only one bullet. the shot was a hard one. he must cut a wire within four inches of the shoulder of the man whose life he was trying to save, and he had to fire upward, and at a slightly swaying target--a target small enough at best, hardly more than half an inch wide. yet bart did not hesitate. he took his position under the wires, and close to the pole. the crowd was looking eagerly on, and the man on the pole was like a statue. well he knew how much depended on his remaining motionless. bart raised his rifle. a mist seemed to come before his eyes, but with a gritting of his teeth he got more control of himself, and then he saw clear. he took careful aim, and then he saw that he could shoot to more advantage from the other side of the pole. he would have to fire closer to the man, but the bullet would take an outward slant in cutting the wire, and there was less danger of it glancing off and wounding the lineman. the lad changed his position, and once more took careful aim. he took a long breath, and his finger began to tighten on the trigger. at that instant there came a puff of wind, and the wire at which he was aiming swayed toward the unfortunate man. there was a cry of horror, and several persons in the crowd started toward bart, as if to stop the firing of the gun. but the lad was on the alert, and waited until the wire was still again. one, two, three seconds passed. would he never fire? suddenly those watching him saw his figure stiffen. he braced the rifle more firmly against his shoulder. there was a further tightening of the tension of his trigger finger, and a report that seemed to the nervous crowd to be as loud as a cannon vibrated on the wintry air. an instant later there came tumbling from aloft a long wire, that writhed about like some snake, spitting blue flames and sparks. it wiggled about on the ground as a thing alive. "keep back! keep back from that wire!" shouted a lineman. "good shot, my lad! great! you cut the wire with one bullet!" bart lowered his gun. once more the mist seemed to come before his eyes, but it did not matter now, for he had saved the man. yet no one ever knew how narrow was the margin, for, as bart was pulling the trigger, the wire was once more swayed by the wind, and the bullet from the rifle had sped past the man's head less than two inches away. so close had he been to death! but bart had shot true, and, ever, in after years, he called that his best shot. a cheer went up from the crowd at the plucky act of the lad, but it was quickly hushed as one of the linemen began to climb the pole, to assist down his comrade who had had such a narrow escape. he was too unnerved to descend alone, but there was no more danger, for the live wire was out of the way, and other linemen, with insulated gloves, soon had it in its proper place. chapter xxx the diamond bracelet--conclusion bart turned to make his way out of the crowd, for he was anxious about fenn. he had given up all hope of capturing the mysterious man, who had started to hasten away before the accident to the lineman on the pole, and who, doubtless, was far enough off by this time. but bart's progress was arrested by a voice. "hold on, young fellow!" exclaimed the workman whose life bart had saved. "i want to shake hands with you. that was a corking good shot. i heard the bullet whistle past me, and then i knew i was safe. shake!" and he extended his hand that did not tremble as much as did bart's, such nerve did the electrician have. he had fully recovered from his thrilling experience. bart received modestly the almost extravagant praise accorded him, and once more began to make his way toward where fenn had been carried. "where is my chum?" he asked. "the lad who fainted." "oh, he's coming around all right," answered a man. at that moment fenn himself came through the press of people around bart. he had recovered from the shock caused by the sudden pressure on his sore arm. "are you all right?" asked bart, anxiously. "sure. how about you?" inquired stumpy. "i hear you made a great shot." "don't talk about it," pleaded bart, who was now almost as nervous as a girl. "where are ned and frank?" "following that man, i suppose," began fenn, and then he stopped suddenly, for people looked curiously at him. "yes, we must look them up," went on bart, but he felt that a further chase would be useless. "say, you fellows aren't going to disappear until you do me a favor," began the rescued lineman, good naturedly. "i want you to come to my house, and meet my wife. she'll want to know the boy who saved me from a horrible death. it isn't far," he added, as he saw bart was about to decline. "please come. i'm not going to work any more to-day. i'm too shaky." they saw that it would not be kind to refuse, and the electrician led the way for bart and fenn through the crowd, who parted with murmurs of admiration for the lad who had made such a plucky shot. there was no sign of ned or frank. "well, i don't know how to begin to thank you," said the man, feelingly, when they were in a somewhat secluded place on the main street. the work of preparing for the ushering in of the new year was almost completed. "i never _can_ properly thank you," he went on. "my name's george lang, and if ever you boys want a friend, or if you want anything done in the line business, you call for george," and he meant what he said. "i'm glad i was able to fire, and sever the wire," said bart, as he walked along with mr. lang, "but i wish it had happened a few minutes earlier--or later," he added. "i'm sorry it happened at all," declared mr. lang. "i never had an accident like that, and i don't want another. but what difference did the time make?" "because we were on the trail of a thief," explained bart, "and he skipped out just before you got caught on top of the pole. he was a chap who had stolen a diamond bracelet, and we boys are accused of the crime. we wanted to capture him to prove our innocence. my two chums are after him, but i don't believe they'll catch him. he saw us and skipped out. by the way," the lad added, as he recollected the incident, "he waved his hand to you, and you waved back to him from the top of the pole, just before the wire broke loose." "me?" exclaimed mr. lang in great astonishment. "i waved to a diamond-bracelet thief?" "i don't say you knew him," declared bart, fearing he had been misunderstood, "but you certainly greeted him. he had on a light cap, and he stood at the foot of the pole, and----" "him? oh, you mean him--that--why----" the lineman seemed to be choking--"a thief--stole a diamond bracelet----" he had to stop to catch his breath, but whether it was from laughter, or because he choked, the lads could not decide. "him a thief?" asked mr. lang. "or, if he didn't take the bracelet, he took the professor's mud turtle," put in fenn, who had by this time recovered from his indisposition. "mud turtle! oh, dear! mud turtles, you say? oh, i--excuse me," and again the lineman choked up. "i understand," he said at length. "i know who you mean. would you like to meet him?" "would we?" gasped bart and fenn, together. "that's enough. i'll guarantee to introduce you to him, if he's at home," went on mr. lang. "he lives next door to me. i know him well. a diamond thief! oh, dear! mud turtles!" and again the lineman seemed overcome. "don't say another word, but come on." much mystified, bart and fenn followed their friend. he led them up a quiet street, and into a neat cottage. "mary," he said to his wife, when he had introduced the lads, "one of these boys saved my life this afternoon, but i'll tell you more about that later. just now i've something else on hand. do you know if william is home?" and he nodded at the house next door. "yes," said mrs. lang, wonderingly, "he just came in. i think he brought home another turtle." the hearts of fenn and bart gave jumps! at last they were on the trail! without a word the lineman led the way to the adjoining house. he seemed to be laboring under some emotion, as if he was trying hard not to laugh. he knocked at the door, and a man answered the summons. bart and fenn started back. there stood the mysterious person who had eluded them so often--the man they believed had taken the diamond bracelet belonging to the professor's wife! on his part the mysterious individual seemed anxious to run away at the sight of bart and fenn. "william," began the lineman, "one of these lads saved my life a while ago. now don't get excited--take things calmly. no one is going to hurt you, or your turtles," and he spoke almost as he might to a child, or to a sick person. "i just want to introduce you to these boys. they are looking for a diamond bracelet, and they think maybe you could help them find it. boys, this is my cousin, william lang," and bart thought the lineman winked significantly at him. was there more to the mystery? "your cousin?" echoed fenn. "yes," answered the man whose life bart had saved. "he is one of the greatest collectors of turtles in the world," and again he winked. "that's what i am!" exclaimed william lang, proudly, and he seemed to lose some of his fear. still bart could not help thinking that his manner was very strange. "but i haven't any diamond bracelet," went on the odd individual. "i know you boys think i have it, and you've been chasing me for it, and trying to have me arrested, but i haven't got it. i tried to keep out of your way, but i couldn't seem to. you were always after me, even when i was only collecting turtles. i know about the bracelet, though." "what do you know about it?" asked bart, eagerly. "why, i read in the papers that it was stolen," said william lang, simply. "it was taken the same night i went to the school to look at professor long's turtles. he didn't want me to see 'em, but i did all right. i got in when he wasn't there, and fooled him. he was so mysterious about 'em, that i thought he had a rare kind. but he didn't have at all. anyway i saw 'em, and he doesn't know it, even to this day. i got in at the dead of night," and the man's voice sunk to a whisper, and his face took on a cunning look. "then _you_ were the man we saw enter the school that night!" exclaimed bart. "did you see me? did you see me?" gasped the lineman's cousin, in great alarm. "oh, yes, i remember now, i ran!" "sure we saw you," answered fenn. "we were----" bart gave his chum a warning look. "i didn't mean any harm," cried william lang. "i only went in to see the turtles. i'm a great collector of them," he added. "i heard about professor long's collection, and once i called on him at the school. i wanted to see his reptiles, but for some reason he wouldn't let me. but i made up my mind i _would_ see 'em. i knew he was trying to deceive me--professor long was--so one night i took a false key i had, and i got in the school. i had a dark lantern and i saw the turtles. i got ahead of professor long that time," and the man laughed excitedly. "but come in, and i'll show you my collection," he added. he turned into the house, and the two boys, after a moment of hesitation, followed. they did not yet quite understand. the lineman whispered to them, when out of earshot of his cousin. "you must humor poor william," he said. "he is all right except on the subject of mud turtles. he thinks he has the greatest collection of them in the world. i don't in the least doubt that he went in the school by stealth to look at some. in fact, i heard from professor long about a visit he paid to him one day, when he wanted to see the school collection. professor long had heard of my cousin, and knew him to be harmless, but william got so excited on the subject of turtles that the professor concluded it would not be best to exhibit the school collection, so he refused. this made william suspicious, and very likely he made up his mind to sneak in, and get a night-view of the reptiles. i have no doubt but that he did so." "he certainly did," answered bart. "we saw him come out. then, when the diamond bracelet was missed, we naturally concluded that he was the person who had taken it." the lineman shook his head. "william would not do such a thing," he said. "there must be some other explanation. but humor him now by looking at his turtles. you may get a clew." the boys did so. the eccentric man, who was somewhat insane on the subject of turtles, had quite a collection of the queer reptiles--larger even than fenn's, or the one in the high school. he talked of them interestedly. by degrees bart led to the subject of his visit to the school, and touched on the diamond bracelet, but the man's replies showed that he knew nothing of it. "i remember you boys," william lang went on. "i recollect now that i saw you as i hurried away from the school, and i thought you would chase me, but you didn't. then i saw you in the shooting gallery, but i didn't know you at first. i'm a fine shot, you know, but i couldn't shoot well that night, after i recognized you," and he nodded at bart. "by this time i had learned of the missing bracelet, and i was afraid you might have me arrested for taking it, so i hurried away. but i never saw it." he paused to replace in the cage a turtle that was crawling out, and the lineman took occasion to say in a whisper: "that's another of william's odd notions. he thinks he is a crack rifle shot." "well, he did shoot pretty well," said bart. "but i am wondering where on earth the bracelet can be. we are all at sea again, over it." "i would have more turtles if a certain fenn masterson had sold me his collection," went on the queer man. "i got his name from a naturalist's magazine, for he collects turtles, it seems. i wrote to mr. masterson, asking him if he'd sell me his turtles. but i had to proceed very cautiously, for he lived in the same town where the bracelet was stolen, and i didn't want to show myself there. so i told him to leave his answer in an old sycamore tree. then, after i did that i became alarmed, and i didn't dare go back to see if he had replied. oh, you can't be too careful in this business," concluded the man, with a cunning look. "why, _i'm_ that fenn masterson!" exclaimed the owner of the name. "are you?" demanded william lang. "will you sell me your turtles?" "of course," replied fenn, who had rather lost interest in his collection, of late. "you can have them. we hid and waited to see if you would call for an answer to your letter." "i guess that's some more of poor william's imagination," remarked the lineman in a low voice. "leaving a letter in a sycamore tree, and all that sort of thing." "no, that part's true enough," declared bart. "we waited for some time in a storm for him to show up, but he never did. oh, it's true enough. i am beginning to understand some things now. the reason why your cousin ran away from us so often was because of the notion he had that we wanted to arrest him. we would never have harmed him had we known." "of course not," agreed the lineman, he and bart having talked in whispers while the turtle collector was exhibiting some odd specimens to fenn. william lang told of his visit to oak swamp, and how he had fled at the sight of the boys, fearing they wanted to cause his arrest, and he also mentioned his trips to the mud volcano, and how he had run away at the sound of some one stirring in the campers' tent, likewise how he had led the boys a chase about the town, just prior to the accident on the pole. "but about the bracelet, i don't know a thing," concluded william lang. "no, and i think he tells the truth," added the lineman, in a low voice. "i'm sorry, but you boys will have to keep on with your search." it needed but a glance at the simple face of the turtle collector to show that he was not a thief, even if he was a decidedly peculiar individual. "well," remarked bart, after a pause, "i guess all fenn and i can do is to go back to the hotel, and wait for ned and frank to show up." the two turned to leave the turtle collector's house. william lang was busy inspecting his queer pets, and seemed to pay no further attention to his visitors. "william was always a little queer," remarked the lineman, as he accompanied the boys outside. "harmless, but odd. just daffy on the mud turtle question. i don't wonder he gave you lots to think about, or that you didn't quite know how to take him. he is all right except on turtles. he'd walk fifty miles to get a new one. but he's well off, and can afford to indulge in his fancy." as bart and fenn turned into the street they saw, coming toward them, ned and frank. ned was frantically waving a paper in the air. "how'd you find your way here?" called bart. "people in the crowd told us you'd come here," replied frank. "but have you heard the good news?" "what good news?" "the diamond bracelet wasn't stolen at all!" burst out ned. "we just got telegrams from home. they were at the hotel waiting for us. we went there after missing you in the crowd, when something happened on the top of the pole. we tried to follow that mysterious man, but we missed him. there are also telegrams for you two fellows. i thought you had them, or----" "for gracious sake tell us the good news! what about the diamond bracelet?" yelled bart. "it's been found!" exploded ned. "it wasn't stolen at all. it had fallen down a crack in the cabinet, in professor long's room, and a snake was taking his winter sleep over the crack. yesterday the snake died, mr. long took it out--and found the bracelet." "well, i'll be jiggered!" exclaimed bart. "i should say it was good news," declared fenn. "this takes suspicion from the darewell chums." two days later the boys returned to their winter camp, and, after nearly a month spent in the forest, they packed up, walked in to cannistota, sent a teamster back for their goods, and took a train for home. the lads arrived at their home-town at dusk. jed sneed was at the station to meet them. a little later the four chums were in their respective houses, telling of their adventures to their eager parents--there was considerable to tell. the end transcriber's notes: --text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). --printing, punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected. --archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. --variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. off to the wilds, being the adventures of two brothers, by george manville fenn. ________________________________________________________________________ the setting is the northern part of what is now south africa, in the middle of the nineteenth century. mr rogers is a british settler in south africa, a "cottage farmer". the earlier dutch farmers and settlers are called boers. the two teenage sons, jack and dick, have often asked if they could all go out on a trek to visit the northern parts of the country, for a natural history collecting expedition. they had come out to south africa for the health of mrs rogers, but she had died, and of the two boys, dick was not very strong, while jack was very robust. off they go, together with two zulu boys who live on their land, the zulu boys' father, who is a chieftain whom they nickname "the general", and an irish cook, who is always getting into trouble in every situation, in a most infuriating manner. there is also peter the driver, and dirk who is a foreloper, the man who walks ahead of the oxen to guide them into the best way. they expect to pay for the trip with ivory from elephants, feathers from ostriches, animal skins, etc. the various adventures include encounters with snakes, rhino, hippo, giraffes, elephants, crocodiles, cataracts, tsetse fly, marauding native tribes, a bush fire, hundreds of miles of dreary grinding effort taking many months just to cover the ground, scorching heat, and sometimes cold. and more besides. as usual with this author there is sustained tension throughout the book. an interesting and instructive book. ________________________________________________________________________ off to the wilds, being the adventures of two brothers, by george manville fenn. chapter one. coffee and chicory, but not for breakfast. "just look at him, dick. be quiet; don't speak." "oh, the dirty sunburnt little varmint! i'd like the job o' washing him." "if you say another word, dinny, i'll give you a crack with your own stick." "an' is it meself would belave you'd hurt your own man dinny wid a shtick, masther jack? why ye wouldn't knock a fly off me." "then be quiet. i want to see what he's going to do." "shure an' it's one of the masther's owld boots i threw away wid me own hands this morning, because it hadn't a bit more wear in it. an' look at the dirty unclane monkey now." "he'll hear you directly, dinny, and i want to see what he's going to do. hold your tongue." "shure an' ye ask me so politely, masther jack, that it's obliged to be silent i am." "pa was quite right when he said you had got too long a tongue." "who said so, masther jack?" "pa--papa!" "shure the masther said--and it's meself heard him--that you was to lave your papa at home in owld england, and that when ye came into these savage parts of the wide world, it was to be father." "well, father, then. now hold your tongue. just look at him, dick." "it's meself won't spake again for an hour, and not then if they don't ax me to," said dennis riley, generally known as "dinny," and nothing more. and he, too, joined in watching the "unclane little savage," as he called him, to wit, a handsome, well-grown zulu lad, whose skin was of a rich brown, and who, like his companion, seemed to be a model of savage health and grace. for there were two of these lads, exceedingly lightly clad, in a necklace, and a strip of skin round the loins, one of whom was lying on his chest with his chin resting upon his hands, kicking up his feet, and clapping them together as he watched the other, who was evidently in a high state of delight over an old boot. this boot he had found thrown out in the fenced-in yard at the back of the cottage, and he was now seated upon a bank trying it on. first, he drew it on with a most serious aspect, held out his leg and gave it a shake, when, finding the boot too loose, he took it off and filled the toe with sand; but as the sand ran out of a gap between the upper leather and the sole close to the toe and as fast as he put it in, he had to look out for something else, which he found in the shape of some coarse dry grass. with this he half filled the boot, and then, with a good deal of difficulty, managed to wriggle in his toes, after which he drew the boot above his ankle, rose up with a smile of gratified pride upon his countenance, and began to strut up and down before his companion. there was something very laughable in the scene, for it did not seem to occur to the zulu boy that he required anything else to add to his costume. he had on one english boot, the same as the white men wore, and that seemed to him sufficient, as he stuck his arms akimbo, then folded them as he walked with head erect, and ended by standing on one leg and holding out the booted foot before his admiring companion. this was too much for the other boy, whose eyes glittered as he made a snatch at the boot, dragged it off, and was about to leap up and run away; but his victim was too quick, for, lithe and active as a serpent, he dashed upon the would-be robber, and a fierce struggle ensued for the possession of the boot. john rogers, otherwise jack, a frank english lad of about sixteen, sprang forward to separate the combatants, but dinny, his father's servant, who had been groom and gardener at home, restrained him. "no, no, masther jack," he cried, "let the young haythens fight it out. it'll make them behave betther by-an'-by." "i won't; i don't like to see them fight," cried jack, slipping himself free, and seemingly joining in the fray. "don't, masther jack," cried dinny; "they'll come off black on your hands. masther dick, sir, tell him to lave them alone." the lad appealed to, a pale delicate-looking youth, clenched his fists and sprang forward to help his brother. but he stopped directly and began to laugh, as, after a short scuffle, jack rogers separated the combatants, and stood between them with the boot in dispute. for a moment it seemed as if the two zulu lads were about to make a combined attack, but there was something about the english lad which restrained them, and they stood chattering away in their native tongue, protesting against his interference, and each laying claim to the boot. "speak english," cried jack. "and now you two have got to shake hands like englishmen, and make friends." "want a boot! want a boot! want a boot!" the zulu lads kept repeating. "well, you do as i tell you, and you shall each have a pair of boots." "two boot? two boot?" cried the boy who had lost his treasure. "yes; two boots," said jack. "you've got an old pair, haven't you, dick?" "yes; they can have my old ones," was the reply. "go and get them, dinny." "and my old lace-ups too," said jack. "ugh!" ejaculated dinny, spitting on the ground in token of disgust. "ye'll both repint being such friends with cannibal savages like them, young gentlemen. they'll turn round on ye some day, and rend and ate ye both." "not they, dinny," laughed jack. "they'd prefer irishmen, so we should be safe if you were there." "ah, ye may laugh," said dinny, "but they're a dangerous lot, them savages, and i wouldn't trust 'em the length of my fut." dinny went towards the back door of mr rogers' roomy, verandah-surrounded cottage farm, high up in the slopes of the drakensberg, and looking a perfect bower with its flowers, creepers, and fruit-trees, many being old english friends; and jack proceeded to make peace between the two zulu boys. "now look here, sepopo, you've got to shake hands with your brother," he cried. "no!" cried the zulu boy who had been lying down when he snatched the boot, and he threw himself in a monkey-like attitude on all fours. "now you, bechele, you've got to make friends and shake hands," continued jack, paying no heed to sepopo's defiant attitude. "no!" cried the last-addressed, emphatically. "'tole a boot! 'tole a boot!" and he too plumped himself down upon all fours and stared at the ground. "i say yes!" cried jack; when, as if moved by the same influence, the two zulu boys leaped up, ran a few yards, and picked up each his "kiri," a short stick with a knob at the end nearly as big as the fist, ran back to where the english lads were standing, and with flashing eyes began to beat the sand with their clubs. "come along, dick!" cried jack. "they shan't fight. you take sepopo, i'll take bechele. no; don't! it will make you hot, and you're not strong. i'll give it them both." jack, who was very strong and active for his age, made a dash at the young zulus just as they began threatening each other and evidently meaning to fight, when for a few moments there was a confused struggle, in which jack would not have been successful but for his brother's help, he having overrated his strength. but dick joined in, and in spite of their anger the zulu boys did not attempt to strike at their young masters, the result being that they allowed their kiris to be wrenched from their hands, and the next minute were seated opposite to each other on the ground. "they're as strong as horses, dick," panted jack. "there! now, you sirs, shake hands!" "no!" shouted one. "no!" shouted the other; and with a make believe of fierceness, jack gave each what he called a topper on the head with one of the kiris he held. "now will you make friends?" cried jack; and again they shouted, "no!" "they won't. let them go," said dick, languidly; "and it makes one so hot and tired." "they shan't go till they've made friends," said jack, setting his teeth; and thrusting his hand into his pocket he brought out a piece of thick string, the zulu boys watching him intently. they remained where jack had placed them, and going down on one knee he seized the right hand of each, placed them together, and proceeded to tie them--pretty tightly too. "there!" cried jack. "now you stop till you're good friends once more." "good boy now," cried one on the instant. "good boy now," cried the other. "then shake hands properly," said jack. "give him the boot," cried sepopo, as soon as his hand was untied, and he had gone through the required ceremony with his brother. "no, no; give him the boot," cried the other. "hold your tongues," cried jack. "i say, dick, let's call them something else if they are going to stop with us, sepopo! bechele! what names!" "well," said dick, languidly, as he sat down in a weary fashion: "one's going to be your boy, and the other mine. let's call them `black jack' and `black dick.'" "but they are brown," said his brother. "yes, they are brown certainly," said dick, thoughtfully. "regular coffee colour. you might call one of them `coffee.'" "that'll do," said jack, laughing, "`coffee!' and shorten it into `cough.' i say, dick, i'll have that name, and i can tell people i've got a bad `cough.' but what will you call the other?" "i don't know. stop a moment--`chicory.'" "and shorten it into `chick'. that will do, dick; splendid! cough and chick. now you two, one of you is to be cough and the other chick; do you hear?" the zulu boys nodded and laughed, though, in spite of the pretty good knowledge of the english language which they had picked up from their intercourse with the british settlers, it is doubtful whether they understood the drift. what they did comprehend, however, was, that they should make friends; and this being settled, there was the old boot. "give me boot, and show you big snake," cried chicory. "no, no, give me; show more big snake," cried coffee. just then dinny came up with two old pairs of the lads' boots, which he threw down upon the sandy earth; and reading consent in their young masters' eyes, the zulu lads pounced upon them with cries of triumph, coffee obtaining the two rights, and chicory the two lefts, with which they danced about, flourishing them over their heads with delight. "come here, stupids!" cried jack; and after a little contention, the boys being exceedingly unwilling to part as they thought with their prizes, he managed to make them understand that the boots ought to go in pairs; and the exchange having been made, each boy holding on to a boot with one hand till he got a good grip of the other, they proceeded to put them on. "ugh! the haythen bastes," said dinny, with a look of disgust. "think of the likes o' them wearing the young masthers' brogues. ah, masther dick, dear, ye'll be repinting it one of these days." "dinny, you're a regular prophet of evil," said dick, quietly. "avic--prophet of avil!" cried dinny. "well, isn't it the truth? didn't i say avore we left the owld counthry that no good would come of it? and avore we'd been out here two years didn't the dear misthress-- the saints make her bed in heaven--go and die right away?" "dinny! how can you!" cried jack, angrily, as he saw the tears start into his brother's eyes, and that in spite of the sunburning he turned haggard and pale. "don't take any notice, dick," he whispered, in a tender, loving way, as he laid one arm on his brother's shoulder and drew him aside. "dinny don't mean any harm, dick, but he has such a long tongue." dick looked piteously in his brother's face, and one tear stole softly down his cheek. "i say, dick," cried jack, imploringly, "don't look like that. it makes me think so of poor mamma. you look so like her. i say don't, or you'll make me cry too; and i won't," he cried, grinding his teeth. "i said i'd never cry again, because it's so childish; and i won't." "then i'm childish, jack," said dick, as he rubbed the tear away with one hand. "no, no. you have been so weak and delicate that you can't help it. i'm strong. but i say, dick, you are ever so much stronger than when we came out here." "yes," said dick, with a wistful look at his brother's muscular arms. "i am stronger, but i do get tired so soon, jack." "not so soon as you did, dick; and father says you'll be a strong man yet. hallo! what's the matter? look there." the brothers turned round, and hardly knew whether to laugh or to be alarmed; for a short distance away there was dinny dancing about, waving his arms and shouting, while coffee and chicory, each with his kiri, were making attacks and feints, striking at the irishman fiercely. "ah, would you, ye black baste?" shouted dinny, as roaring now with laughter the brothers ran back. "shoo, shoo! get out, you dirty-coloured spalpeen. ah, ye didn't. kape off wid you. an' me widout a bit of shtick in me fist. masther dick, dear! masther jack! it's murthering me the two black whiteboys are. kape off! ah, would ye again! iv i'd me shtick i'd talk to ye both, and see if your heads weren't thick as a tipperary boy's, i would. masther dick! masther jack! they'll murther me avore they've done." as aforesaid, the two zulu boys had picked up a great deal of the english language, but their understanding thereof was sometimes very obscure. in this instance they had heard dinny talking to his young masters in a way that had made the tears come in dick's eye, and driven him and jack away. this, in the estimation of the zulu boys, must be through some act of cruelty or insult. they did not like dinny, who made no attempt to disguise his contempt for them as "a pair of miserable young haythens," but at the same time they almost idolised the twin brothers as their superiors and masters, for whom they were almost ready to lay down their lives. here then was a cause for war. their nature was to love and fight, as dearly as the wildest irishman who was ever born. dinny had offended their two "bosses"--as they called them, after the fashion of the dutch boers, and this set their blood on fire. hardly had the brothers walked away than, as if moved by the same spirit, they forgot the beauty of the old boots in which they had been parading--to such an extent that they kicked them off, and kiri in hand made so fierce an attack upon unarmed dinny that, after a show of resistance, he fairly took to his heels and ran back to the house, just as the brothers came up. "popo give him kiri," cried chicory. "bechele de boy make boss dinny run," cried the other, his eyes sparkling with delight. "no make de boss cry eye any more." "no make boss dick cry eye any more," repeated chicory. the brothers looked at each other as they comprehended the meaning of the attack. "why, jack," said dick, "what faithful true fellows they are. they'll never leave us in a time of trouble." "no, that they won't," cried jack; and just then a tall, stern, sunburnt man, with grizzled hair and saddened eyes, came up to where they stood. laying his hand affectionately on the shoulder of dick,-- "come, my boys," he said, "dinner is ready. let's be punctual while we are leading a civilised life." "and afterwards, father, as punctual a life as we can," said dick, smiling. "hurray!" cried jack, giving his cap a wave in the air. "only another week, and then, father--" "yes," said mr rogers, with a quiet, sad look, "then, my boy, good-bye to civilisation." "only for a time, father," said dick, quietly. "till you win health and strength, my boy," said mr rogers, with an affectionate glance. "and that we'll soon find," cried jack; "for we are off to the wilds." chapter two. why they went away. it was about two years before this that mr edward rogers, a gentleman holding a post of importance in the city of london, had purchased some land and come out to dwell in natal. for physician after physician had been consulted, seaside and health resort visited, but as the time glided on the verdict of the doctors became more and more apparent as a true saying, that unless mrs rogers was taken to a warmer climate her days would be few. even if she were removed the doctors said that she could not recover; but still her days might be prolonged. what was more, they strongly advised such a course in favour of young richard, who was weak and delicate to a degree. "then you really consider it necessary?" said mr rogers to the great physician who had been called in. "i do indeed. as i have said, it will prolong your wife's days, and most probably it will turn that delicate, sickly boy into a strong man." on being asked further what country he would recommend, he promptly replied,-- "south africa." "natal is the place," he continued. "there you have the drakensberg, and you can choose your own elevation, so as to get a pure, temperate climate, free from the cold of the mountains and the heat of the plains." mr rogers was a man of prompt action, for the health of those dear to him was his first consideration. the consequence was that after rapidly making his arrangements, and providing the necessaries for his new home, he took passage to durban, arrived there in safety with his wife, two sons, and dennis; then made his way to maritzburg; and soon after he had purchased an extensive tract of land, and a pleasantly situated home, with garden in full perfection, the owner of which, having made money in the colony, wished to retire to england. here for a time mrs rogers had seemed better, and undoubtedly her life was considerably prolonged. gardening, farming, and a little hunting formed the occupations of the father and sons, and for a time all was happiness in the sunny far-off home. then the much-dreaded day came, and they were left to mourn for a tender wife and mother, whose loss was irreparable. richard, who partook greatly of his mother's nature, was, like his father, completely prostrated by the terrible loss; and though time somewhat assuaged his grief, he seemed to have gone back in his health, and lost the way he had made up since he left england, and he had become so weak and delicate that mr rogers had consulted the doctor, who from time to time visited their far-off home. "medicine is of no use, my dear sir," he said frankly. "i can do him no good. i suppose he sits indoors a good deal and mopes?" "exactly." "then look here, my dear sir, give him a thorough change. you are not tied to your farming in any way?" "not in the least." "then fit up a waggon, take your horses, and have a few months' campaign in the wilds yonder. you want a change as badly as the boy, and you will both come back, i'll venture to say, doubled in strength. why, the ivory and skins you'll collect will pay your expenses. i wish i had the chance to go." it was settled then, and the waggon was being fitted up with ammunition and stores; horses, guaranteed to be well-salted, had been purchased for mr rogers and his boys. the two young zulus who had been hanging about the place for months, making little trips with dick and jack, were to go; and in addition a couple of trustworthy blacks, experienced as waggon-driver and foreloper, had been engaged; so that in a very few days they would say good-bye to civilisation for months, and go seek for health in the far-off wilds. the boys were delighted, for mr rogers proposed that they should aim for the zambesi river, and seek some of the seldom-traversed lands, where game abounded, and where the wonders of nature would be opened to them as from an unsealed book. if dick and jack were delighted, the two zulu boys were half mad with joy. as soon as they knew that they were to be of the party they seemed to have become frantic, going through the actions of hunting and spearing wild beasts--knocking down birds with their kiris, which they threw with unerring aim--pantomimically fighting lions, one of them roaring and imitating the fierce creature's "oomph, oomph," in a way that sounded terribly real, while the other threatened him with his assegai. then they were always showing their cleverness as hunters by stalking people--crawling up to them through the long grass, taking advantage of every irregularity of the ground or shrub to get nearer, and grinning with delight on seeing the surprise and fear of the person stalked. for it was only during the past year that they had been so much amongst the settlers in natal. their early days had been spent with their tribe in the north, their father being a redoubtable chief; but he had given great offence to the king, and had been compelled to fly for his life, finding refuge amongst the english, with his boys. mention has been made of well-salted horses, which to a sailor would immediately suggest commissariat beef in pickle in good-sized tubs; but pray don't imagine that the satisfactory condiment, salt, has anything to do with a salted horse in south africa. a salted horse is one that is seasoned to the climate by having passed through the deadly horse sickness, a complaint so bad and peculiar to the land that very few of the horses seized with it recover. when one does recover he is called a salted--that is, seasoned--horse, and his value is quadrupled. mr rogers had spared no expense in getting together good cattle. his team of little zulu oxen were the perfection of health and strength, and far more docile than is generally the case with these animals; though even these, in spite of their good behaviour, were exceedingly fond of tickling each other's ribs with their long horns, and saving the driver trouble, for the pair nearest the waggon would stir up the pair in front of them, and as these could only retaliate on their aggressors with their tails, they took their revenge on the pair in front; these again punished the pair in front; and so on, and on, to the leading oxen, the result of the many applications being a great increase of speed. then the horses were excellent. mr rogers had three for his own riding; a big bay, a dark grey, and a soft mouse-coloured chestnut, more famous for speed than beauty, and with a nasty habit of turning round and smiling, as if he meant to bite, when he was mounted. dick was clever at names, and he immediately suggested "smiler" as an appropriate name for the chestnut. the dark grey he called "toothpick," because of his habit of rubbing his teeth on the sharp points of the fence; while he called the big bony bay the "nipper," from his being so fond of grazing on, and taking nips from, the manes and tails of his companions, when he could get a chance. mr rogers provided three horses for his own riding, but it was with the idea of giving either of his sons an extra mount when necessary, for it was certain that there would be times when the arch-necked swift little cobs purchased for his boys would want a rest. it was a stroke of good fortune to get such a pair, and the boys were in ecstasies when they were brought up from maritzburg, for a handsomer pair of little horses it would have been hard to find. they were both of that rich dark reddish roan, and wonderfully alike, the differences being in their legs; one being nearly black in this important part of its person, the other having what most purchasers would call the blemish of four white legs--it being a canon amongst the wise in horseflesh that a dark or black-legged horse has better sinews and lasting powers. in this case, however, the theory was wrong, for white legs was if anything the stronger of the two. the lads then were delighted, and this became increased when they found the little nags quite ready to make friends, and willing to eat apples, bread, or as much sugar out of their hands as they would give. "that's right, my boys," said mr rogers, who found his sons making friends in this way with the new arrivals; "always feed your horses yourselves, and treat them well. pet them as much as you like, and win their confidence by your kindness. never ill-use your horse; one act of ill-treatment and you make him afraid of you, and then perhaps some day, when in an emergency and you want to catch your horse, he may gallop away. go on like that, and those cobs will follow you about like dogs. but you must each keep to his own horse. which one would you like, jack?" "oh! the--" jack stopped, and glanced at his brother, whose face was slightly flushed. dick was weak and delicate, while jack was the perfection of boyish vigour; and feeling that his brother did not enjoy life as he did himself, he stopped short just as he was going to say white legs, for there was something in the cob's face that he liked, and the little horse had let him stroke its velvet nose. "poor old dick has taken a fancy to him," he said to himself; "and the other will do just as well for me." "let dick choose first," he said aloud. "very well," said mr rogers. "now then, dick, which is it to be? though you can't be wrong, my boy, for there is not a pin to choose between them, and they are brothers." "should you mind if i chose first, jack?" asked dick. "not a bit," said jack, stoutly, though his feeling of disappointment was keen, for he felt now that he would dearly love to have the white-legged cob. you may guess then his delight when dick declared for the black-legged one. as soon as he heard the decision jack had his arm over the white-legged cob's neck and had given it a hug, the horse looking at him with its great soft eyes, and uttering a low snort. "up with you then, my boys, and have a canter." "without a saddle, father?" said dick, nervously. jack was already up. "have it saddled if you like, my boy," said mr rogers, kindly. but dick flushed, gave a spring from the ground, and was on the little cob's back. they were both skilled riders, but dick's illness made him timorous at times. he, however, fought hard to master his weakness; and when jack cried, "come on, dick; let's race to the big tree and back," he stuck his knees into the cob's plump sides and away they went, with the wind rushing by their ears, and the cobs keeping neck and neck, rounding the big tree about a mile away on the plain, and then making the dusty earth rise in clouds as they tore back, and were checked with a touch of the bridle by the home field. "why, dick, my boy, i would not wish to see a better seat on a horse," cried mr rogers, patting the cobs in turn. "jack, you set up your back like a jockey. sit more upright, my boy." "all right, father; i'll try," said jack, throwing himself right forward so as to hug his cob's neck. "but i say, father, isn't he lovely? i felt all the time as if i was a bit of him, or we were all one." "you looked like it, my boy," said mr rogers, smiling in his son's animated face. "i wish dick had your confidence, and you a little more of his style." "all right, father, we'll try and exchange a bit a-piece," laughed jack. "but i can't half believe it, father, that these are to be our own horses." "you may believe it, then," said his father. "and now get them to the stable." "oh, i say, dick, what beauties!" cried jack. "what shall you call yours?" "i don't know yet," replied his brother. "he's very fast. `swift' wouldn't be a bad name; and we might call yours `sure.'" "hum! i don't think much of those names. hold up!" he continued, examining the hoofs of his brother's nag. "i say, dick, what fine thick shoes he has got." "that's a good suggestion," said dick, laughing, and looking brighter than he had seemed for weeks. "let's call him `shoes,' and his brother with the white legs `stockings.'" "shoes and stockings!" cried jack; "but those are such stupid names. i don't know though but what they'll do." the question was not discussed, for the lads busied themselves in bedding down their own horses; and for the rest of that, day the stable seemed to be the most important part of the house. chapter three. preparations for the journey. "what is it ye're doing?" said dinny, a day or two before that proposed for the start. coffee and chicory looked up from their task, grinned, and then went on sharpening the points of a couple of assegais upon a heavy block of stone, which they had evidently brought from a distance. their faces glistened with perspiration; their knees were covered with dust; and they were in a wonderful state of excitement. resuming their work on the instant, they tried to bring the weapons to a keen point. "kill lion," said coffee, laconically; and he worked away as if the lion were round the corner waiting to be killed. "then ye may just as well lave off, ye dirty little naygars; for it's my belafe that you're not going at all." dinny went off into the house leaving the two boys apparently paralysed. they dropped the assegais, stared at each other, and then lay down and howled in the misery of their disappointment. but this did not last many seconds; for coffee sprang up and kicked chicory, who also rose to his feet, and in obedience to a word from his brother they took their assegais and hid them in a tree which formed their armoury--for out of its branches chicory took the two kiris or clubs; and then the boys ran round to the front, and stood making signs. the brothers had such a keen love of anything in the way of sport that, expecting something new, they ran out and willingly followed the two young blacks out into the grassy plain about a mile from the house, when after posting their young masters behind a bush, coffee and chicory whispered to them to watch, and then began to advance cautiously through the grass, kiri in hand, their eyes glistening as they keenly peered from side to side. "what are they going to do?" said dick. "i don't know. show us something. i wish we had brought our guns. look out!" there was a whirring of wings, and the two zulu boys struck attitudes that would have been models for a sculptor; then as a large bird similar to a partridge rose up, coffee sent his knobbed club whizzing through the air; another bird rose, and chicory imitated his brother's act; and the result was, that the cleverly thrown kiris hit the birds, which fell in amongst the long grass, from which they were retrieved by the lads with shouts of triumph--the birds proving to be the coranne, so called from the peculiarity of their cry. "well done, boys!" cried jack. "they'll be good eating." "boss dick, boss jack take zulu boys, now?" said the kiri-throwers, eagerly. "why, of course. you know you are going," replied dick. "dinny say zulu boys not going," cried chicory. "then dinny knows nothing about it," said dick, angrily. "if he don't mind he'll be left behind himself." coffee sent his kiri spinning up in the air, chicory followed suit, each catching the weapon again with ease; and then they both dashed off across the plain as if mad, and to the astonishment of the brothers, who took the brace of birds and walked back towards the house, to continue the preparations for the start. for there was so much to do, packing the great long tilted waggon with necessaries, in the shape of tea, sugar, coffee, and chocolate. barrels of mealies or indian corn, and wheaten flour, besides. salt too, had to be taken, and a large store of ammunition; for in addition to boxes well filled with cartridges, they took a keg or two of powder and a quantity of lead. then there were rolls of brass wire, and a quantity of showy beads--the latter commodities to take the place of money in exchanges with the natives--salt, powder, and lead answering the same purpose. it was a delightful task to the boys, who thoroughly enjoyed the packing, and eagerly asked what every package contained, when they had no opportunity of opening it; while mr rogers looked on, smiling at the interest they took. "here y'are, young gentlemen," said dinny. "the masther seems to think that you're going to do nothing but suck sweet-stuff all the time you're out." "why, what's that, dinny?" cried dick, who had just brought out a heavy box. "sure, it's sugar-shticks and candy," said dinny; and he went off to fetch something else. "why, so it is, dick," said jack. "i say, father, are we to pack this sweet-stuff in the waggon? we don't want it." "indeed, but we do," said his father, coming up. "why a handful of sweet-stuff will make friends with a boer, when everything else fails. here, put this in the fore box. perhaps, when i bring this out you'll be glad to get at the sweet-stuff." "what is it, father?" said dick. mr rogers opened the little deal case and turned it out, to begin packing it again. "here's a bottle of chloroform, and another of castor oil; two bottles of chlorodyne; a pound of epsom salts; four large boxes of pills; a roll of sticking-plaster; a pot of zinc ointment; and a bottle of quinine and one of rhubarb and magnesia." jack's countenance was a study. for as his father carefully repacked the little box the lad's face grew into a hideous grimace. he waited till mr rogers had finished his enumeration, and then clapping his handkerchief over his mouth, he uttered a loud "ugh!" and ran and stood a few yards away. "i shan't go," he cried. "why not?" said mr rogers, smiling. "why the waggon will smell, of nothing but physic. what's the good of taking it, father?" "the good? well, my boy, there's nothing like being prepared; and we are going far away from doctors, if we wanted their help. we may none of us be unwell, but it is quite likely that we may, either of us, get a touch of fever. besides, we might meet with an accident; and for my part, as i have a little knowledge of medicine and surgery, i know nothing more painful than to find people sick and to be unable to give them the remedy that would make them well. we shall be sure to find some sick people amongst the natives, and they have a wonderful appreciation of the white man's medicine." "well, look here," said jack, "if you'll shut the box up very tightly, i'll consent to come." mr rogers smiled, and did shut the little box up very tightly, after which the preparations went on; and it was perfectly wonderful to see what that waggon would hold. there was a moderate case of wines and spirits, also to act as medicines; several dozens of coloured blankets for presents; waterproof sheets. a cask of paraffin oil was swung under the floor, and by it a little cooking-stove, while beside these swung a long box containing spades and shovels, for digging the waggon-wheels out of holes, tools for repairs, wrenches, and jacks and axes, till it seemed as if there would be no end to the stores and material. then leather slings were nailed up under the tilt for the rifles and guns, so that they might always be ready to hand; for they were going into the land of wild beasts and savage men. above all, their stores had to be so packed that their positions could be remembered, and they could be obtained when wanted, and yet leave space for blankets to be spread, and the travellers find room to sleep beneath the tilt upon the top. the preparations went on; the black driver who was to manage the oxen busied himself along with the foreloper, whose duty it is to walk with the foremost oxen, in getting their great whips in trim, and in seeing the trek-tow and dissel-boom--as the great trace and pole of the waggon are called--were perfect; and they practised the team as well. many of the readers may not know that for an expedition like this, where the waggon party expect to be travelling for months, perhaps for a year, through a country where roads are almost unknown, and where the great heavily-laden, but wonderfully strongly-made waggon, has to be dragged over rocks, through swamps, and into and out of rivers, a team of fourteen, sixteen, or, as in this case, even twenty oxen, will be yoked to the great chain or rope called the trek-tow. for some of the poor animals are sure to succumb during the journey; or they may be killed for food, the loss being not so much felt when a superabundant number is taken. with the leading pair of oxen walks the foreloper, whose duty it is to choose the best road, and to avoid stones and marshy places where the wheels would sink in; and the success of an expedition depends a good deal upon having a good foreloper. in this case mr rogers had secured a trusty kaffir, who had been frequently into the interior; but his appearance was against him, for he had lost one eye, from a thrust of a bullock's horn. but dinny said that the one left was as good as two, for when dirk looked at you, it seemed to go right through your head and tickle the hair behind. off to the wilds--by george manville fenn chapter four. inspanning for the trip. the eventful morning at last! bright, clear, and the dew lying thick upon the thirsty earth. all the arrangements had been made; the waggon stood ready. peter the driver was upon the box in front of the waggon; the boys were mounted, and a couple of neighbours had ridden over to see them start; but to the infinite vexation of dick and jack, the young zulus had not returned. they had started off on the day when they killed the coranne, and that was the last that had been seen of them. "now, dinny, you may let the dogs loose," cried dick, who looked brighter and better, his father thought, than he had been for days. dinny at once obeyed; when, yelping and barking with delight, the four dogs--pompey, caesar, crassus, and rough'un--came bounding about, leaping up at their masters, and taking short dashes out into the plain and back. "where are those two boys?" said mr rogers suddenly. "i haven't seen them for days." "dinny offended them," said jack petulantly, as he patted the arched neck of stockings. "he told them they shouldn't go." "sure i only hinted to the black young gintlemen that it was just possible the masther might lave them behind, when they took themselves off in the most ondacent way; and that's all i know, sor." "here they are!" cried jack suddenly, "hi-yi-yi-yi--coff! hi-yi-yi-yi-- chick!" "hi-yi-yi-yi-yi!" echoed back; and the two boys came running up, one on either side of a fierce-looking, very powerfully-built zulu--a handful of assegais, and his long, narrow, oval shield in one hand, and for costume a fringe of skins round the waist, a sort of tippet of the same over his back and chest, and smaller fringes just beneath each knee. his back hair was secured in a knot behind, and depending from it were some feathers, one of which drooped right down his back. he was a noble-looking specimen of humanity, and as he came up he gazed almost haughtily round at the party, seeming as if he had come as an enemy, and not as a friend. "been fetch de father," cried coffee, pushing the great zulu towards mr rogers. "father going to boss. kill and hunt lion." mr rogers raised his eyebrows a little, for he had not reckoned upon this; but one more or less on such an expedition did not matter, for plenty of provisions would be killed; and a man like this was no little addition to their strength. "oh, very good," he said. "dinny, run into the house, and fetch the bread and meat we left. i daresay the boys are hungry." coffee and chicory understood that, and they began to grin and rub their "tum-tums," as they called a prominent part of their persons; but the next moment they had dragged their father to introduce him to boss dick and boss jack, smiling with delight on seeing their young masters shake hands with the zulu warrior. dinny did not look at all pleasant as he brought out the bread and meat, which was rapidly shared by the zulu and his boys, who evidently meant to eat the food as they went along; so after one more look round, and a glance at the two great water-casks swung behind the waggon, mr rogers gave the word, peter the driver stood up on the great chest strapped in front, cracking his whip with both hands, and dirk the foreloper followed suit. "trek hans! trek buffler! trek zulu! trek boys! trek!" shouted peter, dancing about on the chest in his excitement. "trek, beauties! trek, beauties! trek! trek! trek!" yelled dirk. the oxen slowly tugged at their yokes, the great trek-tow tightened, the wheels of the fine new waggon creaked; and as mr rogers mounted the big bay, his sons took off and waved their caps, giving a loud cheer, for now they were really off to the wilds. chapter five. a taste of something to come. there was but little in the way of incident for some time. the dogs seemed to be never weary of hunting here and there, thrusting their noses under every rock, their heads into every hole; but they found nothing till after the midday halt, when a furious barking from the setter rough'un took the attention of all, and mr rogers and the boys cantered up to a thin cluster of trees, where, on what seemed to be at first a broken stump, but which on nearer inspection proved to be a tall ragged ant-hill, a vicious-looking snake was curled, swinging its head about threateningly, and darting out its forked tongue at the dog, which kept its distance, barking furiously. "a poisonous fellow--cobra evidently. now, dick, bring it down." "no; let jack shoot, father," said dick. "my head aches, and i'm tired. well, yes, i will." "that's right, my boy. i want you to master this weakness," said his father. "and besides, i want you to try how your horse stands fire. nip him tightly with your knees." dick cocked his double-barrelled breechloader--fired--and the serpent hissed loudly and began to descend, but a shot from jack's rifle laid it writhing on the ground, when, before it could be prevented, rough'un seized it behind the head, worrying it furiously. fortunately the creature was mortally wounded, or it might have gone hard with one of the dogs, its poison being very violent; and the others coming up soon tore it to pieces. "your horses behaved admirably," said mr rogers. "you must train them, my boys, so that they will stand where you leave them, and take no more notice of a shot fired over their heads than at a distance." they halted directly after for a midday meal, the oxen finding a plentiful supply of fresh grass and water, and after a good rest they were once more on the way, the horses behind under the care of dinny and the zulu warrior. mr rogers and his sons were close to the oxen, coffee and chicory were close behind, and they were inspecting the team, which was pulling steadily and well, when mr rogers said,-- "well, boys, we may as well get our guns. we shall soon be in the hunting country now." "hi! yup-yup-yup!" shouted coffee. "ho! yup-yup-yup!" yelled chicory. the dogs began to yelp and bark; and in the excitement, as they saw an animal like a great long-eared spotted cat dash out of a clump of trees and make for some rocky ground, all joined in the chase; mr rogers ran as hard as the rest, forcing his pith hunting-helmet down over his head. coffee got well in front, waving his arms and shouting; but chicory trod upon a thorn and began to limp. as for jack, in his excitement he tripped over a stump, and fell sprawling; while dick had hard work to save himself from a similar mishap. last of all, whip in hand, came the foreloper, who had left the oxen in his excitement, flourishing and cracking his lash. there was a sharp hunt for a few minutes, during which the followers toiled on over the rocky ground, seeing nothing after their first glimpse of the lynx--for such mr rogers declared it to be; then they met the dogs coming back, looking very stupid, and quite at fault. rough'un, however, went on with coffee, and jack followed, to find that the lynx had evidently gone down a deep rift, where it was impossible to follow it; so they went back to the waggons, both jack and his father determining that in future they would never be without either gun or rifle in hand. every minute, almost, as they journeyed on, the boys realised the value of having the waggon made in the best manner, and of the strongest wood that could be obtained, for it bumped and swayed about, creaking dismally beneath its heavy load, and making the casks and pots slung beneath clatter together every now and then, as it went over some larger stone than usual. they saw too the value of a good foreloper; for if a careless man were at the head of the oxen, the waggon might at any moment be wrecked over some rugged rock or sunk to the floor in a black patch of bog. the dogs seemed rather ashamed of themselves after the chase of the lynx, and went with lolling tongues to trot behind the waggon, pompey now and then making an angry snatch at caesar, while crassus threw up his muzzle and uttered a dismal yelp. rough'un, too, did not seem happy, but to have that lynx on his conscience; for he kept running out from beneath the waggon, and looking back as if bound to finish the chase by hunting the cat-like creature out; but he always altered his mind and went under the waggon once more, to walk close to the heels of the last pair of oxen, one of which looked back from time to time in a thoughtful meditative way, with its great soft eyes, as if in consideration whether it ought to kick out and send rough'un flying. this act made rough'un run forward, and as the ox bent down snuffing at it, the dog leaped up at its muzzle, then at that of the next ox, and went on right along the whole span, saluting all in turn without getting trampled, and ending by retaking his place beneath the waggon front. for rough'un was a dog of a different breed to his fellows, and though he hunted with them he did not associate with them afterwards, but kept himself to himself. there was not much to interest the boys after the first excitement of the start was over, for they had to travel over plain and mountain for some distance before they would reach ground that had not been well hunted over by the settlers; but every step took them nearer, and there were endless matters to canvass. for instance, there were the capabilities of their horses, which grew in favour every time they were mounted; the excellences of their guns, presented to them by their father for the expedition, light handy pieces, double-barrelled breechloaders, the right-hand barrel being that of an ordinary shot-gun, the left-hand being a rifle sighted up to three hundred yards. it would be hard to say how many times these guns were loaded and unloaded, slung across their owners' backs and taken down again, while the eagerness with which they looked forward to some good opening for trying their skill was notable. but beyond an occasional bird which fled with a loud cry at the approach of the waggon, and a little herd of springbok seen upon the edge of a low hill quite a mile away, there was little to break the monotony of the journey over the hot sandy waste, and every one was pretty weary when, just at sundown, they came in sight of a low house, the abode of a boer who had settled there some years before, and who, with his large family, seemed to be perfectly content, and who smiled with satisfaction on being presented with some sweets in return for his civility in pointing out the places where the out-spanned oxen could find an abundance of grass and water. here the first experience of sleeping in a waggon was gone through, and very comical it seemed to boys who were accustomed to the comforts of a well-regulated home. dick laughed, and said that it was like sleeping in the attic, while the servants slept in the kitchen, for the drivers and the three zulus made themselves snug under the waggon, dinny joining them very unwillingly, after a verbal encounter with dick, who, however much he might be wanting in bodily strength, was pretty apt with his tongue. "sure, masther dick, sir, dinny's the last boy in the world to grumble; but i'm a good christian, and the blacks are as haythen as can be." "well, dinny, and what of that?" "why, ye see, masther dick, i'm a white man, and they are all blacks; and," he added with a grin, "i shouldn't like to catch the complaint." "what complaint, dinny?" "why, sure, sir, it would be very painful to you and masther jack there, and the masther himself, if you found poor dinny get up some fine morning as black as a crow." "get along with you," cried jack. "oh, be easy, masther jack, dear," cried dinny; "and how would you like to slape under a waggon wid five sacks of smoking and living coals like them zulus and kaffirs is?" "i wouldn't mind," replied jack. "we are on a hunting expedition, and we must take things in the rough." "sure an' it is rough indade," grumbled dinny. "i'm thinking i'd rather go sthraight home to my poor owld mother's cabin, and slape there dacent like, wid nothing worse in it than the poor owld pig." chapter six. a false alarm. mr rogers had felt a little hesitation in giving the fierce-looking zulu permission to make one of the party, but as they journeyed on across the apparently interminable plains between the vaal and the great crocodile rivers, he awoke more and more to the fact that he had secured a valuable ally. for the old warrior entered into the spirit of the expedition at once, helping with the oxen or to extricate the waggons in difficult places, showing himself quite at home in the management of horses, and being evidently an excellent guide, and above all a hunter of profound knowledge and experience. as soon as he realised the intentions of mr rogers, he became most earnest in his endeavours to get the party well on their way farther and farther into the wilds, making the eyes of the boys dilate as he told them in fair english of the herds of antelope and other game he would soon show them in the plains; the giraffes, buffaloes, elephants, and, above all, the lions, whose haunts he knew, and to which he promised to take them. whenever the father began to talk in this strain his two sons grew excited, and started to perform hunting dances, in which the number of imaginary lions and buffaloes they slew was something enormous. every now and then, too, the boys killed some imaginary elephant, out of whose unwieldy head they made believe to hack the tusks, which they invariably brought and laid at their young masters' feet, grunting the while with the exertion. dick soon grew tired of it however. "it's all very well," he said; "but if that is the way we are to load the waggons with ivory, we shall be a long time getting enough to pay the expenses of the journey." mr rogers joined them one day as they were walking along in advance of the slow-moving waggon, and began to question the zulu about the game in the wilds north of where they were; and in his broken english he gave so glowing an account that his hearers began to doubt its truth. he said that when he had had to flee from his own people for his life, he had at first gone right away into the hunting country, and stayed there for a year, finding out, in his wanderings, places where hunting and shooting people had never been. here, he declared, the wild creatures had taken refuge as in a sanctuary; and he declared that he should take the boss who had been so kind to his boys, and both the young bosses, to a wild place where they would find game in abundance, and where the forests held the great rhinoceros, plenty of elephants, and amongst whose open glades the tall giraffe browse the leafage of the high trees. there in the plains were herds of buffalo too numerous to count, quagga, zebra, gnu, eland, and bok of all kinds. there was a great river there, he said, full of fish, and with great crocodiles ready to seize upon the unwary. the hippopotamus was there too, big and massive, ready to upset boats or to attack all he could see. mr rogers watched his sons attentively as the zulu narrated his experience of the land, and he was delighted to see how much dick was already leaving off his dull languid ways, and taking an interest in what was projected. one thing the father wished to arrive at, and that was whether dick would be frightened through his weakness, and the hunting parties consequently do him more harm than good. but just then a question put by his son showed him that he was as eager as his brother for an encounter with the wild creatures of the forest and plains. "and do you say there are lions?" said dick. "yes, plenty lion," said the zulu. "they come to camp at night, and try to get the ox and horse." "oomph! oomph! oomph!" growled coffee, in an admirable imitation of the lion's roar. "keep big fire," said the zulu, "then no lion come." "well, dick," said mr rogers, "how do you feel? ready for the fray?" "yes, father, i am longing for the time when we shall get amongst the wild beasts. i want to try my gun; and i want to grow strong and manly, like jack." "all in good time, my boy," replied mr rogers, smiling. "we shall soon be leaving civilisation almost entirely behind, and then you shall make your first attempts at becoming a mighty hunter." comparatively uninteresting as the journey was, they still had plenty to take their attention--grand views of distant mountains; wondrous sunsets; great flights of birds; but the absence of game was remarkable; and twice over, in spite of their being so well armed and provided, mr rogers was glad to purchase a freshly-killed springbok of a boer, at one of the outlying farms that they passed. on the seventh night out though, their fortune was better, for they had out-spanned, or loosened their oxen from the waggon, just by a clump of trees in a wide plain, and the zulu went off the moment they stopped. both peter and dirk began to complain, for they expected help from their black companion; but upon this occasion they had their work to do without aid, coffee and chicory having also gone off with their kiris in search of game. mr rogers and his sons started off to see if they could provide anything palatable for supper; but though there was a swampy lagoon about a mile away, they did not catch sight of a single duck, and were returning tired and disappointed when they caught sight of the zulu signalling to them to come. "he has found something," cried jack eagerly; and they hastened over the rugged intervening space, to find that the father of coffee and chicory was evidently a keen hunter, and ready enough in knowing where to look for creatures that would do for food. with almost unerring instinct he had found out this clump of trees, evidently one where guinea-fowl came to roost; and full of hope that they would now obtain a good addition to the larder, or, in plain english, a few birds to roast for supper, guns were supplied with cartridges, and the little party waited for the coming of the spotted birds. the pleasurable anticipations of the boys, who had a lively recollection of the toothsome bird with a flavour half-way between roast fowl and pheasant, seemed likely to be damped, for they had been waiting quite half an hour without hearing or seeing anything, when suddenly the zulu laid his hand upon jack's arm, and pointed in a direction opposite to the waggon. "well, what are you pointing at?" said jack. "i can't see anything. yes, i can; there they are, father. look out!" bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang! half-a-dozen rapid shots, and then, amidst the whizzing of wings and cries of the birds, some of which flew off, while others ran through the short grass at an astounding rate, coffee, chicory, and their father ran out beneath the trees; and the result of the firing was brought in--ten fine plump birds for their supper. this was the first night that they had passed in the open, the previous halts having been made at some farm; so after the supper the blacks were set to gather in more wood, the fire was well made up, and the oxen secured, it being decided to begin at once upon the regular plan that they would have to adopt in the enemy's country, the enemy being formed of the various wild creatures against whom they were having their campaign. years back the spot where they were encamped had been famous for lions, but from what mr rogers had heard, none had been seen here now for a considerable time. still he thought it better to take precautions, the party being divided into three watches, the first of which he took himself, with chicory for a companion; jack was to take the second, with the zulu; and dick, coffee, and dinny were to form the third. the oxen and horses having been all secured, the fire was piled up, and those who were to rest gladly availed themselves of the opportunity, and in a very short time nothing was to be heard but the fluttering noise made by the burning fire, and the snorting sigh of one or the other of the horses. in due time jack was aroused, to sit up and stare at his father. "what's matter?" he said sleepily. "nothing, only that it is your turn to watch," said his father. "why, i've only just lain down," replied jack. "it can't be time yet." but a good rub at his eyes seemed to bring a little thoughtfulness as well, and he climbed put of the waggon and descended to the ground. "i don't think you will have anything to alarm you, my boy," said his father. "wake me up though if there is the slightest sign of danger." jack promised, and, shivering and uncomfortable, he crept up to the fire, which the zulu renewed; but though he roasted his face and knees, his back felt horribly cold, and he heartily wished himself at home, and in his snug bed. but the zulu began to look round at the cattle, to satisfy himself that all were safe; and then seating himself with his assegai across his knees close to the fire, he began to tell the young englishman about the dangers that would have surrounded them if they had encamped here a few years earlier; and, then he lapsed into such vivid accounts of his own hunting adventures and escapes, that the four hours' watch seemed to have passed like magic, and jack was ready to finish the next; but recalling the last injunctions he had received from his father, he went to the waggon, roused up dick, and from under it dinny and coffee, and soon after left them to finish the morning watch. jack felt as if it would be of no use to try and sleep again; but knowing that their next day's journey would be very fatiguing, he lay down in his brother's place, found the blankets very warm and cosy, and then, with the sound of dinny yawning loudly, he fell fast asleep. he seemed hardly to have closed his eyes, when a shout aroused him, just as he heard his father seize his double rifle, and go to the front of the waggon. jack did likewise, with as much speed as his sleepy confusion would allow; and on reaching the opening he found that it was still dark, so that he could not have been long asleep, the fire was burning brilliantly, and every one was on the alert. "yes, i seemed to hear it myself in my sleep," said mr rogers, in answer to some words spoken by dick. "did it sound near?" "sure, sor, it was close by, and i thought the bastes had got one of the bullocks." the zulu was with them now, having sprung from his place beneath the waggon, asking eagerly what was wrong. "they heard a lion prowling round," replied mr rogers. "no, no," said the zulu. "no lion here." "but i heard it quite plainly," said dick, who felt angry at being doubted. "sure and i did too, so close to me shoulder that i could feel the baste's breath blow over on to me chake." "no, no," said the zulu. "look! see!" he pointed towards the oxen and horses in turn. "but it would be impossible to see it in this darkness," said mr rogers. "yes, but the oxen," said the zulu. "they would not lie quiet if there was a lion." "of course not," said mr rogers, envying the savage his knowledge. "then what caused the alarm?" there was no reply; and after satisfying themselves that all was safe, and piling up the rest of the wood upon the fire--for the streaks of the coming dawn could be seen--the tired watchers returned to the waggon, and slept until roused for breakfast, when the secret of the alarm came out, coffee having been afraid to confess at the time that he knew it was his brother imitating the lion's cry in his sleep, his proximity to dick and dinny making it seem the more real. feeling sure that he would be punished if he spoke, coffee had remained silent, and so the matter ended, dick laughing heartily at the false alarm, though dinny would not believe that the cry emanated from the boy. "jist as if i was such a biby as to belave that story, masther jack," he said. "i tell ye it was the lion himself attacking the bastes, and you'll see he'll be about the camp now every night, as regular as clockwork. it's very good of the masther to try and put one at his aise about the wild bastes; but that there was a lion--i know it was; and if, masther jack, dear, i'm missing some night, ye may know that there's a lion aiting of me; and i hope ye'll take me bones back and give me a dacent burying somewhere among christians, and not lave them kicking about out here in a foreign land." "but how can you be so stupid, dinny? father says it was chicory, and you know how he imitates the wild beasts." "ah, do ye take me for a baby, masther jack?" said the man, reproachfully. "there, let it go. i'm your father's servant, and he must have his own way; but it's cruel work this coming out into such savage lands; and there's one man as will niver see home parts again." when once dinny had got an idea in his, head, to use his own words, "a shillelagh would not knock it out;" so he remained perfectly certain that the camp had been attacked by a lion; and he went about prophesying that the coming night would produce two. chapter seven. how the boys found it was not easy to shoot. the oxen were in-spanned and the horses saddled, on as glorious a morning as ever shone over the great african continent. the breakfast things had been stowed away, a glance given round to see that nothing had been left behind; the driver's and foreloper's whips cracked; and with loud shouts of, "trek, boys, trek!" the great waggon slowly went on its course, every one forgetting the troubles of the disturbed night, in the glorious sunshine and dew-glittering herbage. coffee and chicory ran and bounded and spun their kiris in the air, catching them again, and then running on beside the cantering horses of their young masters, while their father ran beside mr rogers' big bay. above all, the dogs showed their delight by barking, yelping, and making insane charges here and there, rough'un's great delight being to run his head into one or other of the holes made by the burrowing animals of the plains, and then worrying and snapping at nothing until he was called away. as the waggon lumbered on, father and sons wandered off to left or right, exploring, examining the trees and strange plants, and sometimes bringing down some bright-plumaged bird, which was carefully laid in a tin case carried for the purpose by the zulu, ready to be skinned and dressed to keep as a specimen on their return. that they were approaching the game country was now hourly becoming plainer, for from time to time little knots of bok could be seen upon the hills; but when dick or jack eagerly drew the attention of the zulu to the fact, he laughed, and said it was nothing, bidding them to wait. "we must have some venison for dinner to-day, boys," said mr rogers, cantering up; "so one of you had better try your rifle. who's it to be?" "let it be jack, father," said dick, quietly; "my hands are not steady yet." "very good," said mr rogers; while the zulu listened attentively, trying to comprehend every word. "now then, jack, how shall you go to work? there is a little herd of half-a-dozen springbok there, on that hill, nearly a mile away." "get close and shoot them," replied jack, stoutly. "say, if you can, my boy," replied mr rogers, smiling. "now look here, jack, this is the way the boers shoot springbok, and i don't think you will find a better plan. have a few cartridges handy, so that you can load quickly, and then gallop easily towards the herd, which will begin playing about, till they grow too alarmed to let you get nearer, and then they'll bound off. this is your time: gallop up as close as you can, and when you see they are about to go, leap from your horse and fire--reload, and fire again. if you are very quick you may get three shots at the herd before they are out of range." "but suppose i miss, father?" said jack. "don't suppose anything of the kind, my boy," said mr rogers, smiling; "but go and do it. time enough to consider failure when you have failed." jack nodded, opened the breech of his gun, placed half-a-dozen cartridges ready, leaped down to tighten the girths of his saddle, the cob standing perfectly still. then mounting once more, he waved his hand, touched his horse's sides with his heels, and away it went like the wind. as he started, chicory, who seemed to have adopted him as his leader, made a bound at the saddle, caught hold of the pommel, and ran by his side with marvellous speed. the springbok seemed to pay not the slightest heed to their approach, and jack was beginning to feel excited with the chase, and to calculate how far they should be able to get before having to dismount, when all at once there was a sudden check; he went flying over his horse's head, his double barrel escaped from his hand, and he found himself lying on the hard sandy earth, confused and puzzled, with chicory trying to pull him up; and stockings standing close by, snorting and shivering with fear. jack got up, and limped to where his rifle lay, feeling stupid, and wondering how it was that he had been thrown; and he had but regained his piece, and was ruefully examining it, when his father and dick came galloping up. "much hurt, my boy?" cried mr rogers, eagerly. "only my leg and arm a little," said jack, rubbing first one and then the other; "but i did think i could ride better than that, father." "ride, my boy? why, no one could have helped that. don't you know how it was?" "i know stockings threw me," replied jack. "threw you? nonsense, boy! he set his fore feet in an ant-bear hole, and turned a complete somersault. we were afraid that he had rolled upon you." "then a good rider couldn't have helped it, father?" "helped it? no, my boy." "oh, i feel better now," said jack, laughing; and, limping up to his horse, he patted its neck and remounted, though not without difficulty. "where's the bok, chicory?" chicory pointed to where they were, nearly a mile away, and looking exceedingly small, but quite clear in the bright african atmosphere; and without a word he set off again. "ought he to go, father?" said dick. "yes, my boy. he is not much hurt, and it will be a lesson to both him and his horse. i am glad to see that he has so much spirit." a short chuckle close by made mr rogers turn his head, and he saw that the zulu understood his words, and was smiling approval. "brave boy! make big hunter warrior, some day," said the zulu. "boss dick big brave hunter too," cried coffee indignantly, as he went and laid a hand upon the neck of dick's horse. "boss dick go shoot bok?" "not now, coffee," replied dick, smiling; and then the little group remained watching jack, who was in full chase of the springbok, which, as he came nearer, began to skip and bound and gambol together, leaping over each other's backs, but all the time watching the coming enemy. it was an exciting time for jack, and in it he forgot the pain in his shoulder and the stiffness of his leg. he had the rifle-barrel ready cocked, and his feet out of the stirrups, and at last, when he had galloped up to within a couple of hundred yards, he saw such evident preparations for flight on the part of the little bok, that he leaped down, dropped upon one knee, and fired straight at the flying herd. before the smoke had risen he had another cartridge in the rifle, and fired again. once more he threw open the breech and loaded--and fired, though by this time the bok were seven or eight hundred yards away. but in spite of the care in the aim taken, no bok fell struggling to the ground, and jack rode back slowly to join his father, wondering whether the bore of his rifle was true, for he knew, he said to himself, that he had aimed straight. when he hinted at the possibility of the rifle being in fault, his father smiled, and dick gave him so comical a look that jack said no more, but rode on silently by the side of the waggon, till, seeing his disappointment, his father joined him. "why, you foolish boy," he exclaimed, "it was not likely that you would hit one of those flying bok. it is a matter of long practice; and even the boers, who have studied such shooting for years, often miss." "but you see, father, i did make such a dreadful mess of it," pleaded jack. "i came off my horse; and then i shot over and over again, and missed. i can't help feeling what a muddle i made." "well, for my part," said his father, "i am rather glad that you failed. if you had succeeded, my boy, without effort at the first trial, it would have made you careless. these failures will teach you the necessity for using care, and trying to perfect yourself as a marksman." "but there'll be no bok for dinner," said jack ruefully. "never mind," replied mr rogers. "i daresay the boys will bring in something." he was right, for coffee and chicory brought in six great plain partridges, which they had knocked down with their kiris, and these were roasted at the midday meal, and eaten with the appetite found in the desert. as the day wore on, and after the refreshed oxen were once more doing their duty, the effects of the last night's scare began to show itself, peter, dirk, and dinny declaring that they had seen lions creeping after the waggon in the distance, ready to pounce upon the oxen as soon as it was dark. dirk reported this to mr rogers, who gave them all a good, talking to about their cowardice. "why, look at these zulu boys," he cried; "they don't show any fear, while you grown men are almost as bad as children." "sure, sor, an' the zulu boys don't know any better," said dinny. "they're little better than the bastes themselves." "well, there are my own boys," exclaimed mr rogers. "they are not afraid. i wonder at you, dinny, an irishman, and to set such a bad example to these blacks." "and is it afraid?" said dinny. "not a bit of it. i'm not a bit afraid at all; but i can't help thinking of what my poor mother's feelings would be if she came to know that her only son dennis had been aiten up by wild bastes. i don't mind a bit, but i wouldn't hurt her feelings for the world." "then oblige me, dinny, by holding your tongue, for if i hear any more complaints i shall send you back." "sind me back!" ejaculated dinny, as soon as his master had gone. "sind me back across the big desert all alone by meself. why, it would be worse than murther. it's meself wishes i hadn't come." whatever he may have wished, these sharp words had the effect of silencing dinny for the time being; but when the zulu had led them at last, just at sundown, into a dense patch of forest, where the overhanging trees made the gloom quite oppressive, dinny's eyes showed white circles round them; and if it had not been for the fact that they found a boer and his family encamped by the water they had been seeking, the irishman would have probably turned, and at all risks have fled. people are ready enough to make friends out in the desert, and the boer gladly offered the use of the fire he had made, and a part of the springbok he had shot, on receiving a share of some of the good things brought by the newcomers. then, with the great camp-kettle simmering over the fire, and with the boys patiently waiting for their share of the provisions, guns were cleaned and laid ready for use, the men the while busily attending to the oxen and horses, while the zulu and his boys collected wood into a pile to keep up the fire. "sure an' it's a dreadful melancholy-looking place," said dinny with a shudder. and then he listened attentively while the boer expressed his belief that there were lions in the neighbourhood, though they were not often seen. chapter eight. how nature was stronger than training. days and days of steady travel, and the slowly gained miles mounted up till they had journeyed far into the interior. mr rogers, yielding to the importunities of his boys, had several times over been ready to come to a halt; but the zulu still pointed forward, and feeling that there must be much truth in his declarations regarding the game country on ahead, he was allowed to act as guide. it was a long journey, but though they did not have much sport, it was not monotonous, for mr rogers was a good naturalist, and eager to collect everything curious in beetle, butterfly, and bird, so that all hands were pretty busy from dawn to dark. coffee and chicory, after they had been taught not to pull off the feathers, became very clever at skinning birds, some of which had been denizens of the woods, some of the lagoons and marshes they had passed, and which were shot at daybreak, or else after sunset, from amongst the great beds of reeds. then if they were ducks, the bodies became occupants of the great pot; if they were not considered eatable they fell to the share of the dogs. that great iron pot, which was always suspended from three poles over every fire that was made, became an institution. the idea was taken from a hint given by a hunting-party, one of the gentlemen forming it telling mr rogers that, upon returning weary and exhausted to camp, there was nothing so restorative us good rich soup. consequently, whenever a buck was shot, great pieces of its flesh were placed in the pot, and allowed to stew till all their goodness was gone, when the blacks considered them a delicacy, the rich soup being the portion of the hunting-party. game was scarce, but they got a sufficiency of either small bok or birds to supply their wants; and, whether it was the constant change, the fresh air, the rich meat essence which dick partook of with avidity, or whether it was a combination of the effect of all these, the change in the boy was magical. he could take a long ride now without feeling weary, and wanting in appetite; he was ready to buckle to and help when the waggon was stuck, literally putting his shoulder to the wheel with a will, and in place of hanging back, he was now the first to spy out game, and set off in chase, making jack quite envious by coming back in triumph with a couple of springbok hanging from his saddle-bows, both having had to succumb to his rifle. but this was not to be borne; and jack at once took chicory into his confidence. "i must shoot a springbok, chick," he said. "dick has shot two." "boss jack shoot springbok to-morrow," said the boy, decisively; and soon after daybreak roused his young master, and pointed out across the plain towards the rising sun. "bok," he said laconically; and while jack was giving a finishing touch or two to his dress, the boy ran off, and began to saddle stockings, having the little horse ready by the time jack was prepared to mount. the others were not awake, saving the zulu and dick, who had the morning watch; so jack got off unquestioned, and rode away in the direction pointed out by chicory, whose dark eyes made out the presence of the little bok long before they could be seen by his young master, who began to think that he had been deceived, and expressed his doubts upon the point. but chicory smiled, and laid his hand upon jack's arm, pointing to where some shadow shapes of animals could be seen through the faint mist hanging over a low clump of hillocks; and with a cry of joy the boy pressed his horse's sides, and went off at a swinging canter, without discomposing chicory in the least, for the boy held on to a strap at the pummel of the saddle as before, and there being no ant-bear hole in the way, or, the horse having learned better through his fall, they rapidly neared the little herd, which began the antics peculiar to these animals, till the lad was getting close up, when they began to flee at a tremendous rate. quick as thought, jack had sprung from his saddle, and sent a bullet after the herd; then another, and another; but all apparently without result. then disappointed and vexed, jack turned to chicory as if it was his fault. but the boy had climbed an old ant-hill, and was watching the flying herd with his eyes shaded by his hand. "one down--two down," he cried, sending joy through jack's breast; for, on galloping after the herd, it was to find one bok lying dead, and another so badly wounded that it became an easy capture. it was with no little importance then that jack rode back with his two bok, ready to receive the congratulations of his father, for his manifest improvement in handling his rifle, and in hunting the bok according to the accepted plan. at last their guide, after looking-on with something almost supercilious in his face at this, to him, puny style of hunting, and contentment with such small game as birds, springbok, and the like, announced that the next day they would be entering upon what he termed his hunting country. the travellers had now reached a more rugged tract of land, scored with deep ravines, along which, at some time or another, small rivers must have coursed, while now the narrow stony tracks were found convenient for waggon tracks, though often enough the way was cruelly difficult, and all had to set to and clear a passage for the wheels by bodily removing some of the worst of the stones. there was no hesitation or hanging back at such times, for all had to set to, even dinny playing a pretty good part, considering that he abhorred manual labour. quite a change seemed to have come over the general, as dick aptly dubbed their zulu guide; for though he gave way in everything connected with the management of the waggon, and was exceedingly respectful to mr rogers, no sooner did any hunting matter come to the front, or a question of the best direction to take, than he seemed to take the lead as if in spite of himself. at first mr rogers felt annoyed, and ready to put the man down; but in a very short time he saw that the zulu's sole thought was for the success of the expedition, and that his actions were the natural results of his former life; for, savage though he was, and servant to this expedition, he had been a prince in his own tribe, and a leader amongst the people. the night was coming on fast, when one day, after a long and weary trek, the heavily-laden waggon was approaching a belt of elevated forest-land, where the general had assured mr rogers they would find water. it had been a toilsome day, hot and dusty, and at their midday rest there had been hardly a mouthful of herbage for the tired oxen, while water there was none. the contents of the two casks swinging behind the waggon were jealously guarded for the travellers' use; but so miserable did the cattle seem that the two boys asked their father to tap one of them for the oxen and horses. "it will be but a taste a-piece," he said; "but perhaps you are right, boys." then the tap being set running, every ox and horse had a refreshing taste, though it was hard work to get the pail away from each thirsty mouth. then all through that long parching afternoon they had toiled on, with the draught cattle growing more listless, the horses sluggish and restless; and a general feeling of weariness seemed to have seized upon all. the result was shown in the silence with which they progressed. the driver and foreloper ceased to shout and crack their whips; the zulus trudged slowly on behind the waggon; and out of compassion for their horses, mr rogers and his sons walked beside the weary beasts. "you are sure we shall find water at sundown?" said dick to the general. "nothing is sure out in the wilds, young master," said the zulu gravely. "there should be water there. if there is not, we must trek on through the night, to the first river or spring." "but will there be water there?" "we shall be in the game country then, and i can soon find where the game goes to drink, and can lead you there." this was satisfactory, and they trudged on and on, with the land gradually rising, making the pull more heavy for the oxen, whose tongues were lolling out, and whose efforts at last became so painful that mr rogers at once accepted his sons' proposal, which was that the horses should help. a halt was called, and great stones were placed beneath the wheels to make sure that there should be no running backwards on the part of the waggon, and then the tethering ropes were fastened to the horses' saddles; the zulus and the boys took their head; the word was given to start; the ropes that had been secured to different parts of the waggon tightened; and though the horses could not pull as if they were properly harnessed, the impulse they gave relieved the weary oxen, and after half an hour's toilsome drag, the waggon was drawn to the top of the incline, and the travellers had the pleasure of seeing that a tolerably level way lay before them. but there was no sign of water, and mr rogers looked serious as he swept the dimly seen country before him with his glass. "had we not better outspan here?" he said, "and let the oxen rest. we could start again at daybreak." but the general shook his head. "no, boss," he replied. "let us go on. we may find water yet." mr rogers gave way, and in a listless, weary fashion the heavy waggon was dragged on. "oh, i am so tired," cried jack; "and i'd give anything to be able to walk right into a big pond and drink, and soak myself outside. my skin feels as if it was cracking." "i'm very tired, too," said dick; "but not so tired as i thought i should be. why i must have walked twenty miles to-day. i wonder whether that means that i am growing stronger." "you need not wonder," said mr rogers, who had heard his words. "you may be sure, my boy. but how dark it is growing! there are the stars." "what's the matter with the bullocks?" cried jack suddenly. "why, father, they're gone mad with thirst." "water," cried the general, pointing ahead. "they smell the water." the sensitiveness was caught up by the horses, which, like the oxen, quickened their pace, craning with outstretched muzzles, their fine instinct telling them that there was water on ahead, towards which they struggled to get. great care was needed now lest the water should prove to be merely a well or pool, into which the bullocks would rush, muddying the water, and perhaps trampling one another to death in their efforts to reach the refreshing liquid. but strive hard as they would, it proved to be impossible to keep the thirsty creatures back. the waggon had not proceeded so fast since they started; and the speed was growing greater, causing the great lumbering vehicle to rock and sway in a most alarming fashion. if they had encountered a rock, however small, there must have been a crash. but as it happened, they came on very level ground, sloping gently towards the north. klipmann, the foremost ox, a great black fellow with long horns, had proclaimed the find, and communicated the fact with a deep-mouthed bellow; and the next minute all was excitement and shouting, as the great waggon thundered and groaned along. the first thing to be done was to detach the horses, which was no sooner done than they seemed to take fright, and went off at a gallop into the gloom ahead; then, amidst the yells and shoutings of peter and dirk, who danced about as if mad, efforts were made to check the oxen; but the poor beasts were frantic with thirst, and any serious attempt to stop them would have meant goring, trampling down, or being crushed by the wheels of the ponderous waggon. the wild race lasted for a mile, during which every moment threatened to be the waggon's last. the oxen lowed and trotted on, the waggon creaked, and the loose articles rattled and banged together. mr rogers and his sons panted on at the sides, momentarily expecting to see it go over, and coffee and chicory, who had been very slow and silent for hours, whooped and yelled and added to the excitement. "it's all over with our trip, jack," panted dick. "we shall have to pick up the pieces to-morrow and go back." "wait a bit, and let's see. why, what's the general going to do?" for all at once the zulu had darted on ahead after snatching a kiri from chicory's hand, seized the foremost bullock, old klipmann, by the horn, and, at the risk of being impaled or trampled down, he beat the stubborn bullock over the head with the club, and treating the other, its yoke-fellow, the same, he forced them into taking a different course, almost at right angles to that which they were pursuing. "stop, stop!" roared mr rogers. "you will upset the waggon." but he was too late. the course of the leading oxen being changed, the others swerved round, giving such a tug at the dissel-boom that the waggon's wreck seemed certain. the whole team taking, as it did, a different course, the waggon was dragged side-wise, and for a few seconds tottered on its two nearside, or left-hand, wheels. it seemed as if it must go over crash--that nothing could save it; and jack uttered a cry of dismay, and warning to his brother to get out of the way. then, as if by a miracle, it fell back with a heavy thud on to the other wheels, and bumped and jolted on after the long team of oxen into the obscurity. and then, when ruin seemed to have come completely upon the expedition, _wish-wash_! _splish-splash_! the foaming of water--the crunching of wheels over stones and sand--a quick rush--and the waggon was standing, axletree deep, in a swiftly flowing river, down whose shelving bank it had been dragged, and in whose cool waters the oxen and horses were washing their legs, and drinking deeply with delight. chapter nine. an awful ford to cross. it was a wonderful relief, and following the example of the animals, every one waded into the cool stream above the oxen, and drank deeply of the delicious water. "oh, i say, father," cried jack, "i never thought water was so good before. this _is_ a river." and really jack had an idea that he had tumbled upon a stream whose waters were wine-like in their flavour; and but for a few words of warning he would have gone on drinking more deeply still. "thank goodness!" cried mr rogers, as soon as he could gain his breath. "but what an escape! the waggon nearly went over. where is that scoundrel of a zulu? oh there you are," he cried excitedly. "how dared you touch the oxen, sir! your mad folly nearly spoiled our journey." the general looked back at mr rogers, drawing himself up in savage pride, and his eyes seemed to flash in the darkness; but he did not speak, only turned away with a dignified look of displeasure. "i know why he did it, father," cried dick, excitedly. "look, don't you see? the ground slopes down here to the water. up there it's all rock, and the team would have gone over a precipice. see, it's twenty feet deep." "of course! to be sure!" cried mr rogers eagerly. "his keen sight showed him the danger. i beg your pardon, my man," he cried, "i did not know the reason, and ought not to have acted and spoken so rashly." he held out his hand to the stern scowling zulu, as he spoke; but for a moment the savage hot blood that had been roused by his leader's injustice refused to be tamed down, and he remained with his arms folded; but glancing at dick's eager countenance, and recalling how it was due to him that the real truth of his actions was made known, the general let his better feelings prevail, and snatching mr rogers' hand in his, he held it for a moment to his broad breast, and then let it fall. "why you saved the waggon," said mr rogers, after walking to the edge of the sudden descent where the rock went down sheer to the water, which bubbled and foamed against its side. "yes; all gone over together," said the general quietly. "now all go across." "but is it wise--is it safe--to attempt to cross to-night?" said mr rogers. "will see," replied the general; and going down into the water, he walked straight out past the heads of the oxen, literally disappearing into the darkness as he waded on. "isn't he very brave to do that, father?" asked jack, who had watched the zulu go from where they stood by the hind part of the waggon, whose back wheels were on the dry sand. "coffee no 'fraid to go," said that young gentleman. "chicory go too after father," said his brother; and the two boys dashed into the rushing water past the oxen, and then disappeared. "what madness!" said mr rogers. "why the stream runs swiftly enough for them to be swept away." both jack and dick gazed eagerly out over the swift river; but the black figures of the young zulus seemed to disappear in the darkness, and for some few minutes there was an excited pang while they listened to the bubbling of the water against the fore wheels of the waggon, or the plashing made by the oxen as they lazily moved their legs, apparently enjoying the pleasant coolness of the water after their toilsome march. "i ought not to have allowed them to go," said mr rogers suddenly. "here, dinny, bring me the bay. i'll mount, and try and ride over to their help." "bring the what, sor?" said dinny. "the bay," cried mr rogers. "quick, man! quick!" "an' how'll i be getting at him, sor?" said dinny. "sure he's standing out there in the wather catching cowld, and i couldn't reach him widout getting very wet." "why you did wade in to drink," cried jack, indignantly. and with a rush and a splash he ran into the water, to where he could dimly make out the form of the big bay; and catching it by the halter, he drew it after him, the rest of the thirst-quenched horses coming _plash_! _plash_! out of the water, and following the bay like so many sheep. mr rogers was about to mount, when the general's voice was heard hailing peter and dirk; and directly after their hearts were set at rest about coffee and chicory, who could be heard laughing in the darkness. "all shallow water," cried the general. "trek, peter; trek, dirk. good place all across." mr rogers hesitated as to the advisability of crossing in the darkness; but the oxen were already in, the waggon was also nearly in the river, and if allowed to stay for a few hours it would probably sink deeply in the sand. so, leaving his men to pursue their own course, he also waded in, while dirk cracked his whip, peter mounted on to the box and followed suit, and klipmann, the black bullock, headed on into the stream. the shadowy-looking team could be dimly seen to straighten out; there was a heavy pull at the waggon, and another, and another, before its fore wheels were extricated from the sand in which they were sinking fast, showing the wisdom of at once proceeding; and then, _plash_! _plash_! and with the water rushing against them, the party began to cross. "my! how strong the current is," cried jack. "take hold of the waggon, my boy," said mr rogers. but as the water did not come up to his waist, jack did not mind. and so the heavy load was dragged slowly through the stream. "i say, jack," said dick, suddenly, just as they started, "there are crocodiles in these rivers, ain't there?" "oh, murther!" ejaculated dinny, who had gone into the water very unwillingly, and had wanted to ride, but mr rogers had refused to have the waggon loaded any more, preferring himself to walk. then there was a rush and a splash, that passed unnoticed in the bustle of crossing; and at the end of ten minutes, by the general's guidance the team was led to a gentle slope, which they easily mounted, and dragged the dripping waggon forth on to a level grassy plain. the horses had followed, to stand about snorting and stamping, fresh and bright with their bathe; and it was now determined, dark as it was, to trek on for a couple of miles to a rich grassy spot that the general said was ahead, and would be a good place for outspanning and camp, when a dismal yell was heard from the farther shore. "what's that?" exclaimed mr rogers. but no one answered. "some one must be in the river," cried dick, excitedly. "where's coffee?" "here coffee," cried the zulu boy, who had quite accepted his name. "then who is it?" said jack, looking round in the darkness. "here's chicory." "why, it's dinny," cried dick. "ahoy! dinny!" "ahoy! help now, masther dick, sor," came from some distance off. "the poor fellow is being swept down the river," exclaimed mr rogers, leaping on the bay to ford or swim down to the drowning man. "dinny! shout, man! where are you?" he cried. "sure, i'm here. how'll i get over at all?" came back. "what! are you ashore?" cried mr rogers. "yis, sor." "then wade across, man. it isn't deep." "sure, sor, and i daren't." "dare not!" cried jack. "why we did." "yis, sor; but a great baste of a thing laid howlt o' me, and i had to go back." "are there any crocodiles here?" said mr rogers, to the zulu. "no, boss; no crocodile. all in limpopo river." "i thought so. here, dinny." "yis, sor." "come across directly, man! there's nothing to be afraid of!" "sure, sor, i'm not afraid a bit!" yelled dinny. "then come over." "if i did, sor, the crockydiles would be aiting me, and thin what would you do?" "let me fetch him, father," cried jack. "i'll wade over." "no, let me," said dick. "i'm not afraid." "i don't think a second wetting will do either of you any good," replied their father. "here, dick, take the bay and go across, and make the stupid fellow hold on by your stirrup-leather. take care to go straight." "help. what'll i do now? are ye going to lave me?" cried dinny, in piteous tones. "he really deserves to be left," said mr rogers. "we shall have to cure him of this cowardice. go on, dick." dick leaped into the saddle, touched the willing bay's sides, and the horse began to ford the rapid stream, hesitating just a trifle as they reached the middle, where the current pressed most hardly against his flanks; but keeping steadily on till he was safe across. "ah, masther dick, dear!" whined dinny. "an' it's you, thin?" "yes, it's me, my brave irish boy!" said dick. "an' ye didn't bring another of the horses for me, sor?" "no, dinny, i didn't," replied dick, smiling at the other's cowardice. "my father said you were to hold on by the stirrup-leather." "what, and walk acrost?" "to be sure." "saints alive! i daren't do it, masther dick, dear. sure the bottom of the say--i mane the river--there's paved wid crockydiles; an' every step i took i could feel them heaving up under me." "what, as you were going across, dinny?" "yis, sor. not as i minded as long as they kep' quiet; but whin one hungry baste laid howlt toight o' me trousers, and scratched me leg wid his ugly teeth, i felt that it was time to be off back, and i jist escaped." "hoi, there, dick! look sharp!" "coming!" roared dick. "now then, dinny. there are no crocodivils here." "hark at him now!" cried dinny. "why the river swarms wid 'em. did they ate the black boys?" "no, of course not. what nonsense! come, catch hold, and let's go." "masther dick, dear, i've a mother at home in the owld country, and if anything was to happen to me, she'd never forgive the masther." "catch hold, dinny. i tell you there's nothing to fear." "sure, masther dick, dear, an' i'm not afraid--not the laste bit in the worrld; but i couldn't go across there to-night. wouldn't ye fetch one of the horses, masther dick?" "no," cried dick impatiently. "i couldn't do that. here, i'll get down and wade, and you can ride." "thank ye, masther dick, dear. sure, it's an honourable gintleman ye'll make, if ye don't let the crockydivils get ye before your time. that's betther," he said, mounting. "howlt on very tight to the horse's mane, masther dick; and if ye feel one of the bastes feeling and poking ye about wid his nose before getting a good grip, jist you call out, and i'll put on the speed to drag ye away." "i wouldn't let my feet dabble in the water, dinny," said dick, wickedly. "the crocodiles snap at hands or feet held over in their track." "what'll i do, then?" cried dinny, in alarm. "i'd put my feet in my pockets, if i were you," said dick. "sure, an' it's a boy ye are for a joke, masther dick," cried dinny grimly. "i'll howlt me legs up very high. ah! what are ye shouting about? we're coming." "make haste there, dick. is anything wrong?" "no, father!" shouted back dick. "there, get along with you. give him his head, dinny, and he'll go straight across." "i'd better make him canter, hadn't i, masther dick, dear?" "canter? nonsense! why, the poor thing has enough to do to keep his feet walking." "then it isn't safe at all crossing the river, masther dick, dear. and ah, i daren't go like this, wid me riding the good honest baste and you walking. what'll the masther say?" "that you are a terrible coward, dinny," replied dick. "be aisy, masther dick. it isn't being a coward, it's thinking av my poor mother, and taking care of meself for the poor owld sowl's sake. whisht, masther dick, dear, jump up behind and hold on by me, and the baste'll carry us both over." "it's rather hard on the horse, dinny, but i don't want to get wet, so here goes. hold tight." dick took a leap, "fly the garter" fashion, and came down astride the bay, but startling it so that it began to rear and plunge. "aisy, masther dick, dear, or i'll be off. be quiet, ye baste. what's the matter wid ye? quiet, now!" "is anything the matter there?" came from out of the darkness across the river. "no-o-o-o!" roared dick, drumming the bay's ribs with his heels. "trek! go on, old fellow." "oh, take care, masther dick, dear, whatever ye do," whined dinny. "oh, i'll take care," cried dick, assuming the lead, and leaning forward so as to get the reins. "there, i'll guide; you hold him tightly with your knees. go on, bay." on went the bay steadily enough; and there was no disposition to waver now, even in the sharpest parts of the stream, for the extra weight upon his back made him firmer. but just as they reached the middle of the river a mischievous idea entered dick's head, and suddenly with one foot he made a splash, while with the other he pressed dinny's leg against the horse's side. "murther! help!" yelled dinny. "he's got me at last!" and throwing himself in the opposite direction, dick only managed to save himself by nipping the horse. as for dinny, he went head over heels into the running stream, being borne back, however, by the current against dick's legs, when, grasping him by the collar, dick urged the horse on, dinny supplementing his young master's hold by a most tenacious grasp, till the horse's hoofs began to plash in the shallower water, and poor dinny was dragged out on to dry land. "why, what have you been about, dinny?" cried mr rogers angrily. "why didn't you come over with us?" "sure, sor, i'm kilt entoirely," groaned dinny, rubbing his leg. "twice over the savage bastes have had hold of me, and if i hadn't thrown meself on the other side of the bay horse, it's this minute they'd be aiting of me up." "jump up and come along," cried mr rogers. "it's my belief, dinny, that you are a great coward. here, make haste, the waggon's nearly a mile ahead." "oh, masther, it was a narrow escape," groaned dinny, who did not attempt to move. "it will be a narrower one, dinny, if you stay there, for the zulu tells me that this is a favourite spot for lions to lie in wait for the bok and zebra that come down to drink." "oh, masther dear, why didn't ye say so before?" cried dinny, jumping up with alacrity. "sure i'd be the first to tell a man if he was in danger." mr rogers did not reply, but went on with his son, dinny keeping very close behind, till they overtook the waggon just as it reached the camping-place, where a fire was soon burning, and the oxen contentedly cropping the ample supply of excellent grass. chapter ten. a glorious sight for a hunter. watch was set in the usual manner, so that the fire might be well kept up, and after a good dry, and a hearty meal--such a one as is made by those who have toiled all day in the open air--those who were at liberty so to do soon sought their blankets, and slept soundly and well. to dick and jack it seemed that they had only just lain down, when there was a firm hand laid upon them, and they were awakened by the general, who signed to them in the grey morning light to get up. they crept out of the waggon yawning, but that sign of slothfulness was soon chased away, and their father joining them, they took their guns and followed the general, leaving dinny with orders to wake the boys, and to get breakfast ready by their return. "where are we going, father?" asked dick. "i can't say, my boy. the zulu awakened me as he did you. he has something to show us, i suppose." their way lay up a woodland slope, where the trees had a park-like aspect, and beneath their shade it was still quite dim, but here and there they caught glimpses of the sky, which was flecked with little clouds of orange, and vermilion, and gold, while the light was rapidly growing in the east. the general went on rapidly, as if quite sure of his route, and it seemed that the point at which he was aiming was the highest part of a ridge. and so it proved, for when he had reached the summit the zulu chief walked cautiously along for a short distance, and then stopped and stooped down, motioning to those who followed to do the same. they obeyed him implicitly, preparing their pieces at the same time. then creeping up to him cautiously, they found that they were on a ridge looking down into a widespread valley, flooded with the light of the approaching sunrise. it was a glorious scene, and worth all the trouble and patience of their long journey to see. it was almost breathlessly that they gazed at the broad, grassy valley, with its clumps of trees, patches of wood, and portions dotted with masses of rock, whose tops were bathed in the amber morning tints, while in the direction where the little party gazed the shadows of tree and stone lay dark. facing them in the east the clouds were now gorgeous in their hues, one layer forming a grand arch of light, towards which darted upwards the rays of the coming sun. but it was not only the sunrise that was glorious in the extreme, nor the beauty of the broad valley that held the spectators' eyes, but the occupants of the scene below. the general had undertaken to guide them to what he called the great game country, and he had kept his word. for below them--to right, to left, and away towards the golden burst of glory where the sun was about to rise--the land was literally alive with game. down to their right spread broad marshy lagoon after lagoon, in which swam, dived or waded, countless ducks and crane. here, writhing its snaky neck and curious head and beak, was the flamingo, all white and rose; there, soft grey cranes and others, with a lovely crest, as if in imitation of the rays of the rising sun. but it was not the wondrous variety of birds alone that took their attention, but the large game, feeding, gambolling, and careering in countless herds. to the left were zebras, and beyond some quaggas, or wild asses, the peculiar bray or cry of _quay-gah_! _quay-gah_! reaching to their ears. on their right there were gnus, or wildebeestes, as the boers called them, brindled and the blue--curiously fierce-looking little animals, partaking both of the character of the deer and the buffalo. some grazed placidly in the morning light, others were engaged in tilting at each other with their horns, while their companions looked on as if waiting for their turn; and every now and then the sound of the striking horns ascended to the woody ridge with a loud crash. but while these creatures contended together, groups of antelopes were dotted here and there, while others careered at lightning speed over the plain. the sight was wonderful, and the boys felt as if they would never tire of watching the evolutions of the graceful creatures, which, with their skins glistening and horns looking golden in the morning light, seemed to be going through a series of military evolutions with the greatest precision. "koodoo, pronghorn," said mr rogers, looking at the herd through his glass. "there are a dozen elands too," he continued, and then passed the glass to his sons. "oh, this is grand," cried dick enthusiastically. "i could stay here for ever watching the graceful creatures." "so could i," said jack, after breakfast. "i say, father, hadn't we better shoot something--the stock's getting low?" "yes," said mr rogers quietly; and he longed to go himself and bring down a good fat buck for the replenishment of the larder; but the expedition was for his sons, and he gave place to them. "now, dick," he continued, "here is a chance for you to try and stalk one of those hartebeestes; or better still, a nice fat antelope. pick out one with a fine head of horns, and then aim straight at the shoulder, and be sure and bring him down." "at what distance would you fire, father?" asked dick. "i'd get as close as i could, my boy, but i'd fire at six or seven hundred yards sooner than miss a shot. now go!" dick crept off, his father giving him a warning word about not losing his way, but to impress the land-marks upon his memory, so as to recognise them if he went astray. as he disappeared down the valley side of the slope, mr rogers turned to jack. "well, my boy, would you like a try as well?" jack's whole face, as well as his tongue, said yes, and mr rogers smilingly pointed down into the valley, in the other direction. "be careful," he said, "and don't fire either in our direction or in your brother's, for a rifle-bullet flies far." "all right, father," cried jack; and he too crept down the slope from bush to bush, to try and stalk one of the bok that came nearest to the clump of wood upon his right. "so this is the game country?" said mr rogers. "yes, boss, this the game country, but only bit outside. i show you big game yet--elephant, lion, all the big animal, only wait." mr rogers was ready to set self aside in every way in his efforts to educate his sons, so he took out his glass and sat down beside the general, watching the various herds of wild animals in the glowing morning light, and thinking how grateful he ought to be to see his boys daily growing in health, strength, and confidence. for it was unmistakable; dick, the weak, half-consumptive lad, was altering rapidly, and the anxious father's heart rejoiced as the dark shadow that had hovered over his life seemed to be chased away. as he sat there thinking, and bringing his glass to bear upon the various herds, while waiting for them to take the alarm, he could not help feeling that dick and jack were managing uncommonly well to have gone on so long without alarming the game. it showed thoughtfulness, and ability in the hunter's craft; not, of course, that he wished them to turn out hunters, but he believed in thoroughness, and he used to say that if it was only play it ought to be done well. he was letting the glass rest upon his knees, with his eyes running dreamily over the landscape, when he became aware of the fact that the zulu was watching him intently, as he sat there with a couple of assegais across his knees. "i am sorry i was so unjust to him that night," thought mr rogers. "it is a pity one's nature prompts one to be so hasty and suspicious." then as his eyes met those of the general, as it was fast becoming the custom to call him, he cudgelled his brains for some way of showing his confidence in him, who was so completely their guide. suddenly a soft smile beamed on the zulu's fierce countenance, and he said gently,-- "boss thinking about his boys. fine brave boys; make big warriors and chiefs. zulu wish his boys here too. love his boys same as white man." mr rogers stretched out his hand to the zulu on the instant, for he had touched the chord of their common humanity, and white man and black man, as their hands joined in one firm grip, felt that henceforth they would be friends who could trust each other to the end. "look!" cried the zulu suddenly; and he pointed down into the plain, where the alarm had been taken in the direction taken by dick. antelopes that had been feeding, suddenly threw up their heads and galloped together, seeming to form square--first with horns outward to resist attack; then they reformed, and charged in one direction; halted, turned, and charged in another--as if alarmed, and yet not knowing which way to go. the wildebeestes that had been fighting stopped, erected their tails, pawed the ground, and then, throwing their heads side-wise, began to plough it with one horn, but only to snort loudly and tear over the plain; while the zebras and quaggas began to toss their heads and tear about over the grassy wild, kicking and plunging, and scattering the light antelopes like the wind. suddenly there was a puff of smoke from a clump of bushes quite a mile away, and after an interval the faint crack of a rifle. "that's dick's gun, general," said mr rogers, bringing his glass to bear upon a little herd of antelopes that must have formed the object of the shot; but not one of them fell, neither did either of them seem to be lamed. "miss, this time," said the general, quietly. just then there was another report, evidently a shot at long range; but the only effect was to drive the game more in the direction of jack's position, or what they supposed to be jack's position. seeing then that dick was not likely to get another shot, mr rogers turned his glass in the other direction; but there was nothing to see but the great herds of game, going more and more towards a clump of timber--trees that were of glorious shades of green in the morning sun. but, all at once, as a troop of gnus were trotting by, three or four large birds came rushing out, as if alarmed, and the gnus took fright, tearing off at a frantic pace. but before they had gone far there was a white puff of smoke from the end of the clump. "well done!" cried mr rogers. "he did well to get so far. but it is another miss. we must not depend on the boys yet for our dinners." the whole plain seemed to be now alive, and herd after herd of game, that had been hidden from them by the trees, had rushed into sight, and was now careering onward, and away from the dangerous proximity to the woods. "poor boys! all their trouble for nothing," said mr rogers, closing his glass. "i wish i had gone too. i might have hit something." "boss jack has hit," said the zulu, pointing. and just then, to the father's great delight, he saw one of the curious antelopes suddenly stop short, the rest of the herd galloping onwards. then it shook its head, turned, and seemed giddily to gallop back, and finally fell dead. almost at the same moment they saw jack run out from the clump of timber, gun in one hand, cap in the other, which latter he began to wave frantically above his head. "well done, boy! a good shot," cried mr rogers. "ah, there's dick." for dick now showed himself, a mile away to the left, and began to cross the open to join his brother, whose success he must have seen. "the next thing is to get the game home," said mr rogers. "we'll go back, and send peter and dirk." he placed a shrill little whistle to his lips as he spoke, and as its piercing note rang out, the boys, who had been making for the fallen gnu, turned to come back. "i'll go!" said the general. "mustn't leave the game. look, boss." he pointed, and in the distance there was a great vulture winging its way towards the fallen gnu; and, directly after, another and another came into sight, sailing heavily along upon its great dusky flapping wings. it seemed as if telegrams had been sent in all directions to the vultures' roosting-places that there had been a wildebeeste slain; and it was so evident that, if steps were not taken to save it, the vultures would destroy the provisions of three or four days, that mr rogers rapidly blew twice upon his whistle--a preconcerted signal, which made the boys turn and go towards the game. as it was, a vulture would have reached the fallen animal before them but for a shot from dick's gun, which had the effect of more than scaring it as it was just alighting, for, evidently hit by the bullet, it flew a few yards, and then fell, flapping its wings for a few moments, and then lay still. this checked the others for the time, and mr rogers waited till the general should set the boys at liberty, when he meant to return to the waggon. chapter eleven. getting into work. it seemed some little time before the zulu appeared at the bottom of the slope; but when he emerged from the woods, mr rogers could see that he had been cutting some sticks, and on bringing the glass to bear he made out that the zulu was straightening them as he ran. the boys saw him coming, and waved their caps; while, when the general joined them, they all bent over the game together, the zulu apparently being very busy, and making mr rogers impatient, for he wanted to get back to breakfast, which must then be ready. "there is some reason for it, i dare say," said mr rogers, gazing through his glass. "why, they are all coming away! the animal will be devoured. it is bad, perhaps." he waited patiently, seeing the little party return; and as they left the fallen gnu he saw the vultures come dropping down from the trees where they had been waiting, till there were over twenty by the game, round which they formed a circle, but they did not approach near. "strange!" thought mr rogers. "i wonder they don't tear it up. perhaps it is still alive. if so they ought to have put the poor thing out of its misery. i shall speak sharply to master dick about such wanton cruelty." mr rogers wanted his breakfast, and, as he had had no excitement, he felt cross, so that it seemed as if the boys would get what jack irreverently called a wigging. but the sight of his sons' bright excited faces as they ran up the slope, drove away his ill-humour. "why, dick!" he cried, "how you run!" "do i, father?" cried the boy, excitedly, "but did you see what a splendid shot jack made? i missed twice, but he brought his gnu down. it's a fine young bull." "then you are not jealous of his luck?" said his father. "oh, no," laughed dick. "it will be my turn next time." "bravo, jack!" cried mr rogers. "but why did you leave the game to the vultures? dick says it was a fine young bull." "oh, it's all right, father," cried jack, who now ran panting up to his father's side. "the general has cut it up partly, and has brought the liver and kidneys, and a bit or two to cook for breakfast." "but it was a pity to leave so much good meat, my boys; i don't like wanton waste." "but it's all right, father," said dick. "the general has stuck some pieces of wood round and over it, and he says the vultures won't go near it for hours, for fear it should be a trap." mr rogers opened his glass, and looked at the fallen game; and sure enough there sat the vultures in a ring, contemplating the sticks that the general had stuck up round it, but not one went near. the zulu smiled as he came up, bearing the delicate portions of the gnu skewered upon one of his assegais; and hurrying back to the camp, peter and dirk were given full directions which way to go, and sent off with three oxen, and a roughly-contrived carriage for the game formed by cutting down a great forked branch of a tree to attach to the oxen yokes. but when ready for starting they suggested the advisability of their having guns, which being supplied, they started off, looking rather longingly though at the preparations for breakfast. a good fire was burning, and coffee was made, dinny looking very disconsolate and miserable; but the sight of the fresh meat seemed to do him good, for a broad grin expanded his features, and getting the frying-pan out of the box that held the cooking apparatus, he soon had some savoury morsels peppered, salted, and sputtering on the fire. "i feel as if i could eat heaps," said jack. "oh, i say, father, isn't breakfast lovely out here under these green trees?" mr rogers agreed that it was; and certainly nothing could have been more glorious than the scene--the deep blue sky, the glorious sunshine, the bright green of the trees, the chirping, whistling, and screaming of the birds that thronged the brambles, and above all the delicious fragrance of the endless flowering shrubs and flowers. it was all enjoyable in the extreme, the abundant breakfast adding wonderfully to the pleasure. even the oxen and horses seemed perfectly happy, for there was an abundance of short, sweet grass for them to crop, while the little zulu party seemed happiness itself. a goodly portion of the gnu had been given over to the general, and despising the frying-pan, he and his boys toasted the pieces of flesh in the fire, and ate them hissing hot; the effect upon coffee being that he did nothing but grin, and rub the portion of his brown person which he called his "tum-tum," while his brother gave vent to his excitement and pleasure by either lying down and rolling himself over and over, or else by trying to stand upon his head, a very agreeable style of acrobatic trick, but decidedly inconvenient at breakfast-time. as, however, just when he had arrived at a perfect equilibrium, and had his heels straight up in the air, he overbalanced himself, and instead of coming back upon his toes he went over upon his heels, which he planted in the hot ashes, chicory thought the performance had gone sufficiently far, and went on eating his breakfast in what dinny called a more chrishtanly-like way. just as they had finished, and jack had thoroughly recovered from a violent fit of coughing and choking, consequent upon seeing chicory stick his heels in the fire, while he--jack--was drinking his coffee, there came from behind them the crack of a whip, and peter's harsh voice shouting, "trek, boys! trek!" accompanied by the rustling, scrambling noise made by a great branch being drawn over the ground; and directly after the slow, patient oxen came into sight, chewing away at their cuds, as they used their tails to whisk away the flies, and dragged jack's game into camp. it proved to be a splendid young gnu, and the boys examined with curiosity its shaggy head, with its curiously bent down and curved up horns, and general likeness to horse, antelope, and bull, as if it were related to each. then the zulu, with dirk's help, rapidly skinned it; portions were set apart for immediate use, some of the best cut up in strips by the general, and hung in the sun upon the bushes to form what is called "biltong," that is, strips of sun-dried meat, the sun baking it up so quickly that it has not time to go bad, and the rest was left for another fate. for it was most amusing to watch the dogs, sitting all four in a row, hungrily looking at the skinning and cutting up of the gnu. they watched with the most intense interest the whole process, following the general to and fro, and thankfully swallowing any scraps he threw them. when the skin was taken off and spread upon the waggon-tilt to dry, pompey, caesar, and crassus followed, as if to see that it was properly spread out, rough'un being the only one who protested against the plan, for his look plainly said that he wanted to lick that skin on the fleshy side; and as he was not allowed to go through that process, he kept uttering low, dissatisfied whines, to jack's great delight; while, when he saw peter climb up, and dirk hand him the skin, he uttered a yell of disappointment at what he evidently considered to be the waste of so much good fat. this yell from rough'un had its effects upon pompey, caesar, and crassus, which triumvirate did not behave at all after the manner of the stolid, patient, noble romans whose names they bore; but one and all set up their noses as high as they could, getting mouth and throat in a direct line, and sang a trio--but so dolefully out of tune, that dinny picked up the general's assegai, and gave each one a tap on the head with the handle. at least he meant to do so. he certainly hit pompey and caesar sounding cracks; but crassus made a movement, and received his blow on the neck-- so unfair a place, he evidently supposed, that it roused his temper, and he snapped at and seized the handle of the assegai in his teeth. now dinny's hands were greasy with helping to skin the gnu, and the handle of the assegai kept slipping through his fingers, and threatening to cut them against the blade; to avoid which, as the dog tugged fiercely and dragged at the handle, dinny kept taking a fresh hold hand over hand, as if he were hauling rope, abusing the dog at the same time. "ah, get out, ye dirty baste," he cried. "let go, will ye?" _worry_! _worry_! _worry_! growled crassus, holding on with all his might of jaw, which was really great; and seeing the successful effort made by their companion, pompey and caesar began to bark and bay at dinny on either side of crassus. "oh, here's a game, dick!" cried jack, holding his sides and laughing. "call 'em off, will ye?" cried dinny. "ah, get out, ye dirty, yelping bastes." "serve you right, for hitting them in that cruel way," said dick cynically; while seeing the fun, as they seemed to consider it, coffee and chicory each seized his kiri, and began to perform a war-dance round dinny and the dogs. "lave go, will ye?" cried dinny to crassus. "sure it's a taste of the other end i'll be giving ye dreckerly." crassus evidently believed him, for he held on all the tighter. dinny dragged hard, but the dog's jaws had closed upon the wood like a steel trap, and though dinny dragged him here and there, he did not leave go; and so sure as the man began to obtain a little advantage, pompey and caesar made such a desperate attack upon his rear that he immediately lost ground, and the french and english tug-of-war continued, the dogs barking, dinny abusing them, and the boys, black as well as white, shouting with delight. this was very good fun for the latter, but anything but pleasant for dinny. in fact, so bad was his case, and so threatening the aspect of the dogs, that any one who would have insured the legs of dinny's trousers from being torn by the dogs, would have been guilty of a very insane act, especially as rough'un, after sitting up on end encouraging crassus to hold on to the assegai staff by a loud bark now and then, suddenly took it into his head to join in the fray. for dinny had not been particularly friendly to him since they started. upon one occasion dinny had tickled him--so he called it--with peter's whip, the tickling consisting in giving the dog so severe a flick that it seemed like taking out a piece of the flesh; while no later than that morning rough'un felt that he had been misused in the matter of the skin that he wanted to lick. so, unable to bear matters any longer, rough'un, who had momentarily grown more excited, suddenly made an open-mouthed onslaught upon the assegai stock. "carl him off, masther dick, masther jack. oh, murther, what'll i do. ah! get out--get--" dinny said no more, but loosed his hold of the assegai, and fled, leaping on to the front box of the waggon, and then climbing in beneath the tilt, while the dogs chased him, barking and baying him furiously. this did not last, however, for the denuding of the gnu's bones was pretty well ended, and one of the oxen dragged the remains into the forest, when the dogs were called up, and dinny was forgotten. chapter twelve. a buffalo run. the general owned that there would be good hunting here, but he wanted to get the party well into the interior, where, taking up a central position, they could make excursions in any direction according to the way in which the game lay. if they stayed where they were, all they would do would be to drive the game away, and it would grow more scarce. the boys were as eager as the general, and looking upon the interior as a land of mystery and romance, they readily backed up the proposal to go farther. "well, my boys, i hardly know what to say," replied mr rogers. "i want for you both to grow sturdy, manly, and inured to danger; but i scarcely like running the risk of taking you where we may be constantly encountering the lion, the rhinoceros, and the elephant and hippopotamus." "but we shall be very careful," said jack. "and we are growing better marksmen every day, father," exclaimed dick. "yes, my boys, i dare say you are," replied mr rogers. "but please remember that taking aim at and shooting a timid deer is one thing; standing face to face with some fierce beast ready to take your life, quite another." "oh, yes, father, i know that," said jack; "and i dare say i should be horribly frightened, but i wouldn't run away." "it might be wiser to do so than to provoke the animal by firing," said mr rogers, smiling. "what do you say, dick?" "i say i should like to go on, father, in spite of the risk," replied dick. "now we have come so far, i want to see more of the wonderful central african land, and i should like to shoot a lion, an elephant, a rhinoceros, and a hippopotamus." "and a giraffe, a crocodile, and a boa-constrictor," said jack. "and would you both like to make that bag in one day, young gentlemen?" said mr rogers, smiling. "ah, now you are laughing at us, father," said dick. "of course we don't expect to shoot all those creatures, but we should like to try." "yes," added jack; "that's it, dick. we should like to try." "then you shall try," said mr rogers, quietly; "on condition, mind, that you will neither of you do anything rash, but follow out either my advice or that of the general, whom i feel disposed to trust more and more." the country seemed to grow more romantic and grand the farther they trekked on away from civilisation, and they travelled now very few hundred yards without seeing something new and full of interest. game was so abundant that there was no difficulty in keeping up a plentiful supply. dinny even threatened to lose the frying-pan, for, as he said, he was frying steak morning, noon, and night; but as he loved dearly to fry one particularly juicy piece always for a gentleman named dinny, there was not much fear of his keeping his word. but somehow dinny did not add to the harmony of the expedition. he proved himself again and again to be an arrant coward; and, coward-like, he tried to tyrannise over the weaker. he was afraid of the general; and when, upon one or two occasions, he had quarrelled with peter or dirk, those gentlemen had displayed so much pugnacity that dinny had prudently resolved to quarrel with them no more. he, however, made up for this by pouring out his virulence upon coffee and chicory, the dogs having been too much for him; and the zulu boys bore it all in silence, but evidently meant to remember dinny's behaviour when the time came. one day, soon after entering the game country, the general, who was on ahead alternately scanning the horizon and the ground, while the oxen slowly lumbered on behind, suddenly stopped, and began to examine some footprints in a marshy piece of ground which he had just told dick to avoid. "what is it?" said dick, coming up. "look," said the general, pointing to the great footprints. "why, it looks as if a great cat had been here," said dick. "yes; great cat; lion!" said the zulu. and when mr rogers and jack had cantered up, and seen the spoor, as such footprints were generally termed in south africa, they knew that there would be real danger now hovering about their nightly camps. that afternoon, as they were passing through a woody portion of the country, chicory, who was well ahead, assegai in hand, eagerly looking out for game, was heard suddenly to yell out as if in agony; and as all ran to his help, he was found to be rolling on the ground, shrieking the native word for "snake! snake!" mr rogers was the first to reach him, being mounted, and as he drew rein by the prostrate boy, he saw a long thin snake gliding away. he was just in time, and leaning forward he took rapid aim with his fowling-piece; and as the smoke rose, a long thin ash-coloured snake was seen writhing, mortally wounded, upon the ground. the general caught the boy by the shoulder, and proceeded to divide his jet-black hair, examining his scalp carefully, but without finding any trace of a wound; though chicory declared that he was killed, and that the snake had seized him by the head as he was going under a tree. he had felt it, and when he threw himself forward to avoid it, the creature writhed and twisted about his neck, till in his horror he rolled over and over, partly crushing the reptile, which was making its escape when mr rogers's gun put an end to its power of doing mischief. the general having satisfied himself that his boy was not hurt, sent him forward with a cuff on the ear, before giving his master a grateful look for destroying a virulently poisonous serpent--one, he assured them, whose regular practice was to hang suspended by the tail from some low branch, and in this position to strike at any living creature that passed beneath. "he would have been dead now," said the general, "if the snake's teeth had gone through his hair." it was with no little satisfaction then, after this adventure, that the hunting-party passed through the woody region they were then in, and came into the open, for during the last few hours everybody's eyes had been diligently directed at the overhanging branches of the trees, dinny being so observant that he two or three times tripped over prostrate boughs, and went down upon his nose. as they passed out into the open they were in a rough plain, covered as far as they could see with coarse herbage; and hardly had the waggon emerged before mr rogers, who was using his glass, drew the general's attention to some dark objects upon a slope some distance ahead. the zulu glanced at the dark shapes for a few moments, and then cried eagerly,-- "buffalo!" "come along, dick," shouted jack. "stop, stop!" exclaimed their father. "what are you going to do?" "shoot a buffalo, father." "if we can," added dick. "but you must be careful. these buffalo are pretty fierce creatures, and dangerous at times." "yes, very dangerous," assented the zulu. "boss jack--boss dick shoot one, and the boys drive one to him." the general undertaking to do his best to keep his sons out of danger, mr rogers consented to let them go; and soon afterwards, having made his plans, the general started off with his boys, pointing out a course for jack and dick to take upon their cobs, advising them both to fire at the same buffalo as it galloped past them, and then to keep hidden till the herd had gone by. this they undertook to do; and away they cantered in one direction, the general and his boys going in another, so as to get ahead of the herd, and then show themselves, and that, they expected, would drive them towards the young hunters. all turned out exactly as anticipated. dick and jack sat like statues, in a low hollow, with rifles cocked, and cartridges handy for a second shot, waiting for the coming of the herd; and at last, just as they had given up all expectation of seeing them, there was a low rushing sound in the distance as of wind--then a roar, ever increasing, until it was like thunder; and then down came the vast herd of heavy animals, surprising the boys at first by their number, so that they had nearly all gone by before either of the brothers thought of firing. dick was the first to rouse himself from his surprise. "now then, jack," he cried, as their horses stood motionless, watching the passing drove; "fire at that slate-coloured bull. now then, take aim together--fire!" the two rifle-shots pealed almost like one, and, to the delight of the boys, they saw the young bull they had shot stagger forward on to its knees, and then roll over upon its side. "hurray! first buffalo!" cried jack; and together the boys cantered out into the plain, when, to their intense astonishment, instead of the herd continuing its flight, about a dozen bulls stopped short, stared at them, pawed the ground, stuck up their tails, wheeled round, uttered a fierce roar, and charged. even if the boys had felt disposed to meet their enemies with a couple more shots, the cobs would not have stood still. they were well-broken, and trusty; day by day they had seemed to gain confidence in their riders, and they would stand perfectly still if their bridles were drawn over their heads and allowed to trail upon the ground; while if jack or dick liked to make a rifle-rest of their backs, they were perfectly content, and stood as rigidly as if carved out of stone. but there are bounds even to the confidence of a horse. when the little steeds saw the fierce looks of the buffaloes, heard their angry bellowings, and found that with waving tails, menacing horns, and hoofs that seemed to thunder as they tore up the ground, the bulls were coming nearer and nearer, and evidently with the full intent of burying those sharp horns in their chests, shoes and stockings snorted violently, turned round so suddenly that had not jack and dick been excellent horsemen they would have been thrown, and tore away over the plain. this was a reverse of circumstances; and naturally feeling startled at such a change, their boys gave their horses their heads, sat well down, and kept giving furtive glances behind to see if the bulls were gaining upon them. at the end of a few moments, though, it occurred to dick that their speed was greater than that of the buffaloes, and consequently that they would have no difficulty, failing accidents, in galloping away. then he began to think of his rifle and ammunition, but felt that under the circumstances fire-arms were useless. last of all he began to feel very much ashamed of his position, in being hunted like this. the same feeling seemed to have affected jack, who looked at his brother as they raced on side by side. the consequence was that all of a sudden they both sat up more erect in their saddles, and took a pull at the reins, bringing shoes and stockings by degrees into a hand gallop, instead of the _ventre a terre_ progress they were making before. "this won't do," cried dick, as he glanced back to find that the bulls were still lumbering on behind them, snorting savagely, and shaking their horn-armed fronts. "no," said jack, "we are taking them right down on the waggon, and they'll charge straight over the camp." "yes; let's turn off to the left," shouted dick; and as if by one impulse they wheeled round to the left, and galloped on over the plain. "i tell you what," he cried, as a happy idea struck him; "let's wheel round to the right now." "what for?" shouted back his brother. "so as to ride round and round the waggon in a circle. father will bring one or two of them down." for answer jack wheeled to the right, and if the manoeuvre had been kept up it would have answered; but, as it happened, mr rogers had gone away from the waggon in search of some beautifully plumaged birds which had settled in the trees above the camp, and then gone on to a grove a mile or so away. the general and his boys were of course far away out on the plain, where they had been driving the buffalo, and therefore dinny was the principal man in camp. he was busy with the frying-pan frizzling himself a venison steak, when, hearing the thunder of hoofs, he dropped the pan in the wood ashes, and stood staring with horror. "what'll i do now?" he cried. then a bright idea seized him, and pulling his knife from his belt, he dashed at the place where his enemies the dogs were tied up by stout thongs to the waggon-wheels, and divided them one by one. "there, ye bastes," he cried, "be off and get tossed." and as the dogs rushed off, delighted with their freedom, dinny chose what he thought was the safest place in the camp, namely, the space between the four wheels beneath the waggon, and there lay down and wished himself back safely in his mother's cabin. the dogs had been for some moments past tearing at their thongs to get away, so that no sooner were they freed than, barking and baying fiercely, they raced down after the buffaloes, and dinny never did a better act in his life. certainly it was prompted by cowardice; but it had its good fruits, for it was the saving of poor dick's life. the boys had galloped on as had been suggested, gradually inclining to the right, so that they drew the little herd of bulls into following them in a circle; and in this way they had nearly gone round the waggon at about a couple of hundred yards' distance, wondering why their father did not shoot, when, all at once, just as the baying of the dogs reached their ears, dick turned a piteous look at his brother. "i'm--i'm not strong, yet, jack," he faltered. "ride on fast." to jack's horror he saw his brother's eyes close, and that he fell forward upon his horse's neck; the next moment he had glided as it were out of his saddle, and fallen--his horse, from its good training, stopping short by his side. the buffaloes were only about thirty yards behind, and as jack reined in, and turned to help his brother, the bulls lowered, their horns, and in another moment or two they would have been trampled and gored, perhaps killed; but just as the great shaggy animals were upon them, the dogs made their attack, pompey, caesar, and crassus each seizing a bull by the lip, while rough'un kept up a furious barking as he tore at the various animals' heels. the effect was magical upon the buffaloes, which tossed their heads furiously in the air, and dislodging their assailants, turned and rushed off, with the dogs now biting their heels or leaping viciously at their flanks, all attack now being changed to flight. chapter thirteen. "oomph! oomph! oomph!" "are you much hurt, dick?" cried jack anxiously, as he knelt on one knee by his brother. "no, i think not," panted dick, opening his eyes. "i came over all giddy, and couldn't sit my horse. did he throw me?" "no: you fell." "but where are the buffaloes?" "yonder they go," replied jack. "don't you hear the dogs? there, lean on me, and let's walk in to the camp." "oh, no," cried dick. "i'm better now." "no, no; don't try to mount." "yes, i shall," was the reply. "i was overdone from being weak; but i'm better now, and i'm going with you to bring in the buffalo we shot." "oh no, dick, don't try," cried his brother anxiously. but dick would not be persuaded, and, mounting his horse, he rode with his brother up to the waggon, gave the necessary instructions to peter and dirk, and in a few moments those sable gentlemen were leading a small ox-team over the plain to where the general and his boys were busily dressing the fallen bull; and by the time mr rogers reached the waggon, the choicest parts of the buffalo were there, the remainder having been left for the vultures and wild creatures of the plain. they trekked on for some miles that evening, and soon after sundown halted by the side of a wood, whose edges were composed of dense thorns, and here, at the general's suggestion, all set to work, after the waggon had been drawn up in a suitable position, to cut down the bushes so as to make a square patch, with the dense thorns on three sides and the waggon on the fourth, the lower part of the waggon being fortified with the bushes that were cut down. the object was to form a sound enclosure, which was duly strengthened, so as to protect the horses and bullocks from the wild beasts that haunted the neighbourhood. it was very hard work, and dinny grumbled terribly, till dick said quietly to his brother, in dinny's hearing,-- "i wonder that dinny don't work harder. the general says this part swarms with lions; and they'll be down upon us before we've done if he don't make haste." dinny seemed to be turned for the moment into stone, at the bare mention of the word lion; but directly after he was toiling away with feverish haste, and in quite a state of excitement, bullying coffee and chicory for not bringing in more dead wood for the fire. by dint of all working hard, however, a satisfactory place was contrived, into which, after a good long feed, and a hearty drink of fresh water from a bubbling stream, the bullocks and horses were shut, the horses having a division of their own, where they would be safe from the horns of their friends as well as the teeth and claws of their enemies. then the blazing fire in front of the waggon was utilised for cooking purposes, and buffalo steaks and thick rich soup from dinny's big pot soon restored the losses felt by the little party in their arduous evening toil. the waggon was on the very edge of the forest, and a couple of trees stood out on either side, spreading their branches over it as shelter, while the ruddy fire that was being steadily fed to get it into a good glow, with a bright blaze free from the blinding smoke emitted by burning wood, seemed to turn the waggon and trees into gold. "i'll take the first watch, my boys," said mr rogers, who, after their hearty supper, had read his sons a lecture about the necessity for care in hunting, "for," said he, "but for the dogs your lives would certainly have been sacrificed." "yes, father, we'll be more careful; but how is it the dogs have not come back?" "they overtook and pulled down one of the buffaloes," said mr rogers. "they will glut themselves, and, after a long sleep, take up our trail and follow us. i dare say they'll be here to-morrow." the boys, who were fagged out, gladly crept into the waggon, the last thing they saw being dinny putting some pieces of buffalo flesh and half a pail of water in the big pot, so as to let it stew by the fire all night. then they drew up the canvas curtains of their tent-bed as they called it, leaving mr rogers and peter to keep up the fire, and to call them in four hours' time, the boys having begged that they might keep one of the watches together. they were fast asleep directly, and in five minutes' time--so jack declared--mr rogers aroused them to relieve guard. "come, boys," he said, "be quick. do you know how long you've been asleep?" "five minutes," said jack, sleepily. "nearly five hours, sir." "then they weren't good measure," grumbled jack. "there's plenty of wood, dick," said mr rogers, "and i'd keep up a good blazing fire. i have not heard a sound; but if you are alarmed, a piece of blazing wood thrown in the direction is better than firing at random; but keep your rifles ready." these words drove drowsy sleep from the boys' eyelids, and clambering out of the waggon, the fresh cold night air finished the task. they saw mr rogers climb into the waggon and their black followers crawl under it; then taking the rifles, they saw to there being a ball cartridge in each, and big slugs in the shot barrel; and after throwing on a few sticks to make the fire blaze, they walked slowly up and down. "how dark and strange the forest looks, jack," said dick, "i say, i'm not ashamed to say that it does make one feel timid." "it makes two feel timid," said jack, sturdily. "look at the dark shadows the fire throws. why it almost looks as if there were all sorts of horrible creatures watching us. if i didn't feel that father had been sitting here watching, and wasn't afraid i'd give it up." "perhaps he did feel afraid," said dick. "not he," said jack sturdily. "if he had felt afraid, he wouldn't have let us watch here." "oh, yes, he would," said dick thoughtfully. "father wants us to grow up manly and strong, and ready to laugh at what would alarm some lads. hark! what's that?" he caught his brother's arm, for just then, apparently from beneath their feet, they heard a peculiar noise. "oomph! oomph! oomph!" a peculiar, vibrating, shuddering, deep-toned cry, which seemed to make the air, and the very earth beneath them, vibrate. there was no mistaking it. over and over again they had heard coffee and chicory imitate the cry; but how pitiful their attempts seemed now, as compared to the noise heard there in the solemnity of the silent night! "oomph! oomph! oomph!" a peculiar grunting, shuddering roar, which made a perfect commotion in the strongly-made cattle-kraal or enclosure, the oxen running about in their dread, and the horses whinnying and stamping upon the hard ground. "how close is it!" whispered jack, stretching out his hand to get hold of his rifle. "i don't know. it seems sometimes just by this patch of bushes, and sometimes ever so far away. hark! there's another." "yes, and another." "or is it all made by one lion?" said dick. "i don't know," replied jack, in an awe-stricken whisper. "shall we call father, and tell him there are lions about?" "no," said dick sturdily. "he'd laugh at us for cowards. we've got to get used to lions, jack; and it's our own doing--we wanted to come." "yes, but i didn't know they'd come so close," replied jack. "hark at that!" there was a deep-toned quivering roar, apparently from the other side of the fire, and dick felt his heart beat rapidly as he threw a handful of small twigs upon the fire to make it blaze up. "let's go and talk to the horses," he said. "yes; that's right," for jack had also added an armful of dry wood to the fire, which now blazed up merrily. they went to the thorny hedge which protected the horses, and on making their way through to where they were haltered to a pole, carried on the waggon for the purpose, they found the poor creatures trembling, and with dripping flanks, while when they spoke to them they rubbed their noses against their masters' hands, and whinnied with pleasure, as if comforted by the presence of the boys. "what's that, dick?" cried jack excitedly, for there was a crashing noise as if something had leaped at the hedge. the answer came in the panic of the bullocks and the dread of the horses; and, without hesitating, jack lowered his piece in the direction of the sound, to fire both barrels rapidly one after the other. there was a savage roar for response, and a rush as of some creature bounding through the bushes. then all was silent. "i wonder whether i hit him," said jack, proceeding to throw out the empty cartridges and reload. "is anything wrong? shall i come?" shouted mr rogers, from within the waggon. "no, father," replied dick steadily. "you needn't come. we only fired at a lion." but as they reached the fire again, a tall dark figure crawled to their side, and nodded to them gravely. "plenty of lion here. i stop and help you." it was the general, and glad enough the boys were of his company. almost before they had seated themselves they heard a sound on the right, and taking a burning stick from the fire the general whirled it in the direction, the wood blazing up in its rapid passage through the air, and falling amongst some dry grass, which it set on fire, to burn for a few moments vividly, and then leave the surroundings apparently darker than before. as the burning brand fell in the forest there was an angry snarl, and these snarls were repeated again and again as from time to time the general skilfully threw the wood wherever his quick ears told him there was one of the lurking beasts. "is there more than one lion?" said dick, in a whisper at last. "three, four, five," said the general. "they want horse or bullock. hist! look! see!" he pointed to a dark patch at the edge of the forest, where, upon dick directing his eyes, he could see nothing; but the next moment there was the reflection of the fire to be seen in a couple of glaring orbs. "can you shoot him?" said the general. "let me by, dick. my hand's steady," whispered jack. "i think i could hit him." "go on," was the whispered reply. to fire it was necessary for jack to take aim across the zulu, who leaned forward so that the barrel of jack's rifle rested upon his shoulders; while, kneeling, the boy took along and careful aim, right between the two glowing orbs, and drew trigger. there was the sharp report, a furious roar, a rush, the falling of some heavy body, and the scattering of the fire-brands. then all was silent; and they rapidly collected the scattered embers to make the fire blaze up again; for the lions, far from being scared by the noise of the shot, renewed their awe-inspiring "oomph! oomph!" on all sides; and the fear of the cattle was such that they threatened to break out of the kraal. again mr rogers roused himself, and asked if there was any need for him to come. but dick replied steadily that there was not--feeling as he did pretty confident, in spite of his dread, that they could keep the lions at bay. the fire blazed up so brightly, that the boys glanced anxiously at the supply of wood, thinking of the hours they had yet to pass before daylight, and what would be the consequences if the fire went out. one thing was very certain, and that was that a large fire would be necessary now every night. and though the boys felt a strange kind of tremor as they felt the risks they were incurring, there was so much romantic excitement in the life they were leading, that they would not have given it up on any consideration. the lions roared and prowled about them during the remainder of the night, sometimes coming very close, sometimes retreating, for the fire was very bright. and then came the two boys, coffee and chicory, with peter the driver, to relieve them, just as day was breaking, and the young travellers gladly went back into the waggon for a sleep. chapter fourteen. tracked by an enemy. they did not have a long sleep, for mr rogers soon roused them to say that breakfast was ready; which meal being discussed, the oxen were in-spanned, and the horses mounted, so as to have a good long trek towards the limpopo, or crocodile river, before the heat of the day. before leaving their camp the boys had a good look round with the general, in the expectation and hope of seeing the lion at which jack had shot, lying dead. but though he felt certain that he had hit the monster, and though footprints were about in all directions, there was no dead lion, and they had to hope for better luck the next time. "i don't care," said jack discontentedly; "i'm as sure as can be that this gun don't shoot straight." "try again, jack," said his father, laughing. and on they walked, over what was now a plain covered with great coarse, reedy grass, such as would afford plenty of cover for game. this, however, was scarce, and beyond the boys knocking down three or four large birds of the partridge kind, there was very little done. the general, for some reason which he did not explain, had taken his great zulu shield from where it hung behind one of the waggon-wheels, and, armed with a couple of assegais, kept making expeditions to right and left--and quite as often hung back, watchfully keeping an eye to the rear. it was a case of man's cunning against that of a beast; and after being away some hours, he came up with the not very pleasant information that a huge lion, one of the ferocious maneless kind, was tracking the waggon, and would no doubt hang upon their trail until it had pounced upon one of the horses, and carried it off. "oh, that would be horrible," cried jack. "i'd almost sooner that he would take me than my horse." "have you seen it, general?" said dick; "or do you think it is following us, from its footprints?" "i have seen it," said the general gravely. "i felt sure from some footmarks i had seen that some great beast was following us--one of those that scented the horses last night. once or twice i thought the steps might be those of some lion that had passed this way; but, after watching, i found them so often that at last i lay down amongst the long grass, covered myself with my shield, and waited. it was very, very long, and nothing came, and i thought again that i was mistaken; but i knew that if it was a lion, tracking down the horses and bullocks, he would come close between the wheel marks of the waggon, and there slay." "and did you mean to kill him, general?" said dick eagerly. "one man cannot kill a lion with an assegai, boss dick," said the zulu, "and live afterwards and hunt with his friends. it takes the little bullet from a gun to kill a lion well, for you can stand and shoot farther off than a lion can spring. no, i only wanted to know and be sure; and if i was sure i said, boss dick or boss jack will shoot him. so i waited till i thought he would not come, and then i was going to follow the waggon, when i heard something come steal--steal--steal along; and when at last i looked from under my shield, there he stood amongst the grass, close to me, watching the waggon. if i had stood up i could have speared him; but i was lying down, and if i had tried to get up he would have sprung upon me, the great thing; so i held the shield more over me, like an animal with a shell, and crept a little way on to meet him, and then made a jump at him, and he roared and dashed away." "but why didn't he seize you?" said jack. "he did not see i was a man, and he did not understand what the long thing with black legs was that jumped at him; and a lion is big and strong, but he is a coward about what he does not understand." "and have you frightened him right away?" asked dick. "fancy frightening away a lion!" "no," said the zulu; "only a little way. he is following the waggon now, crawling softly through the grass; and i am sure it is the one boss jack has shot last night, for there was a mark and blood upon his forehead. it is a great lion, with no mane; and he is savage and wild, and will follow the waggon always till he is killed. we must kill that lion soon." "an' is he following us up, muster gineral?" said dinny, who had heard some of the last words. the zulu nodded; and dinny looked from one to the other with such a look of hopeless dread in his countenance, that even mr rogers could not forbear to smile. "sure it's the onsafest place i iver came noigh, sor; and it's not meself that will stir away from the front of the waggon till that great baste is killed." the general's account of his proceedings, and his conversation as a rule, was not in the plainest of english, so it is more convenient to give it in ordinary colloquial form; but he was very earnest, and tried hard to make himself understood. when mr rogers consulted him as to the best means of getting rid of so unpleasant a follower, the zulu said that the only way would be to ride on in front of the waggon, and then suddenly strike off to right or left, form a wide curve, and ride inward so as to strike the track of the waggon quite a mile behind. by this means, the general said, they would probably get a shot at the monster as he was crawling furtively after the horses, and probably bring it down. "it is a risk," said mr rogers thoughtfully; "but it will be impossible for us to go on with an enemy like that always in our wake." "when do you think he will try to attack us, general?" said dick. "when the sun has gone down, boss, and the horses and oxen are having their evening feed." "and he might take my beautiful shoes," said dick. "or my lovely old stockings," cried jack, quite unconscious of how absurd his words sounded. "we shall have to follow out the zulu's plan, my boys," said mr rogers; "and the sooner we try the better." the midday halt was called by a beautifully transparent pool of water, where some richly succulent grass awaited the cattle, and which for some hours they cropped, the heat being intense, and any object exposed to the full power of the sun soon becoming hot enough to burn the hand. hot as it was, dinny, being assured that the lion was not likely to attack in open daylight, lit a roaring fire, and soon had the pot simmering with its rich thick meat gravy, a basin round of which, and a portion of a cake made and baked upon an iron plate brought for the purpose, formed their dinner. then there was a siesta, and at last, the most fiery hours being gone by, broad-brimmed straw hats were taken from the waggon--for it was still intensely hot--and the zulu undertaking to lead the team on between two mountains through which the broad valley ran, the horses were saddled, rifles taken, and father and sons mounted to go on what might prove to be a very dangerous adventure. the first thing done was to carefully take in the bearings of the country, and then, after a few words of advice from the general--whom mr rogers would have liked to have, only his presence was necessary with the waggon, he being the most trustworthy of their followers--they rode on at a brisk canter through the crisp long grass, and amongst the bushes, and always onward towards the head of the valley, where, towering up, stood the twin mountains, which were like the ends of a couple of ridges or chains. scrupulously following out the general's advice, they struck off to the left, and taking quite a two-mile circuit, they saw the waggon crawling along in the distance, while they cantered on, feeling wonderfully free and light in spite of the heat, till they were a long distance behind the waggon, when they halted and carefully swept the surface of the country. "nothing in sight," said mr rogers. "i hope we shan't have our trip for nothing, father," replied dick. "are you eager to meet with the lion, then?" said his father, smiling. "i don't know, father; but i should like to shoot him," replied dick quietly. "well, my boys, i hope we shall shoot the animal; and as we are now a couple of miles at least behind the waggon, if he is following it he should be before us now, so come along." rifles were cocked, and every eye carefully scrutinised the dry drabby-yellow grass through which the lion would be stealing its way, and so much like the withered stems in colour that, unless moving, it was quite possible to miss seeing such a creature as they rode along. the plan arranged was, that no sooner was the lion sighted than they were all to dismount, and fire as opportunity occurred, loading again as rapidly as possible for a second shot. but though they followed steadily on in the waggon track, riding all three abreast, and scanning every clump and bush, they had approached the bend of the valley without seeing anything but a few bok, which offered tempting marks now that they did not want to shoot. the waggon had evidently passed through the opening, for it was quite out of sight, and the sinking sun was casting long shadows. so at last mr rogers grew impatient and spoke out,-- "we had better ride on, my boys, and catch the waggon. i want to halt early and form a good stout fence for our protection. we shall see no--" "lion!" said dick sharply. "dismount." he threw himself from his horse on the instant, and stood ready to fire, his father and brother imitating his example. "where?" said mr rogers quietly. "i see nothing, dick." "there," replied dick, "fifty yards away, stealing through those thick sedgy grasses. don't you see?" "yes," said his father, "i see the monster now. keep cool, boys, and make your shots tell. if he is wounded and charges, you must stand firm and fire again." mr rogers waited a few moments, during which the lion, a monstrous yellow, maneless fellow, was half-crawling, half-creeping, through the long sedgy grass; and at last he showed so plainly that mr rogers took careful aim, fired, and evidently hit, for the lion uttered a furious roar, and made a tremendous bound to escape, with the result that dick's cob started, and threatened to dash off; but a few words from its master calmed it; and taking advantage of the good view he had of the lion, dick now fired, a shot from jack's rifle following directly after. but, so far from the monster being crippled, it ceased its efforts to escape, and turning, took a few steps forward, crouched like a cat, and then bounded at jack. "stand firm and fire!" cried mr rogers. jack obeyed, and as he fired the lion was in the air launching itself at him, but falling short, rolling over upon its side, and beginning to tear and gnaw at the dry grass in its death agony. mr rogers approached, but drew back in favour of dick. "go and give it the _coup de grace_, my boy," he said. "you may as well have the honour of killing the monster, for a monster it is." dick had replaced his empty cartridge with a full one, and was approaching boldly to fire the necessary shot, when, to his horror and astonishment, the lion rose, crouched, and showed its glistening teeth. but in spite of the terror that seized him he stood firm, took careful aim, fired, and with a savage roar, the lion rolled over, dead. it was indeed a monster, and its glistening fangs were very long, while upon examination there was the mark of jack's last night's bullet, which had ploughed up the skin between the creature's ears, though the wound was now half dry. the shots brought the zulu into sight with his boys, for the waggon was halting at a pleasant spring at the foot of one of the mountains not a mile away, for here were wood and a good place for forming a kraal. the general and his sons raced down, and the boys danced round the lion and called it names. but there was no time to lose, and it was impossible to stop and skin the animal that night, so the general stuck some branches round it, and then led the way to camp, which was rapidly formed. and though they heard lions in the distance, they had a less disturbed night than the preceding one, greatly to the satisfaction of all, especially dinny, who declared that it was a blessing that the lion was killed, for now they would be at peace. but dinny was wrong, for there were other lions in the land. chapter fifteen. good practice for gunners. the day had hardly broken before coffee and chicory were shouting at the opening of the waggon for boss dick and boss jack to "come and 'kin a lion." they wanted but little rousing up, and after a good souse in the pure cool spring, that ran bubbling over and amongst some rocks with delicious-looking broad-fronded ferns drooping gracefully over, they went and rubbed their horses' muzzles, patted their arched necks, and gave each a taste of sugar--for which shoes and stockings regularly looked now, and would follow their masters like dogs to obtain--they shouldered their rifles, and followed the general to the place where the lion lay. rested and refreshed, everything around looked lovely, for they were at the head of a very fertile valley, where flowers bloomed in profusion, and the springs that rose in the sides of the mountains sent down moisture enough to keep miles of the country round of a perpetual green. "plenty game here," said chicory, pointing to a bare, muddy spot by a water-hole. the general turned aside, and stooped down to look at the hundreds of footprints in the soft mud. "koodoo," he said, "eland, buffalo, bok, wildebeeste, quagga, zebra, lion," and he pointed out in turn the spoor, or footprints, of the various beasts he named. "yes, plenty of game here." as they went on, the boys noticed the abundance of the pretty little whidah bird, a lovely little creature, about the size of a lark, but with a tail of such enormous length that in a breeze the power of the wind upon the tail drives the bird to take flight into shelter, so that it shall not be blown away. pigeons in abundance flew over their heads, and parrots of such gaudy colours that dick felt obliged to shoot three or four as specimens, to skin and add to their collection. but the lion pretty well filled the thoughts of all, and jack was intensely eager to see the monster that he took to himself the credit of having shot. as they drew near the place where the adventure of the previous night had taken place, the verdure began to give place to brown, parched-up sedgy grass, and the boys could not help noticing how much it seemed to harmonise with the skin of the beast of prey they had slain. as they drew nearer there was no difficulty in finding the spot, for a party of great, dusky, bare-necked vultures were sitting about, gazing hungrily at the dead beast, but afraid to approach on account of the sticks and branches stuck about to imitate a trap. they were so near now that they could make out the shape of the lion amongst the dry grass, when, apparently always upon his guard, the general suddenly presented the point of his assegai. coffee and chicory said nothing, but they did the same; and dick and jack, fully under the impression that the lion had come back to life, cocked their rifles and stood ready to fire. just then there was a low muttering growl, a moving of the long grass as if something was passing through, and a smooth-coated lion bounded into sight, gazing at them menacingly, and lashing its sides with its tail. wisely or no, the boys' rifles were at their shoulders on the instant, and they fired together as coffee and chicory threw their spears. there was a tremendous roar, a bound, a crash, and then silence, broken only by the clicking of the mechanism of the rifles, as the boys rapidly reloaded them with heavy ball. as the smoke cleared away the general beckoned dick and jack to his side, and they advanced cautiously through the grass, which they pushed aside with the assegai and the muzzles of the rifles, till they saw, a short distance off, the handle of an assegai sticking up. "there him is," shouted coffee; "my assegai!" and he seemed ready to run forward and get it, but was checked by a sign from his father. the young hunters raised their rifles to their shoulders, ready to fire again, at the sight of the lion; but the staff of the assegai did not even quiver; and, gaining confidence, the general went closer and parted the grass, for his young companions to fire. the next moment he had sprung forward, and shouted and waved his spear above his head; for there, upon its side, lay the lion, quite dead, the second within twenty-four hours. "that was your shot, dick," said jack. "no, no: yours," said dick. "no; i felt as if i didn't hit it far enough forward," cried jack. "but we'll soon see." "ah, yah, yah! inyami, inyami!" shouted coffee and chicory; and they began to kick and bang the dead lion with their kiris, till their father stopped them, and bade one of them go and fetch peter or dinny to come and help to skin. as it proved, there was a bullet right in the centre of the second lion's forehead, and another in the shoulder, which ball jack claimed, so that dick had, as he really deserved, the honour of shooting the monster, and he gazed with no little pride at its tremendous proportions. but big as it was, it was a lioness, and slighter in build than the tawny monster killed upon the previous evening, to which they now turned, looking in awe at its huge claw-armed paws, and legs one mass of muscle. there was something almost stupendous in the power that seemed to be condensed in its short thick neck, and broad deep shoulders, for, being one of the maneless kind every muscle of the neck, throat, and shoulders could be plainly seen. "why, jack, we should be like rats in the jaws of a cat if he took hold of us," said dick. "more need to practise our shooting. dicky, i shall always aim at their eyes." "i want to get back and tell father," said dick. "oh, look! here he comes." in effect, mr rogers, who had heard the firing, was coming on at a fast run, in dread lest anything should be wrong; but a smile of satisfaction appeared upon his face as he came up, and heard dick's joyful cry, "father, i've shot a lion." the skinning of the dangerous monsters was a tough job; but in the zulu's skilful hands it seemed comparatively easy, for he knew exactly where to divide the muscles to make the limbs give way, and how to thrust the point of his knife through various membranes; so that by breakfast-time, with the help of peter, both trophies were removed, and borne to the camp in triumph. the place being so lovely, and game being evidently abundant, mr rogers decided to stay where they were for a day or two, especially as the work of making a kraal of thorns every night became an arduous task and there was nothing to be gained by hurrying through the wonderful country without stopping to examine its beauties. then, too, the abundance of rich fine grass growing near the rivulets that came down from the mountains was invaluable for the oxen, which had begun to look a trifle thinner; and as the good patient beasts worked so willingly and well, it was a pleasure to see them knee-deep in grass, placidly munching away at the rich herbage, and in company with the horses. so holiday for the animals was proclaimed; dinny, peter, and dirk were ordered to keep a watchful eye upon the grazing cattle, and mr rogers proposed a short walking, shooting, and natural-history-collecting expedition. of course it was all nonsense, but dick vowed that rough'un went and told what was to be; for the dog, who had been looking at his masters with bright, intelligent eyes, suddenly jumped upon all fours and barked twice, after which he trotted off to where pompey, caesar, and crassus were tied to the wheels of the waggon, put his nose to each, and barked; and in the place of a patient attack upon tormenting flies and fleas, the dogs leaped up, strained at their thongs, and barked and bayed furiously. "let them loose, boys," said mr rogers, to coffee and chicory, who ran to perform his orders, but found it hard work; for the dogs leaped at them, twisted the thongs between and round their legs, and upset them twice; while as soon as they were at liberty they seemed to have mutually agreed that this was one of the dog-days, and that it was their duty to go right off mad. their antics were wonderful. first they rushed off as hard as they could tear, as if going straight back home to mr rogers' farm; the next minute they were back, as if they had forgotten to kill rough'un first, for they charged down upon him, rolling him over and over, biting, worrying, and tumbling upon him in the exuberance of their delight; while rough'un retaliated by biting again, and getting such a good grip with his teeth on pompey's tail that this sturdy fellow dragged him for yards before rough'un let go. altogether, for a few minutes there seemed to be what dick called a dog-storm, after which they all crouched down, with open mouths, starting eyes, and quivering tongue, staring at the preparations going on, and ready to be off. "good old dogs! old pomp! old caesar! what old cras! hi, rough'un!" cried jack, caressing all the dogs in turn, and patting their heads, with the effect of making them seize and pretend to worry him, seizing his legs, jumping up, and showing their delight in a dozen ways. then the ammunition had to be obtained, satchels stored with provisions, coffee and chicory carrying a supply for their own and their father's use; and when the grim-looking old warrior held up a warning finger at them and said they were not to eat the provisions, they brought a smile to his lips by running off together and pretending to devour the contents of the bag. at last all was ready, and after a few words of warning to dinny and the others to be watchful, the little party started, mr rogers referring to a small compass he carried in his pocket, and taking the bearings of the two mountains, so as to be sure of their return. for though the general was with them there was always the possibility of being separated; and missing the way back in the great african wilds may mean missing one's life. there was plenty to see. flowers grew in abundance in the rich moist places; fleshy plants abounded in the sterile rocky parts; and in every shady niche the ferns were glorious. the trees alone were enough to satisfy any one with a love of beauty. great candelabra-shaped euphorbias, with wondrous thorns and lovely scarlet blossoms; huge forest-trees that seemed to have lost their own individuality in the wreathing clusters of creeping flowering plants they bore. everything was beautiful; and as they walked on in the glowing sunshine, they seemed to have come to one of the most glorious spots of earth. they had not proceeded far beside one of the little rivers that came bubbling down from the mountain they were approaching before rough'un began to bark. _click_, _click_, went dick's rifle. "look, father, look! a crocodile!" cried jack. "i wanted to see a crocodile." there was a rush, a splash, and a scurry, and rough'un came out of the water, looking about him and staring up at his masters, as if asking what they had done with the reptile he had chased. "it was not a crocodile, jack, but a large water-lizard," said mr rogers. "plenty of crocodiles soon," said the general, "big as three of me." he marked off a space of about twenty feet upon the ground, to show the length the reptiles of which he spoke, and then roughly marked out their shape. "not here," he said; "over there." and he pointed to the north. "here's another," cried dick. and this time it was pompey and caesar who had hunted out a reptile, which hissed, and snapped, and fought vigorously for a few moments when driven to bay, but its defiance was short lived. while the engagement went on, the reptile looked dragon-like in aspect, with its ruffled and inflated throat, serrated back, and writhing tail; but in a very short time the dogs had obtained the mastery, and the creature was examined, proving to be a kind of iguana, nearly six feet in length, a great deal of which, however, was the attenuated tail. the cracks and rifts in the hot bare stones as they climbed higher seemed to swarm with lizards of all kinds, ready to dart into their holes upon the approach of the dogs, while several times over the two zulu boys came running back, beckoning to dick and jack to go and see some snake basking, twisted in a knot in some sunny spot. upon one of these occasions jack was so struck by the peculiar swollen, short appearance of the little serpent that he ran back and hailed his father, who came up just as coffee and chicory were assuring dick that if he did what he had proposed to do, namely, taken up the short, thick serpent, he would never have gone hunting any more. in fact as soon as jack had gone the serpent moved slightly, and wishing his father to see it, and eager to stop its escape, dick had attempted to pick it up, when coffee and chicory threw themselves upon him, and a short struggle ensued, which made dick very angry, and he was very nearly coming to blows. "the boys are quite right," said mr rogers sharply. "dick, you ought to have known better. don't you know what that thick, short serpent is?" "no, father," said dick, in an injured tone. "then you ought to know, my boy, for i have described it to you when talking about the reptiles of this part of the world. what do you say it is, jack?" "i don't know, father; i'm not sure," replied jack, glancing at dick, and feeling that it would hurt him to profess to greater knowledge than his brother. "nonsense! i'm sure you do know," said mr rogers impatiently. "is it the puff-adder, father?" said dick hesitatingly. "of course it is, and you ought to have known the deadly pest. no, no, don't waste a charge upon it, and it may alarm any game. let one of the boys kill it." that was soon done, for chicory made a sign to his brother, who touched the puff-adder's tail and began to irritate it, making it turn and strike viciously at the blade of his assegai. that was what chicory wanted. the next moment his blade whished through the air, and the puff-adder's head lay upon the ground. "you cannot be too careful, boys," said mr rogers, picking up the flat spade-shaped head, and opening the jaws with the point of his knife. "look, boys," he continued, as he made the jaws gape, and then raised up a couple of keen transparent fangs that lay back upon the roof of the creature's mouth. "do you see? there are the hollow fangs through which a drop of deadly poison is injected in the blood and causes death. don't let's destroy life unnecessarily; but if we want food, or come across any poisonous or dangerous beast, i think it is sentimentality to refrain from ridding the world of such a pest." dick felt very ignorant, and wished he had known better; but he could not help being pleased at his brother's manner; and the incident was forgotten the next moment in one of those natural history adventures of which they had all read, but had little expected to share in their lives. as they had climbed higher they had found the mountain more rugged, and broken up into deep crevices and defiles, all of which were full of interesting objects--flowers, plants, and foliage--such as they had never before seen; while in the sheltered and often intense heat, beetles and butterflies seemed to have found these rifts a perfect paradise. dick had gone on first, and turning a corner he had found quite a rugged shelf running alone the steep side of a ravine, the bottom of which was carpeted with flowers that grew amongst the stones. it was a very interesting spot, but as it seemed to lead right away into the heart of the mountain he was about to turn back and rejoin his party, when he caught sight of a gracefully-shaped large-eared gazelle about fifty yards away, gazing apparently in another direction. he could have shot it easily, but it seemed so quiet and tame that he did not raise his piece, though if it had attempted to run, the thought of the delicious roast it would make would undoubtedly have made him bring it down. besides he wanted all the practice he could get with his rifle, and a shot at a running antelope or gazelle was not to be missed. half wondering why it did not feed, he remained watching it, supposing that it had heard some of the party lower down; when all at once the sun's rays seemed to glance off something glistening and bright, and straining forward to get a better view, dick became aware of the fact that a large serpent was twining fold after fold one over another, and as, half petrified, he watched the reptile, he suddenly saw a monstrous neck and head reared up in front of the gazelle. the creature seemed to be all glistening umber brown and dusky yellow, and its surface shone like burnished tortoiseshell in the glowing sun, while to the boy's eyes it seemed, from the height to which the swaying head was raised, that the body, half hidden from him by the herbage, must be monstrous. and all the time, fascinated as it were, or more probably paralysed by fear, the gazelle stood perfectly still, watching the undulations of the serpent's neck, and calmly awaiting its end. dick was so interested that he forgot that he held a rifle and shot-gun in his hand. he knew that the serpent was, as it were, playing with its prey before seizing it, feeling probably, if it thought at all, quite certain of the trembling creature whenever it felt disposed to strike, and preparing itself for its banquet by writhing its body into a more convenient place. it was a horrible sight, and dick waited to see the serpent seize the gazelle, wrap round it and crush its quivering body out of shape, and then slowly swallow it, till it formed a knot somewhere in the long tapering form, and go to sleep till it was hungry again. "ugh, you beast!" ejaculated dick; and the sound of his own voice seemed to break the fascination of interest by which he had been held. the next instant he was pitying the gazelle, and as he saw the serpent draw back its head he laid the barrel of his piece against a block of stone, waited until the quivering head was still and the jaws began to distend, and then his trembling hand grew firm, and he drew the trigger. the puff of smoke obscured everything for the moment, and he could not start forward or he would have gone over the precipice, so he had to wait till the vapour had passed away, when, to his great disgust, he could see nothing. the gazelle and serpent were both gone; so he began to load again, wishing he could take better aim, when he heard a shout, and chicory came running up, followed by coffee. "boss dick shoot um? boss dick shoot noder lion?" cried chicory. "no," said dick; "it was a miss this time." "no," cried coffee; "i see um. look, boss, look!" mr rogers and jack came hurrying up just then, and looking in the direction pointed out, there was the serpent, writhing and twining in the most horrible manner down in a narrow rift, out of which it now glided in a blind purposeless way, writhing, whipping the herbage with its tail, and tying itself in what seemed to be impossible knots. "coffee and chick go and kill um," said the latter, letting himself down the face of the precipice, followed by his brother; and, apparently quite without dread of the monster, they scrambled down over the rough stones till they came to the serpent, when, watching his opportunity, coffee seized its tail and tried to drag it, but the creature seemed to whip him off, and coffee uttered a yell as he was driven staggering back. "go down, dick, and try and give the monster another shot," said mr rogers. "no, stop; i dare say the boys will finish it." for just then, evidently enraged at the treatment his brother had received, chicory drove his assegai through the serpent, and then again and again, the creature's struggles being blind of purpose, for its head had been shattered by dick's shot; while fiercely leaping up, coffee raised his own assegai, and holding it chopper fashion, he waited his time till the serpent's head was handy, when he hewed it off. the writhings now grew faint; and the general coming up, and descending with mr rogers and his sons and the dogs, which kept making rushes at the waving form and not biting it, the serpent was dragged out full length and measured, mr rogers making seven fair paces by its side, and setting it down at about eighteen feet in length. "a nice monster to meet, master dick," he said. "i congratulate you upon your success." "have it skinned, father," exclaimed jack eagerly. "it would be such a capital thing to have, stuffed and coiled up, at home." mr rogers glanced at the great faintly-writhing monster, with its tortoiseshell markings, and shook his head. "no, my boy," he said; "i must confess to too great a dislike to the serpent race to care to carry about their skins. besides, if we are going on like this, killing a lion a day, we shall have only room for the skins of our big game. let's leave the creature here." they climbed up out of the ravine, and after a couple of hours' more walking, full of interest if not of incident, they went slowly back, glad to get in the shade of the trees beneath which the waggon was halted, and finding everything right. chapter sixteen. how the little gintlemen interfered wid dinny. a few days were very pleasantly spent here collecting, for mr rogers was an enthusiastic naturalist. birds of brilliant feathering were shot, skinned, preserved with arsenical paste, filled with cotton wool, and laid to dry with their heads and shoulders thrust into paper cones, after which they were transferred to a box which had to be zealously watched to keep out the ants. certainly scores of these were killed through eating the poison smeared upon the skins, but that was little satisfaction if they had first destroyed some delicate bird. butterflies, too, and beetles were obtained in great numbers, being carefully killed, and pinned out in boxes lined with camphored cork. these insects the two zulu boys soon learned to capture with the greatest ease, and after a little teaching they would bring in a handsome butterfly or moth, without crushing and disfiguring it first so that it was useless for preservation. bok or antelope of various kinds were plentiful enough to make the party sure of plenty of food; and both dick and jack were getting so skilful with the rifle that they could be depended upon to bring down a koodoo or springbok at four or five hundred paces. the kraal had been strengthened, so that they felt no fear of a lion getting through; but fires were kept up every night, wood being plentiful, and the bright glow seemed to give confidence to the occupants of the camp, as well as to the horses and oxen. watch was kept too, but though lions were sometimes heard at a distance they did not molest the travellers, and but for the stern suggestions of the general they would have grown careless in the extreme. for experience and skill in the use of fire-arms made dick and jack more confident. they had looked upon a lion as a monster of such prowess, and of so dangerous a character, that they were quite surprised at the ease with which a good shot with a rifle could hold the king of beasts at his mercy. as for coffee and chicory, the general several times punished them for being so daring and running such risks, especially as they were in a part of the country where lions really were plentiful, although, so far, little molestation of the travellers had taken place. it had been decided that upon the next day they would trek onward for some distance, and perhaps on and on for days, according to the attractiveness of the country they were passing through, and the plentifulness of the game. the general heard mr rogers' decision with a smile of satisfaction. "i want to take you where the great tusker elephants are," he said, "and let you shoot the giraffe and rhinoceros. we have hardly begun yet." he made the boys' eyes glow with excitement as he told them of the size of the hippopotami and elephants they would encounter, the height of the giraffes, and the furious nature of the rhinoceros, which beast seemed to be always mad if it saw a human being. as they were going to start next day it was decided to let the horses graze in peace with the oxen, which, after a fortnight's rest, looked sleek-coated and in far better condition; but peter, dirk, and dinny were bidden to keep a strict watch over the cattle, for just before starting the general announced that he had seen a lion-spoor, apparently two days old. the day was passed very pleasantly, collecting, by mr rogers and his sons, several very beautiful birds falling to their guns, and their boxes being filled with splendidly burnished beetles; and at last tired out, they turned to get back to the little camp by midday, hoping to find a satisfactory meal ready, for the general had gone out with a rifle in search of a bok; and his two boys had taken their kiris and assegais, to see if they could not knock down a few of the large partridge or quail-like birds. what was their disappointment then to find that neither the general nor his sons had returned, while dinny was in great distress. "sure," he said, "i thought i'd take a fishing-line and a shtick, and go to the big pool by the little river over yonder, and catch a few of the fish things; bad cess to 'em, they're no more like the fine salmon and throut of my own country than this baste of a place is its aiqual." "well, dinny, and you went and didn't catch anything," said dick. "sure, masther dick, an' you weren't there," said dinny; "but ye're right there; i didn't catch a single fish, for the little gintlemen wouldn't let me." "little gentlemen, dinny?" said mr rogers eagerly. "did you see any natives?" "an' is it natives ye'd call the dirthy undersized little craytures?" cried dinny indignantly. "sure i'd take a couple of 'em up under my arms and run away wid 'em." "but you say they interfered with you, and wouldn't let you fish," said mr rogers. "faix, sor, an' that's what they did. ye know the big pool." "to be sure," said mr rogers. "there are silurus in it." "are there though, sor?" said dinny. "and there's the big rocks up behind it, where the prickly trees wid red flowers and no leaves at all grow." "yes, i know the place," said mr rogers impatiently; "go on." "well, sor, i sits meself down comfortable, baits my hook wid a nice bit of fresh mate as any dacent fish would like to have, and then i says to meself, `dinny,' i says, `while ye're waiting to hook a nice fish for the masther's dinner, i'd have jist a whiff o' tibakky if i were you.' `ye're right and i will,' i says; and i outs wid my pipe, fills it, and was just going to light up, when _splash_! there was a great big stone thrown in the wather. "`ah, be aisy, masther jack,' i says, for i knew it was you." "why, i was away with my father," cried jack. "to be sure ye were, masther jack, dear; but don't ye see i thought it was your thrick; and bang comes another big stone down be me side. "`i'll tell the masther if ye don't lave off,' i says. `that's you, masther dick, as throwed that.' "splash comes another, and then i recklected as ye'd both be far away, and that it must be one of them dirthy little varmints, coffee or chicory. so i lays down me rod and line, as nice and sthrait a rod as ye'd cut out of the woods anywhere, ye know, sor, and i picked up my bit of stick ready for them. "`i'll wait till ye throw again, me beauties,' i says; and just as i says it to meself, a big stone hits me on the back, and another goes in just by me line. "`now ye shall have it, ye wicked little villains,' i says; and jumping up i was going to run at 'em, when, murther! there was about a dozen of the craytures coming down from the rocks, shouting and chattering, and throwing stones. "`will ye be off?' says one, `ye've no business fishing there widout lave.'" "how do you know he said that?" said dick dryly. "sure an' what else would he say, masther dick, dear? an' ah, ye never saw such ugly little divils, widout a bit of nose to their dirty faces, and a grin as if they were all teeth. "`sure i was only catching a fish for the masther's dinner, gintlemen,' i says, when, murther! if they didn't run at me like mad, and if i hadn't walked away i belave they'd have killed me. as it was one cowardly villain instead of hitting me dacently on the head wid his stick like a christian, comes at me and bites me in the leg." "let's look, dinny," said dick, for mr rogers listened but did not speak. "oh ye can look, masther dick. he tuk a pace out of me throusis, and he'd have tuk a pace out of me leg as well, if i hadn't expostulated wid him on the head wid me shtick. sure i was obliged to run then or they'd have torn me to pieces; and it's my belafe they've been using the fishing-line ever since." "and so you've had an interview with the natives, have you, dinny?" said mr rogers dryly. "ah, i wouldn't call them natives, sor," said dinny. "what then, baboons?" said mr rogers. "sure, sur, i don't know the name of the thribe, but they're a dirthy-looking little lot, and as hairy as if they never shaved themselves a bit." "why he's been pelted by monkeys," cried dick, indignantly; and jack burst out laughing. "faix, masther dick, dear, they behaved like monkeys more than men, and they're an ugly little thribe of natives; and if i'd had a gun i'd have given some of them the headache, that i would." "ah, here's the general," cried mr rogers, as the great zulu came striding up with a bok over his shoulder. as he entered the little camp he threw down the bok, and began to skin it, looking about for coffee and chicory. "where are the boys?" he said at last. "sure they haven't come back," said dinny; "and i hope they never will," he added, taking the bok to cut up and cook a portion, for dinny's leg was very sore and bleeding from a severe bite, and his temper was also a little more sore from the doubt with which his story had been received. the zulu darted a fierce glance at him, but he did not speak. he only walked to the waggon, where mr rogers was examining some of the specimens he had killed, and said simply,-- "may i take the rifle, boss, and go and find my boys?" "yes, of course," exclaimed mr rogers. "i'll go with you, general," cried jack eagerly. "but you are too tired," said his father. "oh, no," cried jack. "i don't mind. i'll go with the general." the zulu darted a grateful look at jack, and the latter took his rifle and bullet cartridges, starting off directly after in the way that the boys had been seen to go. jack began chatting to the zulu as they went along, but after a few remarks he noticed that the general was very quiet and reserved, while when he glanced at his countenance it looked so strange that jack felt startled, and began to think of how awkward his position would be if the zulu were to prove unfaithful, and turn upon him. but the next minute he was reassured, and found that it was anxiety upon the general's part about his boys. "i am afraid, boss jack," he said hoarsely. "it frightens me to think. they may be killed." "oh, no," cried jack hopefully. "they have only gone farther away, and have not had time to return." the zulu shook his head, but he glanced eagerly at the speaker as if to silently ask him if he really felt like that. "no," he said softly; "one of them would be back by now, i am afraid." jack tried again, but it was of no avail; and the zulu having struck the boys' trail, he had to be left to follow it without interruption, and this he did, all through the heat of that glowing afternoon. several times poor jack felt as if he would faint, but his spirit kept him up, and at last they came upon chicory, sitting down by a little pool of water with his assegai beside him, bathing his bleeding feet. the zulu uttered a low sigh of satisfaction as he saw one of his boys, and chicory jumped up, and seizing his assegai, ran to meet them. "my brother; has he got back?" he asked in his own tongue. "no; i came to find you both. where is he?" said the general sternly. "lost," said chicory disconsolately. "we got no birds and would not go back without, and we went on and parted. he is lost." "lost!" said the zulu scornfully; "my boy lost! go find him. watch the spoor. he must be found." poor chicory turned without a word, and in obedience to his father's order he went off in the direction where he and his brother had accidentally parted, and at last led them to a beautiful park-like tract of land. forest-trees sprang up in every direction, for the most part draped with creepers; clumps of bushy growth, and clusters of prickly succulent plants, grew on every side. it was in fact a very nature's garden, but though they searched in all directions through the lovely glades, golden with the rays of the scorching sun, there was no trace of poor coffee; and after separating, when they met again from time to time poor worn out chicory looked his despair. again they separated, jack following, however, pretty closely upon poor chicory's steps, till the excitement that had kept him up so long began to fail, and he sat down pretty well exhausted, with his rifle across his knees and his back against a tree. chapter seventeen. jack rogers goes to sleep. jack could hardly tell afterwards how it all happened, for he felt that he must have gone off fast asleep from utter exhaustion, but his sleep could not have lasted above an hour, for when he awoke with a start the sun had only just dipped down out of sight, and there was a faint glow still amongst the trees. all was very silent and he was drowsy, but a feeling of alarm now began to oppress him, and he wondered whether chicory and the general would soon be there. his next thought was about his rifle, which still lay across his knees; and feeling that he might at any moment be called upon to use it in his defence, he cocked both barrels, and was then about to get up and shout, when, not a hundred yards away down a broad vista of the open forest, he saw something which made him present his rifle and then sit motionless, with his heart going thump, thump, heavily beneath his ribs. for there, stealing softly along, with its belly almost sweeping the ground, was a huge lion--not a smooth, maneless lion, such as the two they had slain, but a big-muzzled, rugged-maned, hairy monster, such as he was familiar with in pictures--the natural history lion that he had seen a hundred times. to have attempted to fire would have been madness at that distance, and it was evident that he was at present in no danger, for seated as he was in the shadow, with his back to the trunk of a great tree, the lion had not seen him. the next moment jack saw why he passed unnoticed. the lion was cautiously stalking some dark animal that was softly gliding through the bushes, following it step by step awaiting the time to spring. it was an interesting sight, though painful; and jack thought of his brother's adventure with the serpent, and whether he was not in duty bound to save this animal from its pursuer as his brother saved the gazelle. the next moment jack's heart seemed to stand still, for the dark animal passed out of the bushes into sight, and he saw that it was no wild animal, but poor chicory, bending down, and evidently carefully tracing some spoor, perhaps his brother's, while the lion was following to strike him down. it was a terrible position; for young as he was in woodcraft, jack had not yet acquired the firmness in critical moments that comes to the old hunter, and for the time he felt paralysed. he was a brave, self-denying boy, but in that emergency he could only sit there, turned as it were to stone, and watch the motions of poor chicory, and the merciless beast that was stealthily creeping along in his wake without a sound. jack knew that chicory's position was critical in the extreme, and that if he did not save him by a lucky shot the lion would strike him down; but he could not move; the muscles of his whole body refused to act, as if he was in a nightmare; all he could do was to move his eyes and watch the terrible tragedy about to be enacted. the boy felt as if he would have given worlds to be able to fire, or even shout; but he could do nothing but wait, and see chicory creeping patiently along in and out among the trees and bushes, now hidden, now coming into sight for a few moments, but always so intent upon the footprints he was examining, that he did not hear his enemy. and what an enemy! there was the great powerful beast, with glaring eyes and horrent mane, creeping along with its fur brushing the grass, and every foot touching the ground like velvet. at times jack could see the great muscles moving beneath its skin, and the pliant tail swaying and quivering as it softly lashed it to and fro. several times over it crouched down, as if about to spring, but a quick movement on the part of the zulu boy caused it to pause--and still the hunt went on. as jack sat there the great drops of perspiration gathered upon his forehead, and trickled down his face. the sun's light reflected from the glowing clouds grew less, and there was a grey gloom gathering round, which made the scene before him more painful. at one time he thought that as darkness came on chicory might give up, become aware of his danger, and so escape. even now, if he could have warned him the boy would have doubtless bounded into a tree, for he was as quick and active as a monkey; but no warning passed from jack's lips, and the strange weird scene went on. the forest glade before him might have been a maze whose path chicory was trying to thread, and the lion some faithful attendant beast, watchfully following in his very steps. but though jack's body was as it were enchained, his mind was in a fearful state of activity; and not only did he follow as if fascinated every step, but his thoughts even went in advance, and he felt sick as he thought of the catastrophe about to happen, seeming to see the lion make its final crouch and spring, hearing too the boy's death-shriek; and as the actors in the terrible scene drew nearer to him, jack strove with all his might to cast off his inaction. on still, and in and out, in a heavy weary way, as if he could hardly put one leg before the other, went poor chicory; and slowly and carefully followed the lion, the massive jaws thrust forward, and each great paw raised and set down without a sound. it could not have lasted more than a few minutes, this exciting scene, but it seemed never ending to jack as he sat there, till in one instant he was roused back into action, and to try and the poor boy. in his wanderings in and out, as has been said, chicory came nearer to where his young master sat, with his back to the trunk of the great forest-tree, and more than once jack wondered that the lion had not seen him; though this was easily explainable--he remained perfectly motionless, and the animal was intent upon his prey. chicory had come on nearer and nearer then, till he was not above thirty yards from jack, when, turning in amongst some long grass, the positions were suddenly reversed, for in place of following the zulu boy, the lion crept round a clump of bushes so as to come face to face with him, and then crouched ready to spring--just as chicory stopped short, leaning forward over something in the long grass, and, dropping his assegai, uttered a piercing shriek. not thirty yards away, and just in face of where jack was; and he knew that chicory had come upon something terrible, perhaps the body of his brother, while he, jack, had been sitting there quite unconscious, and had even in his ignorance gone to sleep. it was that cry that roused jack into action, for, almost as the boy dropped his assegai and leaned over that something in the long grass, the lion gathered itself for its spring, and the watcher's rifle rose to his shoulder. there was one quick aim--the sharp crack, followed by a multitude of echoes; and jack sprang to his feet and on one side, to avoid the charge should the lion come his way. there was a deafening roar, and the lion, which had fallen short in his spring and rolled over, evidently badly hit, struggled to his feet, and made at jack, who sheltered himself behind the nearest tree; and when the great brute came on, with distended claws and bristling mane, he fired again, at a distance of a couple of yards, forgetting that his charge was but small shot. at that distance, though, small shot were as good as a bullet, and the lion fell in his tracks, snarling and growling horribly, as he struck impotently at his slayer; then his head fell back, the mighty paws grew inert, and he lay over more upon his side--for with a furious cry of rage chicory forgot his weariness, and picking up his assegai, drove it deep into the animal's chest. hardly believing it true, jack rapidly reloaded, congratulating himself upon what he had done, when he heard the rustling of leaves, and presented his piece, fully expecting that it was the lion's mate. but no: it was the general, who ran panting up, having heard the sound of the rifle, and as he reached them chicory took his hand, and led him to the patch of grass without a word. jack followed, instinctively knowing that something terrible was there. and then his heart seemed to stand still, as he heard a deep groan burst from the general's breast, and he sank down by the body of the son he had come to seek. "is--is he dead?" said jack, in a hoarse whisper, as he gazed down in the gathering darkness at poor coffee's bleeding form. for answer the general was feeling the boy's chest, and he then laid his ear against his side. "no, not dead!" he cried excitedly. then lifting the boy in his arms, he started off back towards the waggon, jack and chicory following behind, but not until the latter had rushed back to where the lion lay, and plunged his assegai once more deeply into the monster's chest. chapter eighteen. the capture of a cat. it was a long and toilsome walk back, for the night had come on quickly, and every now and then the roar of some beast of prey, or the crash of some animal through the trees, was heard. but nothing interfered with them; and when from time to time they halted for a few moments, the general gladly made use of the strips torn by jack from his handkerchief and shirt to bind up the poor boy's bleeding wounds. it seemed wonderful to jack that strength and determination on the part of the general, almost as wonderful as the unerring instinct with which he made straight for the camp. he did not speak once, but there was something exceedingly tender in the way in which he tried to carry the wounded boy, so as not to cause him pain; for he did not realise that poor coffee was quite insensible to suffering, and had not felt anything since he had been struck down. at last, when jack felt that he could no longer plant one leg before the other, there was the bright glow of the fire at the little camp, where they found mr rogers in a terrible state of uneasiness at their prolonged absence. the moment, however, he found what was wrong, his surgical skill, which was not slight, was brought to bear, and the terrible gaping wounds of the poor boy were sewn up and bandaged. read by the light of all that jack had to tell, it was plain enough what had befallen poor coffee. he had been stalked, by the same lion probably as that which jack had shot. the monster had sprung upon him, clawing his bare back and shoulder; and then, probably being surfeited with devouring some unfortunate beast, he had left the boy, and had been roused again by another intruder upon his domains, while, but for jack's rifle, poor chicory would have shared his fate. "but a' didn't kill chick, boss jack. boss jack kill um, and boss jack and chick go and kill all a lion now, and not leave not one." this was the next morning, when the events of the past night had been talked over, and mr rogers had expressed a hope that the boy might live. but, as he told his sons, it was very doubtful, for he had been horribly clawed by the lion, though fortunately upon his back. had the creature seized him in front, he must have lost his life. all attempts at continuing the journey were of course put off, a comfortable bed being made up for coffee where he would feel the cooling breeze and be sheltered from the sun, while his father took his place by him, and sat and kept the bandages over the wounds wet and cool. it was chicory who proposed that the lion's skin should be fetched in; and after a promise to be careful, the boys started off, taking with them peter to skin the lion, mr rogers feeling that he could not leave, with coffee in such a state. in fact he hesitated about letting his sons go, after such a shock, though he could not help feeling that they were beginning to display a courage and decision that was most praiseworthy, especially as it was linked with so much self-denial. "but the skin would be such a trophy, father," said jack. "i should like to have it." "go and get it, then," said mr rogers; "but don't stop. you may as well shoot a few birds, though, or any small bok, if you can. we must make our beef-tea of venison, dinny says," he added with a smile, "for the invalid must have plenty of support." jack went to have a look at poor coffee as he lay there insensible, and softly placed his cool hand upon the poor boy's burning head. then he started, for, to his surprise, the general was at his feet with his arms round his legs, and embracing them closely. he did not understand it then, but the zulu was swearing fidelity, and to lay down his life for him who had saved, as he felt, both his boys. just then there was a yelping and baying amongst the dogs, a snarling noise, and dinny's voice heard shouting--when jack ran out, just in time to see something yellowish and spotted rush among the trees, sending the oxen into a terrible state of excitement, and making the horses gallop up to the waggon for protection. mr rogers was out in the open with a gun--but it was too late, there was nothing to shoot, and the dogs, which had been off after the animal, came trotting back. "what was it, dinny?" said mr rogers. "sure, sor, an' it was a great big yellow tom cat, wid splashes like brown gravy all over his dirthy body; an' he came sneaking out of the wood and made a pounce on rough'un there; but the dog was too quick for him, an' run bechuckst the big waggon-wheels, an' thin i threw a pot at him and aff he went, and the dogs after him." "how big was it, dinny?" cried dick excitedly. "about as big as ten tom cats, masther dick, if they was all biled down and made into one." "get along," cried dick. "what would it be, father--a leopard?" "yes, my boy, undoubtedly. they are very fond of dogs, and will dash under the waggons sometimes after one. rough'un has had a narrow escape. we must look out, for the creature may come again." it was a long walk to the glade where the lion was shot, but they killed a couple of the dangerous puff-adders, and shot three or four beautiful birds, besides bringing down a small gazelle, which they protected with sticks to keep off the vultures. but the most interesting part of their journey was during the first mile of their way. they had all separated so as to look out for game, and were crossing a patch of dense dried-up yellow grass where they expected to spring a large bird or two, when, all at once, something of a rich yellow and brown darted out before dick, leaving one clump to make for another, closely followed by a little dun-coloured animal, evidently its young. dick's rifle was to his shoulder on the instant, and a bullet through the animal laid it low, while the young one leaped upon it, and turned and snarled, and spat at its mother's slayer. "why it's the leopard that came after poor rough'un, i'll be bound," cried jack, coming up. "it has got a young one, and that's what made it so daring. hullo, little chap! we'll take you back for a pet." but the young leopard was already in a pet, and it scratched, and swore, and behaved so cat-like, that it was no easy task to secure it. this, however, was done in a strong game-bag, which was hung in a tree while the mother was skinned for the sake of her beautiful hide. as they neared the place where jack's lion lay, dick drew his brother's attention to the vultures that were winging their way overhead. "you'll see if they haven't been at your lion," he said. he proved a true prophet, for as they drew near the glade--jack feeling a strange chill of horror as he recalled the last night's adventure-- first one and then another vulture flew up, and when chicory made a dash forward they rose in a cloud. "your skin's spoiled, jack," said his brother. but he was wrong, for the vultures had found two assegais leaning against a bush, and looking so ominous with their bright blades where the general had left them, that they had not dared to touch the lion, and the consequence was that a magnificent skin was obtained, one that proved to be no light load for peter and chicory, who carried it swinging from a pole resting upon their shoulders. the load was increased as they picked up the skin of the leopard, while the boys carried the game. the young leopard proved to be quite safe in the game-bag, which formed a comfortable hammock for it as it hung in a tree, but no sooner was it swung from jack's shoulder, and felt the motion of the walker, than it became furious, spitting and tearing, and trying to get out. one way and another they were so loaded that the sight of the waggon proved very welcome, and all were only too glad to partake of a good basin of what mr rogers called "dinny's restorative," namely the rich thick venison soup always stewing in the great pot, and being added to every day. and it was wonderful how invigorating this rich meat essence proved. no matter how weary they were, a basin of it could be enjoyed, and its effect seemed to be almost instantaneous. after a good dinner in the shade of the big tree by the waggon, both jack and dick had another look at poor coffee, to find that he slept a good deal, and quite easily, mr rogers saying that he was less feverish. "well, boys, what do you think of the medicine-chest now? was i not right in being prepared for emergencies?" the boys agreed that it was right, and hoped all the same that they would never have to make any demands upon it, either for doses or lint and plaister--invaluable in poor coffee's case now. then the lion's skin was admired, and laid out to dry. the leopard's followed, and was greatly praised by mr rogers; and indeed it was beautiful in the harmony of its brown and creamy-yellow tints. "bedad and that's the very baste," cried dinny. "i know him by that spot at the back of his left ear, and the payculiar twisht of his tail." "now, dinny," said dick, "how could you tell it again when you saw it for a moment only." "an' d'ye think it takes half-an-hour for one of me eyes to catch soight of a craythure like that, masther dick? sure i knowed it the moment i set oise upon it as the very same baste." "then you must have excellent eyesight, dinny," said mr rogers. "sure an' i have that same, sor," said dinny proudly, as the boys next brought out the young leopard, which had to be held pretty tightly by the back of the neck to keep it from taking its departure, while the dogs gathered round muttering growls, and longing to take revenge upon the young leopard for the insult put upon them that morning by the mother. "i think dinny's right, boys," said mr rogers, as he looked at the clumsy young leopard, which had a peculiarly heavy kittenish aspect. "i should say it was undoubtedly the mother that dashed in after the dogs, her young one making her the more daring." "sure an' i knew i was right," said dinny complacently. "it was an avil-looking baste, in spite of its foine skin." "what are you going to do with the leopard?" said mr rogers. "keep it, of course, father," said jack. "i don't see any, `of course,'" he replied, smiling; "but try and keep it if you can, though i'm afraid you will find it an awkward customer to tame." "well, let us try," said jack; and setting to work he soon contrived a collar of stout wire, which was wrapped round and round with thin leather, a dog-chain attached, and then the dogs were called by dick. "i say, what are you going to do?" cried his brother; "they'll kill the poor little thing." "oh no, they will not," said dick confidently. "i'm going to give them a lesson." the dogs came bounding up, having been driven away during the manufacture of the collar; and now, evidently under the impression that they were to kill the young leopard, they became in a high state of excitement. "oh, dick!" cried jack. "mind what you are about." "down, down, down!" cried dick sternly; and the dogs all crouched, awaiting the order to attack. "now, rough'un, smell him." rough'un sprang up, and pompey, caesar, and crassus made a rush; but a tap each from the stick dick held stopped them, and laying hold of rough'un's ear, dick pushed the dog's nose close to the vicious-looking little leopard. "now, sir, you're not to touch him; do you hear?" rough'un evidently heard, and after smelling at the little animal, he looked up in a puzzled way at his master. "lie down, sir," said dick, and the dog obeyed. "now, dogs! pomp, caesar, cras, old boy." there was a volley of barks here, and the dogs evidently thought that their time had come; but a few stern words and a sharp tap or two from the stick made them perfectly obedient, and they contented themselves with sniffing at the little animal, which, on its part, finding that it was not molested by the dogs, left off its angry demonstrations, gave each one a gentle dab on the nose, and then rolled upon its back and began to play. the dogs looked more puzzled than before, crassus uttering a loud whine and giving his strong jaws a snap; but just then rough'un accepted the invitation to play, and began to pat and push the little animal, which responded at once by rushing off and dashing back, rolling over, biting playfully, and in less than a minute he and the young leopard were leaping one over the other and gambolling as eagerly as if they were the oldest of friends. pompey also played a little, and caesar and crassus looked tolerantly on, but they did not join in themselves, beyond smelling the leopard a few times over. still there was no fear of their molesting the little captive, which was tied up to a wheel of the waggon, and from that time became one of the occupants of the camp. chapter nineteen. first sight of ostrich. as soon as poor coffee showed the slightest sign of amendment, he was carefully lifted on to a comfortable bed made for him at the back of the waggon, where he lay patiently smiling at those who came to look at him; the oxen were in-spanned, and once more the waggon creaked and groaned over the rough land towards a fresh halting-place. game was plentiful enough, and dinny always had an ample supply for his iron pot, but more than once the difficulties with regard to water were very serious, and very long treks had to be made before a spring or river could be reached. but they pushed steadily on, the excitement of their hunting and shooting excursions making them forget the troubles of their journey. whenever mr rogers talked of halting and making some snugly-sheltered position their headquarters, the general smiled and pointed north, promising more wonders if they kept on, and finer game. coffee did not seem to suffer much, his greatest trouble being his weakness, and the difficulty his surgeon had to deal with that of keeping him in his bed; but he was very patient, and grateful for what was done, while the general seemed to wait on mr rogers' every look and word as if he would never be weary of attending to him. they were getting close to the neighbourhood of the river limpopo, when one evening, towards sundown, mr rogers became separated from his sons as they were journeying back towards the waggon, in his anxiety to shoot one of the curious fox-like animals that he had several times seen but had never had a chance to hit. they were beautifully marked, with long ears almost like those of a hare, and carried brushes that would have made an english fox envious; but even out there in the african wild they seem to partake of the cunning of their european relatives, and the more mr rogers tried, the less likely he seemed to succeed. upon this occasion he had seen one or two, and in his anxiety to obtain a shot he had dashed off into the bush, where the little animals seemed to delight in luring him on, showing for a moment and then disappearing. it was a glorious evening, and the sky was one glow of warmly-tinted cloud, while his proximity to the waggon, which he knew was not far-off, kept him from feeling uneasy about the others getting back. "there it is again," he exclaimed, as he saw the little fox-like animal dart amongst the bushes; and going cautiously in pursuit, he went on till the gathering mists of the coming night warned him to return. he had hardly turned to make for the waggon when he saw something that completely enchained his attention, for looming up through the mist, and appearing of almost gigantic size, he saw what appeared to be three large ostriches; but while he gazed they seemed to fade away into the evening darkness, and were gone. he had not gone far on his way back before he heard voices, and luckily came upon the boys and the general, chicory having been left behind to attend to his brother. "i think i have seen ostriches this evening," said mr rogers. "are there many here, general?" the zulu said no, but that there might be a few. if there were any he thought they might get a shot at them for the sake of their glorious plumes; and promising to be on the look out for their footprints, they went on chatting about them till the waggon was reached, to find that a couple more waggons, the property of an ivory-trader travelling south, had been out-spanned close by, so that there would be company for the night. the ivory-trader proved to be an intelligent man, and he said that there were plenty of elephants in the neighbourhood, but warned them to beware of the rhinoceros and crocodile, while he declared that one or two of the tribes farther north were worse than either. lions were heard in the distance, but the fires kept up proved sufficient to warn them off, and a very good night was spent; but just as breakfast was being got ready peter gave the alarm, chicory echoed it; there was a rush for rifles and guns, and a general state of excitement, for five ostriches had suddenly made their appearance, right up close to the camp, their tall necks with their flat stupid-looking heads undulating like snakes above the long grass. for a few moments they had appeared to be perfectly astounded at the sight of the various strange objects, the waggons and their accompaniments. then the shouts alarmed them, and as the guns were handed out of the waggons and the huntsmen prepared to fire, the ostriches were getting up speed, running faster and faster, till, as dick said, their legs seemed to twinkle; and the shots that were sent after them, though they might have whistled past, had not the good fortune to bring them down. "well," exclaimed dinny who was standing by the fire. "of all the things i ever did see run, them there do beat, and no mistake." certainly the speed with which their long, powerful legs sent the large birds over the ground was wonderful, and in a very short time, long before horses could have been saddled, they were out of sight. "why, thim birds can run almost as fast as my big brother," said dinny musingly, as the last ostrich disappeared. "could he run fast, dinny?" asked dick, smiling at his brother, as much as to say, "now you listen to him, and hear what he says." "an' is it run fast, he asks?" cried dinny. "why, he was the fastest runner in oireland, and they used to make races for him to run, and match him against toime, and he always won. why, wheniver he run he came in widout his boots." "came in without his boots?" said jack, laughing. "to be sure he did, sor, always. they managed to kape up wid him ginerally about half the way, and thin they got so slow he always had to lave thim behind." "it's a pity we haven't got your big brother here, dinny," said dick sarcastically. "he could have caught the ostriches for us." "caught 'em, masther dick. i should think he would, in no time." "would he have been as much afraid of the lions as you are, dinny?" "hark at him, now," said dinny, looking round at the dogs, which had had a race after the ostriches, and had now come back, with their tongues out and curled up at the tip as they sat there panting. "hark at him now. jist as if i was the laste taste of a bit afraid of all the lions in africky. why i says to meself, `dinny,' i says, `ye'll have to tak' care of yerself,' i says, `and not let the wild bastes ate ye till ye come back; for what would poor weeny, sickly masther dick do widout a good cook to make broth and stews to kape him alive? take care of yerself, dinny, for the poor sick gossoon's sake,' and so i do, masther dick; for it's not on account of meself, only for you." "why you said the other day, dinny, that it was because of your mother," cried downright jack. "and small blame to a man for being fond of his mother, masther jack. sure i always was a good son." dinny was always ready with an excuse, and in spite of his idleness and downright cowardice, he was generally merry and good-humoured, and the first with a laugh. the coming of the ostriches was, however, quite an excitement, and there was plenty of talk about how to get hold of some of them for their plumes; but nothing was done until the strangers had gone, when, after moving on to a more suitable place for a few days' camp, and cutting down and piling up the thorns for a good safe kraal, whose fence would keep marauding beasts from molesting the cattle, glasses were got out, and the beautiful park-like plain at whose edge they were now encamped, was scanned for game. there was no difficulty found in supplying the big pot, and finding pieces for a good roast; for little herds of various kinds of antelope were often in sight, and with a fair amount of stalking one could generally be brought down. but the great aim now was to obtain a few ostriches, and try how they would, these wary birds refused to let them get within shot. "if we shoot one," said the general quietly, "i get plenty." but the job was to shoot the first one. the general tried creeping continually from bush to bush, out and over the plain; but either the ostriches saw the glint of the sun upon the gun-barrel, or caught a glimpse of his dark skin, for they were off swift as the wind, with their legs twinkling like the spokes of a carriage wheel as they ran. then mr rogers tried again and again with the boys; but they had worse luck than the zulu, for they never got near enough for anything but very doubtful long shots at many hundred yards, with the sole result of making the birds more shy. if they could have known where the ostriches were likely to appear, and could have gone and lain wait, the task would have been easy; but the birds came into sight in the most out-of-the-way places, and at the most unexpected times, and not a plume came to be stuck up as a valuable trophy in the waggon. the general, clever hunter as he was, felt hurt at his ill-success, and pointed out the reason; and that was that the few birds about them had taken refuge here from the pursuit of hunters, having been chased most persistently in all the country round. "you must get an ostrich, chicory," he said to his son in his own language, as the boy was squatted down by his brother, who was recovering with rapid strides. "chicory shoot one," said the boy. and without a word he went to dinny, and obtained some strips of dried bok for provender, and then started off upon his quest. chapter twenty. drumsticks and lions. chicory came back the next day, for his brother's assegais, having lost his own, as he said, sticking in an ostrich's back. "bring him back soon," he said, as he sat down and ate tremendously for about an hour, after which he lay down and went to sleep by his wounded brother, and did not awake till his father came back with a little bok slung over his shoulder, and stirred him with his foot. chicory sprang up as if pricked, and in reply to his father's angry words in the zulu tongue, the boy made a reply which calmed the general's wrath directly, and then went away. when breakfast was ready the next morning, and dinny brought a number of skewers of wood laden with hot sputtering venison cutlets, to place before each hungry meal-seeker, chicory was not visible; and on being asked, coffee said his brother had gone as soon as the lions had left off roaring; but he came back before evening in a wonderful state of excitement, begging dick and jack to mount their horses and come to fetch in the ostrich he had speared. "where is it?" cried dick. the zulu boy pointed towards the east, and just then mr rogers came up. "he has speared an ostrich, father," cried dick eagerly. "indeed! how did you manage it, chicory?" said mr rogers. "so!" said the boy, throwing himself into a peculiar attitude, and holding up one arm with the hand bent down, so that side-wise his figure took something of the aspect of the long-necked bird. "then the ostrich must have been stupid," cried jack, laughing. "yes, 'tupid bird," said chicory, grinning. "never be 'tupid any more. come fetch him." the horses were soon ready, and they were about to start when dinny expressed a desire to go. "shure, i haven't sthretched me legs these three days, masther dick, dear, and i wouldn't mind exercising one of the big horses if the masther loiked." but "the masther" didn't "loike," not feeling disposed to trust a valuable animal to dinny's tender mercies; so that gentleman turned upon his heel, and went back to the waggon-fire in disgust, and sat over it to "warrum" himself, though every one else was complaining of the heat. it was a long ride, but chicory did not seemed tired. he laid hold of the mane of dick's or jack's horse, and ran easily along by the side. and had there been any doubt of the spot in which the game lay, the vultures going straight in one direction would have pointed it out. the sun was getting very low as they neared the place to which chicory pointed; and when they came up a perfect crowd of vultures rose, having been seated at a respectful distance, watching the bower of sticks with which chicory had surrounded his prize. it proved to be a full-grown ostrich, but it was in wretched plumage, and a little examination showed that there was a reason for chicory's success, the bird having been shot at and a good deal injured. it was such a miserable object that it would have been left behind had not the little party known that the general wanted it for a particular purpose; so it was strapped on to the back of mr rogers's saddle, to the great discomfort of the big bay, which immediately began to kick furiously. this kicking process caused the ostrich's long legs and neck to fly about and belabour the horse's sides, driving it almost frantic, and had he not been securely held he would have gone off at full gallop over the plain, probably to go on till he dropped or was pulled down by the lions. "look at the old drum," cried dick eagerly; "and how the drumsticks are giving it to his sides," a remark which ensured for the old bay horse the nickname of the "drum" to the end of the journey. fortunately for the party the moon in its first quarter was well advanced, and as the sunlight faded in the west they had the advantage of the soft silvery rays to guide them on their way. but all the same, the journey back was toilsome and dangerous; for no sooner did they attempt to go fast--chicory being mounted in turn behind one or other of the boys, than, as dick said, the sticks began to beat the drum, and the drum began to go mad, and snort and kick most violently. "ah, father," cried jack, "what a shame it was you did not lend dinny a horse; it would have been such fun to have seen him with the ostrich tied on behind." "shure, he'd have been kilt intoirely," said dick, mimicking dinny's accent. "i should not envy him his ride if it would have been anything like mine," said mr rogers drily. "hark, boys! there's a lion." "oomph! oomph!" came the low deep roar, like muttering thunder at home on a summer's night; and over and over again they noticed the peculiarity of the deep-toned growl. for it was as if some ventriloquist were imitating the cry in different parts of the wilderness. now it sounded close by, and the horses shivered and pawed the ground impatiently; then it seemed a little farther off; and again it was close by. they would gladly have galloped on if it had not been for the drumsticks, as dick called the ostrich's neck and legs, these necessitating a very gentle progress; and all the time the deep roar of the lion grew nearer. "want the horses," said chicory. "two--three--four lion." he pointed his hand in different directions; and now it was quite evident that that was no animal ventriloquism, but several lions attracted by the horses were cautiously approaching so as to make a successful spring. at last their unpleasant neighbours grew so demonstrative, that mr rogers gave the word, and they drew rein at the edge of a patch of wood, where there was an abundance of dry brush and grass. "we must not go any further, boys," exclaimed mr rogers. "dick, sit fast, and hold the reins of jack's and my horses. we'll jump down and make a fire. come, chicory, dead dry grass." the boy no sooner understood what was wanted than he began rapidly to gather up the dry grass into a heap, while jack and his father drew their heavy hunting-knives and chopped off the brushwood; but it was nervous work, for the low, muttering roar came ominously close, and at any moment dick felt that one of the great cat-like creatures, which have a terrible hunger after horseflesh, might spring upon one of the poor creatures, which trembled and whinnied, and tugged at the reins. "i shan't do much good, father," cried dick, "but i'm going to shoot where i think the lions are." "yes, fire," cried his father, who was down upon his knees, vainly trying to get the dry grass to burn; "fire as quickly as you can load." _bang_, _bang_, went dick's double gun on the instant; and apparently comforted by the noise, and perhaps an instinctive knowledge that the firing was for their protection, the horses ceased to embarrass their caretaker by tugging to get away, and crowded together, pressing one upon the other in their dread. there was a pause of about a minute's duration, and then the lions' cry was heard again a little more distant, but coming nearer and nearer; and still the fire would not burn, but kept on emitting a dense blinding smoke, which hid one great beast from dick's eyes, where he had distinctly seen the animal creeping along towards them. directly after, though, he saw another quite plainly in the bright moonlight, creeping cautiously onwards, and stooping from time to time as if about to spring. dick had reloaded by this time, and taking careful aim he fired again, when there was a furious roar, and they all heard quite plainly the snap and gnashing of the monster's teeth. "you've hit him, dick. keep it up, my boy. chicory, here! come and blow. i can't get this fire to burn." chicory threw himself upon his hands and knees, and as dick, with agitated fingers, hastily reloaded, and tried to see the next lion so as to have a shot at it, there came a deep-mouthed roar from behind. then another and another, and the horses grew frantic, for the beasts were evidently going to make their attack. dick raised his piece to his shoulder and prepared to fire, longing the while for some relief, when, all at once, there was a bright flash, and the fire that had refused for so long to burn, burst into a brilliant flame, showing three lions quite plainly, creeping along at a short distance; and as soon as they were a little farther off, they began growling again. jack and chicory had, however, gathered together a goodly portion of combustible wood, and there was plenty more at hand, so that a roaring fire was soon casting its light away from the wood, which somewhat sheltered them behind; and as soon as some of the good-sized pieces of bush were well ablaze, chicory began to send them flying in the directions where a low ominous growl or two told that the lions were waiting their time. farther progress was impossible, and, with the knowledge before them that they would have to pass the night where they were, a steady onslaught was kept on at the trees and bushes, goodly pieces of which were hacked off and used to feed the fire. every now and then, in spite of the blaze, some hungry lion would make a charge, one which dick, being pretty well experienced in such matters now, met by hurling a blazing stick at the beast, several of which sticks he kept burning and ready to his hand. for firing in the deceptive light at creatures whose colour assimilated so with that of the ground, was not only doubtful but dangerous, from its likelihood to wound and infuriate the savage beasts. when it was tried before the fire blazed up, it was as a last resource, and in the hope that the flash might help to intimidate, which, as it happened, in this case it did. there was very little rest, for, being unprovided with an axe, it was hard work to hack off the boughs with the hunting-knives, but as the night wore on and their enemies made no determined attacks, but, as it were, kept on skirmishing, one of the party did have a bit of a nap from time to time, though the horses neither ate nor slept, but stood shivering together, most probably longing, like their masters, for the morning light. it was only natural that mr rogers should feel sincere regret that he had left the camp so late in the day, but he told himself that it was a lesson, hard as it was to learn; and the boys pretty well took it to heart as they sat there listening to the fierce muttering growls that came from all around. nearer and nearer when the fire was allowed to burn a little lower, more distant when the blaze sprang up, and a few burning pieces were sent whizzing through the air like fireworks, dick being particularly clever at making the burning brands spin round catherine-wheel fashion, blazing furiously as they flew. that weary night seemed as if it would never end, and to the dismay of all, it became very plain that the lions were madly excited at the presence of the horses, and that their hunger was beginning to make them think less of the fire and the burning brands. so close were two or three of the rushes that it was all mr rogers and his sons could do to keep the horses from dashing away, one lion in particular coming so well into sight that jack could not resist the temptation to fire; and so well placed was the bullet that the lion fell paralysed, and lay struggling impotently, till a second well-aimed bullet put an end to its pain. this was one enemy the less, but matters looked more ominous than ever, for the supply of wood within reach was exhausted, and the last armful had produced more smoke than blaze. there seemed to be nothing else for it then but to mount and ride for their lives, irrespective of the darkness, and trust to their good fortune to bring them safe away. "when i give the word `mount!' leap on your horses, and dash off," said mr rogers at last, for the mutterings of the lions were growing nearer and nearer. "and how about you, father?" asked dick. "i shall be close behind you, my boy." "and chicory?" said jack. "i shall cut the ostrich loose, and chicory will jump up behind me, and hold on as best he can." "let him come behind me, father," said dick. "no, behind me," cried jack. "silence!" exclaimed mr rogers. "there is no time for argument. be ready. we'll all throw at the lions together as they come on, and then mount and off before they recover from their confusion." each stood to his horse's head then, and held a piece of blazing wood ready--when mr rogers uttered a thankful sigh. "morning at last, my boys!" he exclaimed, as a faint light began to make the trees around visible; and by rapid degrees the fire began to pale, and the various objects grow more plain. then there were a few golden clouds high up above their heads; and the big bay suddenly uttered a loud neigh, which was answered by a roar close at hand. but dick hurled his burning brand in that direction, and there was a savage snarl, after which the weary party had peace, for the lions seemed to have departed. while the moment the sun's edge appeared above the plain, all mounted, and keeping a sharp look out, went off at full gallop towards the camp. they reached it without molestation, the horses seeming almost to fly; and there they found that all had been very uneasy, and that they had passed the night keeping up a blazing fire, and firing guns at intervals, so as to guide them back. "but it's a wonder ye found us at all at all, sor," said dinny. "why?" asked mr rogers. "shure, sor, the lions have been rampaging around the waggon the whole night through, and i had to kape them off by throwing burning sthicks and shouting at 'em, for pater and dirk were about as much good as a couple of babbies, and the big sooloo went to slape and snored." "that's just what i'm going to do, dinny," said jack, yawning. and to show that he meant it, no sooner had he tied up and seen to his horse, than he threw himself down, his example being followed by the others, so that it was getting close upon noon before breakfast was attacked. chapter twenty one. a lesson in ostrich hunting. that same afternoon dick, who had taken the glass and mounted a tree for a look round, announced ostriches in sight, and the general smiled and said it was his turn now. while the others had slept he had been very busy, skinning the ostrich, and stuffing its long neck, and, to the astonishment of dinny, he placed four or five little assegais ready, and then threw the skin of the ostrich over his head and shoulders, holding up the head by means of a stick run through the neck, and then, turning on one side, only his bare legs were visible. jack burst into a roar of laughter, and chicory began to get rid of his superfluous excitement in his usual way--by dancing round and round and indulging in a few kicks and jumps. it was a very clumsy imitation of an ostrich, but experience had often proved it to be sufficiently near to beguile the great birds, especially when, after stalking along for a short distance, the head was lowered to the ground, for there were the head, neck, and feathers, and that seemed enough for the birds. thus accoutred, then, the general moved out of camp, laughingly asking that no one should follow and shoot him by mistake for one of the birds. the three boys followed, dick carrying a glass; and poor coffee wistfully watched their departure. they could not, however, go far, lest they should scare the birds, so they kept in the cover of the wood for nearly a mile, and then stood watching the proceedings of chicory's father. the general went steadily on, with the ostrich's head held well erect; but every now and then he paused, lowered the long neck, and seemed to be engaged in feeding; and at such times he walked side-wise and away from the little group of three ostriches, which were feeding about a mile away. as the zulu got to be more distant, his motions had a very natural appearance; so much so that dick and jack began to feel that had they seen him without being prepared, they would certainly have had a shot at him, believing him to be the real thing. he took advantage of every bit of cover he could see, passing amongst the trees and bushes, and whenever he was out of sight, hastening his steps till he was nearly abreast of the ostriches, when he came into sight again. as he did so the three birds paused in their feeding, ran together, and for a moment it seemed as if all the labour was about to be lost. it was very plain that they were diligently scrutinising the new comer; and this was the critical time. a moment's haste, the slightest false move, and the three birds would have gone off like the wind. but as they saw the stranger turn a little away from them, lower its head, and apparently make a dart at some great beetle or locust amongst the herbage, and then hunt out another and another, their timidity passed away, they troubled themselves no more about the new comer, and went on feeding. it was very interesting to watch the disguised zulu, apparently feeding away from the ostriches, but all the time softly edging himself nearer and nearer. "oh, i say! what stupids they are!" said jack. "look at his legs. they arn't a bit like ostrich legs, and yet they don't see." "all 'toopids," said chicory delightedly. "wait a bit." from where they stood the general now seemed to be touching the wary birds; but this could not be the case they knew; and they stood watching attentively, taking the greatest of care not to show themselves, lest they should alarm the ostriches, for experience had shown them that they would dash off if they saw any one a mile away. "now look," cried dick excitedly. "look!" for the biggest bird of the group had suddenly seemed to take umbrage at the appearance of the stranger, and stalking straight up to it darted its head sharply, evidently giving a vicious peck. the next instant it was seen to make a bound forward, and fall over upon its side, apparently kicking feebly. the other two raised their heads and seemed alarmed; but one began feeding again, and the other stalked gravely up to continue the punishment the first had commenced. this time, by the help of the glass, dick saw the zulu stoop down, and deliver a thrust with an assegai, and this bird toppled forward and fell. the third seemed alarmed, but it did not take flight, only stood still while the general, imitating the gait of the other birds, ran up alongside it, and seemed to be staring like the other at the fallen birds. this time they saw no motion on the general's part, only that the third he struck suddenly took to running at a tremendous rate, but dropped like a stone before it had gone a quarter of a mile, and the general rid himself of what must have been a very hot and uncomfortable disguise, and mounting an ant-hill signalled to them to come. "three ostriches," cried dick delightedly; "their feathers ought to be worth a great deal. run back and fetch my father, chicory." but there was no need, for mr rogers had seen the manoeuvres of his follower, and now came out of the camp, followed by dinny. "ah," said the latter to the boys, "it was moighty well done, and i've come to help pick the big birds. they tell me that some of the payple here kape the horse-stretches like chickens in connaught, and that they lay beautiful foine new-laid eggs. bedad, one of them ladies ought to lay a dacent-sized egg, and i wouldn't mind having one for breakfast by way of a change." it was with no little delight then that dick pointed out the fact to dinny that they were all cock-birds, when they got up and found each had been pierced through the heart with an assegai. their plumage was splendid, and after a great deal of tough, hot work several bundles of the valuable feathers were made up and carried to the camp, to spread out and dry and then store away, to help pay for the expenses of the trip. the party had hardly turned their backs upon the denuded birds before the vultures, which had been gathering for some time, suddenly began to drop down to act their part of scavengers; and before night fell, there were only a few scattered bones to show where the ostriches had been. chapter twenty two. look before you step: 'ware snakes. coffee was gathering strength every day, and the wounds in his healthy young flesh healing rapidly. so much better was he that there was no occasion to study him any longer on the question of danger in moving, so the well-fed oxen were in-spanned, and a few more treks brought the party to one of the tributaries of the limpopo, whose main stream they hoped to reach on the following day. the country here was much less regular, and the work for the oxen grew more difficult, but they found capital quarters, with plenty of good grass, strong thorn bush for a kraal; and as the place promised sport, and plenty of natural history specimens amongst the rocks and rifts into which the land was broken, mr rogers determined to rest here for a day or two. so a kraal was formed, the cattle sent to graze; the boys mounted shoes and stockings, and starting to get something in the way of game, were pretty successful, bringing in a plump young bok; and as evening came on and they were resting, dinny suddenly made his appearance with a long stout stick and a line. "i've been looking," he said, "and there's some moighty foine water close by here, and a bit of salmon wouldn't be amiss." "there are no salmon here, dinny," said dick. "then there are some good big fish, anyhow," said dinny; and he went off some fifty or sixty yards to where the narrow little stream ran at the bottom of rather a steep declivity. "mind you don't have any of the gintlemen throwing stones at you, dinny," shouted dick. "ah, you'd better be careful," said mr rogers, smiling; "those rocks look a likely place for baboons." "whist, schah!" exclaimed dinny contemptuously; "as if i'd be afraid of a monkey;" and he soon disappeared from sight. the soft coolness of the evening was creeping on, the occupants of the little camp were restfully listening to the _crop_, _crop_! of the cattle, and mr rogers was about to give orders for them to be driven into the kraal, when the peace of the camp was broken by a loud cry from towards the little river. "murther! help! masther dear. help, or it's dead i'll be!" yelled the familiar voice of dinny. guns always lay handy, and they were seized, and all ran towards where dinny was yelling for help, a sharp look out being kept for baboons. "i dare say they've attacked him," said mr rogers. "they are very vicious, and tremendously strong. why, where is he? dinny! dinny!" "hee-ar! help!" cried dinny. and running in the direction of the sound, they came upon dinny's boot-soles, and were just in time to save him from gliding into the little river, head first, the tuft of grass to which he was clinging having given way. "an' did ye see the murthering baste?" cried dinny, who looked white through his sunburning. "no, i saw nothing," cried mr rogers. "ah, but he's down there in the muddy water. shure i'd caught one great ugly fat fish like an overgrown son of an eel; there he lies where he wriggled himself," said dinny, pointing to a fine silurus lying in a niche of the rock. "and i'd hooked another, when a great baste of a thing wid the wickedest oi ye ever see, and a smile as wide as the mouth of the shannon, came up and looked at me. `oh, murther!' i says; and he stared at me, and showed me what a fine open countenance he had; and just then the big fish i'd hooked made a dash, and gave such a tug that i slipped as i lay head downwards, bechuckst thim two bits o' bushes, and i couldn't get meself back agin." "why, there's the fish on the line still," cried jack, seizing the rough rod, and trying to land the captive of dinny's hook. "ah, and ye'll take care, masther dick, for i belave it's that great baste has swallowed the fish, and ye'll be pulling him to land." dinny was not right; and full of excitement, jack was trying hard to land the fish, when there was a rush and a swirl in the water, and as they caught sight of the head and jaws of a good-sized crocodile the line was snapped, and the little party stood gazing at the muddy stream. "shure an' that's him," said dinny. "did ye ever see such a baste?" "a warning not to bathe," said mr rogers; and after watchfully waiting to see if the reptile would give them an opportunity for a shot, they walked back to the camp, dinny carrying his fish, and bemoaning the loss of the other and his tackle. "how big should you think that was, father?" said dick. "about twelve feet long, to judge from the size of his head," said mr rogers. "you must be careful, boys, and mind that the cattle are watched when they go down to drink. the crocodiles are most objectionable beasts, and i suppose the limpopo and its tributaries swarm with them." they seemed now to have got into quite a reptilian paradise. low down by the river the land was swampy, hot, and steamy to a degree; and here amidst the long rank reeds, canes, and herbage the crocodiles revelled, while water-lizards of great size made their tracks along the banks. higher up out of the ravine where the river ran, the land was rocky and full of nooks and corners, which the sun seemed literally to bake. here came flies innumerable, buzzing and stinging viciously when their abode was invaded, and over and about the sun-parched rocks the various kinds of lizards swarmed, and preyed upon the flies and beetles. they were very beautiful, these flies and beetles, and lizards--the former with their brilliant colours and gauzy wings, the latter in their jewelled and polished armour, often of the most brilliant metallic tints, and always glistening in the sun. hundreds of the brightly armoured beetles were captured, and transferred to the boxes kept for the purpose; but it was dangerous work, for poisonous snakes lurked amongst these sun-baked rocks, twisted in sleepy knots, and so like in hue to the stones amongst which they lay that a foot might at any moment be inadvertently placed upon them. jack had an adventure of this kind the very day after their arrival. there had been some talk of going, as the general proposed, after one or other of the herds of antelope feeding upon a plain a couple of miles distant; but mr rogers said the larder was well filled, and his idea of a pleasant hunting trip was not one where mere butchery was the rule, but where a sufficiency was killed for their daily use. "by all means, let us destroy such noxious animals as we come across," he said; "and i am keen sportsman enough to want to shoot some of the large game; but let us be naturalists, boys, and not simply slayers of all we see." the result was that they spent that day collecting insects and small reptiles, chicory accompanying them to carry a large open-mouthed bottle of spirits with stopper and sling, and the glass protected by a stout network of soft copper wire. into this spirit-bottle little vipers, scorpions, spiders, and similar creatures, were dropped, chicory holding the stopper, and throwing back his head and grinning with delight as some wriggling little poisonous creature was popped in. in fact, chicory was an indefatigable hunter of great things and small, taking readily to natural history pursuits; but he had his drawbacks, one of which was a belief that the little snakes and tiny lizards dropped into the spirits of wine were to make some kind of soup; and he had to be stopped just in time to prevent his well amalgamating the contents of the great flask by giving it a good shake up. "dere's one, boss dick. dere's nother one, boss jack," he kept on saying, his quick restless eyes discovering the various objects long before his english companions. they were up in one of the superheated rifts among the rocks, with the sun pouring down so powerfully that the whole party were very languid and disposed to seek the first shelter, when an incident that might have had a fatal termination came upon them like a shot. jack was in advance, and about to climb up to a shelf of rock in pursuit of some brilliant little lizards that were darting in and out of the crevices when chicory shouted out,-- "boss jack! mind snake!" it was too late. there was a great dust-coloured puff-adder lying in his way, with its thick clumsy body nestled in amongst the hot stones; and even as the zulu boy's warning was uttered, jack's boot pressed heavily upon the lower part of the dangerous reptile's body. sluggish and dull before, this assault brought the reptile into a state of activity that was almost wonderful, and before jack could realise his peril the short thick viper had struck twice at his leg. before, however, it could strike again, its head lay upon the stones, cut off by a blow from chicory's long-bladed assegai, and the body of the dangerous beast was writhing amongst and rattling the stones. "chicory 'fraid he broke a bottle," said the boy, who had dropped it in his excitement. but the flask and its natural history contents formed a very minor consideration just then. "are you hurt, my boy?" cried mr rogers quickly. "sit down there. here, dick, the spirit-flask. now then, draw up your trouser-leg." jack obeyed, and mr rogers immediately stripped down the lad's rough worsted stocking, taking out his penknife and preparing to make the tiny punctures bleed freely, and to suck the fatal poison from the wounds. "does it pain you much?" said mr rogers excitedly; and his hands trembled for a moment, but only to grow strong directly. "no," said jack stoically. "don't be afraid, my boy; be a man. now where was it?" "i won't be afraid," replied jack. "i won't mind the knife, father." "quick! show me. where was the wound?" exclaimed mr rogers. "i don't know. it bit at me twice," replied jack; "somewhere below the knee." "these creatures' teeth are like needles," said mr rogers. "look, dick; can you see? two tiny punctures together?" "would it bleed, father?" said dick. "most likely not." "i don't see the wound, father." "nor i, my boy; but my head swims, and i feel giddy. it is as if there was a mist before my eyes. oh, my boy! my boy!" "snake never bite um at all," cried chicory sturdily. "all swellum and look blue by dis time. only bite leggum trousers." jack burst into a roar of laughter, and a strange reaction took place, for chicory was undoubtedly right: the loose trouser-leg had caught the virulent little reptile's fangs, and averted the danger. for there was no gainsaying the matter. jack felt nothing the matter with him, when, if he had been injured, he would have been under the influence of the terribly rapid poison by then, whereas he was ready to jump up and laugh at the mistake. he did not laugh much, however, for his father's serious looks checked him. and soon after, when they were alone, mr rogers said something to his son about thankfulness for his escape which brought the tears into the boy's eyes. the next minute, though, father and son joined hands, and no more was said. it was another warning to be careful, and of the many dangers by which they were surrounded, and the boys promised to temper their daring with more discretion for the future. they afterwards called that the reptile day, for the number of scaly creatures they saw was prodigious. "but i want to see one of those tremendously great boa-constrictors," said dick, "one of the monsters you read of in books." "as big round as the mast of a man-of-war, and as long, eh?" said his father. "yes," said dick. "then i'm afraid, my boy, that you will be disappointed, for from my own experience i think those creatures exist only in the imaginations of writers. i dare say they may grow to thirty feet long, but you may take a boa of eighteen or twenty feet as a monster, and as big as you are likely to see. that was a very large serpent you shot in the valley there." "oh," said dick; "i don't call that a long one." "this is just the sort of place to find a large one, i should say," continued mr rogers. "hot, dry, stony places for basking, and dense, hot, steamy nooks down by the little river and lagoons where it would be likely to lie in wait for its prey." but though they looked well about, they saw nothing, and the heat having now become intense, they found a clump of trees close by a trickling streamlet that ran along from the rocks to the river, and sat down to rest and eat their lunch. they felt too drowsy and tired with their morning's walking to care to do much in the afternoon, and they were quietly looking over their captures after shifting their places twice to get out of the sun as the shadow swept on, when dick suddenly caught his father's arm, and pointed towards the rocks. "what's that shining over there?" he said quickly. chicory had been asleep the moment before, but dick's movement and question roused him on the instant, and he glanced in the direction indicated. "big snake," he said decisively. "chicory go and kill um." the boy ran towards the rocks, and, picking up their guns, the rest followed--to see that it was a large serpent from whose scales the sun had gleamed. they could not even guess at its length it was so knotted up in folds; but its body was nearly as big round as that of chicory, who seemed in nowise afraid of the great reptile, but picked up a mass of rock larger than his head, balanced it on one hand, and advanced towards the sleeping serpent, which had chosen one of the hottest portions of the rock for its siesta. "_yap_! _yap_! _yap_!" shouted chicory; and the creature moved slowly, its whole body seeming to be in motion. this was not enough for chicory, who drew his kiri out of his waistband, and threw it heavily at the reptile. this seemed to rouse it into action, and after a more rapid gliding of one coil over the other, the creature's evil-looking head rose up, hissing menacingly at its disturber, who raised the piece of rock with both hands above his head, and dashed it down upon the serpent's crest, crushing it to the ground, after which the boy nimbly leaped away, to avoid the writhing of its body and the fierce whipping of the creature's tail. "well done, chicory, my brave boy," cried mr rogers, patting the zulu lad upon the shoulder. "yes, chicory very brave boy," said the lad, smiling complacently, and quite innocent of his words sounding conceited. "chicory kill all big snake for boss. boss boys very kind to coffee, and father love 'em." this was a long speech for chicory, who nodded and smiled, and ended by waiting his opportunity, and then seizing the boa's tail and running away with it to stretch the creature out. but it was too heavy, and its writhings continued even after the boys had fired a charge of small shot at close quarters through the reptile's head. they wanted to measure it, but that was impossible from its writhings. mr rogers, however, made an approximate calculation, and then said, quietly,-- "i should say it was as near as can be nineteen feet long, and unusually large in girth." "oh, father," cried jack; "it must be thirty-nine feet long." "ah, jack, my boy," replied his father, laughing, "that's old travellers' measurement--and they always allowed six feet to the yard-- that is, twenty-four inches to the foot; and that's why ourang-outangs, and whales, and serpents were always so large." but they had not yet arrived at the end of their reptile adventures. they waited for some time to see if the boa would cease its writhings; but the muscular contractions still continuing, and the dark tortoiseshell-like markings of brown and yellow and black glistening in the sun quite two hours after the creature might reasonably have been said to be killed, they gave it up and went further afield. "suppose we leave this series of red-hot rocks, boys, and go down towards the water. from the appearance of the country over yonder i fancy that the stream widens out into a lake." "how do you know, father?" asked dick. "from the character of the trees and other growth. don't you see how much more leafy and luxuriant it looks. keep your eyes well opened and your pieces ready. i dare say we may meet with a rare bird or two, perhaps some kind of water-buck--ready for the camp to-morrow!" as mr rogers had predicted, a couple of miles walking brought them to what in parts was quite a marsh full of canes and reeds; but every here and there were beautiful pools of breeze-rippled water, spread with lovely lilies and other water-plants, while the edges were fringed with willow-like wands and waving sedges. so beautiful was the scene where the little river widened, and wound through the low ground, that as they wandered about amongst the firmer ground they forbore to shoot, but paused from time to time to watch the lovely plumage of the various ducks and cranes that made the lagoons their home. not a shot then had been fired, and as they wandered in and out they found plenty to take their attention. every here and there chicory found for them some nest in amongst the reeds--the nursery of duck or crane. but the most interesting thing that they saw in the shape of nests was that of a kind of sociable grossbeak, a flock of which had built a town in a large tree, quite a hundred nests being together in common; while in another tree, whose branches drooped over the water, there were suspended dozens of a curiously woven bottle-shaped nest, with its entrance below, to keep the young birds from the attack of snakes. "what's that noise?" said jack, suddenly, as he was on about a quarter of a mile ahead with his brother, mr rogers being busily transferring some water-beetles to chicory's spirit-bottle, which escaped breaking after all from the toughness of the wire. "i don't know," replied dick. "it sounds like some animal. and there's a scuffling noise as well. "it's just like a cow moaning, a very long way off. i wonder what it is?" "i don't think it's a long way off. it seems to me to be pretty close." they moved about among the reeds and bushes, but could see nothing. "i know what it is," said jack, laughing. "it's some kind of big frog or toad: they live in such marshy places as this, and they croak and make noises that seem to be ever so far-off, when they are close by." "oh! look, jack! oh, poor thing!" cried his brother. "where? where?" "over yonder, across the water." jack caught sight of the objects that had taken his brother's attention, and for a few moments the boys seemed passive spectators of the horrible scene. across the lagoon, and some fifty yards away, a beautiful antelope, with gracefully curved spiral horns, had apparently come out of the bushes to drink, at a point of land running a little way into the lake, when it had been seized by a hideous-looking crocodile. the monster's teeth-armed jaws had closed upon the unfortunate antelope's muzzle, and a furious struggle was going on, during which, as it uttered its piteous feeble lowing noise, something between the cry of a calf and a sheep, the crocodile, whose tail was in the water on the side of the point farthest from where the spectators stood, was striving to drag its prey into the lagoon. the antelope made a brave struggle, but the tremendous grip of the reptile and its enormous weight, rendered the efforts of the poor beast vain: and as the boys gazed across, they saw the poor brute dragged down upon its knees and chest, and the crocodile shuffling slowly back into the water, an inch at a time. "oh, the poor, poor beast!" cried dick piteously. "oh, jack, how dreadful!" "poor old crocodile!" said jack coolly, for he had now recovered himself. "if he's going to eat all that buck for his dinner he'll suffer from indigestion. i say, dick, let's give him a couple of pills." as he spoke, jack sank upon one knee in the reeds so as to rest his rifle well, and catching at his brother's idea, dick followed suit. "take a good, steady aim, dick, right behind his eye, so as not to hit the antelope: and when i say fire, pull trigger as softly as you can. take it coolly. ready?" "yes." "fire!" it was none too soon, for the antelope was being dragged along, growing more helpless and its struggles more faint moment by moment, while the body of the crocodile was disappearing backwards down the slope of the point of land. but that loathsome-looking head was still visible, dragging the helpless, striving antelope, whose piteous rolling eyes could be plainly seen by the boys. the next instant, though, they had concentrated their gaze on the gleaming orb of the crocodile, thrown all their power of nerve into that aim, and, so as not to disturb their rifle-sights by the slightest movement, softly drew trigger. the reports of the rifles were almost simultaneous, and for a few moments the boys could see nothing for smoke: but as the tiny cloud of vapour lifted, they looked eagerly across. there was nothing to be seen. chapter twenty three. an interference with washing, and the result. "oh," cried jack, "we both missed, and he has drawn the poor thing in." "i don't believe i missed," said dick. "no: look, jack!" for at that moment they saw a movement amongst the undergrowth behind where the antelope had been kneeling; and the poor beast, with bleeding nostrils and starting eyes, staggered down to the water's edge, drank with avidity, and then bounded back as another or the same crocodile half leaped out of the water to catch it. but the antelope, weak and exhausted though it was, escaped, and bounded away into the dense reeds, while jack as he coolly reloaded his rifle-barrel said,-- "nice place this, dicky. let's take our clothes off and have a bathe." "ugh!" shuddered dick. "the monsters!" "what have you shot, boys?" said mr rogers, hurrying up. "i was afraid it was an accident, the two rifles went off like one." they told him, and being eager to see if there was any trace of the crocodile, they went round the shores of the little lake to the other side of the point, for the river wound so that the incident took place on their own bank; but for a few minutes they could see nothing but muddy water. "i'm afraid you did not kill him, boys," said mr rogers. "but we frightened him off," cried jack; "and that's something." "chicory find him; look!" cried the boy, pointing where he stood. they went to his side, and there sure enough, with its light underparts showing, lay a great crocodile, its tail moving feebly to and fro, and, most satisfactory sight of all to the boys, a couple of threads of blood rising slowly from the monster's head through the clear water. "hah!" it was chicory who shouted, and as he did so he struck back his young masters. for his quick eyes had seen what looked like a dark shadow in the river; and his effort was just in time, for a huge crocodile threw itself half out of the water, disappearing again with a sullen plunge as it missed its prey. "i think that will do for to-day, boys," said mr rogers. "let's get back to the waggon. for my part i feel disposed to spend the rest of our time shooting crocodiles, so as to try and rid the country of a few of the pests." "only all we could kill would be as nothing, would they, father?" said dick. "no, they would hardly count," replied mr rogers; and they made the best of their way back to the waggon, only too glad of the meal dinny had ready for them, roast and boiled. chicory turned a rough kind of somersault as he caught sight of his brother sitting up and doing that which was dear to chicory's own heart--eating; and as there was a good share of food beside coffee, the tired brother made no scruple about going to join him and help him eat. it was wonderful what that boy could eat when he was thoroughly hungry. dinny would stare at him, rub his ears, and screw up his face with a look of disgust, while the very dogs seemed envious of his powers. rough'un would wait patiently for some time bearing it all apparently as he abided his own time; but when he saw chicory keep steadily on he began to bark furiously, as if such behaviour were not to be borne. "shure, masther dick, it's my honest belafe," said dinny, "that if you put down enough mate before them two sooloo boys they'd kape on aiting till they got to be hungry again." in spite of the heat of the weather, the performances of dick and jack upon strong venison essence and roast gazelle were enough to startle any housekeeper of small income and an anxiety about the state of the butcher's bill. but of course the outdoor life and constant exertion produced a tremendous appetite; and as mr rogers noted the change in dick, whose palate had to be tempted only a short time back, he felt thankful to see the difference. dinny had outdone himself that day in the matter of cookery; and a hearty meal having been eaten, the boys spent half-an-hour with their pets, the leopard being so far particularly docile, and their horses whinnying with satisfaction as soon as they heard their masters' steps. then there were the cattle to look at, all of which were sleek and well; and lastly, the various specimens to arrange before going to rest. the sun was getting low by this time, and the stillness of the wilds was only broken by the twittering of a little flock of birds in the adjacent trees, when dinny came running from the river-side-- "hoi, sor! bring the roifles, an' ye plaze. here's pater being swallowed down by one of thim great crocodivils!" "quick, boys!" cried mr rogers; but there was no need to speak, for the rifles had been already seized, and away the little party ran, towards the river. the water was not visible till they were close upon it, on account of the conformation of the land; but when they did come in sight, the scene was so curious that they halted with cocked pieces, gazing down from the rocks at black peter the driver. peter being a particularly cleanly man had taken a pair of his linen drawers down to the stream to wash, with dinny sitting on the edge of the rock smoking his pipe, and looking-on. all had gone well till peter was beating the garment about in the water for a final rinse, when suddenly the jaws of a huge crocodile were protruded from the surface, not a yard away. as might have been expected, peter dropped his drawers, and darted back, while the crocodile remained staring at him, and dinny rushed off shouting for help. they learned afterwards that what they had now seen had been repeated several times. for just as they paused, peter was creeping cautiously forward towards where his drawers lay upon the sand, stooping with outstretched hand to seize them, when there was the slightest disturbance possible in the water, and the head of a monstrous crocodile appeared. back darted peter, and the head of the crocodile sank slowly beneath the water, when, unaware that help was at hand, peter waited a minute or two, and then once more stole gently and on tiptoe towards his much-coveted garb. this time his hand was almost upon it when out came the crocodile's head, and peter nimbly darted back, but only to come on again as quietly as possible, apparently quite ignorant of the fact that it was by the eye that the reptile distinguished his coming, and not by ear. twice more was this watched, when mr rogers, feeling alarmed lest the driver should be too venturesome, whispered to his sons to shoot. "no, father," whispered back dick; "we want to see you shoot this one." mr rogers hesitated a moment, and then lying down upon his chest he rested the barrel of his rifle on the edge of the rock where it went perpendicularly down to the little strand, and waited for the next appearance of the dangerous monster. he had not long to wait, for peter seemed to be determined this time to make sure of his garment, and cautiously stealing forward he had almost touched it, when out came the crocodile's head once more, and as peter darted back it remained stationary, its hideous eyes watching the black driver, when mr rogers' rifle spoke out, and peter fell upon his back, yelling for help; while the stream, that had quietly rippled over where the crocodile lay, was suddenly beaten by the monster's struggles into a tempest of foam. "are ye kilt, pater, ma black bouchal?" cried dinny piteously, as he leaped down to the aid of his fellow-servant. "mind the crocodile, dinny," shouted dick maliciously. "oh! murther!" roared dinny; and he scrambled up the rock again, and sat there panting, as the boys roared with laughter. "ah, and it's moighty funny, i've no doubt, masther dick, sor, but how would you fale yourself if one of the great crocodivils had got hold of ye?" "very bad, dinny," said dick. "there, go and help peter; he isn't hurt, only frightened." "thought boss shot me," said peter, making a rush, and then triumphantly waving his drawers over his head, before withdrawing to a place of safety, where he could watch with the others the dying struggles of the crocodile, which grew weaker and weaker, and then ceased; and the stream flowed calmly on, sweeping away the mud and sand, and revealing the body of the monster, apparently quite dead, at the bottom of the shallow water. generally speaking these reptiles get away into the depths of the rivers, or into some deep hole beneath the banks, but this one had apparently been hit so badly that it had not had time to get away, and the sight of the monster so excited the boys, that they begged hard to have it dragged out on to the strand. "but it is of no use, and its musky odour will be very offensive," said mr rogers. "but we want to see it, father--to measure it, and see how long it is, and how big round." "very well," said mr rogers, "then you shall. peter, get one of the oxen and a rope, and we'll drag the brute ashore. dinny, go and ask the general to come." the zulu chief, and peter with his ox, arrived at about the same time, when no sooner did the former hear what was wanted than he made a big loop, waded into the water, and slipped the noose over the monster's head. this noose was pulled tight, the rope attached to the yoke of the ox, the word given, and the crocodile drawn not only out of the water on to the strand, but through an opening in the rock and on to the firm ground above. here the general proceeded to unfasten the rope, mr rogers curiously examining the mark made by his bullet just behind the creature's eye, when, to the astonishment of all present, the reptile made a tremendous snap with its awful jaws, and as the general darted aside, the creature began to thrash the air with its tail, sweeping it from side to side, and snapping its jaws as it began to move off towards the edge of the little cliff. both dick and jack stood there paralysed for a few moments, for they had believed the reptile dead; but dick soon recovered, and as the crocodile was slowly progressing, snapping its jaws menacingly as it went, the boy went close up and fired at its eye. there was a terrible convulsion; then the monster levelled shrubs and herbage in all directions, after which it suddenly seemed to succumb, when getting peter to help him, the zulu thrust one of the reptile's legs beneath it, got hold of the other, and the crocodile was hauled over upon its back, and the keen knife of the zulu cut its head nearly off, and ripped it open from end to end. "he'll never get over this," said jack. "i dare say this wretch has killed hundreds of innocent creatures in its day, and i'm glad it's done." they were not disturbed by lions that night, but the mosquitoes and sand-flies made up for it, tormenting them so that morning was gladly hailed, and jack and dick went off with a measuring tape to get the length and girth of the great reptile as a trophy. "i say eighteen feet long," said jack decidedly, as they walked along. "do you remember what father said about the travellers' measurements?" said dick drily. "no, jack, he is not eighteen feet long, nor sixteen. i should say fifteen feet." "but i read that they grow to twenty-five and thirty feet long," said jack. "perhaps they do," replied dick, "but our one hadn't time to grow so long, and--hallo!" "hallo!" said jack. "hallo!" said dick again. "father must have had it dragged back into the stream, so let's go back. pah! how busy the vultures have been." they had evidently been gorging themselves upon the crocodile's vitals since daybreak, and a perfect flock of them flew sluggishly away as the boys made sure that the reptile was not where it had been left, and then went back to ask their father about the monster. "no," he said, "i have not had the creature touched. i'll go with you. here, general." the zulu strode up, and chicory followed; and thus strengthened they went back to the place where the crocodile had been left, and the general pointed out the exact spot where it had lain. then bending down, he pointed with his finger to certain marks leading to the edge of the little cliff, and then showed that it was evident that the crocodile had struggled to the edge, and fallen over some six feet on to the sand and stones below. "but he couldn't have gone down there," cried dick. "father shot him dead, and then i did." "was that you speaking, my boy, or dinny?" said mr rogers, smiling. "ah, but you know what i mean, father," cried the boy; and then they all looked down on to the strand, but not without keeping a watchful eye upon the water. here the general showed the impression made by the crocodile in the sand, and also the marks of its claws and tail as it crawled into the river, and then they all stared at each other. "why, it must have come to life again," said jack. "no kill some crocodiles," said the zulu solemnly; and then, after a little more examination of the spot, mr rogers turned back towards the camp, dick and jack remembering that it was breakfast-time, and feeling quite ready for another hearty meal. "but could the crocodile come to life again, father?" asked jack. "certainly not, my boy. it could not have been killed; and horrible as its injuries were, it seems to have had life enough to enable it to crawl back into the river, where probably it now lies dead at the bottom amongst the mud." chapter twenty four. jack rogers and the runaway herds. the general found a shallow fording-place, when the limpopo itself was reached; and no little excitement was displayed by dinny at the thought of recklessly plunging into a river that was as full as a pay shuck, he said, of crocodivils. but the river had to be crossed; and when all was ready the order "trek!" was given, peter's whip cracked, and the team went down a slope into the river at a trot, dirk bravely walking by the side of the foremost oxen on finding jack and dick, on horseback, ready to lead the way. dinny groaned, and crept into the waggon unseen by any one; while coffee, chicory, and the general took over the horses side by side with mr rogers. the stream ran fast, but it was very shallow, and the bottom was hard, so that the waggon was got over in safety, the oxen dragging it well up on the other side before they were allowed to halt; and so successful had the passage been that there might not have been a crocodile in the river. the fact was of course that the trampling and disturbance of so many hoofs kept the reptiles at a distance; but as the waggon was halted, and mr rogers gave a glance under to see that all was right, the dogs began running and snuffing about amongst the reeds and grass at the side, when pompey suddenly uttered a hideous yell, and bounded away, careering over the plain with his tail between his legs, having had a very narrow escape from a small and active crocodile, which had literally thrown itself out of the water in its endeavour to catch him. the land presented an entirely different aspect now, vast plains running away towards the horizon; and in places it looked rather ominous, for it was parched and dry. plenty of good grass and water were absolute necessities for the success of their expedition, so mr rogers paused to consult with the general, who pointed to the fact that there were great herds of game upon the plain, a sign which indicated that there must be pasture and water, and as he expressed his thorough conviction that plenty of grass would be found on in advance, the order was given once more to trek. "but where's dinny?" cried mr rogers; "surely we have not left him behind." "no, sor," said a whining voice; "shure i was putting things a bit sthrait in the waggon. are we safe across the wather yet?" "safe?" cried dick contemptuously; "no! not a bit. look out, dinny, or we shall have one of the crocodiles pursuing us on horseback on purpose to have a snap at you." "shure an' ye's joking," said dinny thrusting his head out of the back of the waggon; "and maybe he'd prefer you, masther dick, as being tinderer to his teeth and more gintale." the journey during the next few days was more laborious than interesting. it was intensely hot; water was scarce, so was pasture; and but for the wise provision of the couple of goodly-sized tubs strung behind the waggon, there would have been a great deal of suffering. nobody knew the position of those tubs better than pompey, caesar, and crassus, unless it was rough'un, for no sooner did they become thirsty, and fail to discover water, than they took their places behind the waggon and watched the barrels, "dhrinking 'em dhry wid their eyes," so dinny said, and barking loudly whenever a drop was drawn. the plains they crossed seemed to be endless, so did the herds of various kinds of game; and one evening the party separated in search of something for the larder, which had become low. the general went in one direction with dick, mr rogers went in another with chicory, and in a very independent spirit jack shouldered his rifle, and went off by himself to see what he could bring down. about a mile from the bank he came upon what promised to be a capital place for stalking one or other of the herds grazing on the plain, namely, the bed of a nearly dried-up river, dotted with pools of water, one which had cut its way in stormy seasons through the rocky soil, leaving on either side a steep well-marked bank of about four feet high. the bed of the little river was dotted with tall clumps of feathery-flowered grass, which with the bank would form excellent cover, so that the hunter could go for miles either way in a natural trench, towards whose water pools the antelopes would most probably graze. it was a great advantage, but the place had its disadvantages as well, and jack found them out before long. at first he started full of hope, congratulating himself on the fact that he had on his high riding-boots, and could wade dry shod through some of the pools. but before he had gone far he began wishing that he had brought the dogs, to search the different clumps of high grass, every one of which looked to be a certain lurking-place for a lion; and knowing now full well what capital stalkers they were, he kept glancing over his shoulder at the various clumps, fully expecting to see an enemy. there were two or three rushes and rustling noises to make him start, but as they only proved to be made by water-lizards jack grew more confident, and creeping cautiously along, he began to make for a couple of herds feeding upon the plain--one, the gnu, or wildebeeste as the boers call them; the others, the graceful, shapely blessbok. the appearance of the fierce shaggy gnu is not such as to give promise that he will prove good eating, so jack naturally turned his attention to the blessboks, creeping cautiously along so as to get within shot; but though he was perfectly certain that he had not shown so much as the barrel of his gun, the blessbok suddenly took alarm, and went off like the wind. their very first dash alarmed the gnu, some thirty strong, and they dashed off in another direction. "and i was so careful!" cried jack passionately; but the next instant, just as he was about to show himself, and get out of the cramped position he had occupied close to a clump of grass, he had the satisfaction of seeing that the blessboks had not been alarmed at him, for they had suddenly wheeled round, and were coming right for him as hard as they could gallop. "well, i shall get one this time," cried jack, bringing his rifle to bear, and waiting for an opportunity as the beautiful animals galloped along; when a heavy beating noise behind him caught his ear, and turning he found that the gnus had also altered their course, and were coming back, with their heads down, tails up, and their horns half pointed, as if to charge the young hunter where he crouched. there was no mistake about it; the gnu herd was coming straight for him, and in another minute they would have leaped down into the half dry watercourse, and trampled him into the sand. it was a time for displaying a little presence of mind, and to show the power of man--in this case, boy--over the beasts of the field. if the gnus had kept on, they would have crushed jack on the instant, each one being in strength much more than a match for a man; but on seeing him start up on one knee, and shout and wave his gun, they swerved off to the right, and thundered by, just as a lighter beating noise of feet was heard; and as jack turned, there to his disgust was the last of the little herd of blessboks, almost close to him, galloping by. running round to the other side of the patch of grass he went down on one knee and fired; but the excitement had disarranged his nerves, and the bullet went over the last blessbok's back; while before he could get in another cartridge and climb out of the watercourse, his chance was gone. chapter twenty five. nearly a waggon-wreck. there were no temptations to tarry much upon these plains, where there were certainly plenty of antelopes, quagga, and zebras, but little else to interest them. lions were pretty common, but somehow they did not trouble the travellers much, being pretty well supplied from the herds of antelopes and the like; but the hyaenas proved to be a perfect pest, howling about the cattle-kraal of a night, and harrying the oxen so that they could not rest in peace. upon two successive nights it was hard work to save the cattle from making a regular stampede, for the poor creatures were so alarmed that they broke down the thorn fence and would have galloped over the plains but for the efforts and voices of their drivers and the zulus. so bad did the hyaenas become, that the first moonlight night it was resolved to lie in wait and try and shoot two or three. the boys were delighted with the idea, but the sole result was the loss of the night's rest, for though they could hear the ugly brutes uttering their dismal howl all round the camp, not one was seen; and dick at last declared that they were ventriloquists, and lay in a hole and sent their voices all around. the next day's trekking was very arduous, for the ground was dry and sterile, awkward pieces of rock, each big enough to wreck the waggon, protruding from the sand in all directions. the dryness, too, was excessive, and they seemed to have got into a most terribly sterile tract, which now and then was cut by great deep crevices, which were as if the ground had cracked, each of these cracks being big enough to swallow waggon and team if they had inadvertently gone in. the poor beasts suffered terribly from thirst; but as evening was coming on, the black clouds gathered, and it soon become evident that before long there would be a perfect deluge of rain. it was upon them before they knew it, almost literally streaming down, and soaking everything; but in spite of the discomfort it was delightful to see the thirsty oxen stop to drink with avidity from the great pools that the rain soon formed. in fact, the storm was so cooling and refreshing that chicory seemed to revel in it, his dark skin shining with moisture; and the boys themselves did not seem to mind getting wet; but as the night came on intensely dark, and in addition to the pitiless rain there set in a tremendous thunderstorm, with deafening peals, and vivid lightning cutting the black clouds in all directions, the position of the travellers began to get uncomfortable. the general promised a good halting-place further on; but the darkness grew so intense that the foremost oxen had to be led, and mr rogers, and the general, armed with a long pole, went on in advance. if they could have halted where they were they would gladly have done so; but it seemed madness to stop in that wretched wilderness, and so they crept slowly on, drenched, depressed, and miserable, the thunder deafening them with its peals, and the lightning seeming to crackle as it fell in jagged lines from the skies. even the oxen seemed to participate in the general depression, for they went on very slowly, step by step, as if helping their leaders to find a suitable track, so as not to overturn the waggon against some piece of rock. suddenly the general gave a warning cry, one that was echoed by mr rogers, and the bullocks were pulled up short just as they touched the leaders. the warning was needed, for as he felt his way onward with the pole the general had suddenly felt it go down into a rift stretching right across their road; and as it proved to be bottomless as far as he could tell, and went to right and left for some distance, there was nothing to be done but to camp just as they were, and wait through the cold wet night for morning. it was a pitiless and a bitter night, and those who believe in africa being a land of intense heat would have felt their preconceived ideas shaken had they sat and shivered in that waggon, through whose double tilt covering the wind seemed to pierce as though it was so much open canvas. far worse was it beneath, where, sheltering themselves as best they could, the black servants, dinny, and the zulus huddled together for mutual warmth. even the dogs refused to be excluded, and, in spite of dinny's rather unmerciful kicks, kept crawling under the waggon, till chicory took pity upon them and curled up in company, forming such a knot that it was hard to make out which was chicory and which was dog. but the zulu boy said it was nice and warm, all but one little place where there was no pompey, and one leg which he couldn't get under crass. fortunately the roar of the elements was sufficient to keep the predatory beasts in their lairs, or they would have had an easy task to seize upon oxen or horses, for it was as impossible in the darkness to find thorns and build a kraal, as it was in the wet to get a fire to burn. dick said the night was "as miserable as mizzer," and that jack got all the blanket; but, like all other things, that miserable night came to an end, and as the sun rose up warm and bright, up sprang the spirits of all with it; and as the steam reeked from the soaked waggon, they turned from it to look with a curious sense of shrinking at the narrow escape they had had. for where the foremost oxen had been checked, consequent upon the general's warning, there was a great crack right across their path, some twenty feet wide, double that distance deep, and running for several hundred yards right and left. but for the general's timely warning the whole team would have gone in, dragging after them the waggon, and the horses which were haltered on behind, producing such an awful wreck that the expedition must have stopped; and then there would have been the problem to solve, how should they get back to natal. as the sun grew warmer, and a fire had been lighted, food cooked, and a hearty breakfast made, the troubles of the past night were forgotten, and in the best of spirits they went on again, after a detour to avoid the chasm, the moistened earth smelling delicious, and the birds twittering and singing joyously in every tree. so far they had avoided the kraals or villages of the various peoples of these parts of africa, but now the general announced that they were at last approaching the big river, where they would have to ask the black king's permission to hunt, and make him a present for his concession. for in his land there were the giraffe, rhinoceros, hippopotamus, and elephant--huge beasts, the names of which made the boys' pulses throb with excitement. there were crocodiles too in plenty in the big river, so the general said; and it was there that the river fell. the idea of seeing the wondrous falls of the zambesi had long been nurtured in mr rogers' heart; and as they had in their many months' journey come so far, he determined that they would if possible reach that part of the river, and see the falls, even if they did not go farther. there seemed to be no reason why they should not, for every one, thanks to his care and management, was in the best of health, the change in dick being wondrous. certainly there was poor coffee: but he was growing stronger day by day, and vowing vengeance against every lion in the land. that they were approaching a more inhabited tract they soon had warning in the increasing scarcity of the game. in place of the vast herds they had so often encountered, the herds were small, and so shy that it was only by lying in ambush, while the others went miles round to show themselves and make the antelopes take flight in the direction of the hidden hunters, that a sufficiency was obtained for the daily needs. the boys, however, managed to supplement the animal food with the birds that were shot, or knocked down with kiris; and fishing became a favourite pursuit in some one or other of the rocky pools in the river-beds that they had to cross, silurus and other kinds being frequently captured with a hook and line. they were curious fish these silurus, and, of course in happy ignorance of the meaning of angling, readily took the bait thrown to them in the deep pools; but when hooked their behaviour was almost startling, from the tremendous rushes they made in all directions. being very much of the same configuration as the eel, they partook of that long, lithe fellow's strength in the water; so that it was no uncommon thing for one that was hooked, and had been played for some time, to break away and carry with it half of a good line. several were lost, but many were taken, and found famous when cooked, though dinny avoided them as "avil-looking bastes." game grew scarcer still; and mr rogers, the boys, and chicory were sitting in the long grass, partaking of some lunch they had brought, after a long toilsome walk in search of hartebeeste, a herd of which curiously-formed animals had been seen from a distance, when chicory suddenly pricked up his ears, leaped to his feet, and then signed to his white companions to look. about a mile away, but coming on at a tremendous rate, was a little herd of zebras, whose beautiful forms and clearly-marked stripes could easily be distinguished as they ran through the long grass. just about the size of an ordinary donkey, but with the build and sturdy shapeliness of a well-bred pony, they literally spurned the ground with their hoofs in their efforts to get away, for after them in swift chase came three kaffirs, well-mounted upon sturdy cobs, and armed with assegais. as they came abreast of jack and dick, the pursuers were close upon the tail of the herd, the speed and stride of the horses telling in a long race; and as they passed, the boys could see that the kaffirs were nude all but a loin-cloth, and that in place of a saddle they used for their horses merely a small skin. the pace was tremendous. and growing excited at what they saw, dick and jack, while longing for their own cobs, so as to join in the chase, set off at a run, followed by their father and chicory. as they ran on they saw one of the kaffirs overtake the hindmost zebra, ride alongside for a few moments, and then spear it, the unfortunate beast stumbling as the assegai was driven home, and then falling headlong to the ground. the kaffir's companions kept on the chase, singling out two more of the zebras, one of which was directly after brought down by a well-directed spear-thrust, but the other managed to escape, the hunters being content with their success. the approach of the party of whites was looked upon as dangerous, and getting together, spear in hand, the three hunters seemed to be preparing to meet the white strangers as men of war. seeing this, mr rogers sent chicory on as an ambassador to assure the strangers of their friendly feelings: and on seeing the zulu boy advance alone, they waited, heard what he had to say, and then cantered up, holding out a hand in token of friendship. they were fine manly-looking young fellows, and said through chicory that they had come many journeys after zebras; and they smiled with delight on being presented each with a common pocket-knife. the coming of the general somewhat disturbed their equanimity; but on hearing his friendly words they readily accepted his help in skinning the zebras, whose hides, with some of the choicest portions of the meat, they packed in front of them upon the horses: and after a little conversation respecting the town upon the river to which they were bound, the three kaffirs rode off; and the great flap-winged vultures swept down, one after the other, attacking the unfortunate zebras: and shortly there was nothing left but a few scattered bones. chapter twenty six. how dinny heard a lion wid a bad cowld. "they're avil-looking birruds thim vultures, masther dick," said dinny, as he saw the great flap-winged birds sailing slowly through the air, some of them always being in attendance upon the waggon, knowing, apparently by instinct, that the companionship of the hunting-party meant food for them. they kept at a respectful distance, though; not on account of the guns and rifles, for they seemed to know that they would not be molested, but because of the dogs, who resented their attendance as an insult, and as likely to deprive them of many a pleasant bone. pompey, caesar, and crassus would make a dash at the great birds whenever they saw them upon the plain, charging down upon them open-mouthed, while rough'un went at them in a way full of guile, hanging his head down, and keeping his nose close to the ground, as if in search of something he had lost. he never seemed to be taking the slightest notice of the vultures, even turning his head away, but all the time he was sidling nearer and nearer, till feeling that he was within easy reach, he would make a dash at the nearest bird. but rough'un succeeded no better than pompey and his brethren, for the vultures would take a few hops, spread their wings, and float up in the air, as the dog rushed under them, leaving him barking most furiously at the birds as they went. "ah, they're avil-looking birruds, thim vultures," said dinny, "and we'd never suffer 'em in ould oireland. shure, saint pathrick would have dhruv out ivery mother's son of 'em before he'd set his foot in the counthry. they're avil-looking bastes. i'll be asking the masther to lind me a gun, and i'll go out shooting of 'em." "i don't think father will let you, dinny," replied dick. "they're very useful in their way, and clear off all the foul decaying carcases of the animals that die on the plains." "shure and the flies would do all that a dale nater and claner," cried dinny. "and, oh, murther, masther dick, but it's hard work to keep the flies off the mate out here. they come in shwarms, and i'm doing nothing all day but kill 'em. i say, masther dick, dear, whin are we going back?" "going back?" cried dick. "i don't know. not yet for months, i hope." "oh, murther, an' what'll become of us all? sure we're never going near any more of thim rivers, masther dick?" "but we are, dinny, we're trekking straight for one now." "not one with thim murthering crocodivils in it, masther dick?" "yes, dinny; the zambesi swarms with them, i believe, and they run very large." "och, mother, mother! and it's a good thing ye don't know where yer poor boy is all among black haythens, and lines, and crocodivils, and other foreign bastes of prey. i niver thought i'd come to such a thing as this. shure it's a horrid counthry altogether." "i think it a grand country, dinny," cried dick; "and i shall ask father to stop out here for long enough." "ah, be aisy, masther dick, dear, and don't demane yerself to stop out here among the dirty blacks. shure ye're meant for better things. jist think of it, darlin', out here in the wildherness all these long months, and never once tasted mutton or beef." "but you've been living on prime venison and other game, dinny." "an' is it living ye call it--aiting thim bucks and doe things, like a black, or a wild baste?" said dinny in tones of contempt. "not so much as a pitaytie even or a pay. shure i call it shtarving," grumbled dinny. "look at that now." "that" was poor coffee, who was so much better that he had been out once or twice upon short hunting expeditions, and was now tramping behind the waggon with his brother, engaged in what cannot better be described than as a game of romps with the dogs. for these welcomed the advances of the zulu boys with delight, racing and careering round them, making fierce attacks, and allowing themselves to be seized and thumped and rolled over, in what at times was a regular tangle of dogs and boys, after which there was a run to overtake the waggon. dinny, in spite of his grumbling, was a good deal pleased upon this day, for the route of the waggon took them by several salt-pools, whose waters the dogs rushed to lap, but came back shaking their heads and barking furiously, growling at dick and jack, who laughed at them, as if they were resenting a trick that had been played at their expense. these salt-pools were very interesting, the salt forming in quite a crust, like ice, some inches below the surface; while to the surprise of mr rogers, he found beautiful palm and the queerly-shaped baobab-trees, flourishing in the salt-impregnated soil. the long weary trek brought them in sight of the fine broad river along whose banks they had now to journey till they reached the black king's town; and they had not gone far before they saw in the distance a couple of canoes upon the water, while directly afterwards they passed a clump of trees and came upon a fishing-party, three of the number being in a large dug-out canoe, the other upon a mass of rock surrounded by reeds. so intent were the fishermen upon their work amongst the great water-lilies that dotted the quiet surface of the river close in shore, that they did not see the approach of dick and jack, closely followed by mr rogers to protect them from harm. the sight was so novel that the young englishmen stood still amongst the reeds watching the blacks, one of whom managed the canoe by means of a pole, while the others watched their opportunity, and then darted their long slender fish-spears down into the transparent water, and several times over brought up a good-sized fish. they were strong, well-built savages, whose belief in clothing went as far as a little apron; and one of them had his hair carefully twisted, and tied up into an absurd-looking pigtail, which stood straight up from the back of his head. the english party stood watching them for some minutes, and then advanced towards the shore, making signs. but the moment their presence was discovered the men in the canoe uttered a shout, and their companion on the shore plunged into the water to join them, the whole party paddling rapidly off as soon as their companion was hauled in to the bottom of their canoe, a feat not performed except at great risk of overturning the heavy clumsily-formed boat. the general was beckoned up to join them by mr rogers, but they paid no more heed to him than to the englishman, their sole thought being how best they could make their escape. "they'll go and announce our coming as that of enemies, i suppose," said mr rogers, who longed for a better knowledge of the people's tongue. there was no help for it; and as decidedly the best plan was to journey through on to the royal city, the waggon was kept going, and that night they camped at a short distance from the river, hearing no lions. but as they sat by their watch-fire, there was a peculiar hoarse loud bellowing noise, evidently coming from the river-side. as very often happened to be the case when there was anything unusual heard, dinny was sitting with jack keeping the first watch, and a good blazing fire. "hark at that now!" he said. "hark at that, masther jack!" and he half rose and made as if to flee to the shelter of the waggon. "yes, i heard it, dinny," said jack quietly. "it was pretty loud wasn't it?" "loud, masther jack? it was horrid, shure! and why don't ye shoot?" "because there's nothing to shoot at." "nothing to shute at? jist hark at him! why, there it is again." as dinny said, there it was again; and certainly the noise was terrible and awe-inspiring, heard in the stillness of the night by the crackling of the great fire, whose glow lit up waggon and trees around in a strange way, casting grotesque shadows behind. "well, it's ever so far-off; and i don't know what it is. perhaps it's an elephant," said jack. "an illephant!" said dinny, in tones of disgust; "jist as if an illephant ever made a noise like that! why, it's a lion, masther jack." "nonsense, dinny! lions don't make a noise like that." "shure, an' arn't we close to the river, where it's mortial damp?" "to be sure we are; but it isn't damp here, dinny." "shure, but it is!" cried dinny. "there's a hoarse roar for ye!" the peculiar noise came again, and was repeated from a distance, and again in the other direction. "that's no lion, dinny," said jack. "not a lion? bedad, and i'd bet me head that it is, and a lion that's hoarse wid a horrid bad cowld--jist the same as meself, and a sore throat in the bargain, after that wet night we had the other day." "no, that can't be a lion," said jack again. "hulloa! who's there?" the _click_-_click_ of jack's gun was heard as a dark form was seen approaching. but the familiar voice of mr rogers made the boy lower his piece. "i thought i'd come and have a look at you, my boy," said mr rogers. "do you hear the hippopotamus?" "shure, no, sor; but there's a great big lion wid a terrible cowld, roaring away for his mate; and i'd thank ye kindly if ye'd shute him at once. there he goes, sor!" "that's not a lion, dinny. that's a hippopotamus," replied mr rogers, smiling. "shure, an' if he can roar like that, he'll be worse than a lion, sor," said dinny, "so hadn't ye betther shute at once?" "dinny doesn't want you to shoot at the hippopotamus, father," said jack, laughing. "he wants you to shoot at shadows!" mr rogers laughed, and after staying a little while by the fire, listening to the distant noises of the huge amphibious animals that abounded in the great stream, he quietly went back to the waggon. the departure of his master was the signal for the renewal of dinny's fears, which he showed in a very peculiar way. jack had just thrown a few more pieces of wood upon the fire, which blazed up directly; and then, taking his place again, he was making himself comfortable, when there was a tremendous hollow roar, made by a hippopotamus, apparently pretty close to them. dinny immediately shifted his position, getting close up to jack, who did not say anything, but feeling uncomfortably warm dodged a little farther off. that was of no avail, for dinny followed him, getting closer still, with the result that in the course of the next hour jack was driven right round the fire; and he was just about to commence a second tour when the general came, with dick, to relieve the watch, and jack went off to bed. chapter twenty seven. marked down by vultures. they were still many miles from king moseti's town, and the larder being again low, consequent upon the impossibility of keeping meat, a hunting-party was instituted, and mr rogers was about to go off with the boys; but on second thoughts, as they had been seen by the people on the river, no doubt the news of their coming was known all through the country, and it was possible that some of the natives might come down. this he felt would be unsatisfactory if he was away, so he decided to stop; and then feeling that it would be better to have some trustworthy man to help guard the waggon, and not feeling that either dinny, peter, or dirk, was that man, he decided to tell the general to stay. so the hunting-party consisted of the four boys, who were warned not to go too far, but to be sure and get something in the shape of meat as soon as they could. they went off in high glee, coffee being delighted to be able to take his place in the party; and nothing would do but he must perform all sorts of feats, to show how strong he had grown once more. acting upon mr rogers' advice, they made straight for the high, open, park-like land, about a couple of miles south of the river; and here coffee soon showed his talent as a tracker, by pointing out some footprints in a patch of soft earth and mud close to a clear pool of water. "lion!" he said, pointing to the great round impression: and he spat and stamped, and then struck the ground fiercely with his kiri. "elfant!" cried chicory just then; and his discovery so far transcended his brother's, that there was a rush to see the huge round footprint, that looked as if some one had been standing portmanteaus on end all over the bog, and leaving their impressions there. then there were buffalo tracks, and the footprints of innumerable other beasts that had been to drink, or else gone on, making a complete roadway in the direction of the big river. just then coffee pulled jack's sleeve and pointed to quite a freshly-made series of footprints. "why, that's some kind of antelope," cried jack. "yes, big bok--eland," cried coffee. "come along." this was as good as saying that the animal had lately been there to drink: and in fact its tracks looked surprisingly fresh, so much so that the boys, after glancing at their guns, followed coffee as he trotted on ahead with his eyes fixed upon the footprints, which were here and there so clearly-marked in the soft earth that he followed them at a run. knowing what he did of the habits of animals, and that the great antelope might be many miles away by this time, dick was about to protest against such an exercise of speed, feeling that a slow and sure progress would be the safest: but coffee proved to be right, for before they had gone half-a-mile, he slopped short and made signs to the others to close up. they were in a wooded tract of land sprinkled with bushes and fine timber trees; and as the boys came up, there, about a hundred yards in front, was a magnificent eland, and so great was the surprise of both as they saw the size of the animal, equal in bulk as it was to an ox, only longer and more gracefully-shaped, that they forbore to fire; when the great antelope, catching sight of them, went off at full speed, and they had to renew the chase. quite an hour elapsed before a sign from coffee announced that he could once more see the game. this time both dick and jack were more upon the alert; and creeping cautiously up through the bushes, they caught sight of the eland grazing, just at the edge of a patch of forest about a hundred and fifty yards away. this they felt was a long shot at so large an animal; but it was impossible to get nearer on account of the intervening open ground; so kneeling together they took careful aim at the shoulder, and fired almost simultaneously. "hit," cried jack, as he jumped up and ran forward beyond the reach of the smoke; but there was no eland lying in its tracks; and as the zulu boys came up, they made out that it had dashed through a patch of dense growth, and there its footprints were lost in a broad trail made by thousands of animals on their way to and from the river. both coffee and chicory exerted themselves to the utmost; but their efforts were in vain, and at last they turned to dick shaking their heads. "no good gun," said coffee. "ought to shoot um dead." "it's a bad job," said jack; "but it's of no use to grumble. come, boys, we must hunt out something else." "i wish we had brought the dogs, jack," said dick. "coffee find him soon--that way." he pointed with an exultant look in his face at a great flap-winged vulture flying directly over his head, and for a moment both jack and dick were puzzled; but seeing the boys both set off at a run, they followed, recalling as they went what they had seen and heard about the vultures tracking the wounded or sickly game, and it was evident that the bird they had seen was on the track of the wounded eland. an hour's tramp decided the point, coffee and chicory coming up with the wounded beast, defending itself with its horns against the attacks of the vultures that were collecting round and making furious darts at its eyes. a merciful bullet ended the poor creature's miseries, and as the animal was so fine it was decided to load up with as much as they could conveniently carry, then place sticks about the carcase, and leave it to be fetched in by peter and dirk with a yoke of oxen. all this was done, and they were about half-way back when, to their utter astonishment, a party of about half-a-dozen blacks, armed with assegais and clubs, rushed out from behind some bushes, and began to advance with fierce and threatening gestures. "i say, dick, what's to be done?" said jack. "shall we throw down the meat and run away?" "no," said dick, who looked very pale. "shall we offer them our guns and ammunition if they will let us go?" "no," replied dick. "if we do that they will strip us to the skin." "what shall we do then?" "show fight," said dick. "i don't want to, but we must." "but they are big fighting men, and we are only boys," said jack. "but we are english boys, and they are only savages," retorted dick; "so come along." meanwhile the matabele warriors--for such it afterwards proved they were--kept on advancing, shouting savagely, while coffee and chicory had been watching their masters attentively, waiting to see what course they would take. they took their dues from the behaviour of the young englishmen, and in place of cowering behind, they ran to the front, flourishing their kiris, striking the ground with them, and shouting in their own tongue the while. "out of the way, black dogs!" cried coffee. "let my lords the big lion-killers with their wonder-guns, come by." feeling that they must put on a bold front, the two boys advanced with rifles ready; and, seeing this, and hearing the words of coffee and chicory, which they understood, the black warriors stopped short, spoke to one another for a few moments, and then, changing their tone, began to beg for some of the meat. "say they're very hungry. want meat," said chicory. dick spoke to jack, and then told coffee to be the interpreter of their wishes, explaining to him what to say. coffee jauntily flourished his kiri, and with a bold, defiant bearing, marched close up to the warriors, and showing them the scars made by the lion's claws, told them that they were made by the biggest lion in the world, and his young masters went and killed it with their wonder-guns. "and now the young kings say you may go and eat the big eland they shot, and fill yourselves full." the men set up a shout, flourished their weapons, and began to dance, after which they threw themselves upon the ground, as if they wanted to make themselves into black door-mats, dick said; and ended by taking up and turning back on the little hunting-party's trail till they found the eland. "yes," said mr rogers, as they related their experience; "you were quite right. these people seem to me more like children than men, and a good bold front will generally make them respect the white man; especially, my boys, if he is firm and, above all, perfectly just." chapter twenty eight. the visit to the black king. the good dinner of eland, and the rest the oxen and horses had had amidst abundant grass and water, made all ready for the afternoon trek. several natives had been to the little camp; and as they would be expected at the king's town, the oxen were in-spanned, the horses mounted to make the party look imposing, and they moved off, keeping along the open ground about half a mile from the river's bank. at the end of a few miles they came in sight of the town, a collection of thatched huts in the midst of some trees, evidently a sort of summer residence, for they could see on the right a couple of men, busily tying together the uprights to form a fresh hut. there were plenty of people about, but no one seemed to take notice of their approach, till suddenly the firing of guns made all start and halt, so as to be prepared for attack. the general, however, warned mr rogers that it was only friendly firing, for the king was evidently coming to meet them; and directly after there was a little procession seen to be on the way. under these circumstances mr rogers drew up his little force, every one being well armed, and with the horses that were not mounted held by the head. then they waited. "don't laugh, my boys," said mr rogers, as the procession drew nearer. "he is a ruler over his people, so deserves respect. if you ridicule what will no doubt seem very absurd, we shall make an enemy instead of a friend." "we'll try and behave rightly, father," said dick quietly; and so both he and his brother did, but it was hard work. his majesty king moseti, had evidently determined to impress the white men with a sense of his greatness; so he came attended by his band and body-guard, while he himself wore his regal robes, which consisted of an ordinary english oxford-cut blue coat and waistcoat, with white flannel cricketing trousers, and a straw hat. he had on patent leather boots, and carried a handsome ebony walking-stick; but his majesty, probably on account of the heat of the climate, wore no shirt. he had, however, a couple of rows of common glass beads round his neck, walked with his left-hand in his pocket, and stared about him as if the visitors were not of the slightest consequence, so that his appearance was sufficiently imposing. "jist look at 'em now," said dinny; "call themselves men, and to go about like that, widout a bit o' rag to their backs, and only a scrap of a skin apron hanging before and behind. oh, go along now wid ye, ye ought to be ashamed of yourselves." "hold your tongue, dinny," cried mr rogers. "certainly, sor," said dinny. "an' murther, hark at the music. hadn't i better go and take the gun away from that naygur as keeps letting it off, sor? he'll be shuting some one directly." "well yes, dinny," said his master, to dinny's great astonishment; "go and take away his gun. we'll go on. do you hear?" "shure, sor, he mightn't like it if i did," said dinny. "then stop where you are, and don't brag," said mr rogers sharply. "hark at that now," muttered dinny. meanwhile the king and his court was approaching, with one of the body-guard loading and firing an old musket in the air as fast as he could. in front came a couple of men, hugging what at first sight looked like cannons, but which proved to be drums, about four feet long, secured round their necks by a skin strap, and which drums they bestrode as they beat them with their hands. next came a couple more with evidently the kettle-drums, hung from their necks and beaten, like an indian tom-tom, at both ends. then the chief musician came with a large wooden harmonicon hung from his neck. this instrument, the marimba, he beat with a couple of round hammers, bringing forth a barbarous, modulated kind of music, not unlike that of the marrow-bones and cleavers of the london butcher-boys, as given by them on old-fashioned state occasions. the instrument took dick's attention a good deal, and he saw that it, and another in the band, were formed by fastening so many dry hollow gourds in a frame, over which were placed a graduated scale of pieces of hard wood, which emitted a musical metallic sound when struck. there was another drummer, who worked hard to earn his salary, whatever it might be; and then came the body-guard, armed with axes, assegais, and kiris, one and all looking, as dinny said, as if they were the finest fellows under the sun. "shure, and i'd bate the whole lot wid one stick," he muttered; and then aloud,-- "oh, the dirty haythen; what a noise to call music! faix, i'd pay something if teddy flaherty was here to give 'em one lilt o' the pipes. they'd know then what music was." the marimba players beat their instruments more loudly as they approached the waggon, the drummers drubbed the skins of their drums, the man behind fired his gun, the horses snorted and grew uneasy, and rough'un threw up his head and uttered a most dismal howl, tucked his tail between his legs, and ran off as hard as he could go; an example followed by pompey, caesar, and crassus, as far as the howling was concerned, the chains by which they were secured to the waggon preventing any running away. they, however, made up for it by barking with all their might. the king seemed to take it as a compliment, for he came up, shook hands, and condescended to drink a glass of wine, and to eat some sweet biscuits and sugar-sticks, speaking in pretty good english, which he had picked up from the missionaries, and ending by inviting mr rogers and his sons to dinner. the present of a sporting knife at the end of his visit quite won his heart, and he seemed never weary of opening and shutting the blades, pulling out the toothpick, tweezers, corkscrew, and lancet, with which it was provided. after this he took his departure in the same style as that in which he came. "well, we may as well pay him a barbarous compliment, boys," said mr rogers. "fire off all your barrels at once. now, make ready! fire!" six shots went off in rapid succession, followed by six more from mr rogers' revolver. the result was different from what was intended, for, evidently under the impression that they were being attacked in the rear, the royal party made a rush to escape, the king heading the flight, and, like his warriors, getting on pretty well; but the marimba players fell over their instruments, and the drummers got into worse difficulties still. all at once, as there was no more firing, the king found it was a false alarm, and came back laughing, to bang his musicians about with his cane, and call them cowards. after which he came back to the waggon and asked to see the revolver let off, flinching very little, and then strutting off before his people, as much as to say, "see what a fine brave fellow i am!" "look at that now," said dinny complacently. "why of all the cowards i ever see--" "i say, dinny," said dick, "i wonder whether the king's afraid of lions?" "shure an' i'd go an' ask him, masther dick, if i was you," said dinny sulkily; and the subject, a very sore one with dinny, was dropped. chapter twenty nine. the general is overcome by gin--a trap. a very quiet-looking black came up directly after, to say that the king had sent him to show the party where to camp: and he led the way to a pleasant little grove, where there was a pool of water, and ample grass for the cattle; and after the new arrivals were settled down--far too near the "naygurs" to satisfy dinny's sensitive nature, a return visit was paid to the king, who readily gave his permission for the party to hunt when and where they pleased in his dominions. this was satisfactory, and it was determined that no time should be lost in getting amongst the large game, but not until they had had a shot or two at the large hippopotami, which were abundant in the marshes about the river. still they would be obliged to remain for a few days at their present camp out of civility to the king, who, they found, would be perfectly willing to accept a few donations of meat, the supply kept up by his own hunters being intermittent, so that his majesty had frequently to go without. all the same, though, the king's hunters were ingenious and clever in their schemes, as mr rogers and his sons found out before many hours had passed. the king presented his visitors with fried fish and kaffir beer in a calabash, and as everything seemed very clean and satisfactory, dick and jack made no scruple about eating heartily. after this they had to be admired and have their heads patted by the queens, who declared that they were capital boys. at last they returned to the waggon, where, there being no necessity to put up a fence to keep off lions, so near the town, the rest of the evening was spent in a thorough good clean up and oiling of the guns. the general was absent, or he would have willingly helped; but coffee and chicory said that he had gone off to get birds, so it was concluded that he would be back before long. the oxen were all secured to the dissel-boom and trek-tow; and the horses were haltered up to the wheels, everything being made safe and sound. then a fire was lit, and preparations made for passing the night; but still the general did not come back. his two boys, however, did not seem to be in the slightest degree uncomfortable about his absence, saying that he would be back before long; so, as they knew their father's ways better than he, mr rogers concluded that there was no cause for anxiety, for the zulu warrior would return in his own good time. dick and chicory kept the first watch, and then called mr rogers, who relieved them, with peter. but there was nothing to report, only that there had been a great deal of drumming and tomtoming up in the town, and that when the music and singing had ceased, the hippopotami on the river's brink had commenced roaring, snorting, splashing, and making noises that were quite startling in the silence of the night. fully expecting to see the zulu warrior return every minute, mr rogers replenished the fire, and sat listening to the monsters on the river's bank, and wishing that he were lying ensconced there in some sheltered position where he could get a shot at one of the huge beasts; but that was a pleasure to come, and one which he hoped to give his sons. his watch went by, and then jack and coffee were roused up to relieve him, and being weary mr rogers was glad to find his blanket once more, lying till he was roused by dinny for breakfast. "has the general come back?" asked mr rogers, as he joined dick and jack. "no, father, and the boys are getting anxious about him. they're gone off to find him, and i am expecting them back." so said dick, and as he spoke the two zulu boys came running up in a terrible state of excitement. "want our father," they exclaimed angrily. "father killed. come and find." there was something so tragic in the words of the boys that mr rogers and his sons seized their guns, and telling coffee and chicory to lead, they went straight for the forest-land towards which coffee said he had seen his father go. coffee was quite right, for the general had started off in this direction, assegai in hand, and a kiri in his skin belt, partly to see what hunting capabilities the land possessed, partly to try and obtain a few birds or a small gazelle. he went straight off to the forest, and with all the instinct of a good hunter he examined the spoor of the animals going to and from the water, and also made himself acquainted with the drinking-spots, taking in at a glance the suitability of the places for a hunter to lie in ambush, and then he went on once more. to his great satisfaction, he found in addition to the spoor of antelopes of all kind, those of the hippopotamus near the river, elephants, giraffes, and the rhinoceros. there, too, he found an abundance of footprints of buffalo, so that there would be ample game for his masters to exercise their skill. but he was not satisfied yet, and regardless at last of the coming darkness, he went on with the instincts of the true hunter who has spent the greater part of his life in the woods, searching here, examining there, and he grew more and more elate and satisfied. he had obtained nothing for the waggon larder, but that did not trouble him, as he had made so many satisfactory discoveries; and at last, just as the moon was shining brilliantly through the trees, he entered a broad drink-trail, one used by the animals on the way through the forest to the river, and prepared to make the best of his way back. the course was pretty open, and he paused for a moment to listen whether he could hear anything coming; but all was perfectly still, and he started again, increasing his walk to a trot over the well-trodden track, and this trot to a greater speed, when all at once he felt the ground giving way beneath his feet, and instinctively making a spring forward, he tried to clear the hollow; but he had no power in his start, and he only touched the farther side, and then fell with a crash through the screening brushwood into a deep hole. he fell so heavily that for the moment he was stunned, and lay there perfectly helpless, listening to a furious snarling howl, and feeling the scuffling and twining about of a number of reptiles which his fall had disturbed. the zulu knew well enough where he was, and that he had been unfortunate enough to leap into one of the many pitfalls some tribes dig in the woods to capture large game. he knew exactly how such a pit would be dug, widening out from the top to the bottom, so that the creatures which fell in would be unable to escape; and he understood the hideous snarling of some beast, for as he cautiously rose to a standing position the moonlight showed him, impaled upon the horribly sharp stake formed by fining down a good-sized tree and planting it in the bottom, a hideously wolfish-looking hyaena, which, less fortunate than himself, had fallen upon the sharp spike, which had gone completely through the wretched animal's body, leaving it writhing, snarling, and clawing the air with its paws in its vain efforts to get free. it was a terrible neighbour to have in such close proximity, and for the moment the general thought of thrusting it through and killing it out of its misery; but his assegais had quitted his hand in his fall, and to have found them again meant to search amidst the broken twigs and bushes at the bottom of the pit, where he could feel and hear the snakes. even as he thought all this he could feel the cold scaly bodies of the reptiles gliding over his feet, and against his bare legs; and hence he was obliged to stand perfectly motionless, lest--though he had escaped when he fell, his sudden dash having alarmed them, no doubt--the slightest movement of his feet might be followed by a bite, for amongst so many as he could feel there were, some were certain to be of a deadly nature. so there he stood, unarmed, with the serpents gliding about the bottom of the pit, the moonlight glinting in through the trees, and only a foot or two from his face that hideous snarling animal, which snapped at him angrily, evidently looking upon him as being the cause of its sufferings. even if he had dared to move it would have been very doubtful whether the general could have clambered out of the cunningly contrived pitfall; but situated as he was, and surrounded by such dangerous enemies, the zulu made a virtue of necessity, and stoically determined to wait for daylight before making any attempt to escape. but all the same it was a terrible position, and required all the firmness and nerve of a strong man to stand there patiently, feeling the hideous little serpents gliding about his bare feet, and listening to the hideous howlings of the hyaena. but the longest and most painful nights have an end, and in due time the day broke, and the zulu began to consider how he could get out. with the broad daylight he saw the wisdom he had practised in waiting, for several very dangerous serpents were amongst those which had fallen in, and their number was great enough to make even him, a thorough hunter, shudder. but the general was not destined to suffer much longer; soon after sunrise he fancied he heard a well-known call, and then there was no doubt about it; the call was repeated, and he sent forth a stentorian reply. these calls and answers soon brought coffee and chicory to the mouth of the pitfall, closely followed by mr rogers and the boys, and amongst them by help of their guns the unfortunate general reached the track in safety, and leaving the hyaena dead, they set off back to the waggon, the general congratulating himself on having escaped from a terrible death. chapter thirty. the king's hunting-party. there was no mistaking the joy of coffee and chicory at finding their father safe and sound, and they showed it by performing some most ridiculous antics, making even the stern warrior smile with satisfaction. mr rogers also noticed it a good deal, and from that time the two zulu boys stood far higher in his estimation than of old. they had a visit at the camp that morning from the king, one of the first of whose questions, as he partook of a sugar-stick with great gusto, was, had they heard the hippopotami shouting in the night, and were they frightened? both dick and jack declared that they were not in the least alarmed; and thereupon the king, who seemed to get on far better with them than with their father, proposed that they should come up the little river, and see his warriors hunt the great river-horse. mr rogers consented with a nod; and taking their rifles, the boys accompanied the king back to the town, where, orders being given, his majesty's big canoe was prepared, and half-a-dozen great hunters, armed with throwing-spears, each entered a canoe of his own--a frail rickety-looking affair, that threatened to turn over at any moment, even with the weight of one man, but which its occupant sent through the water at a famous rate, by his clever management of a long paddle. the king's boat was none too safe a structure, and the boys laughed the one at the other as they took their seats before their host. "if we are overturned, jack, make for the shore at once, and try and save your rifle." "to be sure, dick. but how about the crocodiles?" "and the hippos, jack?" "feel afraid?" "no. do you?" "not a bit!" the king seemed a little nervous about the boys' rifles when he saw the deadly weapons in their hands, and he asked if they were safe. "a deal safer than your boat, mr king," said dick, laughing. "yes, that they are," said jack, giving the boat a sway to and fro. then the king laughed, and the boys laughed again, and distributed some more acid-rock sticks, of which his majesty highly approved. then he gave the word, the rowers dipped their paddles, and six men propelled the canoe pretty swiftly. "i say, dick," whispered jack, "black kings are not such bad fellows after all, are they?" "not at all. i like this one. but don't whisper; it will make him think we are talking about him. how many cartridges have you got?" "twenty four. how many have you?" "two dozen." the boys laughed and compared their cartridges, when the king, who had felt suspicious of their whispering, also smiled, and took great interest in the breech-loading guns, exhibiting quite a childish delight in seeing the breech opened, and in being able to look right through the shining barrels. after which he had the pleasure of thrusting in the cartridges with his own fingers; but when they were closed he expressed his opinion that they were not safe. meanwhile, after being propelled for some distance up the great river, the canoes were turned off into a side stream of no great width, and whose sluggish waters serpentined amidst muddy beds of reeds, with a palm-tree raising its ornamental fronds here and there to relieve the monotony of the scene. the canes and reeds seemed to swarm with ducks and other water-fowl; and here and there, riding in the calm reaches, they saw for the first time that curious water-bird, the darter, swimming with its body nearly submerged, and its long, snaky neck ready to dart its keen bill with almost lightning rapidity at the tiny fish upon which it fed. "oh! what a splendid place for a day's fishing, dick!" whispered jack. "this place must swarm, i know. i wish i had brought the tackle." "there's something more interesting than fishing to see," replied dick. "look! look!" he pointed to the side of the river, a hundred yards ahead, where a huge, clumsily-formed hippopotamus slowly waded into the water and sank out of sight. "what a brute!" said dick. "why, he could upset us. i say, king moseti, couldn't one of those fellows upset the boat?" "yes," said the king; "then all swim ashore if he no catchee." "that's pleasant," said dick. "but look, jack! what's that?" he pointed ahead to something black, seen just above the surface of the water, and several feet in front of it two prominences; then two more appeared slowly above the water. there was a sort of gasping sigh, and a couple of little puffs like those emitted by a small steam-engine, and the black knobs and the black surface disappeared. "what a monster!" cried jack. "now going to begin," said the king. but they paddled on another half-mile before they really began. they were in a very winding part of the river now, the serpentine curves being so sharp that the banks seemed to be a succession of muddy points and reedy bays. on one of these points a large, broad-nosed hippo was standing, looking as shapeless as if it had been roughly modelled in mud, and set upon four legs of the shortest and squattiest kind. nearer to them, and in the water, several of the great amphibious creatures were playing about, raising their heads occasionally, sometimes only their eyes and nostrils, which the boys could see opened and shut like a valve, to admit air and keep out the water. the canoes now stopped, and it was not a very pleasant feeling, to be aware that beneath them, and all around, these monstrous beasts were walking about at the bottom of the muddy river, ready to rise up at will, and upset the canoes, or perhaps take a piece out with their teeth. "now going to begin," said the king. and in obedience to a signal made with his stick, three of the little canoes went in advance, their occupants managing the paddles with one hand, their assegais with the other, and gliding cautiously over the surface of the river, to the attack of one of the great hippopotami. "i wish they hadn't got such long names," said jack, who was getting deeply interested; "it's quite a mouthful." "never mind, they've got good broad backs and heads," said dick. "i say, jack, look at that one! what a mouth! it's like a great leather portmanteau being opened." "or a big carpet-bag," replied jack; "and what teeth!" they were indeed monstrous, and as the animal raised its ears and eyes above the water, and just displayed a portion of its prominent nostrils, it was plain to see why the ancients called them river-horses; for, seen like this, the head bore a remarkable resemblance to that of some large horse. "now look!" said the king, who then started, for the boys involuntarily cocked their rifles. for one of the canoes, with the hunter therein, approached the great beast just named, the hunter standing up to work his paddle, and holding his assegai poised for throwing, while the huge brute upon the point of land where he stood out as if displaying his mighty proportions, kept uttering grunts of dissatisfaction. just as the canoe approached the beast in the water, it allowed itself slowly to subside; but it rose again directly after, a few yards farther off, when, giving his paddle a sweep, the hunter poised and hurled his assegai with such force, and so true an aim, that it was seen sticking in the hippo, just where the neck joins the shoulder. the moment he had thrown, the hunter stooped and picked up another spear; but even as he did so the hippopotamus made a dash at his canoe, bit at the side, shook it, and the man was precipitated into the water. in another instant the hippopotamus would have had him in his jaws; but now was the time for the other hunters, whose canoes skimmed over the surface side by side, and before the animal could reach the man in the water, first one and then another spear was hurled, taking effect in its neck. this took off the monster's attention for a few moments; just sufficient to enable the owner of the overturned canoe to get ashore, right his boat, pour out all the water, and once more return to the attack. meanwhile, the other three canoes had gone into the _melee_, each man sending a spear into the neck or shoulder of the huge hippopotamus whenever he pressed one of the other hunters too hard. this went on for some time, with the monster growing weaker in his resistance, the plan adopted being to weary him out by constant assault; and all this time the great fellow on the mud point had looked on, giving a fierce grunt now and then, and at times prolonging this grunt into a deafening bellow. he evidently mightily disapproved of what was being done to his fellow; but it did not seem to enter into his brain how he was to help him. the idea seemed to come at last; for, turning his head towards the king's canoe, he opened his mouth to its fullest extent displaying the great worn-down tusks, and uttered a tremendous roar, that can only be rendered on paper by a repetition of the words, "hawgnph! hawgnph!" sent through a huge waterpipe, by the blast of a steam-engine of mighty power. this done he closed his mouth with a tremendous chop, and rushed into the water and disappeared. "what a brute!" cried dick. "he's coming right for us, i know," cried his brother. "you see if he don't come up close here." the king seemed to expect it too, and he gave orders to his men; but before the large canoe could be got under weigh the monster rose quite close to them, opened its huge jaws, its little pig-like eyes glowing with fury, and took a piece out of the canoe. half the paddlers leaped overboard in their dread, as the monster opened its huge jaws for a second bite, this time close to where the two boys and the king were seated, the latter seeming paralysed at the imminence of the danger. no word was spoken, one will seeming to guide both dick and jack, who, without raising their rifles to their shoulders, rested them pistol-fashion upon the side of the canoe, and fired straight into the monster's mouth. there was a tremendous clap-to of his jaws, but not upon the side of the canoe; and then the huge head slowly sank down out of sight, as a couple of fresh cartridges were thrust into the rifles. but now there was a fresh danger, water was coming in over the side where the piece was taken out; and it took a great deal of shouting, and no little help with the spare paddles, given by his majesty and his two visitors, to get the canoe run aground before she could sink. wet legs were the worst misfortune, and as they leaped ashore the men set to, hauled up the canoe, and emptied out the water, and in an hour they had sewn on a thick skin so as to temporarily keep out the water at the side, thin canes answering for needle and thread, after which they embarked. it was none too soon; for as the last man got on board and the canoe was pushed off, there was a loud snorting and rustling in the reeds, and a hippopotamus rushed at them, giving the lads such an opportunity that they both sent a bullet into it as it entered the water, and they saw it no more. meanwhile the six hunters had not only killed their hippo, but had seen the monster shot by the boys aground, quite dead, upon one of the sandy bits of land, and they had steered their own trophy to its side, where they were busy drawing out the spears with which it bristled, as the king's canoe came up. a rope was made fast to each of the monsters then, and they were towed down stream and out into the big river, where, upon their reaching the town, an attack was made upon the great beasts, and the flesh hewed off amidst a great deal of shouting, singing, and drumming, the boys feeling no great temptation to eat hippopotamus, but being proud enough to display the head of the monster they had shot--a head that was even startling in its size and weight. chapter thirty one. a row up stream, and a run down. naturally attracted by his sons' success, mr rogers agreed to go up the river with the king on an expedition to last a couple of days, during which they were to shoot hippopotamus, crocodile, and perhaps get a shot at a giraffe; and in due time a couple of large canoes were got ready, and in one was placed a tub of spirit for curiosities, and a chest to hold the skins of any choice birds that might be shot. in the other mr rogers had his guns and ammunition, with necessary stores in a chest; and so as to superintend and direct the men, it was settled that the king should go in one boat, mr rogers and dinny in the other, each boat having four stout rowers to handle the long paddles they used. all in good time they started, greatly to dinny's disgust; for he felt certain that the canoe would sooner or later overturn, and that he should be shot right into the mouth of one or other of the crocodiles. "they'll know fast enough, masther dick," he said piteously; "and you'll see if they don't come following the canoe like sharks afther a boat. oh, murther, it was a sad day whin i took sarvice with the masther." dinny took care, however, that mr rogers should not hear any of his plaints, and in due time the canoes started, and went well for the first part of the journey, the men paddling and singing, and a halt being made for midday and evening meal, which was made savoury with the large ducks that abounded in the reed beds, close in shore. two or three good shots sufficed to provide enough for the whole party, and the men were in high glee, laughing and chatting as they picked the birds, which dinny roasted before a good fire. at night they halted and drew up the canoes, proceeding afterwards to make a couple of large tents of reeds, which they cleverly cut, tied in bundles, and secured together--no mean shelter in a journey through the wilds; but dinny found terrible fault with the arrangements, and had to be severely snubbed to bring him to a more patient state. they started in good time the next morning, so as to be early at the ground where the king promised game; but here the character of the country had altered, and in place of the swift, smoothly-flowing river, they had entered upon a part where it was broken up with rapids, long ranges of rocks stretching across the river like weirs and keeping the waters back, but making a series of rapids, down which the river rushed at a furious rate. "shure, sor, my mother's name is--" "hold your tongue, you foolish fellow," cried mr rogers, as dinny half rose in dismay, and asked if the boats were going up there. "shure, sor, i only wanted ye to know my pore mother's direction, so as ye could sind her word i was dhrowned in the big river out in afrikky." "will they be able to take us up there, king?" said mr rogers. "hadn't we better land, and let them drag the canoes round?" the king laughed, and clapped his hands for the men to bend to their task, when they made the paddles flash in and out of the water, but it was soon evident that they would not surmount the rapids. the boat mr rogers was in got half-way up, and then was carried back at a tremendous speed, being swept round by an eddy beneath some trees, to one of the branches of which mr rogers held on, and so steadied the canoe, while a stalwart black thrust down his paddle from the bows, and kept the great vessel steady. just then dinny, who followed his master's actions as nearly as he could, laid hold of a goodly branch from the stern; but instead of taking the boat with him he thrust it away, and the next moment he was hanging from his branch, shouting "masther!" and "masther, dear!" with all his might. "faix and i knowed it would come to it," he yelled, as the branch swayed up and down, and his legs went lower and lower in the water. "there's a great crocodivil coming. masther, darlin', bring back the boat." this was done at last, but the black could scarcely paddle for laughing, and when the boat was under him poor dinny hardly dared let go. he let himself subside in the bottom at last, and was wiping the perspiration from his face, and squeezing the water from his legs, when a shout from the big man in the bows drew mr rogers' attention, and he ran forward to see that the other canoe was upset, and that the men were being pitched into the rapids. for they had made three efforts to get up, each time being driven back; and at the fourth they were so much weakened and so weary, that when about half-way up they wavered, the stream caught the head, twisted it broadside, and, in a moment, king, subjects, box, and barrel were tilted out, and all went floating rapidly down the stream. the stalwart black in the bows needed no telling, and the boat mr rogers was in was sent down and across the stream below the rapids, picking up the king first, and then man after man, till dinny, who was emptying the water out of his boots, declared that the boat was too full, and must sink. it did not, however, and the overturned boat being guided ashore, it was soon emptied and afloat again, with its crew looking none the worse, for, as dinny said, it did not take their clothes long to dry. the king was of dinny's opinion, for his garments of english make being very clingy and uncomfortable, he imitated the uniform of his subjects, and as everything that had floated out had been recovered, they were once more ready for an attack upon the rapids. but the king said no; they wanted more rowers; and dinny uttered a loud "hurroo!" as the canoes were allowed to float back towards the town, where they at last landed, to dinny's great delight, safe and sound. chapter thirty two. warm work in the wilds. "it was all through taking you, dinny, that father had such bad sport, i know," said dick. "shure the ongratitude of the human being is wonderful," said dinny, addressing nobody. "here, i save his parint's life by keeping him from going any farther and getting himself dhrowned." "ah, well, dinny, you're not going to be drowned any more," said dick; "father has decided to go on with the waggon to-morrow." "back home?" cried dinny, slapping the shrunken leg of his trousers. "no: farther away; after elephant and rhinoceros." "bad luck to the illiphant and rhinoceros!" cried dinny. "but anyhow, we shall be on dhry land." the king was disappointed at the party going so soon; but a present of a bottle of sweets, and some ammunition, brought smiles into his face-- smiles that grew broader as he heard that they would stop if possible at the town as they came back. they started at sunrise, so as to get a good trek over before the heat of the day should commence, and with oxen well rested and in excellent condition they got over the ground pretty swiftly for an oxen-team. the horses too were fresh, and so full of excitement and fun that the dogs were taken, after the particular mountain to which they intended to make had been marked down; and the boys had a good canter, coffee and chicory thoroughly enjoying the excitement, and keeping up with the two cobs with the greatest ease. the mountain was reached in due time, a midday halt indulged in, and after a good long rest they continued their journey, so as to get well beyond reach of moseti's town, and away from the interruptions that might have resulted in their being too near the king. but the general had no intention of going far after the fine promise he had seen for game; and two days' march away from the town he proposed that they should halt, and make a good strong kraal for the horses in the place he selected. it was admirably adapted for the purpose, there being an abundance of thorns, with a steep rocky escarpment to act as the back of the kraal. besides this, there was a spring of beautifully clear water gushing from amongst the rocks, which rose right up here into mountains. the general's advice had always proved so good that the halt was called, and quite a fortification of thorns made, large enough to protect the cattle. the fire was started again, and as much care taken as if they had been in an enemy's country. and so they soon found that they were, though their enemies were not near. the very first night at the new camp they were visited by lions, which were audacious enough, in spite of the fire, to pretty well frighten the oxen into a stampede; but they were ultimately calmed down; while the poor horses suffered so that they were haltered up to the side of the waggon, with their heads so near the tilt that they could hear their masters' voices; and this had the effect of calming them, when the lions were most daring. snakes too proved to be more plentiful here than they had been found since they left the glen at the head of the valley, where jack had his imaginary bite. they were principally the puff-adder, which would come out from among the stones to get within reach of the fire, where it would lie and bask, quite regardless of the presence of the people; and several of these creatures had to pay dearly for their temerity. the day after they had settled here they found another unpleasant neighbour, in the shape of a boa, this being the third of these large serpents they had met with in their journey. the general saw the creature up in the mountain amongst the stones, about a quarter of a mile from the camp, and came back to announce his discovery. there was magic to the boys in the word snake, and catching up their guns, they followed the zulu up the rocks--quite a stiff climb in the hot sunshine--and there upon a little sandy plain lay the monster, knotted together, apparently asleep. they had been afraid to bring the dogs lest one of them should be crushed by the great boa, and now, as it lay so passive, they had to attempt some plan for rousing it so as to make it raise its head for a shot; and on being warned of what was wanted, the general offered to go up and rouse the creature with the handle of his assegai. but this mr rogers would not permit, bidding the zulu throw stones at the reptile. this the general did, the second he pitched being so well-aimed that it struck the serpent right amongst its thickest folds, when, in an instant, the creature was all in motion, with its scales glittering in the sun, and its head raised in angry menace, though it did not seem to see who had disturbed it, and ended by striking fiercely at the offending stone. it would have been easy enough to have shot the creature now, but every one was so much interested in watching its actions that they forebore, though their guns were presented, ready to fire at the slightest indication of danger. the serpent writhed, and turned itself over and over, and seemed too angry to settle itself down again to rest: but at the end of a few minutes the warmth of the sun, and the sand upon which it was gliding about, were so pleasant, that it coiled itself up once more, laying its head over two or three of the coils in the centre, and then appeared to be settling down once more to sleep. another stone from the general threw it into violent agitation once more; the body writhed about upon the sand, the tail lashed it, the broad head rose up with a loud angry hiss, and began to undulate and menace the party; and when the general took a step or two forward, as if to strike it, the serpent made darts, as if measuring the distance before trying to throw round him a coil of its muscular body. so menacing did the creature grow at last that mr rogers gave the word, and there was a rapid double shot, the reptile falling to dick's gun, and lying shot through the head, and writhing upon the sand. this serpent measured just over twenty feet in length, and its girth was enormous; so thick and heavy was it that the amount of muscular power in its body must have been tremendous. so rapid and graceful was every motion, and so full of strength was it even now, with its head shattered, and when it might reasonably have been looked upon as dead, that it was dangerous to approach within reach of its coils, dick having a very narrow escape. they worked hard now collecting the lovely birds that abounded in the forest, and the gloriously tinted beetles and butterflies, coffee and chicory having by this time grown invaluable as collectors. then there was the regular hunting to do for supplying the needs of the camps, and this generally fell to the lot of dick and jack, both of whom were wondrous expert on horseback, as they had grown to be with a rifle. "but mind," mr rogers had said, "no wanton slaughter. kill as many dangerous creatures as you meet, but only shoot the innocent game as we need it for food." the boys kept to their word, and many a tempting shot was given up, because they felt that it was not necessary, the larder being stocked. game was abundant here, but though they could have shot eland, koodoo, blesbok, gemsbok, quagga, hartebeeste, zebra, and gnu, they had not seen elephant or giraffe, and these latter were in the boys' minds continually. "well," said mr rogers, "i'll take the glass and have a ride out with you to-day. perhaps we may have better luck. we must have a skin or two of the giraffe to take back." "and we haven't seen a buffalo yet, father," cried jack. "isn't game scarce?" "go and look at the footprints by the pool, my boy, and answer that question for yourself," said mr rogers, smiling. but jack did not go. he knew that he had asked a foolish question, so he passed it off. the day was wonderfully hot, and quietly as they went, they felt scorched, while pompey and caesar, who were taken as a treat, ran with their tongues lolling out, and stopped to drink at every pool they passed. the route chosen was a different one this day, leading over a wide undulating plain covered with an enormous thickness of rough herbage, and dotted here and there with bushes. it was just the place to expect to find a lion--offering the beast abundant chances for concealment; but after being out four hours, they had seen nothing but antelopes, at which they did not care to fire, since it would only have been to add a fresh skin to their collection, and glut some of the vultures flying slowly overhead. the glass was used again and again in vain, and at last, so as to cover a wider view, mr rogers rode away about a mile to the left, bidding his sons mind the land-marks so as to be able to reach the waggon again. dick and jack did not separate, and after a glance round to see if they could make out any game, they resigned themselves to their fate, and rode gently along. "i'm hotter and more tired than i have ever been since we came out," cried jack. "so am i," said dick. "let's sling our guns over our shoulders. oh, isn't it hot." "if we sling our rifles we shall come upon a lion, or something big." "well, let us. i'm too hot to shoot, and he'd be too hot to attack. what does that little bird keep flying to us for, and then going away?" "got a nest somewhere here, and afraid we shall take its young." "perhaps so," said dick lazily. "no, it isn't. i know what it is," he cried excitedly, forgetting the heat and his idle languor. "well, what is it?" said jack. "i know. it's a bird." "it's the honey-guide," cried dick, watching the twittering little thing as it flew to him and then back, trying hard to draw their attention, and to get them to follow it. "i don't believe it would take us to any honey if we went after it." "well, let's try," said dick. "where's father?" "oh, right over there: a mile away. you can just see him." "well, we'll follow the bird," cried dick. "i should like some honey. it would be quite a treat." "come along, then," said jack. "i'll do anything if it isn't too much trouble. come along. what's old pomp found?" they turned their horses, and were about to ride after the honey-guide, when pompey suddenly began baying furiously at a clump of very high ferns and bushes, and caesar went and joined him. "get your gun ready, jack," said dick excitedly. "it's a lion." "not it," replied dick, "or those dogs wouldn't face it as they do. they've only found a lizard. here, here, here, pomp, caesar, pomp. hey, dogs, then! look out, jack! gallop?" dick fired a random shot at something that charged at them from out of the high grass. the next instant their horses had swerved round and were galloping away over the rough surface as hard as they could go. they had been grumbling at not being able to find any large game. now they had found some with a vengeance, for a monstrous rhinoceros had been disturbed by the dogs, and with all its angry passions roused it was charging down upon the young horsemen as hard as it could go. it seemed incredible that so great and clumsy an animal could gallop so fast; but gallop it did, at a tremendous rate, paying no more heed to the bitings and yelpings of the dogs than if they had been flies. but, tossing its curious snout, armed with two horns, high in the air, it uttered a loud, angry, snorting noise as it thundered along threatening to overtake the horses at every stride. the dogs behaved very well, but they might as well have snapped at the trunk of a tree as at that horny hide, and at last in despair they contented themselves with galloping on by the animal's side. to shoot was impossible; to avoid the creature, just as impossible; and so the boys used their whips more than once to try and get their cobs faster over the ground. it went against the grain to use a whip to the sleek sides of the cobs, but the rhinoceros was gaining upon them, and to be overtaken meant to be trampled to death. "come along, jack; use your whip again," cried dick. "we can't shoot." "shall we separate?" said jack back from his horse, as they tore over the grass. "no, no; let's keep together." "very well, then; but where shall we go? which way shall we turn? shall we try for that wood in front?" "no, no, no," cried dick. "we should not be able to get through, but that beast would go past bushes as if they were paper. that's a thorn wood, too." "where's father, i wonder?" cried jack. dick looked over his shoulder. "there he comes, full gallop. he sees what a mess we are in." "but he can't help us," cried jack. "sit close, dick, old fellow; and look out for holes in front, whatever you do." away they went in their mad gallop, longing for the rhinoceros to give up his hunt of the hunters, but the huge beast came thundering along in the most persistent way, close at their heels, but now, to the delight of the boys, not gaining upon them. the only thing they had to fear then was a slip or a stumble, or that in its pertinacious hunt the rhinoceros would tire their horses down. "he's gaining on us now," cried dick suddenly. "jack, we must separate, and let him run after one while the other fires at him." "you couldn't do it, dick. no, no, let's keep together, and we shall beat him yet." "but we mustn't take him down to the camp. oh, thank goodness, at last." "no, no, don't say that, dick," cried jack, in agony, as the rhinoceros suddenly stopped, whisked round, and went straight back upon its trail. "let's hunt him now, for he's going straight for father. don't you see?" "yes," said dick; and turning their trembling half-blown cobs, they galloped after the rhinoceros in turn. chapter thirty three. the tables turned. the rhinoceros did not see mr rogers at first, but went straight back upon its own trail, lowering its head from time to time, and literally ploughing its way through the tangled grass with its horn, which, driven by the weight behind, scattered the roots and fragments on either side. the dogs, rejoicing in the change of position, snapped and barked at its heels; and as the boys galloped on, with their rifles ready and at full cock, they could note more at their ease the peculiarity of the animal's make. this was ponderous to a degree, and the great folds of skin at the shoulders and haunches as they worked while the beast galloped along, made it look as if the greater part of its body was covered by a huge shell like that of a tortoise. but now all at once the monster seemed to have caught sight of mr rogers and the big bay, for it uttered a peculiar hoarse squeal, gave its little tail a twist, tossed its head as it leaped clumsily from the ground, and then, lowering its horn, dashed straight at the new enemy before it. upon seeing this change of front dick leaped from his horse, and jack did likewise, the cobs standing perfectly still, with the reins thrown over their heads to trail upon the ground at their feet. then going down upon one knee as the rhinoceros, instead of being tail on, now presented its side, they took careful aim and fired. _crack_! _thud_! _crack_! _thud_! the reports of the two rifles were followed by what seemed to be a dull echo, telling them plainly enough that their shots had told. the rhinoceros stopped short and shook its head, and they saw it try to turn it, as if to touch a tender or ticklish place with its nose. the next moment there was another report, as mr rogers fired, and the thud that followed told of a fresh hit. the rhinoceros shook its head again, whisked round in the most absurd way, and went off at a clumsy gallop, followed by a couple more shots from the boys' rifles. "waste of lead! waste of lead!" cried mr rogers, cantering up. "well, what do you think of the rhinoceros?" "oh, what a brute, father!" cried dick, remounting. "let's go on after it. he's badly hit." "he's hit, certainly," said mr rogers; "but unless you can well choose your spot those shots of ours would do very little more than make a sore place under the creature's hide. he's like an old-fashioned man-at-arms in his buff jerkin." "but let's go after it, father," cried jack. "no, i would not to-day, my boy. `discretion,' you know, is the better part of valour, and the horses are overdone as it is. we shall know where to go another time, so let it rest for the present." "but that great brute will be rushing out at us at all sorts of times," said jack. "then you must keep the better look out. if you fire at it again, you must aim before the shoulder, mind; take him as he's coming, if you don't feel too nervous." jack looked at his father, and then at dick, and then they both laughed. "well father, it does make you feel queer to have that great brute thundering down upon you," said dick. "you would be curious beings if you did not," said mr rogers, laughing. "but you must take care, boys, for the rhinoceros is a very dangerous beast; and it will charge at anything, even at a tree if it is in its way." "ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!" laughed jack. "what are you laughing at?" said his father. "i was just thinking that i should like to see that great brute after dinny, and dinny scuffling up a tree to get out of its way." "yes, it would be good fun," said dick; "but i should like dinny to have a good start." "he would need it," said mr rogers gravely; and they rode on gently back to the camp. there was fresh news here, for both the general and coffee had to report that they had seen rhinoceros, and upon comparing notes, it was very evident that it could not be the same, unless the creature could have been in three places at once. this was promising, for, in spite of the danger, they all wanted to number one of the great beasts in the list of the game they shot. but during the next few days, with the exception of the daily shooting of an antelope for the larder, they saw no great game, even failing to put up the big rhinoceros when they rode over the same ground again. they found the lair in amongst the thick bushes and dried grass, the dogs running through it from side to side, while the three hunters sat with presented pieces, ready to shoot at the first charge. they kept well apart too, so as to be ready to help the one at whom the rhinoceros came; but they saw nothing of the beast, and it was evident that it had shifted its quarters. the weather had been intensely hot and dry, so that the long reedy grass crackled and rustled as they passed along, and in places the tramp of the horses' hoofs sent the dust flying in clouds. one evening towards sunset they were about ten miles from the camp, and wearied out with the heat and sultriness of the air which for days past had threatened a storm; they were riding listlessly across a wide plain that was being rapidly turned into a regular desert for want of refreshing rain. nobody had spoken for some time, when suddenly jack exclaimed,-- "look! the plain is on fire." the horses were reined in, and as they gazed in the direction pointed out, it was evident that there was what seemed to be a very large fire rolling across the plain; the white smoke-clouds rising quite high. "is it the grass on fire?" said dick, as mr rogers brought his little double glass to bear. "it is no fire at all," said his father, "but dust. there is a great herd of buffalo crossing the plain, and we ought to get a shot." click! click! went the lock of jack's rifle, and he leaped down to tighten his girths. "no!" said mr rogers; "they are oxen and horsemen. it is a large party crossing the plain--an emigration of boers, i'll be bound." they rode gently on towards the long line of dust-clouds, which was passing at right angles to them; and as they drew nearer they could plainly see beneath the lurid sky figures of men on horseback, blacks mounted on oxen, and waggon after waggon with its enormously long team. as they approached, some of the sun-tanned, dejected-looking men riding in front turned their heads, and stared sullenly at the little party, but they seemed to have no desire for any friendly intercourse; and when mr rogers spoke to them they replied sullenly in broken english mixed with dutch, that they were going north. they were curious-looking men from an english point of view, and would have been greatly improved by the use of a pair of scissors to their long, abundant, fair hair. each man carried his rifle ready for the first enemy that might cross his path, and their numerous black servants trudged on with loads or rode the oxen. these blacks, too, took the attention of the boys, one being a perfect giant in his way, a great square shouldered fellow of quite six-feet-six in height; while another, mounted upon an ox, had his hair twisted up into a couple of points, standing up from his head like the horns of an antelope. every one looked jaded and worn out, as if with a long journey; and the dejected aspect of the masters was traceable even in their dogs, one of which went on in front with his head, down and tongue lolling out, aiming evidently at some particular point. so surly were the leaders of the party that mr rogers made no further effort to be friendly, but sat with his sons looking-on, till the whole troop, extending several hundred yards, had filed by, under the cloud of dust shuffled up by the oxen's feet; and then, as the little hunting-party rode on, they could see as it were a cloud go rolling slowly over the plain, the emigrant party being quite hidden by its folds, till the dreary dust-covered plain was passed. "how are we to get at these rhinoceroses?" said mr rogers, as they rode homeward. "we must have one, boys; but i don't want to have out the zulus to track, for fear of their getting injured." "perhaps we shall come across one, father, when we don't expect it," said dick. "let's try to get a giraffe or two, and we may find a rhinoceros without hunting for it." "very wisely said," replied mr rogers; "perhaps we shall." chapter thirty four. how the waggon was put straight. the remark made by dick as he rode home with his father was much nearer fulfilment than he expected. the morning broke dark and lowering, with great thunder clouds in the north; and as it was evident that it was raining hard, as it can rain sometimes in south africa, and they might get caught, it was decided to spend the morning at home, and devote that day to a general clean up of arms, and a repacking of the waggon, which needed doing sadly. besides which there were cases of stores that they had not yet been able to get at; and these it was advisable to have, especially a whole barrel of fine flour, which was right at the bottom. arms were cleaned, then, till dinny announced breakfast, with three hot roast quails, that had been knocked down by chicory that morning. these were a delicious treat, being about three times the size of the little english quail; and the hearty breakfast having come to an end, mr rogers climbed into the waggon, followed by the boys, the general and his sons went off to collect wood for firing, while peter and dirk, with a yoke of bullocks, brought it to the camp and made a stack, upon which dinny soon began to make inroads for culinary purposes, as he had cakes to bake, and a large joint of eland to cook for an early dinner-- for if it seemed likely to hold up, an expedition was determined on in search of giraffes for the afternoon. it was very busy and very warm work under the tilt of the waggon, but the two boys toiled away with a will, and package after package of forgotten luxuries was unearthed, and placed where it could be used. "hurray, father!" cried jack, "here's a box of cornflour." "and here's another bag of rice," cried dick. "better still," said mr rogers, laughing. "here's something that will suit you, dick." "what? more sugar, father?" "no. you were grumbling about always drinking your coffee without milk; here's a case of swiss condensed." "if the sugar ran out," said jack, "we could get honey." "yes," said his father. "you boys must be on the look out for the honey-guide." "why, we saw one, father," cried jack. "yes, and the rhinoceros drove it out of our head," said dick, "and--" "why, what's the matter?" cried mr rogers. "rifles, boys!" they were just engaged in moving a big chest, and had the greater part of the waggon's contents piled up on one side, that nearest the kraal of growing and piled up thorns, when there was a loud yelping of the dogs, a peculiar grunting snort, a tremendous crash, and the dissel-boom was driven on one side, and the fore part of the waggon itself actually lifted and nearly overturned. there was a tremendous crash, and splinters flew as it was struck; and another crash as it came down upon the earth again, one wheel having been lifted quite a couple of feet. then, as jack held on by the great laths of the waggon cover, and looked over the chests, he saw the shoulders of a great rhinoceros, as it wrenched its horn out of the woodwork that it had driven it through; then it whisked round, and charged straight at the fire, rushing through it, trampling the embers, and tossing the burning sticks in all directions. "murther! master, help! here's a big thief of a--murth--" dinny did not finish his sentence, for, seeing him standing there shouting as his cooking-place was "torn all to smithereens," as he afterwards expressed it, the rhinoceros dashed at him, and with one lift of his horn sent poor dinny flying into the thorny hedge of the cattle-kraal. the rhinoceros now stood snorting and squeaking, in search of some other object upon which to vent its rage; and seeing this in some newly-washed clothes laid out to dry upon a bush, it charged at them, dashing through the bush, and carrying off a white garment upon its horn, with which it tore right away, never stopping once while it was in sight. "well, when you have done laughing, young gentlemen," said mr rogers, "perhaps you will let me pass and see what damages we have suffered." "laugh!" cried jack. "oh, father, i ache with laughing. did you ever see such a comical beast?" "it certainly has its comical side," said mr rogers; "but it is terribly mischievous and dangerous." "but you should have seen it toss dinny, father," said dick, wiping his eyes. "i hope he wasn't hurt." they leaped out of the waggon rifle in hand, just as a piteous groan came from the top of the kraal fence. "ah, masther, and that was the only dacent shirt i had left. oh, masther, dear, help me down. i'm kilt and murthered here wid the great thorns in my back." the boys could hardly help for laughing, poor dinny's aspect was so ludicrous; but by dint of placing the broken dissel-boom up to where he was sitting, and crawling up to him, dinny was aided to drag himself out. "aisy then, masther jack, aisy," he cried; "don't ye see the nasty crukked thorns have got howlt of me? ye'd be pulling me out of my clothes, instead of my clothes out of the thorns. arrah, sor, d'ye think that great pig baste wid a horn on his nose will ever bring me clane shirt back?" "very doubtful, dinny; but are you much hurt?" said mr rogers. "an' am i much hurt?" cried dinny, "whin there isn't a bit of me as big as saxpence that hasn't got a thorn shtuck in it?" "oh, never mind the thorns," said mr rogers, laughing. "shure, i don't, sor; they moight all be burnt for the bit i'd care. but shure, sor, it isn't at all funny when you've got the thorns in ye." "no, no, of course not, dinny," said his master, "and it is unfeeling to laugh. but are you hurt anywhere?" "shure, sor, i'm telling ye that i'm hurt all over me, ivery-where." "but the rhinoceros--" "the which, sor? sure, i didn't know that any part of me was called a rhinoceros." "no, no, i mean the animal that charged you." "an' that's a rhinoceros is it, sor? shure, i thought it was a big african pig wid a horn in his nose." "yes, that's a rhinoceros, dinny. come, did it hurt you when it charged you?" "shure, i'd like to charge it the price of me best shirt, i would," grumbled dinny, rubbing himself softly. "no, he didn't hurt me much; he lifted me up too tinderly wid his shnout; but that was his artfulness, the baste; he knew what the crukked thorns would do." "then you have no bones broken, dinny?" said dick. "an is it a pig i'd let break me bones?" cried dinny, indignantly. "a great ugly baste! i'd like to have the killing of him any day in the week. just look at me fire flying all over the place. shure, i'll be very glad when we get home again;" and he went grumbling away. the damage to the waggon was not serious. the horn of the great beast had gone right through the plank of the forepart, where the chest generally stood on which the driver sat, and that could easily be repaired; while they were carpenters enough to splice the broken dissel-boom, or if needs be, cut down a suitable tree and make another; so that altogether there was nothing much to bemoan. a good deal of laughter followed, dick and jack being unable to contain their mirth, as they thought of dinny's discomfiture. "oh, yis; it's all very foine, masther jack; but if you'd been sent flying like i was then, it isn't much ye'd have laughed." "no, i suppose not, dinny," said the lad frankly; "but never mind about the thorns." "shure, it isn't the holes in me shkin," said dinny; "they'll grow again. i was thinking about me shirt." "i'll ask father to give you one of his, dinny," said dick. "one o' thim flannel ones wid blue sthripes?" said dinny eagerly. "yes, one of those if you like, dinny." "whoop! good luck to the big pig and his horn on his nose," cried dinny. "he's welkim to me owld shirt; for it was that tindher that i had to put on me kid gloves to wash it, for fear it should come to pieces, masther dick. but, masther dick, asthore, d'ye think the big baste will come back and thread on me fire again?" "i think we shall have to be on the look out for him to stop him," said dick. "but his skin's so thick there's no getting a bullet through." "an' is it a pig wid a shkin as thick as that!" said dinny, contemptuously. "arrah, i'll be after shooting the baste meself. i wouldn't go afther the lines, but a big pig! shure, if the masther will let me have a gun and powther, i'll go and shute the baste before he knows where he is." chapter thirty five. how dinny handled his gun. in expectation of another visit from the rhinoceros, the greatest precautions were taken; but the days went by, and hunting and collecting took up plenty of attention, and no more visits from the rhinoceros were received. the boys were certain that this was not the animal that had charged them out upon the grass plain, and proof of this was found one day when, in company with their father, the boys were following a honey-guide. coffee and chicory were with them, and eagerly joined in the pursuit, till the bird which had been flitting from bush to bush, and from tree to tree, suddenly perched itself upon one at the edge of a patch of forest. then chicory ran right to a particular tree, and pointed to a spot where, about twenty feet from the ground, the bees could be seen flying in and out. to the great disappointment of the bird, the wild hive was left for that occasion, it being a pity to waste any of the honey, so they returned by another route towards the camp, the bird twittering and showing no little excitement at what it evidently looked upon as the folly of men at neglecting the sweet treasure. the place was, however, marked, and with the intention of returning next day, armed with hatchet, fire, and a couple of zinc buckets to hold the spoil, they rode round the other side of the forest-patch, looking out for brightly-plumaged birds, whose skins could be added to the collection already made. "yes," said mr rogers, "it is a curious natural history fact, but there it is, plainly enough. the bird knows that man can get at the honey when it cannot, so it leads him to the place hoping to get its share of the spoil." "then you don't think it is done out of love for man, father?" said jack. "what do you think, dick?" said mr rogers. "i think it's done out of kindness to the bird," said dick, smiling. "so do i," replied his father, "and that bird its own self." "look at the vultures," cried jack, just then, as quite a cloud of the great birds rose from a clump of trees on their left; and upon riding up there lay a great rhinoceros, or rather its remains, for, in spite of its tough hide, the carrion birds had been busy at it; but not so busy but that the marks of a couple of bullets were seen in its neck and fore-shoulder, from the effects of which it had evidently died. "that's our rhinoceros," cried jack eagerly. "you shall have your claim, boys," said mr rogers drily; "my shot shall not count." "i said `our,' father; so let's share it amongst us." the boys would have liked to have the horn hacked off, but the animal was in such a terrible state that their father thought it unfair to set either of the zulus to execute the task; so they had to be content with the trophy in expectation; the boys promising to have off the horn from the next that was shot. while they were enjoying a hearty meal after their return to the camp, dinny suddenly began to make advances to chicory, giving him pieces of cake, and choice bits of meat, which he had roasted, and all to the boy's great surprise, for heretofore dinny had been anything but civil to him. but chicory took it all in good part, and smiled and nodded; and when at last dinny signed to him to come away from the camp, the boy followed without a word. "look ye here, my little naygur," said dinny confidentially, as soon as they were in the shelter of the trees; "d'ye undherstand what i'm saying to ye?" chicory nodded eagerly. "yes, yes; understand," he said. "then look here, ye dark-looking little image; i want ye to help me." "yes; help," said chicory wonderingly. "iv ye'll help me, i'll help you, little naygur; and ye shall always have plenty of what's good out of the pot, and roast mate, and cake. d'ye understand that?" "yes; chicory know. give him plenty meat." "that's right, my young son of a dark night," cried dinny. "well, now then, look here. ye know that grate big pig wid the horn on his nose came and upset me fire, and run away wid me wardrobe?" chicory shook his head. "well then, wid me clane shirt. d'ye undherstand now?" "yes, yes," said chicory, laughing. "don't know big pig." "yes, yes, you do, my young piece of black velvet; the big rise nosserus." "yes, rhinoceros, big beast, big horn. oorrr! houk! houk! houk!" this was supposed to resemble the noise made by the great animal; and chicory illustrated his cry by going down on hands and knees in a clumsy gallop, which ended with a toss of the head in the air. "yes; that's him," said dinny. "well, i want ye to find the way to where he lives by his futmarks, and then come and tell me, and i'll go and shute him." chicory nodded his head, and they went back to the waggon, where dinny presented himself to his master all at once with a request for a gun. "a gun, dinny? and what do you want with a gun?" "shure, sor, everybody else learns how to shute, and i thought i'd like to be able to shute a line or a hippo--what's his name, or any other of the savage bastes if they came near the waggon while ye were away." "well, dinny, i have no objection, if you promise to be careful." "but i want one o' them that shutes big bullets, sor, and not the little pishtol things that only shutes small shot, sor." "you shall have a good rifle, dinny," said his master. "dick, get the snider--the short snider--out of the waggon, and give him twenty cartridges." this was done, and the rifle placed in dinny's hands. "you must be very careful how you shoot with it, dinny," said mr rogers. "shure and i will, sor." "but be particularly careful not to fire in the direction where any one is coming. remember a snider is dangerous at a mile." "is it now?" said dinny. "but shure, sor, i want a gun, and i don't care for your sniders at all. what's a snider to do wid me? it's a gun i want." "to kill wild beasts, dinny?" "that same, sor." "well, then, take that snider-rifle; it will kill at a tremendous distance." "what, that little bid of a thing, sor?" "to be sure, man. now take care, and you'll have to keep it clean and free from rust as well." "thanky, sor, and i will, and it will have too much to do for it to get rusty." "well, dinny, i trust you, mind, so be careful with your weapon." "shure, sor, and i will," said dinny; and taking the snider very carefully in his hands, he asked jack to give him "a bit of showing how to trim thim," and this jack did till he was perfect, when dinny went off with the rifle, muttering to himself. "think o' that now!" he kept on saying, "that bit of a thing shooting a baste at a mile!" nothing more was said by dinny, who had made his plans, and he kept his own secret of what he intended to do. on the following afternoon chicory came to him in high glee, to claim the roast meat and cake promised, and he announced that he had found where the rhinoceros lived. "how did you find him out?" said dinny doubtingly. "track. follow spoor," said chicory proudly. "oh, ye followed his spoor, did ye?" said dinny. "very well thin, it's going to be a bright moonlight night, so ye can follow his spoor, and tak' me wid ye." chicory nodded eagerly, and in the course of the evening he came and beckoned to dinny, who took the snider, and put the cartridges in his pocket. "where are you going, dinny?" said his master. "shure, jist for a bit o' pleasure, sor," he replied. "well, look out for the lions," said dick maliciously. "shure i niver thought o' the lines," muttered dinny, "and they goo out a-walking av a night. i'd better shtay at home. bother!" he cried angrily. "shure the young masther did it to frecken me, and it'll take a braver boy than him to do it anyhow." so dinny marched off, and following chicory, the boy led him at once over a rugged mountainous hill, and then into a part of the forest that was particularly dark, save where the moon, pretty well at its full, threw long paths of light between the trees. enjoining silence, the boy went cautiously forward, threading his way through the dark forest, till he halted beside a fallen monarch of the woods, a huge tree of such enormous proportions, that its gnarled trunk and branches completely stopped further progress; for it formed a stout barrier breast high, over which a man could fire at anything crossing the moonlit glade beyond. the shape of the tree was such that a branch like a second trunk ran almost parallel to the main trunk, arching over the head of whoever used the old tree for a breastwork, and forming an additional protection should the occupant of the breastwork be attacked by any large animal. "stop there, you see noseros," whispered chicory. "but shure ye wouldn't have a man shtand there by himself, and all in the dark? faix, there's some wild baste or another shlaying me now." "see noseros then shoot," whispered chicory. "i stay here." the boy caught hold of a branch and swung himself up into a tree, where he perched himself and waited. "faix, he's just like a little monkey, and not fit for the shociety of christians," muttered dinny as he took his place by the great barrier, and, resting his rifle upon the trunk, waited. dinny felt in anything but a courageous mood, but as he had come so far upon his mission, he strung himself up to go on with it, and watched the open space before him, lit up by the moon which shone full upon his face. "maybe he's only playing wid me, the black little haythen," thought dinny, "and there's no big pig to be seen here at all. but he shan't see that i'm a bit freckened annyhow, for i'll shtand my ground till he comes down and says we'd better go." so dinny stood watching there till he began to feel drowsy, and this made him lean against the great trunk, his head began to nod, and twice over he was pretty well asleep. "shure, an' i'll catch cowld if i do that," he said to himself, as he gave himself a bit of a shake. "i don't see what's the good o' waiting here, and--murther! look at that now." dinny felt as if cold water was being poured over him as, all at once, he saw the great proportions of a rhinoceros standing out quite black against the bright moonlight, the animal being as motionless as if carved from the rock that lay in great masses around. "shure an' it's a big shtone, and nothing else, and--murther, it's moving, and coming here." dinny hardly knew himself how he did it, but in a kind of desperation he took aim at the rhinoceros, and drew trigger. the result was a sharp crack, that seemed to echo into distance far away, and mingled with the echoes there was a furious grunting roar. for dinny had hit the rhinoceros. in fact, aiming at it as he did, with the barrel of his piece upon the large trunk, it would have been almost impossible to miss. but as he heard the roar dinny turned and ran, stumbled, saved himself, and hid behind a tree. "murther, but it's awful work," he muttered, as his trembling fingers placed a second cartridge in the rifle. then, all being silent, dinny stole out, and peering cautiously before him, crept towards the prostrate tree. "shure, i belave i've shot him dead," he muttered, as he peered out into the open glade; but as he showed his face in the moonlight there was a furious snort, and dinny turned and fled; for the rhinoceros charged right at the white face behind the prostrate tree, thrusting its monstrous head between the two huge limbs; and then, in spite of its prodigious strength being unable to get any further, it drew back, charged again, placed one hoof on the tree--but its efforts were in vain. then it wrenched its head back, and retiring a short distance charged once more, dinny watching it from behind a tree with blanched face and hands, trembling with excitement. a practised hunter would have sent bullet after bullet crashing into the monster's brain; but dinny was not practised, and it was not until he had thoroughly convinced himself that the animal could not get through, that he stole out, and bending down, cautiously advanced nearer and nearer to the huge beast, which snorted, and grunted, and squealed in its futile efforts to get at its assailant. if it had gone twenty yards to its left, it could easily have passed the obstacle; but it was pig-like enough in its nature to keep on trying to force itself through the obstacle it had tried to pass, and seeing this, dinny went on, gaining a little courage the while. "shure i'll go close enough to make quite sartain," he muttered; "but it's like having a bad dhrame, that it is. now where had i better shute him--in the mouth or the eye?" he decided for the eye, and raising the rifle at last he took a long aim at not six feet distance, when the great beast uttered so furious a roar that dinny turned once more, and fled behind the tree. "shure and what'd i be freckened of?" he said angrily. "not of a baste like that." and walking out once more he repeated his manoeuvres, approaching cautiously; and as the rhinoceros began straining, and sprang to force its way through, dinny took careful aim at the monstrous beast, and fired. "shure it's aisy enough," he said, as the beast started back; and placing a fresh cartridge in his piece, he fired again at where the animal stood in the full moonlight swaying its head to and fro. it was impossible to miss; and dinny fired again and again, nine shots in all, growing encouraged by his success; and the result was that the monster fell over upon its side at last with a heavy thud, just as chicory dropped to the ground, and made the hero jump by touching him on the back. "ah, be aisy; what are ye thrying to frecken a man for like that?" said dinny. "but look at that, ye little haythen; that's the way to shute. now let's go back and tell them they needn't be alarmed about the big pig, for its dinny himself that has done the thrick." chapter thirty six. dinny relates his adventure. dinny's story was hardly believed when he walked into camp, but chicory was there to corroborate his words, and the astonishment felt was intense. "you--you shoot a rhinoceros, dinny!" said his master. "shure and why not, yer hanner?" said dinny. "didn't i borry the gun a' purpose for that same? and didn't the big baste stale my gyarments in the most ondacent way?" "but how? where? where?" was asked by father and sons, in a breath. "shure an' i'm the laste bit weary wid my exertions," said dinny, "and i'll jist light me pipe and sit down and rest, and tell ye the while." all in the most deliberate way, dinny proceeded to light his pipe and rest; and then, with chicory sitting in front with his arms tightly embracing his knees, and his eyes and mouth open, dinny related his adventure with the rhinoceros. the late sir walter scott in speaking of embellishing and exaggerating a story called it adding a cocked-hat and walking-stick. dinny put not merely a cocked-hat and walking-stick to his story, but embellished it with a crown, sceptre, and royal robes of the most gorgeous colours. it was wonderful what he had done; the furious conduct of the rhinoceros, the daring he had displayed, the precision with which he had sought out vital parts to aim at. a more thrilling narrative had never been told, and chicory's eyes grew rounder and his mouth wider open in his astonishment and admiration, the hero going up wonderfully in the boy's esteem, especially as he read in dinny's looks the promise of endless snacks and tastes when he was hungry. but all the same, dinny's flights of fancy grew a little too lofty for his other hearers. "oh, i say, dinny, come now," said dick, as his father sat back listening with a good-humoured smile upon his lip. "i'm not going to believe that a rhinoceros rose up on its hind legs and fought at you with its fore paws, while you stood still and aimed at it." "shure, masther dick, dear, did you ever know me say anything that wasn't thrue? if ye doubt me word, there's masther chicory there, as brave a boy as ever stepped in--i mane out of shoe leather, and spread his little black toes about in the sand. he was there all the toime, and ye can ax him if he didn't see it." "yes," said chicory, "nosros try to get through big tree, and dinny shoot um." "there," said dinny triumphantly, "what did i tell you? why, if ye don't believe me, there's the baste itself lying as dead as a hammer where i shot him." "then it's only a little pig or a young rhinoceros, dinny," said jack. "little pig!" cried dinny. "by this an' by that, he's as big as the waggon there, tub an' all. sure a bigger and more rampaging baste niver fought wid a human man, and tried hard to ate him." "why that shows what stuff you are telling us, dinny. a rhinoceros wouldn't eat a man; he'd trample him to death," cried dick, who had been a studious boy for years. "a rhinoceros is an herbivorous beast, and has a prehensile upper lip." "a what sort o' baste?" said dinny, staring. "herbivorous." "shure an' what's that got to do wid it? i tell you it tried to ate me at one mouthful, in spite of his what sort o' upper lip. shure the poor baste couldn't help having that the matter wid his lip. why as soon as i set eyes on him, `ah, dinny,' i says, `yer work's cut out, me boy,' i says, `for if ever there was a baste wid a stiff upper lip that's the one.'" "but i said a prehensile upper lip, dinny," cried dick. "shure i heard what ye said, master dick. i know. and a pretty rampaging baste he was. wirra! if ye'd seen him foight. if ye'd heard him roar, and saw how i battled wid him till i'd laid him low wid tin bullets in his jacket. ah, it was wonderful. but ye shall see the baste." "yes, i want to see him, dinny," said jack. "shure an' i'll be glad to take ye, masther jack, as soon as it's light. but he was a brave baste, and fought well; and i felt sorry-like when i seen him go down." "did you though, dinny?" "shure an' i did, masther dick, for i says to myself, `ye're a brave boy, an' i dessay ye've got a mother somewhere as is very proud of ye, just as i've got wan meself. but i must shute ye,' i says, `for the sake of the gintlemen wid the waggon, and the mischief ye've done,' and so i did; an' there he lies, masther dick, stretched out on his side; and pace to his ashes. i've done." "well, boys," said mr rogers, speaking for the first time for some minutes, "i think we ought to congratulate ourselves upon the great accession we have discovered in dinny. in future he shall accompany us in our attacks upon the lions and other furious beasts. i should not think of going after elephant now without dinny." that gentleman's face was a study, as he listened to his master's words. his nostrils twitched, his brows grew full of wrinkles, and his jaw dropped, letting his pipe fall from his lips; and though he picked it up directly after, the tobacco had gone out, and dinny looked as if all the enjoyment had gone out of his life. beyond the roaring of a lion or two, the night passed off very quietly, and as soon as it was broad day chicory stood ready to lead the party to see the rhinoceros. "come, dinny, aren't you ready?" cried dick. "shure an' i don't want to go, masther dick. i seen enough of the baste last night." "yes, but you must come and show us." "shure an' masther chicory there will lade you to the very spot, and i couldn't do any more. he lies did bechuckst two big lumps of sthone, an', as i said, he's as big as a waggin." "oh, but dinny must come," said mr rogers. "shure an' how will i get the breakfast riddy if i come, sor?" persisted dinny. "i did my duty last night. you gintlemen must go and fetch him home." but dinny's protestations passed unheeded, and he had to go with the party, shouldering his rifle like a raw recruit, but glancing uneasily to right and left as they went along. dick observed this, and said quietly,-- "what a lot of poisonous snakes there are amongst these stones!" dinny gave a spasmodic jump, and lifting his feet gingerly, deposited them in the barest places he could find; and for the rest of the journey he did not once take his eyes off the ground. as it happened they had not gone fifty yards farther before they came upon a great swollen puff-adder, lying right in their path. chicory saw it first, and shouted a word of warning, which made dinny wheel round, and run away as hard as he could go, till the shouts of the others brought him back, looking terribly ashamed. "oh, it's wan o' thim things, is it?" he said, looking at the writhing decapitated viper. "shure i thought it was the jumping sort that springs up at yer ois, and stings ye before yer know where ye are. there was a cousin, of me mother's went to live in hampshire, and she got bit by wan o' thim bastes in the fut, and it nearly killed her. ye can't be too careful." dinny felt as if he was being laughed at for the rest of the way, and looked quite sulky; but the sight of the great fallen tree, and the huge rhinoceros surrounded by vultures busily working a way through the tough hide, revived him, and he marched forward to examine his bullet holes with the look of pride worn by a conqueror. it was quite refreshing to see him walk up the hind leg of the rhinoceros, and then along its huge horny-hided body to the shoulder, where, lowering the rifle he carried, dinny placed the stock upon the creature's neck, and rested his arm upon the barrel, regarding his fallen foe in quite a contemplative manner. "mind that rifle don't go off, dinny," cried jack. dinny leaped off the rhinoceros and stared. "it's a very dangerous thing to rest your arms on the muzzle of a gun," said dick, who enjoyed poor dinny's discomfiture. "well, dinny," said his master, "i congratulate you upon having slain a monster. where did you stand?" "oh, over yonder somewhere," said dinny cavalierly. "anywhere to get a good soight ov him." "stood here behind tree where nosros no get at um," said chicory, innocently, in his eagerness to explain all he could. "ah, ye avil little baste," muttered dinny. "see if i give ye the laste taste of anything i've got. ah, yes," he said aloud, "i did get one shot at him from behind that big tree; but i cud see him best out in the open yander. shure an' how big is the baste, sor?" he added, as mr rogers ran a measuring tape along the animal from nose to tail. "just over eleven feet, dinny," said mr rogers; and leaving the general to hew off the great blunt horn, they returned to breakfast. chapter thirty seven. dick tries the vegetable fish-hooks. directly breakfast was over they started--this time without dinny, who seemed to be very nervous for fear he should be asked to go--to get some of the honey, coffee and chicory each carrying a zinc pail, and the general a small tub. long before they reached the patch of forest-trees the little bird came fluttering and twittering about them, having apparently forgiven their past neglect, and then went on, and flew from bush to bush, leading them straight to the big trees, perching as before upon one close by, and then silently watching the manoeuvres of the party. the general was about to take the lead, but coffee and chicory uttered such a strong protest in their native tongue, that he smilingly handed his hatchet to coffee; while chicory collected some tolerably dry peaty growth, struck a light and set it on fire, causing a dense cloud of smoke to rise up round the tree that contained the wild honey, and stupefying and suffocating the bees that flew to and fro. the boys grinned with delight at their task, and danced about, heaping up the smoke-producing leaves and stalks, till feeling satisfied that they might ascend, there was a bit of an altercation as to who should go, ending in chicory giving way to his brother as he had been ill. coffee then took the axe and stuck it in his loin-cloth, and a patch of burning turf in his hand. then nimbly climbed up to the hole, where he held the smoking turf before him, to keep off the bees from his naked body, and clinging tightly with his legs, he proceeded to ply the axe so vigorously, and with such skill, that the rotten bark soon gave way, the tree being little more than a shell, and he laid bare range upon range of the beautiful comb. a little more tearing away of the bark was necessary, and then coffee descended for a pail and a knife, dispensing now with his burning turf, and going up to return with the pail full of delicious comb. this was turned into the general's tub, and the boy ascended again, filled his pail and descended, and once more going up filled the other. the general then solemnly took a piece of the comb and placed it in the fork of a tree for the honey-guide, assuring those who looked on, that it was necessary to propitiate the bird and pay it for its services--a plan of which the little thing seemed highly to approve, for it flew to the comb at once, and began to feed. enough having been procured to fill the pails and tub, chicory, evidently approving of his brother's sticky state, went up the tree in turn, and cut out three combs for present use, offering some to each of his masters, and then dividing the remainder between his father, brother, and self. in fact, after removing to a little distance from the hive-tree, all sat down and had a good feast of the delicious honey, coffee and chicory grinning with delight as they munched up the wax and sweet together. "well, of all the sticky objects i ever saw, they beat everything," said dick, laughing. "why, coffee's all over honey." "yes, tick all over," said the boy, rubbing his finger down his chest, and then sucking it, for he had got to be pretty thickly smeared in carrying the honey down. "didn't the bees sting?" said jack. "only tiddlum's back;" said coffee, giving himself a writhe. "yes, tiddlum's back," said chicory, applying honey to three or four places upon his arms. "don't mind." "no, don't mind," assented coffee; and they filled their mouths full of honey and wax and cried, "good, good, good." they had spent so long over the journey for the honey that evening was coming on fast as they began to ride slowly back, dick and jack making excursions here and there in search of something fresh as they crossed a bushy plain strewn with great masses of stone, which rendered their progress very slow, any attempt at a trot or canter being absolutely madness, unless they wished to lame their steeds. "i wish we had got father's glasses," said jack, "we might have seen something from this high ground." "i have got them," said dick, gazing through the binocular at the prospect of undulating plain, across which his father and the zulu were making their way now, quite a mile in advance. "i've got them, but i can only see some quagga right over yonder." "i can see something close by," cried jack, pointing at a tall, dimly seen object that slowly passed out of a clump of bushes, and then went slowly forward into another. "what can you see?" said dick. "giraffe!" cried jack. "nonsense! where?" "it just went into that clump of bushes there. come on." "no," said dick, "father's making signals for us to go to him." "but it's such a pity to miss a chance," cried jack, unslinging his rifle. "yes," said dick, "so it is, but i shouldn't like father to think we did not attend to his signals. mark the clump. there, we shall know it by these stones on this high ground; and--yes, jack, you're right. that must be a giraffe." they stood watching the tall neck passing amongst the bushes, but it was getting very dark now, and they hurried on, so as to overtake the honey-bearers, reaching camp afterwards quite safely, where, over their late dinner, the coming of the giraffes was discussed. "i'd have breakfast at daybreak, boys, if i were you," said mr rogers, "and be off directly after." "but you'll come too, father?" said jack. "no, my boys, i thought you would like to have a hunt by yourselves," said mr rogers; when, seeing how disappointed the lads looked, he consented to come. the general stopped to keep the camp, and coffee and chicory seemed terribly disappointed at not being of the party; but upon receiving permission to take the dogs for a run, and a hunt all to themselves, they brightened up, and saw their masters go off without a murmur. it was a ride of some hours' duration to get to the high ground where the giraffe had been seen, the fact of there being one, mr rogers said, showing that there was a little herd somewhere close by, and so it proved, for after cautiously approaching the place, riding with the greatest care, so as to avoid the great masses of stone hidden amongst the grass, three tall heads were seen peering about in a patch of trees quite half a mile away. a quiet approach was contrived, the hunters making, their way round to the far side of the clump of bushes, where some higher trees sheltered their approach--very barely though, for the giraffe's long necks enabled them to peer over bushes and saplings of no mean height. but for this shelter the little herd would have been off at once, and they could have followed them at little better than a walk, on account of the rough stones and masses of rock. practice had made them skilful at stalking, and keeping pretty close together, they gradually approached the patch of tall growth, when, in obedience to a signal from mr rogers, they separated, dick and jack going in opposite directions, and mr rogers waiting for a few moments to let the boys get a start, and then entering the bush himself. so well had the arrangement been timed, that father and sons met together just upon the other side, staring the one at the other. "why, where are the giraffes?" cried jack. "yes, where are they?" said dick, looking at his father, as if he thought he had taken them away. "haven't you seen them?" "not i," said mr rogers, laughing. "why, boys, we must be sharper than this another time." "but when did they go?" cried dick. "i cannot tell," replied his father, "unless it was when we were out of sight. they must have suspected danger, and gone off at full speed." "what's to be done now then?" said jack. "get up to the top of the nearest hill, and look round with the glass," suggested dick; and this was so evidently the best plan, that they started for an eminence about a mile away. here they had not been a moment, and mr rogers had not had time to get out the glass, before jack cried,-- "there they go: i see them: scudding along through those bushes in the hollow there." stalking having proved unsuccessful the last time, they almost gave it up on this occasion, save that they trotted down the side of the hill away from the giraffes, and then cantered on so as to reach the same point as that for which the giraffes seemed to be making a long sweep of open plain, where they could put their horses to full speed. this time the giraffes were in sight as they rounded the corner of the hill, and shouting to the boys to each pick out one, mr rogers pushed his horse forward, and selecting the tallest of the herd, galloped on to cut it off from the rest of the herd. this needed little care, for the tall ungainly beast realised directly that it was being pursued, and separating from the herd, went off at a clumsy gallop, its neck outstretched, and its tail whisking about as it kept looking back at its pursuer. jack picked out another, which made for the denser part, where the trees were thick, and in his excitement he gave his cob the rein, and away they went at racing pace. but jack did not gain much upon the giraffe he had chosen, for almost before he had seen the colour of its spots at all closely, his horse, participating in its master's eagerness, went at full speed under a long, low branch, and came out on the other side of the wood, but without jack, who was swept violently out of his saddle by the low bough, which swung violently to and fro for a few moments, and then deposited jack softly in a sitting posture upon the ground. the boy rose to rub his chest very softly, and then feeling to see whether he was all right, he went on in chase of his horse, which he overtook standing very patiently just outside the patch of forest, looking wonderingly at him, as if asking why he had left its back. "what a nuisance!" grumbled jack; "and i daresay they've both shot giraffes by this time. how unlucky, to be sure!" he lifted the reins from his horse's feet, and thrusting them over its head, mounted again, but not comfortably, for jack felt very sore across the chest where the bough had struck him. from this post of vantage he could see his father in the distance still in chase of the giraffe; but though he looked in various directions, there was no dick. "whoo-hoo-hoo-hoop!" jack started to look in the direction from whence the sound had come, but he could see nothing. he, however, responded to the call, and it was repeated, evidently from a patch of wood half a mile distant. as he cantered towards it, the signal rang out again. "dick's brought down his giraffe very quickly," said jack. "whoo-hoo-hoo-hoop!" "here! hoi! jack!" came now from pretty close to him--but in a dense part of the patch of trees; and riding up, there was dick, with his horse standing perfectly still and looking at him. "come along," cried jack. "where's your giraffe?" "i don't know. where's yours?" "miles away. i galloped under a tree, and was pulled off my horse, such a bang." "we came right into these thorns," said dick, "and have been here ever since." "what! can't you get out?" "get out? no. it's horrible. i'm caught all over, and poor old shoes just the same. directly i try to make him stir, he begins to kick, and when he kicks it's awful. they're like fish-hooks, and i'm torn to pieces." jack began to laugh. "ah, yes, you may laugh," said his brother; "but you wouldn't like it." "no," laughed jack, "but you do look such a jolly old guy stuck up there, i can't help laughing." "but do try and help me out." "how?" said jack. "oh, i don't know. stand still, shoes, do! oh, i say, don't kick again, pray don't! good old horse then." shoes whinnied as his master patted and talked to him, but the thorns pricked him so at even this light movement, that the poor animal stamped angrily, and snorted as he pawed the ground. in spite of his intense desire to laugh, jack saw that matters were really serious for his brother; and leaping off, he threw down his reins at his horse's feet, whipped out his great hunting-knife, and proceeded to cut and hack away the thorns by which his brother and his horse were surrounded. they were indeed like fish-hooks, and so sharp and strong, that once in amongst them no one could have escaped without having clothes and skin ploughed and torn in a terrible way. shoes stood perfectly still now. he snorted at times and twitched the skin of his withers, turning his great eyes appealingly to jack, who plied his heavy sheath-knife so effectively that at last the mass of thorns was sufficiently hacked away to allow horse and rider to move. fortunately for dick, he was a clever horseman. had he ridden like some people, who hang a leg on each side of a horse and call that riding, he must have been thrown. for at the first touch to start him, shoes was so eager to get out of the thorny torture to which he had been subjected, that he made a tremendous bound, and alighted clear, trembling and sweating profusely. "oh, i say, jack, i am scratched," grumbled dick, giving himself soft rubs all over. "don't laugh. it does hurt so." "but i feel as if i can't help it," cried jack, who burst into a fresh roar. "i don't think i should have laughed at poor old dinny, if i had known how it hurts. those thorns are nearly as sharp as needles." "well, there, i won't laugh any more; but you weren't tossed up on the thorns by a rhinoceros. come along. let's go after father;" and they set off, but very gently, for dick's face was screwed into a fresh grimace at every motion of the horse, while the poor beast itself was marked with little tiny beads of blood all over its satin skin. chapter thirty eight. father shoots a giraffe. meanwhile, believing that the boys were in full chase of a giraffe a-piece, mr rogers had galloped on after the great creature he had cut off from the herd, though for a time he could not gain upon it at all. the beast's mode of progression was very ungainly, and its great stilted legs moved in an awkward manner, but it got over the ground very fast. still the plain was open and offered good galloping ground, and after a very long stern-chase mr rogers saw tokens of the great beast beginning to give way, and thereupon pushed forward, the bay responding to the calls he made upon it, so that he was soon alongside. his rifle was ready, but he hesitated to use it, preferring to gallop on and watch the great creature which towered up to double the height he sat upon his horse. it kept panting on, whisking its tail, and once or twice it made an awkward side-wise kick at the horse, but it was ill-directed and of none effect; while at last feeling that he was torturing the great beast, he levelled his gun, but his sight was disarranged by another fierce kick, which made the horse bound aside. again they thundered on for some distance, when, steadying his horse so as to get a good aim, mr rogers levelled, fired, and the monster came down with a crash, shot through the head. as the great giraffe lay motionless, mr rogers leaped down, after looking to see if his boys were coming; and then loosening his horse's girths he let it graze amongst the rich grass that grew in patches here and there, while, after refreshing himself a little, he drew his hunting-knife and proceeded dexterously to skin the great animal, which must have stood about nineteen feet from horn to hoof. for the skin of the giraffe--if a fine one--is worth three or four pounds, and this was in magnificent condition. it was a hard task that skinning, but the long legs acted as levers when he wanted to turn the creature over, and the busily employed time skipped away, quite three hours having elapsed before dick and jack rode up. "why, what a magnificent skin, father," cried dick, as he stood admiring the creamy drab, splashed and spotted with great patches of a rich yellowish brown. "what a monster, and what a height!" "yes," said mr rogers. "but i've had enough of this, boys. the great gentle beast looked so piteous and appealing at me that i feel ashamed of having killed it. you must shoot one a-piece i suppose, but after that let's get to the savage animals again. one feels to have done a good deed in ridding the country of one of those brutes. did you both kill yours?" "no, father," they cried in chorus; and after helping to cut off the marrow-bones of the great beast to carry home, for a roast, the marrow being esteemed a delicacy; the heavy skin was mounted before mr rogers, and a couple of marrow-bones a-piece proving a load, they rode slowly for the camp, mr rogers listening to the account of his boys' mishaps, both showing traces of having been in the wars. evening was coming on fast, and their progress was necessarily slow; but it was not until it had turned quite dark, that the fact became evident that they had lost their way out there on that great wild. they drew rein and looked around, but not a single familiar landmark was in sight. on the contrary, all loomed up strange and peculiar. to have gone on meant only wearying themselves in vain, and perhaps an unpleasant encounter with lions; so they made straight for the nearest patch of wood, secured their horses, and rapidly hacked off and collected enough wood for a fire, to do duty in a threefold way--giving them warmth, safety from prowling beasts, and cooking the huge marrow-bones, which were soon set down to roast, and formed, with the biscuits they carried, no despicable meal. such nights passed by a blazing fire on the edge of a wood sound very romantic, but they lose their attraction when tried. hot as africa is by day, icy winds often blow by night, and they will freeze the hunter inside the shelter of a tent; the coolness then of a night without shelter can be understood. the fire burnt one side, but, as jack said, without you made the fire all round you, it was no good, and that they could not do. no one felt disposed to sleep, so they sat and warmed themselves as best they could, drawing the great giraffe skin round them for warmth. then they talked till they were weary, and afterwards got up to pat and comfort their horses. it was very wearisome that night, but free from adventure; and the moment it was light they mounted and rode to the nearest eminence, from which they made out land-marks which enabled them to find their way back to camp, where the general and his two boys were missing, having gone out, as they said in their trouble, because mr rogers and the boys had not returned--"to look for boss;" their joy knowing no bounds when they came back in a couple of hours, without finding those they had sought, and seeing them waiting there. chapter thirty nine. how dick captured four yards of animal. mr rogers' description of the death of the gentle, harmless beast--its piteous looks, the great tears rolling from its expressive eyes, and its many struggles to get away, somewhat damped the ardour of dick and jack, who settled in council that it was too bad to shoot giraffe, and as they had a skin of the great creature, which was stretched out to dry, they would shoot no more. as for that magnificent skin, rough'un seemed to consider that it was placed there for his especial benefit; and to the great disgust of pompey, caesar, and crassus, who were tied up and could not join, but had to be content at straining at their chains and looking-on, rough'un amused himself by licking the skin, especially where there were little bits of fat, till he was tired, and then creeping under the hairy side to sleep. this he kept up for a whole day. the second day he gave it up, for the skin was rapidly assuming the character of a hard board; but the triumvirate were as impatient as ever, and barked incessantly. this annoyed dinny, who borrowed peter's great whip to administer punishment; but at the first crack and howl, rough'un, who was loyalty itself to his kind, left the hard skin that he had been smelling and scratching with his forepaw, and flew at dinny, exclaiming in dog language,-- "let them alone, you coward; you wouldn't dare to hurt them if they were free." "ah, get out, ye ugly murthering baste," roared dinny, cracking the whip, but in no way intimidating rough'un, who seemed to know that he was perfectly safe, the whip being only available for use at long distances, and rough'un keeping close to, and baying and charging at dinny's legs. "be off, or i'll be the death of you," said dinny, cracking the whip again; but in nowise dismayed, rough'un kept up the attack, till dinny literally turned, and fled to obtain his rifle; when rough'un gave a final bark, and growled at the triumvirate, and the triumvirate were so much obliged that they growled at rough'un, who coiled himself up in the sun on the malodorous skin and went to sleep. dick and jack were busy saddling their horses while this took place, and stood laughing and enjoying the scene. they were joined directly after by their father, who with the help of dick had been doing a little amateur farriery work, and freshly nailing a couple of loose shoes on his horse's hoofs. then, after providing themselves with some dried meat and biscuit, they rode off through the forest on to the plain, leaving the general, coffee, and chicory, to provide something for the larder. this was to be their last day here, for mr rogers was anxious that they should get on, for the twofold object of seeing the great falls of the big river, and also getting amongst the elephant. he could not help smiling with satisfaction, as he saw dick raise one foot to the stirrup, and spring into the saddle; the boy seeming to have grown lithe and strong as the young leopard with his healthy life in the open air. there was no need to coax his appetite now with luxuries, for his father used to banter him laughingly about its wolfishness, and compare his food-assimilating powers to those of coffee and chicory--boys who could literally graze upon meat by the hour together, and then grin, and show their teeth with satisfaction. with his returning health, dick had grown daring to a degree that was almost rash, so that jack felt at times quite thrown into the shade. dick winced a little upon this occasion, for the tremendous scratching he had had from the thorns had left him rather sore; but he soon forgot all this, and away the party rode, to have a sort of naturalists' equestrian ramble, to see if they could pick up anything fresh before they went away. they rode right off to the plain, noting the various birds among the bushes, and snakes and lizards wherever there was a dry sandy patch amongst rocks and stones. as they reached the part where the trees were scattered in park-like patches they encountered one of the bees'-honey-guides too; but as they had an ample supply at the waggon, and all the buckets being, to dinny's great annoyance, still in use, the bees were left in peace. game seemed to be scarce upon the plain that morning; but after a time as they rode round the edge of a clump of trees, so beautiful in their disposition that they seemed to have been planted there for ornament, mr rogers saw, a couple of miles away upon the open plain, a herd of something different to any of the animals they had before encountered. he took out his glass and carefully inspected them, but declared himself no wiser. "well, boys," he said, "whether we shoot one or no, we'll have a canter after them. let's keep down in that hollow, and round the little hill there, so as to approach unseen. look out for ant-bear holes. and now, one--two--three--forward!" a touch from the heel made the beautiful animals they rode bound away, but with a cry of pain dick reined in. "my dear boy, what's the matter?" said mr rogers, pulling up, while jack returned with a blank look of dismay upon his face. "thorns!" cried dick viciously, as he gave a writhe in his saddle. "stop and pick 'em out with a pin," cried jack. "come along, father. haw! haw! haw! i thought he was hurt!" then sticking his knees into his nag's side, he bounded off. "poor old fellow!" cried mr rogers, laughing. "you'll soon forget them." and he too galloped off, to try and circumvent the herd. "go on! ugly old jack," shouted dick, as he sat fast, checking his horse, which wanted to follow. "you'll get a thorn or two in yourself some day." he might have shouted this through a speaking trumpet, and his brother would not have heard, as, sitting well down in his saddle, he led the way into the hollow, his father close behind, and both thoroughly enjoying their gallop. "i don't care!" cried dick sulkily, as he sat and watched them. "pick out the thorns with a pin, indeed! see if i don't stick a pin in old jack when he's asleep to-night--and how will he like it?" dick gave another writhe as he watched the two riders out of sight, and then muttering in an ill-used way, "pick 'em out with a pin indeed!" he half turned in his seat, lolling in his saddle, and patting and playing with his horse, when lazily turning his eyes round amongst the clumps of trees, he saw something moving amongst the leaves. "boa-constrictors!" he cried in his astonishment. "monsters! ugh! no, they're those great long-necked giraffes. they looked just like huge snakes raising themselves amongst the trees." dick forgot all about the thorns as he nipped his nag's sides with his knees, turned its head, and went off at a canter for the place where the giraffes, seven or eight in number, were browsing upon the lower branches of the trees, their long necks seeming to writhe in and out amongst the branches in a way that quite justified dick's idea of their being serpents, for their bodies were invisible among the undergrowth. for a few minutes the great animals did not see the approach of the young hunter; but the moment they caught sight of the fleet cob bounding over the sunburnt grass, they went off at a clumsy, waddling gallop, scattering as they went, their necks outstretched and eyes rolling; while the cob seemed to single out a beautifully marked calf, about two-thirds grown, whose creamy skin was regularly spotted with rich light brown. dick's rifle was slung over his back, but he never once thought of using it. in fact, he hardly knew in the excitement of the chase what he intended, and so he raced on past patch after patch of scattered trees, and past clumps of thorns, which both he and the cob carefully avoided. now they gained a little; but directly after the giraffe whisked its tail straight up over its back and put on more power, leaving the hunter some distance behind; and so the race went on for a couple of miles, dick never once remembering his thorns, as he knew that it was only a question of time to run the great animal to a stand. "why, i could catch it then," cried dick excitedly; and sticking his heels into his horse, away they went over the grassy plain, gaining rapidly now; and though the giraffe kept on making an effort to increase the distance, it was of no avail, for the cob raced on closer and closer, and then avoiding the vicious kicks of the creature, delivered with tremendous force by its bony legs, the cob raced on alongside. there was a wonderful difference in the progress of the two animals--the one awkward, and seeming as if running on stilts; the other compact, muscular, and self-contained, evidently possessing double the endurance with an equal speed to the giraffe. on still and on, with the cob's sides flecked with foam, and the giraffe blundering now as it progressed. once it turned sharp off to the left, but without a touch the cob wheeled as well, and kept alongside, watchfully keeping clear whenever he saw the giraffe about to kick, which it tried to do if there was a chance. dick was excited with the chase, so was the cob, which stretched out more and more greyhound fashion as it raced along. fortunately, the grassy prairie-like stretch of land was clear of obstacles, no ant-bear or other burrow coming in their path, or horse and rider would have fallen headlong; the eyes of both being fixed upon the beautiful spotted coat of the giraffe, which, after rolling heavily in its gait for a while, made one more effort to wheel round and distance its pursuers, but stumbled in the act, and fell heavily upon its flank. the cob stopped as if by instinct; and hardly knowing what he was about, dick leaped down, avoided a kick by a quick jump, threw himself on to the giraffe, kneeling upon its neck, and treating it as people do a fallen horse, holding down its head upon the ground. "ah, you may kick and plunge," muttered dick, panting and hot with his exertions; "if a horse can't get up with his head held down, you can't." and so it proved, for though the unfortunate giraffe kicked and plunged as it lay upon its flank, going through the motions of galloping, it was completely mastered without much call for effort. certainly dick's gun was in his way, but he managed to unsling it with one hand, and threw it and his hat upon the grass, while the cob stood by, snuffing, snorting, and excited for a few moments at the giraffe's plunges, but settled down directly after to graze. the grass was torn up by the giraffe's hoofs, but finding its efforts vain, it soon lay perfectly still, uttering a piteous sigh, as much as to say, "there, kill me out of my misery!" to which dick responded by patting its neck and stroking its nose, as he gazed in the great prominent appealing eye, and noted the gentle mien of the tall animal. just as he had made the giraffe be perfectly still, he heard a distant hail, and looking up, there was jack coming up at full gallop, waving his gun over his head, and with his father close behind; for, unknowingly, the race had led dick somewhat in the direction taken by his father and brother, who, after an unsuccessful gallop after a very wild herd, had drawn rein and witnessed the end of the giraffe chase through the glass. "why, dick, where are the thorns?" cried his father, as they cantered up. "forgot all about 'em, father. isn't he a beauty?" "where is he shot?" said mr rogers. "shot? he isn't shot. i ran him down," cried dick. "don't kill him, then," cried jack. "not i. shall i let him go?" "no, no," cried jack. "let's take him back, and tame him." "i think the taming is already done," said mr rogers. "here, halter him round the neck, and muzzle him with this, and you can tie another thong on at the other side." as he spoke he took a tethering halter from his saddle-bow; it was slipped over the giraffe's head, another cord attached so that it could be held on either side; and when this was done, mr rogers held one rope, jack the other, and dick got off the giraffe on the side farthest from its legs. but there was no more kick left in the tall creature, which raised its head, looking humbly at its captors, and then slowly rose, shivering, and as gentle as a lamb. "there, dick, sling your gun and mount," cried his father; "unless you would rather ride the giraffe." "oh, no, thank you," said dick, slinging his gun and picking up his hat, prior to mounting his docile cob, after which his father handed him the end of the rope. after a sniff or two at their tall companion, the two cobs walked gently on forward, with the giraffe towering up between. the poor beast made no objection to its captivity, beyond sighing a little, but gazed dolefully at its leaders in turn; the only difficulty experienced in getting it to the waggon, being how to accommodate the horses' stride to that of the captive, which stalked contentedly along, with mr rogers bringing up the rear. chapter forty. onward to wonderland. "bedad, an' his mother must have wathered him well whin he was a babby, to make him grow like that," cried dinny, as he saw the tall captive haltered to a tree by the waggon, and contentedly beginning to browse upon the tender shoots within its reach. "is thim legs rale, masther dick?" "real? of course, dinny," said dick, laughing. "shure, an' i didn't know there was any av coorse in the matther," said dinny sententiously. "i thought the injanious baste might have been brought up in a wet place, and made himshelf shtilts." "what nonsense, dinny!" cried jack. "ah, an' i dunno about nonsense, masther jack; for i've seen some wondherful things since i've been in these parts. an' so we're going to pack up and go home to-morrow, ain't we?" "we're going to pack up and go farther into the wilds," said dick. "oh, murther!" "there's the great fall to see yet, and we've got elephants to shoot." "shure an' i don't want any great falls, or for anny one to see it." "nonsense, dinny. i mean to see the cataract," said dick. "shure, an' it's you as is talking the nonsense now, masther dick; for how could ye see if ye'd got a catharact?" "what do you mean, dinny?" "what do i mane? shure it was my own cousin by me mother's side that had a couple o' bad catharacts in his eyes, and couldn't see a bit till they took him to the hoshpittle and had 'em out. ah, they're mortial bad things, masther dick." "no, no; i mean a cataract or fall of the river, where it tumbles over rocks." "an' what would a river go tumbling off rocks for, masther dick? why don't it go along quietly?" "ah, you'll see when we get there," said dick. "it's a fall like that where you nearly got drowned, only hundreds of times as big." "an d'ye expect me to get in a boat at a place like that, masther dick? now, by this and by that, ye don't if i know it." "never mind then, dinny. you shall take your gun and shoot elephants. you know what they're like?" "shure, i sin a picture o' one wance," said dinny. "it was a little thing wid two tails, one at aych ind; and the boy as showed me telled me as they're made of ingy-rubber." "ah, yes, they're very little things," said dick, laughing; and then they went to their dinner under the tree. that evening the new pet was well attended to; and the leopard, now growing a fine sleek beast that loved to roll and gambol with the dogs, given his evening meat; and the remains of the daylight were spent in packing. next morning early, with the skin secure on the waggon-tilt, the sleek oxen were once more in-spanned, and the waggon rolled merrily on towards the falls of the zambesi. four days trekking through a beautiful country brought them to where a continuous vibrating roar was always in the air, and in the distance what seemed to be one continuously changing cloud, which was lit up by the sun in a wondrous succession of hues. the boys grew excited with expectation; and dinny's face became very blank as he whispered to dick,-- "shure, the river don't always go on tumbling like that, masther jack, do it?" "always, dinny," said jack, as he too listened, with a feeling of awe, to the falling water. "thin it must be giving itself a moighty hard whack upon the shtones it falls on, to make it roar like that," said dinny in a serio-comic fashion, and he went off to attend to the fire as, the general having pointed out a capital place for a halt, mr rogers gave the word, and the camp was rapidly formed. they had come through plenty of beautiful scenery, but the rich verdure and beauty of the palms, ferns, and other foliage-growths, watered as they were by the soft hazy spray that came from the mighty falls, was beyond anything they had yet seen, and fully justified mr rogers' remark, half made aloud,-- "what a glorious place this world is after all!" a strong thorn kraal was formed, and after a good feed the horses and oxen were secured, and resisting the temptation to go that night to inspect the falls--a very dangerous experiment in the dark--the fire blazed up, watch was set, and the sight deferred to the following day. all that night dick and jack, when they they were not on watch, dreamed of roaring lions, and falls of water, and then of thunderstorms; but towards morning the heavy dull hum lulled them to sleep, a sleep so sound that coffee and chicory amused themselves for ten minutes tickling their noses with strands of grass, before they could get them awake. then they both jumped up in an ill-temper, each seizing a dark-complexioned tormentor to punch and bang; but the sight of the zulu boys' merry laughing faces, lit up by their bright eyes and white teeth, disarmed all anger, and dick and jack rubbed the last relic of the night's sleep out of their eyes, and went to breakfast. the general had been at the falls before, and as soon as the camp was considered straight, dinny, peter, and dirk were left behind, and the three bosses, as chicory called them, went off, with the father to guide, the zulu boys carrying a basket of food. the brilliancy of the greens of the various trees around gave an additional charm to what was always a very beautiful landscape, for here it was never dry, and the consequence was that every tree, plant, and tender herb was in the highest state of luxuriance. they kept a sharp look out for enemies in the shape of large animals, but nothing was seen; and following the general in single file, they went on and on, with the awful thunder in the air growing deeper and louder at every step. no water was in sight as they went carefully through the trees and huge fronded ferns; nothing but verdure of the richest hues, the sun shining through it, and making the dewy leaves glisten with a sheen like that of many precious stones. so loud though was the roar of the water that they knew that they must now be near, when all at once they reached an opening in the forest, and mr rogers and his sons involuntarily paused, to gaze at a rainbow of such beauty, and apparently so near that it was hard to believe that by stretching out the hand it could not be touched. even as they gazed it disappeared, but only to appear again a little farther off, and in a slightly different position. then it was gone again, and so on and on, a dozen times or so; but always beautiful beyond the power of description. when they were weary of gazing the general smiled, and went on again towards a soft pearly-looking mist, almost like the thinnest smoke; and for this the boys took it, till mr rogers whispered that it was the fine spray rising in clouds from the falls. on they went, slowly, down amongst fern-hung rocks, and narrow ravines full of rich foliage, while tall palms stood up every here and there like columns; and then all at once the general stood aside, and the party, with the earth trembling beneath their feet, passed through a screen of trees, and stood gazing at one of the wonders of the world. right and left, as far as they could see for the trees, and comparatively close to them, the waters of the great river were passing over and between a vast barrier of rocks, forming numberless cataracts, some small, some of large volume. in places these fell in a smooth glassy body of water towards them, in a glistening curve, down far below and out of their sight, while others fell from rocky shelf to shelf, to be broken up into foam and spray as, glistening and white, they hurried down to join more broken water, as far down as they could see. where they stood was thirty or forty feet below the level of the river before it made its spring; but how far down it fell into the awful gulf at their feet they could not tell, but the depth seemed to be immense. mr rogers afterwards said it was feet. the first instinct of the boys was to go nearer, but, with a look of alarm, the general grasped jack by the arm, and showed him that the ground sloped so and was so slippery, that to get near enough to see the bottom of the fall would have been to run the greatest risk of falling headlong into the awful abyss. in mute amazement then they stood, watching the long line of cataracts, endless as it were in the beauty and variety of their forms. wonder upon wonder seemed to greet the eye in the colour of the waters as they flashed in the sun, some descending in huge solid glassy masses of water, others in tiny spirts that seemed to make a leap on their own account into the vast chasm, falling at last like a shower of fine rain. "i could stand and look at it for ever, father," said dick, in a low, awe-inspired voice. "look at the foam there! look at that spray! the water is quite white there! and that great fall there, see how it glistens! oh, how i should like to be below, and see where the water strikes, and churns up together. could a boat get there?" mr rogers smiled, and shook his head. "then i should like to be a bird," said dick quietly, "and fly softly through that great gulf." "till the water made your wings wet, and you fell in and were drowned," said matter-of-fact jack. "i shouldn't; but i should like to get close to the edge, and see the falls from the bottom to the top." but the general shook his head, and said that it could not be done. as they grew more used to the scene, they made out that the range of cataracts was much farther away than they had at first thought, being quite a couple of hundred yards; but the awful thunderous roar, the trembling of the earth beneath their feet, and the strange vibration in the air, seemed to confuse them, so that everything seemed unreal and strange, and the whole vision like some dream. they gazed on, never weary of the beauty of the great falls; and then, following their guide, he led them from place to place, so that they could see the huge serpentine gorge in which the river ran after its fall, rushing wildly between two grand walls of rock, its rage becoming the more furious from its being a mighty broad river above the falls, and then having to compress itself into a gorge not a thirteenth part of its original width. the speed of the river as it foamed along in this terrible ravine, seemed absolutely frightful, and in places where the rocks had to bear the brunt of the current as it made some sudden turn, the din was terrific. hours were spent in gazing at the verdure-carpeted rocks, the brilliant rapids, the wondrous twining creepers, and, above all, at the beauties of this wonder of the world; and then at last they tore themselves unwillingly away, to attend to such ladly matter-of-fact affairs as eating and drinking. after this, as sunset was growing near, they stopped to see the gorgeous tints upon the clouds of vapour, and the fresh rainbows that kept coming and going as if by magic. at last they tore themselves away, silent and awe-inspired at the wonders upon which they had gazed, the deep thunder of the falling waters rolling in their ears as they journeyed on, and keeping up its solemn boom night and day. now as the wind wafted it towards them it came in a deep roar, but only to soften and become distant, swelling, and rising, and falling, filling their dreams again, as they lay beneath the shelter of the canvas tilts, and seeming to wake them at the break of day. chapter forty one. onward from wonderland. they lingered about the falls for days, to revel in the beauties of the mighty cataract and the great gorge through which the waters afterwards ran. then unwillingly the oxen were in-spanned, and their course was directed up the river, beyond the beautiful islands, and on mile after mile, till the bright transparent river flowed smoothly downward, and from its reedy banks plenty of game was obtained, the birds being plentiful, and very welcome as a change. it was rather a dangerous haunt here on account of the crocodiles, but jack was so passionately fond of fishing that he was humoured at times, and some transparent nook was chosen where the others could keep a look out for crocodiles; and as jack fished, dick would lie down upon the bank, with his face at times close to the water, and gazing through its limpid depths he tried to trace the long stalks of the water-lilies which rose from the depths to expand their broad leaves and cap-like flowers on the surface. the great reeds, too, rising joint by joint till their arrowy heads and green streamer-like leaves were in the broad sunshine, seemed to be moving and to quiver in the clear water. this sub-fluvial growth was so beautiful that dick never grew weary of watching it; while the coming and going of the many brightly-tinted fish, darting about among the water-plants or hanging poised in the sunlit depths, with their burnished scales flashing silvery and steel-blue rays, added greatly to the interest of the scene. "let us know when you see one coming," jack would say; and now and then dick would whisper that a large perch-like fish, or perhaps one of the huge eely siluri, was approaching; though just as often coffee or chicory would utter a word of warning, when a rifle-bullet would be sent to startle some great crocodile, floating in fancied security down the calm waters, its hideous eyes turned from side to side in search of prey. once only did they succeed in getting the monster ashore, the others, when hit, sinking sullenly to the bottom, or descending with a rush that made the water foam. the want of a boat prevented them from having far more sport upon the river; but, as mr rogers said, they had come upon a land expedition, and their horses were getting fresh for want of work. so jack had to bring his fishing to an end; though, truth to tell, it was not much of a loss, for his additions to the larder in the way of fish were not particularly large, nor so toothsome as they might have been. the good old round-hand copy slip, "familiarity breeds contempt," is thoroughly exemplified in south africa; and it is fortunate that this is the case, or it would be hard work travelling across a country where every stone may conceal a poisonous serpent, every clump of rocks hold the lurking-place of a boa-constrictor, and every patch of grass its prowling lion or fierce rhinoceros--where a walk along a river's bank may invite a charge from the fierce hippopotamus, and no man can bathe without running the risk of being pulled under water and devoured by that loathsome saurian lizard the crocodile. but familiarity breeds contempt, and after the first nervousness has worn off people go about in south africa in a calm matter-of-fact way, without troubling themselves about their hidden enemies, otherwise than by taking ordinary precautions, and keeping what a sailor would call a sharp look out for squalls. if this were not so life would be almost intolerable, and every one would exist in a state of nervous trepidation as hard as that of the classical gentleman who passed his time with a keen sword suspended over his head by a single hair--no doubt of a kind such as would make an admirable roach-line for a fisherman. the members of mr rogers' hunting expedition thus passed their time happily enough in the continuous round of excitement, taking the pleasure and the pain turn and turn as they came; not grumbling at thorns, or weariness, or mosquito bites; resting when they grew weary, and putting up with hard couches, hunger, and thirst, as they came, without a murmur. they looked out for danger in a sharp matter-of-fact way, and by consequence rarely had a mishap; while dinny, who was a perfect slave to his fears, and never stirred without taking the most wonderful precautions, generally managed to come in for the worst of the misfortunes that affected the camp. it was he who would manage to run his head in the dark amidst the prickly euphorbias. if there was a cloud of vicious gnats, dinny generally got bitten. if there was a poisonous snake anywhere near the camp, dinny tried to put his foot upon it; and over and over again when near the crocodile-haunted streams he sauntered regularly into the ferocious creature's way. the general and his boys saved him from several perils, over and over again. but dinny never seemed to realise that his own want of care got him into trouble, always declaring that it was "a baste of a place," and no more to be compared to ould oireland than a beggar was to a king. dinny's grumblings would soon have proved to be a nuisance, but for a certain quaintness of humour in the man, which supplied matter for mirth when he was most disagreeable; and in spite of his defects, he was very useful in his way. while camp was kept up near the great falls, jack and chicory had some splendid nesting expeditions, the pendulous weaver, birds' nests coming in largely for their attention. they disturbed very few though, for, as jack said, it was hard upon the poor birds, seeing what a lot of enemies they had--artful monkeys slipping down the long thin branches, till they could hang by one hand, and thrust the other little thin brown extremity up the bottle-neck shaped opening, to forage for eggs or young birds, as the case might be. then there were the snakes--long, thin, twining creatures, a yard or a yard and a half long, but no thicker than the finger. these showed no little cleverness in ascending trees, and proceeding along the branches till they found their way to a nest, where, in spite of the frantic cries and flutterings of the birds, the little serpent would glide in, and the parents might go and start afresh, for their labours would prove to have been only to find the little snake a pleasant larder, where it could coil up and glut itself with food. many of these twining little creatures fell victims to jack's shot-gun, as well as to that of his brother, the guns being constantly in use as well to bring down the brilliantly plumaged birds that abounded in the rich forest growth of this well-watered land. the glorious scenery of wood, rock, and water had to be left, though, at last; and at the general's suggestion, and by way of change, the more rugged part of the country was now sought; though even here there was plenty of wood, and they passed along the banks of a pleasant stream that had its rise somewhere in the mountainous region ahead. and now mr rogers began to look out anxiously for a danger that, though small, was terribly insidious, and one which, if not avoided, would bring a misfortune upon them that they would have given anything to avoid. this danger was the notorious tsetse fly, whose bite was generally fatal to horses, the poisonous nature of the little creature so infusing itself in the blood of the unfortunate horses bitten that they gradually died off without their owners being able to do anything to save them. fortunately the limits of the land occupied by these dangerous little creatures is pretty well-known, and those who venture upon it with horses do so at their own risk. game had been rather scarce for some days, when, mounting their horses, dick and jack left their father with the waggon, and went in search of something suitable for present use. partly for the sake of their help, but more particularly to give them a change, pompey and caesar were let loose, the latter following dick down to the low land at the side of the stream. it was a tolerably open place, dotted with willow-like trees rising from amongst the thick grass; and they had not gone far before, after a good deal of rustling about among the reeds and grass, caesar started something, which, however, refused to come into sight, but kept running from cover to cover, till at last, as caesar was diligently hunting it by scent, dick caught sight of a dark back, and a head bearing a pair of stout, fully-ringed horns, curved back in a remarkable way, and ending in very sharp points. it was but a moment's glance, and he had no time to fire before the creature was out of sight again; and he rode on right to the very edge of the stream, where he arrived just in time to see the antelope leaving the water, across which it had swum, and caesar puffing and panting as he swam on in the creature's wake. the antelope looked so playful and full of life as it shook its head to get rid of the water that streamed from it, with the drops flashing in the sun, that dick sat like a statue upon his cob; and though he held his rifle ready, he forgot to fire, but let the buck bound out of the shallow water on to the bank and disappear amongst the trees, where it went off at a tremendous rate, while caesar, as he reached the bank in turn, paused to get rid of some water by a good shake, and then stood and gazed at his master, and howled with disappointment that he should not have attempted to shoot. the consequence was that dick, after a long ride returned empty to camp, where jack, however, had preceded him, having been less scrupulous, and bearing before him a good-sized springbok, which he had brought down with the longest shot he had ever made. chapter forty two. a quarrel between two enemies. they struck off next day into a wilder portion of the country still, the oxen trekking up close to the foot of the mountains, the intention being to leave the plains for the present, their attractions beginning to fail, especially as the party had no desire to keep on slaughtering the many varieties of antelope that offered themselves as easy victims to their rifles. "let's have something more exciting and manly, father," exclaimed dick. "of course we must keep on shooting for the pot, just as a sheep has to be killed now and then at home. but we don't want to turn butchers." the general nodded approval, and said that they would now be amongst the lions again, while on the other side of the stretch of rocky country in which they were, he was sure that they would find elephant and buffalo. the elephants had kept so long out of their sight that the boys began to despair of ever coming in sight of one of the monsters; but when they said so to the old zulu warrior, he only laughed, and said, "wait." "it seems to me as if they have all been shot," said jack. but the general shook his head. "plenty of elephants," he said; "only wait." pieces of stone had to be used in addition to thorns to make the cattle-kraal where they now halted, for the land was comparatively sterile after the lush vegetation of the plains; but a little valley supplied ample pasturage for the cattle, and abundant water, and the rocky defiles around promised sport of a different kind to any they had before enjoyed. hardly had they pulled up at the spot chosen for the temporary camp, before dick called his brother's attention to a couple of huge birds, sailing round and round upon extended motionless wings over and about the rocky crags and points far above their resting-place. "eagles!" cried jack excitedly. and as he spoke the boys saw one of the great birds swoop down behind a peak and disappear, rising almost directly after with something dark in its talons, and flying straight off to a shelf of rock far away. this was new game indeed, and the boys were eager to go off after the great birds; but they had to help settle camp-matters first, the rule being that at every halt the first thing attempted was to put the place in a state of defence. when this was done there were the pets to see to--the leopard and giraffe, both of which had grown perfectly tame, the leopard being as playful as a kitten, and the giraffe calmly bringing its head down low enough to have its nose rubbed, while it munched at the handful of fresh tender shoots offered as a token of good will. then there were the horses to watch and tend, wood to cut, and fire to make; so that there was plenty of work for all. but "willing hands make light work," as the saying goes, and they were just congratulating themselves upon the successful nature of their arrangements, the little camp presenting all they required as a centre from which to start upon hunting expeditions--to wit, good pasturage, abundant water, and security against the attack of lions who might mistake their cattle for the wild creatures of the plains. "this place ought to do for a week, boys," said mr rogers; "and now we'll take our rifles and have a look round to see what game we are likely to find, and also keep a sharp look out for danger." "danger?" said jack. "what sort?" "well, i should say there would be plenty of serpents in amongst those sun-baked crags up above, probably a lion or two, plenty of eagles, and--ah, it is impossible to say what we may meet with in a place like this." "i shall tell dinny that crocodiles very likely swarm up here, that they come up out of the river at this season of the year, and lie in wait amongst the rocks." "i think i would confine myself to the truth, jack," said his father drily. "now, are you both loaded? then come along." it was a steep climb upwards, far more so than it looked from below, and they were toiling up over the sunburnt grass towards where the rocks rose up precipitously on either side of the narrow gully, when a word of warning from the general arrested them, and the rifles of all were held ready. for all at once, from behind a mass of rock a couple of hundred yards in front and above them, a large black rhinoceros trotted into view, holding up its head, and displaying its two horns against the grey rock behind him; and then seeing the hunting-party, it snorted and squealed in a most peculiar pig-like fashion, and began to trot towards them. "don't fire unless you have a good chance," cried mr rogers; "and mind, everybody must make for the rocks, and climb up for safety." but there was no need for flight. hardly had the clumsy-looking monster commenced its headlong charge, when the precipitous rocks echoed to a hollow roar, and a patch of dry grass seemed to have been suddenly endowed with life, and to fling itself upon the shoulders of the charging beast. no one thought of firing; but the whole party stood there watching the novel sight, as a huge lion, which might have made one of them its victim, fixed its teeth and claws in the neck and shoulders of the rhinoceros; and as the furious frightened beast tore on down the defile, dragging the lion with it, the latter seemed to give a spring, and fixed its hind quarters firmly upon the tough pachyderm's back. "big lion much hungry," said coffee quietly. "nosros' skin very hard." as he spoke jack had gone down upon one knee, and sent a bullet after the fast-receding pair, the echoes of the rifle report mingling with the hoarse snorting bellow of the rhinoceros. dick, roused by his brother's example, also took aim and fired, his father following last. then the two animals disappeared from view, evidently passing pretty near the waggon, but fortunately missing the little valley where the cattle were grazing. "coffee is right," said mr rogers; "that lion must have been ravenous, or it would not have attacked such a beast as that. well, boys, you must keep a bright look out, for we, shall have to meet the enemy here." "hadn't we better go after the rhinoceros?" said dick. "what would be the use?" said his father; "the monster is going at a tremendous rate. no: let's go higher up amongst the rocks." they passed several snakes, and found one boa-constrictor, a comparatively small one though, which coffee and chicory attacked as it lay basking in the sunshine, its bright brown and yellow markings glistening in the bright light. the boys made their arrangements very quickly, and without the slightest hesitation coffee walked up to the reptile, and as it raised its head menacingly he struck it down with a blow of his kiri, and a dexterous chop from chicory's long-bladed assegai took off its head. what had before seemed a sluggish inert body, now, as in a former case, became instantly endowed with spasmodic life, leaping from the stones, twisting, twining, knotting itself, and then unfolding and reknotting itself in the most extraordinary manner, the grey rocks around being spattered with the blood from the bleeding neck, while the severed head lay slowly gasping, and biting impotently at a few dry blades of grass. dick and jack seemed as if they would have never tired of watching the reptile, but their father suggested a move onward. "how long do you think that was, father?" said dick, as they climbed on, each step bringing them to a more toilsome way. "probably a dozen feet, and a good deal thicker than my arm," replied mr rogers. "i should like to see one seize its prey, though, and watch the whole course of its constricting and swallowing the animal it has caught. and now, boys, i think we will go up as far as the end of this narrow pass, and then turn back and close the camp for the evening." they went to the end, always rising, with the scenery growing wilder and more grand at every step; and at last mr rogers paused. "oh, let's go up to the top now," cried dick eagerly. "you can, boys; but make haste," said their father. "the top" was the edge of a ridge some four hundred feet above their heads, and as mr rogers sat down to rest, the boys climbed on, finding the difficulties of the ascent greater than they had expected; but they kept on, manfully helped by coffee and chicory, who were always ready to push, to pull, or hold a rifle, and in this way they reached what proved to be quite a narrow edge, with some jagged pinnacles on their right, and a steep slope in front. but what took their attention most was an eagle in full pursuit of a lovely little slender-legged gazelle, which was straining every effort as it came up a long narrow defile to escape from its terrible enemy. the gazelle was quite a hundred yards below them to their left as they saw it first, and they watched its progress with a fascinated interest as it came nearer as if to pass them, with the eagle gliding along over it as it bounded along, and then making dart after dart at it with its tremendous claws. the eagle looked as huge as the gazelle looked graceful and tiny; and each moment the boys made sure that it was struck, but the baffled eagle rose again and again for another swoop, till, unable to bear it longer, dick threw himself upon his face, rested his rifle upon the ridge in front, took a careful aim, fired; and jack shouted "hurray!" for as the smoke rose, and the echoes died away in the distance, the eagle could be seen lying flapping its wings upon the ground, raising a cloud of dust about it, and the gazelle disappeared round some rocks; while coffee and chicory, kiri in hand, were sliding down the rocky face of the precipice, to cross a narrow chasm below, bent upon finishing the monstrous bird's struggles with the kiris they grasped in their hands. the place they descended was almost dangerous at times, but the two zulu boys made nothing of it, and were soon approaching the spot where the bird had fallen. as it saw them approach, it left off flapping its wings, turned itself upon its back, and struck at them savagely with its powerful talons. the boys were not daunted though, and making a dash in, coffee struck at the bird and missed it, receiving, in return for his intended blow, an ugly scratch from the eagle, which was about to bury its beak in his leg when chicory's kiri struck it heavily upon the neck, and the fight was over; the bird's head dropping upon one side, and its powers of doing mischief for ever gone. then each seized a wing, and they bore it in triumph to their young leaders, who in turn helped to carry the majestic bird down to where mr rogers was waiting, ready to take great interest in their prize, but also eager to hurry them back to the waggon, where they arrived to find all right, and the cattle carefully secured in their kraal. chapter forty three. dinny in "throuble" again. "an' if there was one there was over a thousand of thim, sor," cried dinny, a day or two later, when he had been out with peter to bring back a strayed ox. "ye niver see such savage little men in yer loife, sor. they came at us shouting bad language, and calling us all the blayguards they could lay their tongues to; and then one avil-looking owld reprobate ups wid a shtone and throws it at me. that was jist what the others wanted--a bad patthern, sor--and they began shying shtones as hard as they could, till pater and me was obliged to re-threat." "and you ran away, dinny?" said dick; "you let the baboons drive you back?" "the which, sor?" "the baboons, dinny; the apes." "ah, ye can call 'em by that name, masther dick, if ye loike; i calls 'em little stumpy men, and as ugly as anything i iver see." "well, we shall have to go and pepper them," said jack. "let's go and tell father, dick." "shure, ye may pepper and salt 'em too, masther jack," said dinny, grinning, "but ye'll niver make anything of 'em but the toughest mate ye iver saw in yer loives." "ah, well, dinny, we'll see," said jack; and the two boys went and told mr rogers of dinny and peter having been attacked by a troop of baboons, that were close up to the camp amongst the rocks. "how much of it is exaggeration?" said mr rogers, who was busy filling out some choice bird-skins, the bright plumed coverings of some of the natural history treasures he had secured. "some of it, of course, father," replied dick. "but they are both cut about the faces with stones." this being the case, it was decided to try and scare off the little vicious animals with a few charges of duck-shot, reserving the bullets in their rifles in cases of extremity. dinny said he was too much hurt to go to the attack; but the rest of the forces were collected, and, led by peter, they made their way up over the ridge into the next valley; but no baboons were in sight, and though they went on their trail for some little distance, it seemed to be a useless task; so, sending part of their little company back, mr rogers went in one direction, the boys in another, to pass round a rocky hill and meet upon the other side. everything was very silent in the stillness of the hot midday, and what with the sun's torrid beams, and the reflection from the rocks, progress was very slow, till a faint bleating noise, that seemed to come from behind a patch of rocks, made the boys cock their pieces, and approach cautiously. they were so accustomed to hunting now, that they had no difficulty in stalking up to the clump of rocks, and there, sheltered behind some bushes, they stood with presented pieces, ready to fire, but hesitating for a time before the novelty of the scene. just in a depression amongst the rocks, where there was an open patch of fine grass, crouched an antelope, with a glossy black skin, and a pair of the longest and most beautifully curved horns they had ever seen. dick knew it in a moment as the swart vitpense, or lion-killer, as it was called by the boers; and sure enough it was there at bay before a large tawny lion, crouched ready to spring, but hesitating to bound and impale itself upon those two finely pointed horns, which the antelope's lowered head pointed straight for the charge. twice over the monster seemed about to spring, but each time it hesitated, shuffling its feet beneath it, and altering its position more to the right; but the antelope had no intention of being taken in flank, and kept changing front so as to meet the attack. then for the first time, they saw that the antelope had its little one beneath it, and with all a mother's instinct she was protecting it with her horns. this roused the boys on the instant. they had no sooner seen the head of that antelope and its wondrously beautiful horns, than they made up their minds to add it and its skin to their collection. but the brave mother's defence of her offspring won the young hunters to her side, and they had just levelled their rifles for a deadly shot at the lion, when it took them unawares, making a sudden spring, meaning to seize the antelope on the shoulder; but she had twisted a little round, so that the great cat threw itself right upon the two keen points, which passed completely through its body. at the same moment the little antelope dashed away, and there was a horrible struggle going on upon the patch of grass, the lion growling and snarling hideously as it struck at the antelope, and then strove to get free from the horns which the swart vitpense dragged out, and then stood up shivering by its assailant, which, far from thinking of attacking again, lay upon its side, biting the grass and tearing at the ground in its impotent fury. dick would have fired, but the monster had evidently received its death wound; and it was well he and his brother reserved their charges, for, as the injured lion lay wallowing in its blood, making the rocks echo to its agonised roar, and as the poor torn antelope stood shivering and bleeding there, another fierce roar was heard, and a second lion bounded into the depression, crouched, and sprang. but quick as he was, the wounded antelope was quicker. dropping upon her knees, her head was lowered, and the second lion leaped right upon her horns, dragging itself back, spitting and snarling with rage and pain, and then rolling over with a couple of bullets through its shoulder. the boys loaded, and fired again at the second lion, which, though half paralysed, strove furiously to get at its aggressors; but in vain, for a third bullet made it roll over dead. the first lion was already at its last gasp, and there was no longer any need for caution; so, running forward, dick made for the black antelope that was lying upon its side, horribly torn, and with its eyes fast glazing; for the weight of the second lion in its bound upon her horns had dislocated her neck. "poor creature!" cried dick. "oh, jack, i'd give something to be able to bring the poor thing back to life." "why, dick?" asked his father, who had heard the firing and ran with the general to join them. "yes," he said, when he had heard his sons' narrative; "poor brave creature! i would gladly see it bounding over the plains again. why, boys, you are growing quite mighty hunters in the land. only," he added, smiling, "the antelope would have killed the lions without your help. but what a head--what horns! that skin must be taken off carefully, boys, and the head preserved as our greatest trophy. yes," he said, measuring, "the horns are quite--no--three inches short of five feet long, and as sharp as needles at the points. you know what it is, of course?" "yes," said dick, admiring the jetty black skin and white underneath parts, "the swart vitpense." "yes, or sable antelope," said mr rogers. and then all set to work skinning, and a hard, hot, weary task they had before the two lions' and the sable antelope's skins, were lying upon the ground, when the vultures, patiently waiting at a distance, were allowed to come on to their banquet. by this time coffee and chicory had come up on their trail, and helped to carry back the spoil. chapter forty four. elephants in sight. in spite of their searching, the baboons were not seen till camp was being moved again to cross the ridge and descend into the plain, when the vicious little animals made so desperate an attack upon the party, throwing stones with such accuracy, that they had to be treated to a volley, and then to a second, before the troop, quite a hundred strong, took to flight; and the dogs killed the wounded left upon the ground, but only at the expense of some vicious bites from the dying apes. they were fired at with no little compunction, for mingled with their dog-like aspect there was a great deal that was terribly human, and after shooting one of the largest and fiercest, dick said he felt as if he had committed a murder. it was, however, a work of necessity, and nothing but a vigorous attack sufficed to drive the malicious little monsters away. "anywhere near the boer settlements these creatures do infinite mischief," mr rogers said, "watching for, and destroying the lambs to a terrible extent." days of weary trekking across plains before they came into pool-strewn land, where the footprints of buffalo were here and there obliterated by the monstrous round track left by the elephant. and now for the last time before beginning the return journey they formed camp, and prepared for some of the most serious part of their hunt. the general said that the elephants must be plentiful, and promised to show them the next day; but the boys seemed hardly to have sunk into a profound slumber, when they were roused by chicory to tell them that there were elephants in the open forest close at hand. the news was electrical, and in a very few minutes they were standing ready with their father; and strict silence being enjoined, they followed the zulu warrior through the thin forest by the light of the moon, till, advancing very cautiously, the general made an observation or two, and then came back and led the little party to where they could peer from amidst the trees and dimly see, looming up from the edge of a great pool, the bodies of twenty or thirty elephants of all sizes, busily drawing up water in their trunks and squirting it into their mouths. this they continued for some time, grunting, snorting, and uttering a peculiar sigh now and then, when, to dick's surprise, he suddenly seemed to see the huge bodies of the elephants more plainly, and knew that the day was breaking. there was one great beast standing not forty yards from him, swinging its trunk to and fro, and flapping its enormous leather-like ears against its neck; when, unable to resist the temptation, and without pausing to consider whether it was wise or no, he took a quick aim at the back of the huge creature's head; there was a flash, and as the report of dick's piece rang out, a tremendous rush, and the elephant herd had gone thundering over the plain. but not all. the large tusker had fallen over upon its side by the pool, and on making a circuit so as to get at it from the side of the plain, dick advanced to find that he had made a most fortunate shot, and as he drew near felt struck with wonderment at the huge proportions of his first elephant. after feasting their eyes, the party returned to camp for something substantial in the way of breakfast, made toothsome with guinea-fowl, of which they shot several; and directly after the general went off to chop out the splendid pair of tusks, dinny accompanying him to have a look at the "ingy-rubber." this done, they started to follow up the trail of the elephants, for it was jack's turn now, and his father wished to add a few tusks to the load of treasures in skins they were to take back. a long and wearisome following of the trail had no result, for it was evident that they had been so scared by the loss of their companion that they had gone straight off without pausing to feed, in search of safer ground. the heat was terrible, and at last they were compelled to halt beneath the shade of a clump of trees to rest and refresh. this was followed by a nap, and afterwards, they felt so disheartened and footsore that they decided to return. "let's go back, father," dick had said, "and come on to-morrow morning with the horses." "to be sure," said jack. "we could canter straight here without loss of time." "what do you say, general?" asked mr rogers. "i say it would be wise," replied the zulu. "the elephants leave their path behind them, and you can come up rested and ready to fire." even without these remarks mr rogers would have returned, for the dread of over-fatiguing dick, would have been quite sufficient to make him pause. the boy had altered wonderfully; but still there were limits to the fatigue he could bear. they went quietly back, then, as the sun was getting low, and contented themselves with a few shots at the guinea-fowl which came over by hundreds, on their way to particular spots to roost. before daylight, though, the next morning, they were in the saddle, carrying with them provisions and water; and they were miles along the track before the sun showed, by a robe of orange and a crown of ruddy rays, that he was about to flood the earth once more with light. the consequence was that they reached the spot where they had left off tracking quite early in the morning, the general, coffee, and chicory, although they had run all the way, seeming to be as fresh as when they had started, and laughing at the idea of their feeling fatigue. mr rogers, however, decided that it would be better to proceed with judgment, so a second breakfast was eaten under the shade of the trees where they had rested on the previous day, there being a limpid pool of water close at hand. "that's the best way to carry food, dick," said jack, laughing. "i like to have mine in my inside pocket, where it isn't in the way;" and he laughed, as he took a great bite out of a piece of cake baked on an iron plate. "ready, boys?" said mr rogers, just then. "yes, father." "mount then, and off." they were in their saddles on the instant, and made a fresh start, with the two zulu boys following the track at a run, till, the sun, growing exceeding hot, a fresh halt was made, but not until the general had declared from sundry signs he saw that the elephants had been going leisurely now, and that he did not think that they were many miles ahead. the boys were for immediate pursuit, but common sense suggested a wait, for a pleasant grove was found close to where the forest seemed to commence in a very dense thicket, and here a good halt was made. the sun poured down here with greater violence than they had felt before, and after lightening their load once more by reducing their stock of provisions, in spite of their efforts such a drowsiness set in that in a very short time the whole party were asleep. dick was awakened by coffee laying his hand upon his mouth and shaking him, whispering the word "elephant!" in his ear, as he opened his eyes; while at the same time, chicory and the general were performing the like duty for jack and his father. obeying the advice of the general, they all stole off cautiously towards the dense thicket close at hand, from which came the noise of breaking branches, and strange snorts and sighs mingled with the squirting and splashing of water. in a few words the general explained that the elephants had returned upon their track to the forest in front, and upon cautiously creeping from bush to bush to stalk them, each of the party under the guidance of a zulu, they found that the dense thicket was a mere band, and that all beyond it was open park-like land, with several pools scattered about, in which the elephants were standing, splashing the water, sucking it up and squirting it over their dark skins, uttering a low sigh of satisfaction from time to time. dick was in an unlucky position, for, while both his father and jack were so placed as to get an easy shot at an elephant, he could only fire at long range. this, however, he decided to do as soon as his father and brother had had a shot. meanwhile mr rogers had marked out for himself a fine young elephant with moderate tusks. there was one with bigger tusks behind, but not being armed with an elephant gun he felt that it would be better to make sure of the smaller one than risk the loss of all; so approaching cautiously he did not perceive that the ground before him was swampy, and fell headlong in the mud and water. he lay perfectly still, though, and fortunately--unfortunately for him-- the herd did not take flight, but attributing the noise to one of their fellows, they went on splashing and cooling their sides, breaking off boughs to tuck into their capacious mouths, writhing and twisting their probosces about the while. after a few moments dick saw his father rise, walk forward to the side of some bushes, take aim at the elephant he had marked down, and just as it was passing along towards one of the pools he fired. the piece made such a strange noise that it alarmed jack and the general. as for dick, to his horror he saw the rifle fly to pieces, and his father fall backwards upon the grass. dick took no notice of the elephants, which went crashing amongst the trees, jack getting a bullet home as they broke towards dick, nearly trampling him down in their course as he ran to his father's side. to his horror mr rogers was insensible, surrounded by the fragments of his shattered gun, his face bleeding profusely, and for the moment dick was ready to stand there wringing his hands. but common sense prevailed. there was no running into the next street to fetch a doctor, so he hastily knelt down, and began to pour the contents of his bottle upon his handkerchief, washing away the blood, and bandaging up the cuts upon his father's forehead. this cooling application of water had the effect of making the injured man open his eyes, and reply to the eager inquiries of his sons. "only a bit stunned, my boys, and a few cuts," he said. "it is a mercy i was not killed." "what a bad rifle!" exclaimed jack indignantly, as he helped his father to rise. "what a bad sportsman, you should say, my boy," replied his father, whose face now looked less pallid. "i ought to have known better. my rifle must have been plugged with mud from my fall, and i did not examine it first. that would burst the best gun ever made." he found he could walk without assistance, and after kneeling down by a pool that had been left unsullied by the elephants, and having a good drink and bathe at his wounds, he rose up refreshed, and turned with the boys to see what was the result of their shots. better than they had expected. two elephants were badly wounded, and chicory had marked them down in a clump of trees half a mile away. it required caution now to approach them, for the beasts would probably be furious; but by skilful management they were staked, and the boys, after two or three shots a-piece, succeeded in laying the monsters low, each falling over upon its side with a terrible crash. the general soon hacked out the good-sized tusks, and these were borne to the grove where the horses had been left to graze. "it never rains but it pours," said mr rogers quietly, as he slapped the flanks and neck of his horse rapidly. "quick, boys, look at your own, and if they have nothing on them--no little flies something like house flies--take a tusk each, and ride back along the track as quick as you can go." the boys eagerly obeyed, and seeing no trace of flies, mounted, each with a tusk before him, and cantered away, mr rogers following more slowly with the bay and the zulus--for the mischief was done; the terrible tsetse fly had attacked the fine old horse, and it was only a question of days or weeks before the poison would have finished its work. as it proved the two cobs had escaped almost by a miracle; but the adventure was a warning to the party not to venture further, for they had evidently made their way into a part of the country where this terrible enemy to horses abounds. chapter forty five. a flight from a fly. there was no time to lose, for, to the dismay of all, peter announced that he had found tsetse fly that afternoon upon the two horses that had been grazing near the waggon. "three horses gone, boys," said mr rogers. "it is a bad job; but it would have been worse if it had happened to your pets. we must be well on the way back into a more wholesome country before day, so lie down and have a rest at once. the general or the boys shall go on with you, so that you may try to save your nags. i'll come on with the rest." "but your horses don't seem any the worse for it, father," said dick. "no, my boy, and it may not show for days; but the poison will work, and they will gradually grow weaker and weaker. they are all doomed." "but is there no cure for it, father?" "none that i know of, my boys; and it must act as a preventative to the opening out of this grand country to civilisation, unless man can improve these poisonous little pests off the face of the earth." "it is wonderful," cried dick; "such a little fly to do so much mischief." coffee and chicory aroused them hours before it was day, and with the understanding that they were to keep on till night straight back upon their old track, the boys started, enjoying to a certain extent the journey without the waggon, but feeling the awful loneliness of the country now more and more. they made the best of their way on, however, getting over all the ground possible, not halting till it was almost dark, and hardly leaving themselves time to collect enough wood for a roaring fire, which they kept blazing turn and turn, for they were in a place where from the sounds they heard lions seemed to be plentiful once more. the next morning they were able to add some guinea-fowl and a little gazelle to their scanty store of dried meat, and as they had nothing now to do but wait for the coming of the waggon, they amused themselves by exploring a little here and there as their horses grazed, their ramble resulting in the discovery of many beautiful flowers and insects, such as they had not seen before. that day went by, but still no waggon arrived; and as they again made up their roaring fire, the boys felt no little uneasiness, till they began to recall what a slow leisurely crawl was that of the ox-team, and that they had come over the greater part of their journey at a brisk canter, with which, by holding on to the cob's mane, the two zulu boys seemed to have no difficulty in keeping up. but all doubts were solved the next morning by the arrival of the waggon, those who accompanied it being only too ready to join in the roast ready for breakfast. there had been no delay; the length of time was only due to the slow progress of the oxen; and this slow progress continued, as, avoiding the back track, they made their way by another route to where king moseti was ready to receive them with open arms, and was made happy by the presentation of some of the surplus store of beads and other trifles, mr rogers retaining merely enough for their wants on the way back. the king was eager enough to be generous in turn, presenting his guests with several tusks aid some beautiful skins and ostrich feathers, which added in no little decree to the travellers' store. here mr rogers shot a couple of hippopotami, and the boys made some good practice amongst the hideous crocodiles that were every day killing some one or other of the king's subjects. now it was a girl gone down to draw water; at another time a boy venturing to bathe. and the travellers could not help admiring the love of cleanliness amongst these people, for too often they had to risk their lives for the sake of a bathe. the horses had now begun to show signs of having been bitten by the tsetse fly, the chestnut and grey displaying roughened skins and a general uneasiness; while the bay, though slightly roughened about the coat, still held out. they lost no time then in getting on with their journey southwards, meeting with plenty of vicissitudes in the shape of hunger, heat, and thirst, but taking these calmly, along with the good things; and at last the limpopo was once more reached. the reader of this, who knows how easily a person may have his tea in london and his breakfast the next morning in scotland-- miles--may be surprised to hear that to get over such a distance in south africa with a heavy waggon and an ox-team takes over a month; and a driver and foreloper would consider that they had done well if they had achieved so much. for hurrying means losing ground. the oxen must be kept well-fed with good pasture, and not overworked, or in a few hours sores will be produced by the harsh yokes that will take a month to cure, if they ever heal at all. but the country was grand, and the weather exceptionally lovely, as they made their way southward, crossing the limpopo without accident, in spite of the crocodiles, dinny managing to get a place on the top of the waggon-tilt just before they started to ford the stream. "why, what are you doing there, dinny?" cried dick, who was the first to see him. "shure, masther dick, dear, i was feared for these valuable skins that lie stretched out here, for i says to meself, `dinny,' i says, `if the masther was to have thim skins slip off into the dirthy river, he'd never forgive himself.'" so amidst a good deal of laughter dinny crossed over the crocodile river on the top of the tilt; while, as much alarmed as he, the dogs, taught by experience, kept close behind the aftermost oxen's heels, swimming with the protection of the waggon-wheels on either side. mr rogers proposed that they should go back by way of the district where there were some curious caves, saying that it would be a pity to be within reach and not to see them. so with the intent of making a halt near them, the general announcing his intention of finding the place, though he had never been there before, the return journey was continued. this return journey was, as maybe supposed, one of months, but it was not uneventful. the constant demands of the larder rendered hunting necessary almost every day; and in these hunting expeditions beautiful skins, and horns of great size and peculiarity, were obtained. every day, too, added to the collection of gorgeously-plumaged birds and bright beetles; several times over, too, they were able to add a goodly bundle of ostrich plumes to the store. it may sound strange, but over this even dinny felt aggrieved, coming to dick coolly enough one night, just before sleeping time, with,-- "would ye mind handing me out two or three of thim bundles o' feathers, masther dick, dear?" "what for, dinny?" he asked in astonishment. "an' is it what for?" said dinny indignantly; "shure, an' ye wouldn't have a boy slape on the bare flure, when ye've got hapes of feather to make beds with inside?" poor dinny was sent to the right about, and the feathers had a very narrow escape the very next day from being burned to blackened ashes. chapter forty six. the bay runs his last race. during the long backward journey, poor smiler the chestnut and toothpick the grey succumbed to the poison of the tsetse fly, gradually waning away so, poor beasts, that mr rogers felt glad when on one occasion a lion leaped upon the half-dead chestnut and dragged it down--dying in the act though, for dick's rifle sent a bullet crashing through the monster's head. there was the same feeling about poor toothpick the grey, which lay down to rest one night, and was found stretched out dead the next morning. the bay, however, held out; and it was wonderful what vitality he possessed. poor beast! he was faithful to the end, his last act being the saving of his master's life. they had out-spanned one night at the edge of avast plain, meaning to start again early the next morning; but as they rose and gazed at the vast expanse of sun-dried grass and bushes, dotted all over with great herds of pallah, koodoo, hartebeeste, and springbok, with zebras and quaggas, more than they had before seen, both mr rogers and the boys felt that they must have one more day's hunting amongst them; and, each with his faithful zulu, they set off to try and stalk one of the herds. the horses were brought into requisition, and the miles of space intervening was got over before, by means of his glass, mr rogers saw that they were not alone in the field. he could just discern horsemen and a waggon on the far side of the plain, miles away, but their shapes distinctly visible with the glass in that pure atmosphere, as they lay on a distant ridge, the waggon standing out against the sky. they had excellent sport, consequent upon the party on the other side driving the game in their direction, and, lured on by the fascination of the pursuit, mr rogers had gone farther and farther, till suddenly he heard a shout from the general. he needed no telling why the zulu had been guilty of so unsportsmanlike a proceeding, for on his right, travelling before the wind at a tremendous rate, was a perfect hurricane of fire. by some means the boers on the other side had set light to the thick dry grass and bushes, and to his horror mr rogers saw that unless he could get back to where he had left his horse and gallop off, he would be overtaken by the flames. what was worse, he found that the fiery tempest might overtake his sons unawares, for the probabilities were that the horses would not stand. signing to the zulu to run to the horse, he set off himself, with the air becoming thick and murky with smoke, so that he feared that he had lost his way. but, to his intense delight, upon turning the corner of a clump of bushes there stood the faithful bay where he had left it, and with the zulu at its head holding the reins. mr rogers leaped into the saddle, the general caught hold of the mane, and away they went at a rapid trot in the direction in which the boys were believed to be. but the fire gained upon them so fast that the rider insisted upon the zulu mounting behind him, in spite of his remonstrances. "quick!" he cried angrily. on this the general leaped up behind, and they went at full gallop, tearing over the ground, the bay straining its sinews to the utmost, while, as he saw the fire gaining upon him fast, mr rogers' heart sank within him, for he could see no sign of either dick or jack, and yet he was obliged to dash on, for the fire was wrapping round from his left as if to cut him off. "where are the boys?" he groaned as he reached the top of a small eminence, and drew rein to look around. "there!" cried the zulu, pointing. to his great relief mr rogers saw the boys galloping towards him, evidently coming to his aid. waving his hand to them to go back, he galloped down, and before long had overtaken them, and they rode on side by side, each with a zulu behind his saddle, for the fire seemed to come on now with lightning speed. "the waggon stands just in the way of the fire, boys," groaned mr rogers, "and we shall never save it unless the oxen are already in-spanned." it seemed to be only too true, and they urged on the horses to their fullest speed. it was a race for life, and they could hear the flames roaring hungrily behind them as they tore along, the horses needing neither whip nor spur to send them at their best pace over the crackling grass. "hurrah!" cried jack. "i see the waggon." "and the oxen?" cried mr rogers. "yes, father--in-spanned. and they are flying from the fire!" mr rogers uttered a prayer of thankfulness as he rode on, till at the end of a quarter of an hour they were close up with the waggon, while the oxen, with dirk the foreloper at the head and peter on the box, were going along in a clumsy gallop, urged by the shouts of their drivers and their natural dread of the fire, coming after them with the fury of a whirlwind. the smoke was now blinding, the heat increasing, and it was hard work to check the horses, who strove to gallop madly away as soon as they were lightened of half their loads; for coffee and chicory followed the example of their father in leaping down and running to the side of the team to help urge on the frightened oxen, till they plunged along in their clumsy race. faster and faster in the wild race for life! the flames roaring as they came nearer! the waggon thundering over the ground, swaying from side to side, and threatening each moment to overturn! twice it ran upon two wheels for some distance, and the boys knew that if a stone of any size was met the waggon must be irretrievably wrecked, and they saw in anticipation the flames overtaking it, scorching up the valuables it contained, and ending by reaching the ammunition, when everything must be blown to atoms. mr rogers felt that the case was hopeless. the flames were close upon them, and he was about to shout to the people to cut loose the oxen and leave the waggon to its fate, when he saw dick spring forward to the side of the zulu, who was with dirk the foreloper, by the leading oxen. mr rogers could not hear what his son said in the deafening roar, but he saw him point, and the foreloper and the general urged the leading oxen out of the course they were taking before the flames to one nearly at right angles, turning them so sharply that the waggon again nearly overset. it rose upon two wheels, but sank back on the others with a crash; the oxen lumbered along in their awkward gallop, and the whole business seemed madness. five minutes later, though, the leader saw that his son's act had been guided by sound reasoning, for he had directed the team into a broad open space where there was nothing to feed the flames. the consequence was that as the wall of fire reached the edge of the opening it gradually flickered out there, but rushed along on either side in two volumes of flame, which joined hands, as it were, below them, and the fire went roaring along as swiftly as before. where they were grouped, in the midst of the open space, they felt the scorching, were blinded by the smoke, and had a hard matter to keep the beasts quiet, the leopard howling dismally, and the giraffe thrusting its head beneath the back of the waggon-tilt, while the horses snorted and plunged, and the oxen shook their heads, elevated their tails, and behaved unpleasantly to each other with their horns. but the danger was past, and at the end of an hour they were able to trek on over the blackened plain, till they reached the first pool, where, unpromising as everything was, they were glad to outspan and rest for a few hours before once more resuming their journey. but there was no renewal of the journey for the bay. poor beast, it had used up its remaining strength in that, last gallop, and when the time had come for the renewal of the journey the bay was lying down. mr rogers spoke to it, and the poor animal made an effort to rise, but merely laid its head quietly down again, uttering a low sigh--and the faithful beast was dead. chapter forty seven. how dinny was lost underground. "i shall be glad to get back home, boys," said mr rogers the next morning, "for the pleasure seems to have gone out of the trip now my horses are all gone. still there is one good thing, boys, yours are safe." this was as they were at last getting out of the course of the fire and on to a tract of grass, so little scorched by the sun and so fertilised by the stream that ran through that the oxen were out-spanned for a good feed, as it was doubtful when they might obtain another. then followed days and weeks of trekking before they reached the part of the country where the caverns were, and out-spanned one night at wonderfontein, where, for a promise of payment, the son of a boer living hard by undertook to provide lights and to show them the wonders of the underground region. the boer lad said that they would require a light-bearer besides himself, so dinny was told to come, and after a little opposition he followed his master and their guide to the extent of about a mile, when the lad began to creep and slide down a well-wooded place in the plain that looked like the crater of an old volcano. here dinny began to hesitate again. "an' is it go down there, sor?" he asked. "shure and suppose the place has no bottom to it at all." "go on. dinny, and don't be stupid," cried dick; and poor dinny found himself pretty well hustled down to the bottom of the funnel-like place, which seemed to bend round at the bottom and to lead into a little brook. here the guide lit a couple of roughly-made torches: he handed one to dinny and retained the other, advising all the party to tuck up their trousers; and the reason for this was soon evident, for the floor of the grotto they were about to explore formed the bed of the transparent little river that had found its way into this strange crack in the rock, and gradually enlarged it to give itself more room. "ah, bedad, and the wather's cowld," cried dinny. "shure, masther dick, we're niver going on along there?" "indeed we are, dinny, with you to light us, like the brave, man you are," said dick. then dinny growled out something about its being a shame to make such a naygur of a white man, and seeing no alternative, went on behind the guide, being followed by mr rogers, the boys bringing up the rear. the first part of their journey was for some distance through narrow passages, where they often had to bend double, with only an opportunity now and then for straightening themselves upright; but by degrees, as they went on splash, splash, through the water, the roof rose higher and higher, till its summit seemed to be lost in gloom, while the grey walls looked wild and romantic in the extreme. a glance to right and left of the narrow way showed that in some great convulsion of nature, the rock had been split and separated to a small extent, and the result was the formation of this cavern; for so similar were the sides that had the natural action been reversed, the two sides would have fitted together, save where the water had worn the rock away. it was a weird journey, made the more mysterious by the guide, who pointed out side passages where the water grew deeper, which passages, he said, had never been explored; and at last, after they had been travelling slowly along the solemn echoing place, dinny appealed to his master to go back. "shure i'm not a bit freckened," he said; "but, sor, there's danger to us all if we go on there." "absurd, dinny," cried his master. "go on. what is there to be afraid of?" "oh, nothing at all, sor. it isn't that i mind, but we shall be coming upon some great big water-baste or a wather-shnake or something, and then what'll we do at all?" "let it eat us, dinny," shouted dick; and his voice sounded echoing and strange. "oh, an' is it ate us, masther dick? shure ye'll have--murther! murther! murther!" shrieked dinny. "i towld ye so. oh! help, here! help!" down went dinny's torch into the water, to be extinguished upon the instant, and the scared fellow kept on yelling with all his might. "what is the matter?" cried his master angrily. "shure i towld ye so. a great big thing, wid awful black wings, flew at me and bit at me face, sor, and i belave he'd ha' killed me if i hadn't put me light out so as he shouldn't see where i was." "oh, dinny, dinny. if i were you i wouldn't be frightened of a bat," cried dick. "an' is it freckened of a bat i'd be, masther dick? i tell ye it was a great big thing as large as a man, wid long black wings, an' it sent a shudder all through me, sor, to see the great baste come at me." "which did you see, dinny, the bat or the shadow?" asked dick. "ah, ye're laughing at me," said dinny; "but wait a bit and ye'll see." dinny's torch was fished out of the water, and after a good deal of beating and shaking to get rid of the moisture they managed to get it to burn once more, when jack volunteered to carry it, and dinny grumblingly took his place in the rear. "ah," he muttered, in dick's hearing, "it's a dirthy counthry this afrikky. wild bastes, and shnakes, and holes under the airth. faix, it isn't fit for a dacent boy to live in at all." dinny and his mutterings were little heeded, and they went on and on through the interminable place, following its windings and zigzag turns, where the rock had split, till they were tired, and dick said that they had seen no more during the last hour than during the first five minutes, for the place was almost all alike--one great jagged rift with the little stream flowing over the floor. now the roof looked far above them in the gloom, and now again it was close enough to crush their heads, while by the same rule there were times when they could touch the walls on either side by stretching out their hands, while at others the sides receded so that the space was quite a chamber. "well, then," said mr rogers, "suppose we turn back. dinny, as you are last now you'll be first going back, and ought to make a good leader; so take the light." dinny did not reply. "do you hear what my father said, dinny?" cried dick. still there was no answer. "why, father," cried dick; "he is not here!" "nonsense! absurd!" cried mr rogers. "here, dinny!" he shouted. "ny-ny-ny-ny!" came softly repeated like a mockery of his cry. "dinny!" cried mr rogers again; and once again the echo was the only answer. "dinny!" shouted dick and jack together, with all their might; but the echo was the only response; and a cold chill of horror began to run through the little party as they stood there. "poor fellow!" exclaimed mr rogers; "surely he has not sunk down fainting from fright. oh, surely not; the idea is too horrible! dinny!" he shouted with all his might, and the boys took up the cry, but there was nothing but the echo to reply. "has anybody ever been lost here?" said mr rogers, turning sharply on the boer guide. "dot one dat i know," said the boer lad. "dere was leedle mans lost one days, bud dey found der leedle mans again fasd ashleep on der rock." "he has grown tired, boys; quick!" said mr rogers. "let's make haste back, and we shall find him sitting down somewhere." though he said this, he did not feel at all hopeful; but still there was the chance of finding that dinny, taking advantage of being behind, had climbed on to one of the big shelves of rock to await their return, though mr rogers felt that it was very doubtful, and that the poor fellow would be too great a coward to sit there alone in the dark. it was then with sinking hearts, and a horrible sense of finding that their expedition had a terrible ending, that they hurried along the dark passages of the weird grotto, pausing every now and then to shout, as they searched the side-turnings with their light, and shouted down them in case the poor fellow had strayed away by mistake, though the chances were very small, for it seemed impossible that dinny could have followed any route but the one indicated by the light in front. no, think of the matter how they would, there seemed no other explanation of dinny's disappearance than that he had sunk down in the water where it was deeper than usual, and been drowned from sheer fright. "it seems so shocking," said dick, in a whisper, that, low as it was, seemed to run on before them; "that after going through all that journey, and escaping from lions and crocodiles, and all sorts of dangerous beasts, we should lose one of our party in such a miserable way." dick had unconsciously spoken his father's thoughts as they went on redoubling their exertions till, to their horror, they reached the bottom of the funnel-shaped entrance without finding a vestige of him they sought. "back again!" cried mr rogers; and returning, they again searched the gloomy passages for hours, till they were obliged to return to the mouth of the cavern for fresh lights. the boer lad looked horrified, and he anxiously ran off for fresh torches, feeling himself to blame as guide, for having lost one of the party. "jack," said mr rogers hoarsely, "run to the waggon, and fetch some biscuits, a little brandy, and the two large lamps, with a few extra candles. be quick!" "i'll go too, father," cried dick eagerly. and the boys were about to start, when dick added, "shall i bring over the general, father?" "yes, and his boys. we must find dinny." dick and jack, weary and wet as they were, ran off to the little camp, the smoke of whose fire they could see, and on reaching it, panting and exhausted, the first object they saw was dinny, lying under a tree with his mouth open, fast asleep. "oh, i am glad," cried jack. "so am i," cried dick; "and sorry--and cross," he added, running up to dinny, and giving him a kick in the ribs. "aisy there," said dinny, yawning and opening his eyes. "shure, i'm coming. ah, masther dick, and have ye got back out of the black hole?" "how came you here?" cried dick angrily. "how kim i here, masther dick? shure it was on me own handsome pair o' legs." "but we thought you were lost." "lost! bedad, not i. shure, i sez, they're going to carry the light themselves, an' they don't want me anny longer; so i just sat down on a big shtone, while i took out me matchbox, and lit me morsel of candle i had in me pocket, and i kim back, and afther getting me dinner ready, i laid down for a rest." "oh!" cried dick wrathfully. he could say no more; but his brother spoke for him in a way that made dinny uncomfortable, as the boys turned sharply and ran back, reaching the mouth of the cavern just as the boer lad came up with his torches. mr rogers started up. "where are the lanterns?" he cried. then, seeing that the boys had something to say he eagerly listened; and the next moment, with his brow knotted with anger, he strode off to the waggon. "jack," whispered dick, "i never saw father look so cross as that." he was angry indeed, and they saw him seize dinny by the throat, force him upon his knees, and raise his clenched fist to strike; but the next moment education and manliness prevailed, his hand dropped to his side, and he stood there talking to dinny for some time in a way that made that gentleman slink away and go about his work with a very hangdog expression of countenance. chapter forty eight. the last adventure. days of slow, steady trekking homeward, and then, to the consternation of all, they learned from a boer, fleeing with his waggon and belongings to another part of the country, that it would not be safe to go farther, for a war had broken out between a powerful zulu tribe and the amaswazis, both sides taking advantage of the disturbed state of the country to rob and plunder in every way they could. "dey dake away all dose caddles," said the boer, "and kill you all. i go away." he went away, and the general was called into consultation. "what shall we do?" said mr rogers, who, without fearing for their lives, had a horror of losing the fruits of their long journey into the interior. "go straight on home like brave men," said the zulu, sturdily. "the boss may not see enemies in the way. if he does, we shall see the boss, who can fight lions, will not be afraid of men. man sees boss not afraid, he will not fight." "i shall take your advice, general," said mr rogers; and to the horror of dinny, who from that moment began to contrive a hiding-place in the biggest chest, the order was given, "forward!" they came upon danger sooner than they expected, for, steadily trekking on, they had halted for the day in an open plain, when, to mr rogers' horror, he found that he had inadvertently halted in what was about to be the battle-ground of the contending tribes. it was almost like magic. one hour the valley was empty, the next it was swarming with contending men. escape was impossible, and in a very short time the waggon was put in as good a state of defence as could be, and they were surrounded by the enemy; but before hostilities between them could commence, the zulu tribe came swarming down from the hills behind them, advancing with a regular dancing tramp, forming themselves into a crescent, and dashing on to the attack. the amaswazis who had first surrounded the waggon were largely armed with rifles; but in spite of the superiority this gave them, they gave way before the determination of the assegai-armed zulu warriors, who came trooping by the waggon, the greater portion of them thorough counterparts of the general, till some fifty remained about the waggon in company with three fierce-looking chiefs. "what are we to do, general?" said dick stoutly, as he stood there with his rifle--"fight?" "wait and see," said the general calmly; and followed by coffee and chicory, he walked out from the waggon to meet the zulu chiefs. a short conference ensued, and then the three chiefs came back with the general, to hold out their hands to mr rogers and his sons. "they say i am to tell you that they thank you in the name of our people for making us your brothers in the hunt," said the general quietly, "and that they will all fight for you and see you safe." then, in obedience to the general's directions, the oxen were in-spanned, ready to go forward if necessary, or to retreat with the zulu tribe should it be beaten. this latter misfortune, however, did not occur, for before a quarter of an hour had elapsed the amaswazis tribe was being chased by the zulus, and seeking safety in flight; while after making presents to the chiefs, to the general's great pride and gratification in spite of his calm demeanour, they parted with mutual feelings of goodwill. "saved from wreck," said dick, who had made the principal chief happy, by taking off his belt with the stout, keen hunting-knife and sheath, and himself buckling it on, the others receiving similar gifts from mr rogers, and jack. three weeks' long journey was yet before them, during which the oxen suffered much from the prevailing drought, but there was little of adventure upon the rest of their road; and it was with no little relief that the familiar land-marks in the neighbourhood of their home were at last made out, the oxen trekking well during the last few miles, as if they scented plenty of water and fresh green pasture at the farm. the full moon was shining brightly as the waggon trekked up to the house, several friends having ridden out to welcome them, as soon as it was known that the hunters were in sight; and then once more, as soon as the dumb creatures were seen to, they sat down at a table to an old-fashioned english meat tea with their friends, glad to be able to recount that they had returned without a single loss, save that of the horses from the dreaded tsetse, while the prime object of their journey had been attained--dick sat amongst them completely restored, and glowing with vigorous health. "i should think, boys, you will be glad to sleep once more in a soft bed," said mr rogers, smiling; but before either dick or jack could answer, dinny presented himself at the door. "av ye plaze, sor--" "well, dinny?" "i'd thank ye to come and shpake to the naygurs. we've put up a bed and blankets for them in the best barn, and they won't go there, but are making up a camp again, wid a fire, under the waggon." "well, dinny, if it pleases them, let them alone," said mr rogers quietly. "shure, sor, i don't mind," said dinny; "but it's the naybours, sor, and what they'll think." "never mind what the neighbours think," said his master. "dick, go and see that the general and his boys have everything they want." "av ye plaze, sor," said dinny, "i want to ax ye a favour." "what is it, dinny?" "shure, sor, we've had a long journey, and i'm moighty toired." "then go to bed and have a good sleep." "that's just what i'm axing of yer honour. i want a holiday." "what for, dinny?" "to go to shlape for a week." dinny had as much sleep as he liked, but he contented himself with twenty-four hours, and then helped to unpack the treasures from the waggon, the store of feathers, skins, and curiosities far more than paying the cost of the expedition, even counting the loss of the horses. the boys' pets too, the leopard and giraffe, had to be sold, for they could not keep them; but they fetched handsome sums for exportation to europe. at last there was nothing to do but to recompense the general and his sons; not that they were going away, for they preferred staying about the farm. mr rogers took his sons into his confidence, and the result was the presentation to the three zulus of gifts which they esteemed most highly of anything they could receive, and these were the three double rifles of the father and sons, whose accuracy the zulus had so often seen proved. dick was right when he said the present was better than diamonds, for the stern old warrior's face lit up with joy, and when coffee and chicory could be made to understand that they were to have the rifles to keep, their excitement was something wonderful to see. "shure an' the master must be aff his head to give them boys such things," grumbled dinny to peter and dirk, who were quite content with the presents they had received in clothes additional to their pay. right or wrong, he gave great satisfaction on all sides; and health being restored, and the sorrows of the past somewhat assuaged, the regular duties of civilised life were resumed, and many a long evening was spent in arranging the various natural history objects brought home. now and then, so pleasant were the recollections of the exciting trip, the boys have brought the blood flushing into the dusky cheeks of coffee and chicory, and a flash into their father's eyes, on saying that they wonder whether their father will ever organise another such trip, while dinny has been heard to say spitefully that they may drive in that waggon to novy sembley, new zealand, or the big islands of the say, he don't care a sthraw, so long as they'll only lave him at home. the end. rocky mountain boys or camping in the big game country by st. george rathborne chicago m. a. donohue & co. made in u. s. a. contents chapter i--comrades of the trail chapter ii--in possession of the dugout chapter iii--the first good luck chapter iv--the wolf pack chapter v--a first taste of venison chapter vi--felix takes his turn chapter vii--unavoidable delay chapter viii--plenty of trouble chapter ix--adrift in the snow forest chapter x--turning the tables chapter xi--the buck's head chapter xii--burning out a honey thief chapter xiii--hunting the bighorn chapter xiv--a wakeful night chapter xv--out for a grizzly chapter xvi--the terror of the rockies chapter xvii--when music was played out chapter xviii--a hard customer chapter xix--breaking camp--conclusion rocky mountain boys chapter i comrades of the trail "we must be pretty nearly there now, tom, i take it!" "i reckon we'll sight the dugout inside of half an hour or so, felix; if the description, and the little chart old sol ten eyck gave me, are correct." "well, i'll sure be glad when we arrive, because this pack is getting heavier, it seems to me, every hour now. one thing certain, chum tom, we'll go out of this part of the country a heap lighter than we're coming in; with all this good grub swallowed up after two months roughing it. been three days on the trail now, since frazer turned us loose out of his big bull-boat." they were two pretty well-grown boys, the one tall and slender; while the other, whom he called tom, seemed stockily built, with the ruddy hue of perfect health on his sun and wind tanned cheeks. tom was really tom tucker, and the taller young hunter, felix edmondson. besides repeating rifles of a modern make, and such ordinary accompaniments as ditty bags and hunting knives, the lads were carrying heavy packs on their backs, to each of which were also strapped a pair of snow-shoes, proving that they anticipated staying around the foothills of the great rocky mountains, for some time at least, and were prepared for getting around when several feet of snow covered the ground. they were in a region not a great distance from the border of that wonderland which uncle sam has transferred into a grand playground, known far and wide as the yellowstone park. in fact, a range of the rocky mountains towered almost above them as they looked up, standing out against the blue afternoon sky like a rock-ribbed barrier. around them lay the great forest that in many places grows at the base of the giant uplifts that are well called the back-bone of the continent. it was a wild region, seldom pressed by the foot of man; save when some indian or trapper chose to pursue his calling--the "primeval wilderness," felix was fond of calling it, in his humorous way. felix was a city-bred boy who had ambitions to take up his father's profession later in life, and shine as a surgeon. but not being very strong, it was under this parent's wise advice that he was now knocking off for a year from his studies, and getting in the great outdoors all he possibly could, in order to build himself up, so as to have a good foundation for the hard work that lay before him. and he was succeeding wonderfully, since there is nothing better under the sun to change a weakly boy into a sturdy man than this free life of the wild west. if proof of this statement were needed, it could be demonstrated in the life of theodore roosevelt himself, who took the same course of treatment. as for tom tucker, he had always lived pretty much in the open ever since his father bought that wyoming cattle range with its herds. between times tom had attended school, so that he was far from being ignorant; the fact of his great love of reading also put him in touch with what was going on in the world, whether in the line of scientific discoveries, exploration, or the constant change in the map of nations. the two lads were really cousins, and it was while felix was paying a long promised lengthy visit to the home of the other that this trip to the foothills of the rockies was discussed and decided on. just at present the one great ambition in the life of the city lad was to bag a genuine grizzly bear. he had done considerable hunting of smaller game, having spent two seasons in the woods, one up in maine, and the other in canada. while he had more than one deer to his credit, besides wildcats, and even a wolf, felix had conceived a desire to come face to face with the most dreaded wild animal of the american wilds, the grizzly. so they had organized this expedition, being taken in a bull-boat as far on the way as was possible; and after that manfully shouldering their heavy packs. under such conditions they did not cover many miles a day, which accounted for their being so long on the road. but as tom tucker had said, they were now pretty near the end of their trail, and he fervently hoped that ere darkness descended they would have reached the goal of all their ambitious progress. an old trapper with whom tom had spent part of a season in another part of the big game country, had a dugout up here, in which he used to hibernate winter after winter, sometimes with a tried and true companion, often absolutely alone; content to live his simple life under the shadow of the mighty rockies, and take his toll of the fur-bearing animals that frequented this favored region. tom had a rude map of the country, as well as directions, how to find the dugout when he got there. and here the two boys anticipated putting in about two months of the late fall and early winter, doing a little trapping, just for fun, and considerable hunting besides. naturally they expected having a glorious time, as what boy, with a love for the woods and the chase, would not? the leaves had long since turned a russet brown, and any day now they might expect the first snow of the season to fall. it was a time when the bracing air was filled with a tonic which felix needed more than anything else in the wide world; and as his lungs filled with its life-giving qualities, the boy from the far east was never tired of telling how different he was feeling from the conditions of a few months back. as they struggled onward, hoping at almost any minute now to sight their goal, the two boys exchanged remarks concerning the matters that were naturally uppermost in their minds. "you said that old sol hadn't been up here for several seasons now, didn't you, tom?" the taller lad was asking. "why, yes," the other replied, "you see, the old fellow isn't as strong as he used to be, and does his hunting nearer his sister's home. fact is, she won't let him come up here any more; and there are a lot of youngsters in her family, too, that sol has become interested in. so he's satisfied to keep around there, if only they let him take a week now and then in the woods, with a comrade. that's how i came to know him, and often we spent some mighty fine days together. he taught me about all i know of trapping, and lots besides about the habits of big game animals. i'm itching to make use of some of the things that old sol handed down to me." "and the traps he said he had catched up here, do you reckon, now, they'll be in decent condition, or rusted all to pieces?" felix continued. "well," tom observed, "he said he had rubbed them all over with bear's grease, and rolled them up in a leather cover, before he hid them away; so he expected they'd keep in fair shape many years. we'll have to take our chances on that. it wasn't the hope of making anything at trapping that fetched us away up here, you know. that's only a little side issue, you might say, just to see if we've learned anything about the game." "one thing sure, tom, this region doesn't seem to be overrun with settlers, seeing that we haven't met a solitary soul these three days; while game seems fairly plentiful, because we sighted seven black-tailed deer on the way, and had a peep at some bighorn sheep yesterday away up on the mountain." "i've seen no sign of any one around but they told us below that once in a while some indian was known to be in this part of the country, doing his winter's trapping. and you remember, they said that if we happened to run across an old shoshone chief, who now goes by the name of charley crow, and who sometimes acts as guide for eastern sportsmen, we ought to cultivate his acquaintance, because he has the reputation of being the straightest redskin in the whole state of wyoming." "i remember that they said he was really a halfbreed," remarked felix; "but his wife is a full blood. perhaps we may happen to run across the old fellow while we're up here. i'd like to meet him, wouldn't you, tom?" "well, i don't know," replied the other, with a shrug of his broad shoulders, on which the big pack seemed to rest so easily in comparison with the way that of felix gave him trouble; "i must say, that so far i've never run across an injun i'd care much to cultivate. they're not what they used to be. the white man's whisky has changed them terribly. in the old days they never worked, only hunted; and went to war; while the squaws did all the drudgery in camp. and now, as a rule, they are just satisfied to loaf their lives away, fed by the bounty of the white father at washington--gambling and drinking, and doing a little stealing, when everything else fails them." "but on the reservations many of them farm, and i understand with success, too," remonstrated felix. "oh, sure, that must be a fact," admitted tom, readily enough, "though i've never seen it; but others have told me that many of the braves have taken to farming, and are doing well. i was only speaking of the injuns who wouldn't change their way of living. but felix, take a look at that monster tree over there. seems to me that answers the description old sol gives of the big one overhanging his hidden dugout." felix heaved a sigh of relief, as with one hand he mopped his forehead, using a red bandana handkerchief which he wore knotted around his neck in true cowboy fashion; for despite the coolness of the day, the labor had heated him up considerably. "i hope so, tom," he remarked, trying to act as though after all it was not such a vital matter whether or not they came upon the shack that day or the next; but all the same his eyes eagerly sought the vicinity of the big tree, and he was trying to make out something vaguely resembling the shape of a rough dugout near its base. they kept on advancing, and tom suddenly gave utterance to an exclamation of intense satisfaction. "we've arrived, all right, felix!" he declared, positively. "it must lie in that tangle under the shadow of the tree. and say, this just suits me all to the good. look around, and think of spending a whole two months in such a grand stretch of country. here are the woods around us, where we must surely find lots of deer and other game; and there stands the range of mountains, where you're going to bag that grizzly you want so bad, not to speak of big-horns, such as can be found in no other section of the known world, i'm told. for one i'll feel like dancing a jig if it turns out that we've come on old sol's shack at last." "well, it'd take a whole lot to tempt me to do that same," chuckled felix; "and anyhow, i'm not going to begin till we make sure. when i throw this pack down for the last time i'll be pretty happy, though, tom, believe me." "it has been pretty hard on you, felix, for a fact," observed the other, "for the reason that you've not been used to carrying heavy packs on your back, like i am. look at my shoulders and see what i could stand. i wanted you to let me take more of it in my load, you remember." "oh! just as if you hadn't picked out all the heaviest things already," declared felix, indignantly, "why, i'm dead sure your bundle weighs a third again as much as mine does, right now. i'd be ashamed to let you tote it all, tom, however willing you were. but do you see anything that looks like that blessed old dugout?" hardly had he asked this question than the other started on a run. "that's what i do, felix, right through that screen of bushes that serves to hide it from any one who didn't have a tip it was there. make up your mind we're at the end of our long tramp, and in another hour you'll smell smoke, perhaps the tempting odor of coffee cooking. hurrah! what did i tell you, old boy?" there could no longer be any doubt, for as they broke their way through the vines and brush that had not been disturbed for several years, they looked upon a sort of half cabin, and the rest dugout. the rise of the ground had allowed old sol to construct an ideal winter hiding-place, with the great mountains to protect him from the worst of the chilling northwest winds and storms. down went both packs instantly. tom began to caper around, to show his delight, and felix actually followed suit; but more to get some of the "kinks" out of his weary leg muscles, for that last day's tramp had sorely tried the city boy. "here it is, just as he described it to me!" exclaimed tom, staring hard at the singular little shelter where the trapper had spent many a happy season, content to gather his share of the pelts of the wild animals that wore valuable fur; and secure enough meat for his own consumption from the elk, black-tailed deer, or it might be, some antelope that lingered late in the fall in the grassy valleys of the foothills. "i suppose we might as well take a look in," remarked felix, presently. "that's right," replied the other, readily enough. "you see, such a thing as locks are unknown in this country. notice that the door has a bar on the outside that simply holds it shut when the owner is away, so that wild animals will not have a chance to sneak in, and steal his grub. well, all we have to do is just to give this bar a turn--whew! she moves hard, as if stuck there--then push open the door, and enter!" tom tucker was carrying out his words to the letter, but just as he started to push the door back the two boys heard an ominous savage growl that came from within the cabin. immediately tom, being a boy of quick action, drew the door shut again, and at the same time swung the stout bar into place; after which he turned around to look at his amazed companion. chapter ii in possession of the dugout "wow! would you hear that, now?" exclaimed tom. "pleasant sort of welcome to a pair of tired, footsore pilgrims, i should say." "by george! there's some sort of animal that thinks it owns the shebang, and has made its den in the dugout!" remarked felix, in a tone of astonishment. "just what's happened," continued his chum, stepping back, rifle in hand, in order to look around; "but what's bothering me, is to know how the beast got in, when both door and window blind were closed tight. why, to be sure, it was the easiest thing going, to drop down that chimney! old sol forgot to fix that against a smart bobcat!" "a bobcat!" echoed felix, "do you think that's all it was? sounded to me heavier than any cat's growl i ever heard. you must have whoppers up here in wyoming, when you find them at all, tom." "why, what did you think it could be?" asked the other, quickly. "my first idea was that it might turn out to be a panther," said felix, "or one of those bad fighters that they call indian devils; but then, you ought to be the best judge. no matter what it is, we want that shack, don't we, tom?" "and we're going to have it, right away, felix, as soon as we can dislodge that critter. i was in hopes he'd crawl up out of the chimney, and give us a crack at him; but it looks like he was too smart to try such a dodge, with two handy guns waiting to bowl him over." "suppose i pound on the door, and give him notice that he'd better be making his way out as fast as he can," proposed the taller lad. "let me do that, while you stand here, ready to give him a bullet the instant his head shows above the top of the chimney; that's made of slabs, you notice, and mud baked so hard that it's more like cement now. the light ain't all it might be; but by stepping over here, you ought to get him against that brighter background. all ready, are you, felix?" "go ahead; and it's just like you, tom, waiting to give me the first chance at everything. knock him up, and tell him to vamose the ranch," with which felix raised his marlin repeater to his shoulder, and stood at attention. with the butt of his rifle tom gave several sharp pounds on the door of the dugout cabin. in response, the hairy occupant simply growled some more. again did tom tap his summons, and the growling continued. "that's what i call real sassy," chuckled tom. "he says he won't budge an inch, if we have got a quit claim deed from old sol to this shack! and he wants to know what we're going to do about it, either." "i don't suppose it would be the right thing to do to open the door, and rush the beast," remarked felix. "they're a bad lot, and scratches from their claws are apt to give a fellow blood poisoning, unless he's got the stuff to counteract it. how are we going to dislodge that cat, tom?" "you watch my smoke," went on tom, "and in this case that ain't just a figure of speech, either, let me remark." "smoke! oh! i'm on to your game, old fellow; and let me say it's the best thing we could do. want any help?" felix remarked, deeply interested. "not me," sang out the other, who had laid his gun aside, and seemed to be looking around for certain dead twigs, and such things as would be apt to take fire readily; "i'll get a little blaze started, and then give this green weed a chance to smoulder. it'll put up the rankest smell you ever did whiff, and when i toss the same in through the door, take my word for it that cat will soon make a run up the chimney." he busied himself for another minute, and then struck a match. as a little fire started tom stepped back and gathered an armful of a certain weed that had not yet been killed by the frost. this he threw upon the flame, when immediately a dark smoke began to rise. as felix got a scent of it he gave a snort. "you're sure right, when you said that beat anything i ever ran up against," he declared, vigorously; "whew! it must be the stink-weed of the indians. nothing else could throw off that awful smell." "just what it is; and now take care, for i'm going to open the door a little to toss the stuff inside," replied tom. "i see our finish, if that weed ever gets to smoking inside the dugout," sighed felix, rather disconsolately, as he held his fingers to his nose, and tried to deep his rifle in position at the same time. "oh! we'll soon chase that out with coffee and such things," returned the cheerful tom; "besides, you've got to stand lots of things when you can't help it. here goes, felix. now, old claws, will you be good?" he gathered up the smouldering weeds, and opening the door with one hand, suddenly tossed his burden within, slamming the barrier shut again, and turning the bar. they plainly heard some heavy object come with a crash against the door, as if the cat had sprung savagely, hoping to land on its enemy, as it undoubtedly considered the one who was bothering with its peaceful occupation of the apparently abandoned shack. snatching up his gun, tom sprang back to where he too could get a dim view of the top of the short chimney, not more than ten feet away. "you first, remember, felix; i'm only going to break in if you fail to get him," he said, hastily. they plainly heard the cat jumping around within the place, as though it resented the odor of smoke, and such smoke too! felix certainly could sympathize with the animal. "he's coming!" warned tom, suddenly. a distinct scratching sound came to the ears of felix. he understood what must be the cause of this; the inmate of the dugout was about to vacate. defying all other arguments, the cat had to succumb to that of smoke from the stink-weed. felix kept his eyes fixed on the top of that stumpy chimney, and his gunstock was already fast against his shoulder. "there," exclaimed tom, as something pushed up into view, and the form of a big bobcat was seen emerging. it had just about all appeared in view, when the report of the marlin sounded sharply through the neighboring woods, where perhaps a gun had not been fired for several years, so far as they knew. "back!" cried tom, dragging at the arm of his comrade, as the monster cat came whirling down toward them, in such a mixed-up mess that it was impossible to say whether the animal were in its death throes, or making a savage leap at its tormentors, though in either case it was the safe policy to sheer off. when the cat landed on the ground they both saw that it had received its death wound, and hence there was no need of a second shot from either of their guns. "that settles him for good," remarked tom, when, with a last spasmodic movement, the savage looking beast stiffened out. "nice to have such a warm welcome, eh, when you get to your future snug home? now to kick that weed out of doors in a big hurry, felix." "go slow," warned the other. "what for? do you think there might be another inside? not much. if one had to vacate, the other would have been on his heels. this was an old hermit cat, without any family, i guess; and a buster, too. here goes, then." with that he flung open the door. no growling greeted them, which was a pretty good indication that the shack had yielded up its entire quota of cats. tom jumped in and in a trice had tossed out the smouldering weeds; which felix trampled under foot, until they ceased to give out any smoke or smell. "pretty rank in here, what with the cat and the weed; hard to tell which is the worse," declared tom; "but we'll remedy that right quick." both boys bustled about, getting wood for a fire; and tom selected as much fragrant burning fragments as his knowledge of the forest trees allowed. they carried this into the dugout, the shutter of which had been opened to admit of fresh air. the big fireplace seemed to fairly yawn, and ask for a supply of fuel, and in a very short time they had the fire going briskly. first of all, they did everything possible to get rid of the awful odors. the two big packs were brought inside and opened, so that the coffee could be reached, and once tom had sprinkled a few pinches of the powdered grain on the hearth, and set a burning brand alongside, to cause it to catch fire, a different scent filled the place. "is that any better?" he asked, laughingly. "a thousand per cent," replied felix. "but say, i'm as hungry as a bear; and we can't get supper any too soon to suit me." "same here," chirped tom; with which remark he started in to make immediate preparations for the meal. expecting to depend for the most part on the game they would find, for their subsistence while in the wilderness, they had carried only certain things along, in the shape of bacon, salt pork, coffee, tea, some sugar, flour, rice, hominy, and about a quart of onions for an occasional relish. that, with their blankets, some extra clothes, and ammunition, made up the heavy packs which the boys had been carrying on their backs for three full days now--the snow-shoes counted for little, as they were light weight. while tom made the coffee, felix busied himself in cooking some of the bacon. until they had managed to knock over a deer, or supplied themselves with meat in some other fashion, they must make a raid daily on their scanty stock of food. "but tomorrow we'll both get busy, and see what we can bag," remarked tom, when the other mentioned this depressing fact. there were a few crackers left, as well as some cheese, upon which they had subsisted at "noonings" on the way, not wishing to bother lighting a fire, and spending time in cooking anything, when in such haste to get located in their quarters. altogether they had a good satisfying meal, and felix declared after it was over that he felt many times better. "i'm going to smoke one pipe, just to give a flavor to the old shack where sol burned many a pound of the weed in his day," remarked tom, settling back comfortably, with a block of wood to support him. "and what's in the wind then?" asked his cousin. "i might try my hand at taking our first pelt," chuckled the other. "oh! yes, to be sure, i'd about forgotten that he's got a fur worth keeping. and tom, every time we look at it, won't we just remember what a welcome he gave us on our arrival. to be sure it was only in growls; but then, that's the only language a poor old cat's got. but when you say you mean to try your hand, you're only joking, because i wager you took off many a pelt when out with old sol ten eyck." "of course, and i hope i haven't forgotten the lessons he taught me; for there never was a better trapper known than sol in his prime. he's brought in the skins of every kind of animal in the country, from a black fox, down to muskrat hides, when you couldn't hardly give these last away. but nowadays, with the big demand for all kinds of furs, and a shortening supply, the muskies are fetching a price that makes it pay a fellow to gather them." "that's what i understood from a big fur dealer," felix went on to remark. "what's going to happen when all the seals and foxes and mink and otter are gone, nobody knows. he said that people would either have to quit wearing any kind of furs; or else be satisfied with muskrat, or something that never will be extinct." "look at the wolf, for instance," said tom. "time was, when it hardly paid to skin one on the ranch, when we shot them. how is it now? why, they've found that those skins make the finest kinds of warm coats for men driving in automobiles; and the consequence is the price keeps going up right along. mr. wolf has a rough road ahead of him in the next ten years. but nobody will cry if he's wiped out, because he's a bad lot, and sure death to young calves in the herd." felix was not addicted to the smoking habit, which probably was a good thing, as he lacked the robust figure of his western cousin. but tom did certainly seem to suck a great deal of consolation from that little pipe of his, and the other boy had no objection to the fumes, indeed, the fragrant odor of the tonca bean, which was mixed with tom's tobacco rather pleased his senses. after he had finished that one pipe, tom arose, and picking up his knife, said he would step out to attend to the dead cat. "if i can't get the right light, why, i might hang the old boy up from the limb of a tree until morning," he said; "only that's likely to fetch others of the breed yowling around tonight. but i'll see." a full moon had arisen after sunset, and while the trees kept much of her light from reaching the ground, still it was far from dark. tom, however, was particular with respect to how he took off any pelt, and decided that it had better wait until morning. he stood outside there quite a little while, until felix came to the door to ascertain what he was doing. "not taking time to bother with the hide tonight, then?" he asked, as he discovered the dead cat swinging about six feet from the ground, having been fastened there with a stout cord. "changed my mind, and concluded it would make a better job in daylight," answered the other. "but i was standing here, listening to something that ought to make you feel happy." "what was that?" asked felix, his curiosity of course aroused. "i heard a 'woof woof' over there that told me a bear was passing by, and had got a whiff of human presence here," tom went on to say, chuckling in his usual way. "and do you think it could be a grizzly?" demanded felix, thrilled with the very thought of such a thing. "oh! well, i never shot a grizzly, myself, and in fact only hunted for the breed once; so my ear isn't educated enough to tell the difference between the sounds made by a cinnamon, and his black cousin; but then, a bear means game, one way or the other; and that suits us both. besides, bear steak ain't so _very_ bad, even if it is tough generally. we'll look up that gentleman tomorrow, felix, just as sure as anything." chapter iii the first good luck one side of the cabin had a couple of rude but serviceable bunks built in the wall. here the boys arranged their blankets; and thus prepared to put in their first night in camp with a roof over their heads. they already saw where they would have numerous things to do in order to feel comfortable when the snows of early winter struck them; but there would be plenty of time for all that, as the days glided on. after all, the night proved to be a quiet one, in spite of tom's expressed fear that the swinging body of the cat might attract others of its species, who, gathering around, might think to hold a regular "wake" over the remains. in fact, neither of them heard anything from the time they lay down until dawn came, and with it a desire for breakfast. feeling considerably refreshed, the two comrades set about accomplishing some of the numerous duties that had been laid out for the day. breakfast disposed of, they started to fix up the interior of the dugout shack, so as to make it seem more comfortable. dozens of little things needed to be done. the roof showed signs of wear in several places, and had to be patched against the time when the cold winds would whistle and moan around the corners the livelong night, trying to get a nip at their toes and fingers. during the morning, then, they were constantly busy, and before noon came around the camp looked a thousand per cent more cheerful. "begins to seem like somebody lived here, eh?" remarked tom, as he looked about him with a satisfied air; he was rather "fussy" about how he did things, never being content to have them just "passable;" the best was none too good for him, tom always declared; meaning that if anything was worth doing at all, it was worth doing well. tom had taken off the skin of the wildcat which was making a den of the dugout at the time of their arrival. this he had stretched in the proper fashion, over a thin piece of board, many of which they found in a corner of the place, having evidently served old sol for years in the same way. strange to say, tom, knowing the secrets of trappers had not cut the skin underneath at all but turned it inside-out; this is called "casing," and the skin is dried with the flesh side out. besides wildcat, a few other animals are also treated this way, notably 'possum, muskrat, mink and otter. as for beaver, raccoon, marten, fox, lynx, wolf, coyote and skunk, these may be slit underneath, and when stretched on the board, the hair is allowed to be on the outer side. they are never cured near a fire or in the sun; the shade, where the wind can get at them being much more preferable, if "prime" or first-class pelts are desired; and of course that is the aim of every trapper. of course, one of the first things both boys had done on this morning was to take a look for signs of the bear tom had heard passing in the night. the experienced western lad had no difficulty in finding the tracks, and he showed his chum how the animal, after standing at a certain point, evidently sniffing in the direction of the smoke that came from their chimney, had made an abrupt turn, and headed once more for the neighboring defiles of the mountains, evidently not caring to remain in the vicinity of man, whom his instinct told him must always be the mortal enemy of his species. "he was a bully big grizzly, too, all right, felix!" announced tom, pointing to the tremendous size of the footprints, with the marks of terrible claws showing; for a bear, like a dog, lacks the peculiar ability of the cat tribe to draw back its claws entirely except when needed. felix looked rather longingly toward the great rocky uplifts that seemed so very close by, although he well knew it was quite likely to prove a little undertaking, reaching any of the gulches and canyons that pierced the massive barrier. "not today, but soon, i hope," he remarked, turning with a smile toward tom. "that's right," remarked the other, "all in good time. we must first of all manage the eating end; or before we know it we won't have any meat in the cabin. then we want to look up old sol's cache, where he's got some of his traps hid away. i'd just like to set a few of the same, to see if the luck holds good. and when, after a while, the spirit moves us, why, we'll start out to get that grizzly you've been dreaming about so long." so felix put the thought out of his head, and determined to abide his time. as he so often said, when some companion tried to make undue speed, "rome wasn't built in a day," and the more haste the less speed to the end. "how about that cache?" asked felix, along about the noon hour, as they sat and rested up a bit after working faithfully all morning at many tasks. "that's a fact!" exclaimed tom, jumping up again in a hurry; "i'd let that slip my mind. and i'm a whole lot curious to know how the steel contraptions have stood the three years that have gone by since old sol was up here." "didn't you say he wanted you to try and lug the traps back, when we started for home again?" inquired the other boy. "he said he had an enduring affection for the traps, and that if we could manage to carry a few, he'd think it just prime. i suppose an old fellow does kind of get attached to anything he's handled so long. p'raps some of the traps have histories, too. and since we expect to make a sledge, and pull all our stuff over the snow to where we agreed to meet frazer on christmas day, why, chances are, we can take the whole caboodle out of the mountains. i know it would tickle the old man a lot, and he's been mighty kind to me, let me tell you, felix." "oh! we can do that easy enough," returned felix, always ready to oblige; "when we leave here there'll be plenty of snow; and with our shoes we can make good time, picking out a day that's suited to the work." tom went over to the lower bunk. getting down on his hands and knees he reached underneath, and presently drew forth what seemed to be a rudely made box. this he had some difficulty in opening, and when the top was finally pried off they found that the traps had been wrapped, each one, in an old, poor quality skin, that seemed to be in a pretty good state of preservation. of course old sol had expected to be up there again on the following fall, when he put his traps away like this; and never dreamed that three years would slip by before the cache was opened. but he had carefully greased them with bear's fat, and as a whole they were looking very decent. altogether they made quite an assortment when tom laid them out. the boy handled them almost with reverence. he knew that, as he had said before, each one must have a history. many a story could they tell, if those grim-looking jaws could only speak--stories of captured wild animals galore, and of more than one fierce fight before the prisoner finally gave up the ghost. "tomorrow, perhaps, we can get several of these placed," tom remarked, as, having hung the traps up from pegs in the wall, he started preparations looking to having some warm lunch, for the day was quite cold. "if i go out for a little turn this afternoon, as you said, why, i'll keep my eyes about me for likely places. sol, in his many stories about his life up here, gave me more than a few hints about the favorite places he had for certain animals. i rather guess this place must have been his pet camp, and he used several in his day." felix was not quite recovered from his fatigue, and hence it had been agreed between them that perhaps he would be wise to stay in camp, and let tom take the first look for meat. tom was as tough as a pine-knot. he had been used to roughing it all his life, and hardly knew such a thing as getting real tired. besides, as he had known old sol personally, the chances were he would be able to find a deer more quickly than his cousin might. with that rough chart to guide him, and the stories of the old trapper still fresh in his mind, tom believed he had a pretty comprehensive idea concerning the lay of the land, even before he had taken one step towards exploring the vicinity. "the woods ought to be good enough for me," he had said; "and i hope to bring back a load of juicy venison; but if i don't strike up with my deer, why, we'll just have to fall back on that piece of ham that's left over." "i hope not," remarked felix, with a shrug; "i'm just tired of ham and bacon for a steady diet, and ache to have a piece of venison between my teeth. so here's wishing you the best luck ever, tom, which is saying a good word for myself, too." when tom shouldered his gun, and took one last look at the now cozy interior of the cabin, he smiled back at his chum. "let me tell you, felix," he remarked, "it looks good to me already; and i just know we're going to have the best sort of time up here, if only we manage to keep the wolf from the door." "i'll do all i can to assist," laughingly responded felix, little dreaming how shortly circumstances, just then utterly unseen, would bring these words of his companion forcibly before his mind. "if you feel like it, felix, you might be cutting up that big limb that was torn off the tree in some storm; we can't have too big a pile of fire wood, against the coming of winter, you know; and once we get a string of traps to look after, the less time we have to spend in chopping wood, the better." and with these words, followed by a cheery wave of his chum's hand, tom strode off for his first side hunt. they really were in need of fresh meat. some five days had passed since leaving home, and with three to feed part of the time, this had made a little hole in the stock of provisions brought along with them. tom had done a great deal of hunting, and was familiar with most of the tricks resorted to by those who are most successful in getting game. of course he took occasion to notice the direction of the wind before leaving the cabin. it would be the height of folly to try and stalk a deer with the breeze blowing his scent directly to the delicate nostrils of his intended quarry, for the wary animal must detect his presence long before he could hope to get within gunshot, and as a consequence would be off "like a streak of greased lightning," as tom himself put it. as he went along, the boy kept his eyes about him, observing numerous things of a nature to interest a hunter and trapper. the sigh of the wind through the tree-tops was sweetest music in the ears of tom tucker; many a night had it lulled him to sleep when in the woods; or stealing softly over the grassy prairie, where the cattle grazed, it had carried with it the chirp of crickets and katydids and all the other familiar sounds of a summer night on the range. never a leaf came floating to the ground near him but that his quick eye sought it out instinctively. if some little squirrel rustled the leaves, his ear was on the alert, even as his eager finger touched the trigger of his gun, ready for a shot at a bounding black-tail deer. so tom went on for perhaps an hour. he was not more than half a mile away from the camp at most, since he had considered it good policy to make a half circle, covering as much ground as possible in this, his first tramp. so far he had seen nothing worth shooting at, though signs of deer had caught his watchful eye numerous times; and he felt sure they used these grounds for feeding purposes, as there were patches of green grass every little while. and then, all of a sudden, there was a loud rustle of the leaves that sent a thrill through the young hunter. he saw a deer leap over a fallen tree with all the ease in the world, and start to bound away, taking great springs. instinct rather than anything else caused tom to throw his rifle to his shoulder; and then he fired, just as the buck turned slightly in order to avoid some obstruction, which tom had already known would make him veer. with a crash the deer went down. throwing another cartridge into the firing chamber of his gun, tom started full speed toward the spot, ready to finish his quarry, if such a thing proved necessary; for he had known deer to get up again, full of fight, after being thrown to the ground by a shot. but that first well-placed ball had accomplished its work. the buck was dead by the time tom reached the spot, pleased with his success, which he looked upon as a splendid sign of future luck. as the afternoon was well along, and he would have half a mile to "tote" his burden, the boy lost no time in setting to work removing the skin of the animal, and then cutting the deer up, so as to secure the choice portions, including of course the two haunches. outside of the hams and perhaps the shoulders there is not a great deal about a deer worth taking; so in due time tom had packed all he wanted in the hide, which he made up into a compact bundle, and threw over his shoulder. thus loaded, and in a happy frame of mind, he started in the direction of camp. never once during his hour's tramp had tom been compelled to guess where the dugout lay. the woods were as an open book to him, so accustomed was he to unconsciously noting many little things around him--the moss on the trees; the way the forest monarchs inclined away from the prevailing storms that came from the west in this region, sweeping down the sides of the mountains; with these and many other signs to tell him, a hunter can read locations as easily as you or i might a printed page in a book. tom had been moving along a short time in this way when suddenly he stopped to listen. the report of a gun had been borne to his ears, and from the direction of the camp, though the breeze was not favorable for carrying sounds. "hello!" he started to remark; when to his surprise a second shot followed the first, and quickly came a third. by this time tom was excited. he fancied that this might be a signal calling for help, as is well known among woodsmen, and cattle rustlers. thoughts of the rough characters said to be somewhere in this vicinity, after being run out of yellowstone park by the soldiers guarding the preserves, flashed into his mind. and so tom, hastily throwing his pack up over a limb, where it would be safe for a while at least, and carefully noting the spot, so he could find the meat again, started on a wild run for the location of old sol's hideout. chapter iv the wolf pack when felix found himself alone he set about doing a number of things which he had in mind, meaning to tackle the wood problem when it got later in the afternoon. time passes quickly when any one is busily employed, and so the hour slipped by almost before he knew it. from some distance away there suddenly came the report of a rifle. felix listened eagerly, but no second shot sounded. this seemed to tell him that none was needed. "i reckon tom got what he wanted that time," he said to himself, as he went on doing what had engaged his attention; "when he lets go, something generally drops. makes my mouth water, just to think of having a saddle of venison hanging up here for a starter. and then it'll be my turn next to make a try. yes, tom was right; and it sure does look like we were going to have the time of our lives up here in this rocky mountain foothills country." he remembered after a bit that there was only a scant amount of wood handy, and that tom had hinted about laying in a further supply. "guess i'll just get a bucket of water, and then take to the axe for a spell," he remarked to himself, for, like a good many other people, felix was quite food of talking to himself when alone. among other things they had found an old but serviceable galvanized bucket, which old sol had carefully greased, and put away for future use. it had taken felix not a little time to get it in fairly decent shape again; but it would hold water, and that was a fortunate thing. under such conditions campers have no right to be overly particular about the looks of things; and a little rust never hurt any one yet, felix stoutly declared. so, taking the bucket, he set out for the spring, which happened to be about two hundred feet away from the dugout. no doubt sol ten eyck was fully aware of the existence of that same fine spring when he started to locate his trapping cabin here in the wilderness; in fact it had everything to do with his selecting that particular locality for putting up his dugout-shack. he had told tom that that spring must be connected with some of those in the national park; because, no matter how cold the winter was, it never froze up. what water came from it might get as hard as anything in the zero temperature; but as for the spring itself, it continued to cheerily bubble forth all through the wintry weather, defying jack frost to seal its mouth. felix was thinking of his chum as he made his way toward the spring. doubtless he pictured tom as busily engaged preparing the carcass of the deer for transportation to the camp; and he could in imagination almost see the pleasure his cousin was taking in his work. "there never was a better chum than tom," felix was saying to himself, as he dipped his bucket carefully into the water; and then, noticing that in approaching too closely he had caused the water to become slightly "roiled," he poured this away, and stooping there, waited a few minutes until it should settle again. a sound caught his hearing that caused him to quickly look up, and then turn his head. what he saw gave the boy a thrill such as he had seldom experienced before. one, two, three savage looking animals were standing there, staring at him in a hungry way, just as though they considered themselves in good luck to come upon a dinner so easily. they had all the appearance of dogs, but although felix could not own up to any considerable experience with wolves, he knew in a flash that that was what these visitors must be. and they looked dangerous, too. a single wolf is a cowardly beast, and will almost always slink away from a human being; but when in company, or running with a pack, he becomes an entirely different sort of animal. at such times, especially when sharp pressed by hunger, in the middle of the winter, he will break into the sheep-fold of a farmer, and even pull down a running horse that has been exhausted by a long flight. felix had read many a wild story of wolf hunts in russia; and knew with what fierceness the animals on the siberian steppes often chase travelers in native vehicles, frequently devouring men and horses. so he did not underestimate the wolves that so suddenly appeared before him as he stooped over the spring, bucket in hand. it flashed upon him that save for his hunting knife he was wholly unarmed just then; for his trusty marlin had of course been left in the cabin; and what use would a five inch blade be against a trio of active, vigorous and reckless wolves, bent upon securing a dinner? he stood up, and took a step toward the cabin. ominous growls greeted the act, as though they would warn felix that they did not mean to allow him to gain the shelter of his fort. felix had another thrill about that time. the first had meant only excitement; but this went further, and whispered of alarm as well. how they bared their white fangs, and raised the long hair on their bony shoulders, to show that they were primed for fight. the boy realized that unless he proved himself quick-witted the chances of his ever getting to where he could snatch up his good rifle, and give them what they deserved, would be pretty slim. at such a time as this the brain works as if on fire. it seemed to felix as though a score of things flashed through his mind at the same instant. he wondered if he could frighten the animals by dashing at them, waving his arms, and letting out a few wild whoops, for sometimes wolves are sent into a panic by the sound of the human voice. but if the expedient failed, why, it would bring him all the sooner to grips with the three hairy scamps that seemed to invite a trail of strength, and resourcefulness. how about the bucket--could he knock upon the bottom with his knuckles at the same time, and add to the din, so as to produce a temporary fear in their hearts? the cabin was only two hundred feet away, and felix just knew he could fairly fly over this distance, given half a chance; but if they recovered soon enough to leap after him, was he not likely to have them on his back before he could get inside and slam the door shut? but something _must_ be done! he could see them edging a little closer all the while, as though unable to hold themselves wholly in check. and they were spreading out more in the shape of a fan, too, as if they knew the best way to trap him. whatever was to be done, he must lose no more time about it, or the attack would follow, and then it would be too late to devise any scheme looking to creating a diversion. it seemed as though just at that instant felix remembered something that promised to open up a possible avenue of escape. when he was sitting there, resting for a few minutes, he had picked up the newspaper that had been wrapped around some of their smoked meat. despite its greasy condition felix had become interested in an article on some subject of surgery that happened to catch his eye. this he had partly read through; and then, wishing to complete a certain task with which he was engaged, he had doubled the paper up, and unconcernedly thrust it into a rear pocket; little dreaming how in doing this he might have been actually saving his own life. so do trifles sometimes turn out to be of the greatest moment. this paper, with its greasy surface, would make a fierce flame, if only for a brief time; and he always carried a bountiful supply of matches along with him; for tom had advised this, as a precaution, in case he ever became lost, when each one would be worth a priceless sum. no sooner had the idea flashed into the mind of felix than he put his hand around, in hopes of feeling the doubled paper. his heart was in his throat when at first he failed to touch anything, then he remembered that it was in the other hip pocket he had thrust the paper. so he drew it out, rustling in a manner that elicited a fresh chorus of snarls and growls from the three guards, who stood between him and the shack where safety for him lay. crunching the paper up, felix next sought for a match. he had a little safe in one pocket of his trousers; but so clear was his mind at this critical stage of the game that he instantly remembered placing several matches loosely in the side pocket of his coat, where he could get at them more easily when starting a fire for supper. so ugly did the wolves act about this time that he was almost afraid they were determined not to wait any longer, but proceed to open hostilities. and so he continued to talk, and call out at them the while, in hopes of averting the crisis until he had started things moving himself. straight ahead of him lay the dugout. once he began running he must make record time, and keep in a direct line for the door. how fortunate that he had left this wide open when starting after that bucket of water! all he would have to do would be to fly through that friendly aperture, snatch hold of the door, and fling it back of him. then his next move would be to make one leap for the corner where the marlin stood; once he felt its convincing metal in his hands, and after that he would not care a snap of his fingers for all the timber wolves that existed within a radius of ten miles. all these preliminaries felix seemed to settle, just like a great general would his plan of campaign; only he had to do it out of hand. the impatient and hungry wolves would not wait his pleasure; they wanted things to be moving along. felix had let the empty bucket drop to the ground when his brilliant scheme came flashing into his mind, so that both his hands were free to conduct the work he had arranged. first of all was the striking of the match, and this he would have to accomplish along one leg of his trousers, as tom always did. the act was greeted by more nasty and irritating snarls, as the three wolves moved still closer, hardly able to hold back longer. when the flame of the match was communicated to the greasy newspaper, of course it flashed up splendidly. this was his chance, and delay now would be apt to injure his prospects of being able to reach the shelter of the cabin. so felix began to wave his flaming torch, made up of the twisted newspaper, and at the same time sprang straight at the three wolves. he knew that such a move would add to their temporary panicky state of feeling and give him a chance to cover some ground. and as he started to jump at them, he also called out at the top of his voice, and waved both arms, as though he might be an animated human windmill in action, bearing down upon them. chapter v a first taste of venison "get out! get out, you rascals!" that was about the burden of what felix yelled, as he dashed at the three timber wolves; although, when put to it afterwards he could never be sure of what he said, only that he endeavored to make his whole appearance as fierce looking as possible. it seemed to be a success, too, for the animals turned tail, and bolted. wolves, as indeed about every other wild animal in the woods or in the mountains, inherit a peculiar dread of fire, though of course the only acquaintance most of them have with its terrifying qualities is when a forest or a prairie fire threatens their lives. even before the white man came to these shores of america, the indians knew how to use flint and steel in order to kindle their fires; and besides, now and then, doubtless conflagrations may have occurred through fire coming down from the clouds, and the lightning striking some dead tree in the woods. thus the fear of flames is born in these predatory animals; and as even in the broad daylight the wolves saw the greasy newspaper flash up into a little pyramid of fire, they just "scooted for all they were worth," as felix afterwards declared, when telling the story of his little adventure. he did not even waste a second in glancing over his shoulder as he ran, in order to ascertain how far this fear carried them. chances were, they would quickly get over the condition of panic, especially when seeing their expected dinner making off in that vigorous fashion. and felix knew that once this occurred, they would be racing after him as fast as they could run. as the boy had always been fond of baseball, and kindred games, while at school, doubtless he could look back to many an occasion when he put in what he considered his "best licks" in endeavoring to stretch out a two-base hit into a three-bagger; or possibly trying to steal home, when the ball was being sent back to the pitcher, and his club needed a run the worst kind, to win. but felix always claimed that had he been able to cover ground on those occasions as rapidly as he did when those three wolves were after him, he might have easily counted a home-run on that two-base hit; or be sitting on the home plate by the time the pitcher was ready to throw to catch him. he fairly flew, every muscle and nerve being "on the job," as he called it. the yawning open door was just in front of him; but by now he could positively hear a terrible scratching sound in his rear, which must be produced by the scrambling of his lupine foes over the intervening ground. they had recovered from their temporary scare, and were after him at full speed, bent on pulling him down as they would a wounded deer. but he reached the dugout, and shot through that opening like a flash. at the instant of doing so he reached out, and catching hold of the door, gave it a desperate fling. he heard it strike something, which could only be the head of the foremost wolf. and turning as quickly as possible, felix threw his weight against the door, which was even then commencing to move inward, under the rush of enemies without. but there was enough of vigor and alarm in the boy to crush the door fast; after which he secured it with the bar. he was safe, then, and had cheated the hungry beasts out of their expected dinner. felix seemed to experience a sudden change in the state of his feelings. he had been alarmed before; now he was angry at those three bold beasts. and turning around, he picked up the marlin with which he expected to get his ferocious grizzly; and which had been chosen particularly on account of its hard shooting qualities, as well as its faithfulness in a pinch, the mechanism never failing to work, as some guns have a weakness for doing. once he had the hammer drawn back, and felix walked deliberately over to the door, which he meant to swing open. he might have taken to the window just as well, but somehow he felt so fortified by this accession of the repeating gun that he scorned such "baby" action. taking down the bar, he allowed the door to open just a few inches. that gave him the chance he wanted to see the gleaming eyes and the red mouth of a wolf not two feet away. with the shot he saw the animal roll over in convulsions; while the other two lost no time in making hasty tracks away from that dangerous locality. and here was where felix showed that he knew what he was doing when he selected the door instead of the smaller opening that served as a window, since it actually had a pane of glass, and a movable sash--he was enabled to immediately step outside, gun in hand, and take a couple of shots at the fleeing wolves. with each report one of the scampering beasts rolled over. it was as fine shooting as felix had ever done in all his life, and he had always been accounted a rather clever hand with either rifle or bird gun. "all down in that alley; set 'em up again!" he exclaimed, thrilled with the remarkable success that had followed his work. not one of the ferocious beasts got up again, to try and limp away; so that the young nimrod was not compelled to use more than a single cartridge apiece. but when, presently, he went to the spring for that bucket of water, felix, you may be sure, carried the rifle along with him; and the three cartridges that had been ejected were replaced by fresh ones. there were no more wolves hovering around in that immediate neighborhood, apparently, and he was not disturbed any further. so felix set about chopping his wood in the most unconcerned way possible, after examining the bodies of his prizes, and dragging them into a row under the big tree. a short time later he heard tom's "cooie," and answered it. of course the other had ceased his wild run as soon as he caught the regular sound of the descending axe; but when he came up presently, fairly panting for breath, his face displayed more than ordinary curiosity. "what was it, felix?" he asked. "do you mean, why did i fire those three shots?" asked the other, meaning to tantalize his chum a little; for he could see how tom was burning up with eagerness to know the cause of the firing. "yes, yes, of course. it's generally the signal that a fellow needs help," said tom, eagerly. "well, my time for needing help had about passed when i let drive with the marlin gun," felix went on, in a mysterious way that the other could make nothing out of. "but if you could have dropped in here about a minute before that time, i tell you now, you'd have been the most welcome sight my eyes could have looked on." "but why? open up, felix, and tell me what happened. you shot something, didn't you?" tom went on to demand. "i shot three times, and there were just that number of the scamps, tom." whereupon tom glanced around, and in consequence quickly discovered the several forms of the defunct beasts lying in a grim row under the big tree. "well, i'll be hanged if it wasn't a whole pack of wolves; and what fierce looking fellows, too!" he exclaimed, as he hurried over to examine them. "huh!" grunted felix; "i reckon each one looked about as tall as a house to me, when they stood there, and showed me by their bared fangs, and savage growls, that they didn't mean to let me make a dash from the spring to the shack without tackling me." "the spring! d'ye mean to say they waylaid you there? but how lucky it was that you didn't forget to have your gun along!" ejaculated tom. "that's where the joke comes in," remarked the other, drily; "because it never once occurred to me that a fellow ought to go to get a bucket of water, with his gun under one arm. it was in the cabin at the time, more's the pity." tom plumped down on the ground, and mopped his face with his bandana; his run had apparently heated him up considerably. "spin the yarn, felix; don't keep me guessing so hard. however in the wide world did you keep them off till you grabbed up the gun?" he urged. "couldn't have done it at all, i give you my word, because they were just bent on tackling me off-hand; but it chanced that i had an old newspaper in my pocket." "a newspaper!" echoed tom; "what under the sun did that have to do with it! how could a paper interest wolves? come on, tell me what you did, felix?" "struck a match, and made a bully old torch. then i just jumped for 'em, and hollered to beat the band!" replied the other, with a grin. tom's face was a study as he listened, and he too smiled broadly. "a great stunt, my boy, it sure was," he went on to say. "and so that scared 'em off enough for you to get inside, where your gun was, did it?" "but only by a close shave," replied felix. "one of the critters came slap up against the door even when i was banging it shut; and they all tried to outpush me." "then i suppose you just opened the little window, and gave the sassy beasts one, two, three, eh, felix?" "just what i did, only it was the door i opened a little, tom. after i'd bowled one over, the others put for shelter, just as i expected; and so i was able to just step outside, and plunk the runners as neat as you please. i'm some proud of those two shots; they were as good as anything i ever did at my best." "well, you have done yourself proud, let me tell you that; but in my mind the best part of the whole business was where you thought up that clever dodge of using that newspaper for a torch. it was a stroke of genius," said tom, earnestly, and there could be no doubt that he meant it. "but i heard you shoot; did you get any fresh meat? excuse me for asking; but i'm that hungry for a bite of venison i'll have to forget my manners, tom?" "oh! i downed a young black-tail buck, and was toting the meat to camp when i heard you shoot three times. of course i just thought you'd visitors here in the shape of that abe cozzins and perley kline we've been hearing so much about, as guides who've been doing all sorts of tough things, been fired from the park, and are suspected of shooting game on the government reservation. you just bet i did some tall sprinting for a while; then when i heard you start chopping, i knew you must be all right; but by that time i was too much worked up to turn around and go back for the venison i hung on a limb. i'll do that as soon as i get my breath once more." felix swung his axe merrily, while the other watched him. "you couldn't have better exercise than that for broadening your chest and hardening your muscles don't you know it, felix," tom asked, presently. "sure i do, and that's a sly hint i'm to be the steady wood chopper while we're up in camp at the foot of the rockies," replied the other, laughingly; "but i really like the handling of an axe first-rate; and with more practice i think i'll be able to bring it down exactly where i want, every time, just like those loggers up in maine do." "well, i must say you're in an awful big hurry to load up with pelts," tom continued, with a whimsical grimace in the direction of the three wolves. "here you hardly get in camp before you begin by knocking over a big cat that crawls out of our chimney; and before a single day goes by you've lain out a heap of fine wolf hides for me to stretch and dry. at that rate i see myself keeping busy right along and we'll have a load to take back on our sledge that'll make frazer's eyes stick out of his head. i kind of think he laughed in his sleeve at the idea of two boys catching any of these fur bearing animals. he'll have another guess coming. but i ought to be hiking out after that venison. i'd hate to have any critter make way with it, after going to all the trouble i did, eh, felix?" "and then, we need it in our business so bad, too," remarked the other, drily; "so i think you'd better be getting it, tom." accordingly, tom started off again to retrace his steps, promising to be back in half an hour or less. with the pleasing prospect of fresh meat for supper, felix worked with additional vim, as he swung the light axe they had carried with them through the three days they had been on the trail up here. now and then he would steal a glance toward the row of grim trophies that had fallen to his skill as a marksman; yet from certain words that dropped from his lips it was evident that felix gave much of the credit to his faithful gun. "just point it straight, and it'll do the rest every time," he chuckled, with a fond look at the rifle snuggled down close to where he was working, so that he could snatch it up at a second's warning, if necessary. after a time the cheery whistle of his chum was heard near by, and then tom appeared, staggering under his load, but making light of it when felix protested that he should not have tried to carry so much. "plenty of meat for a week or two, because it'll keep sweet and nice in this mountain air, and particularly at this time of year," felix had said, as he helped unload the pack-horse and sized up the cuts. "don't examine 'em too close," remonstrated the nimrod; "i never was a good hand at butchering; though i had ought to be, because i've been raised among cattle, and have cut up many a steer. but it answers our purpose." "well, if you call that poor work, you'll take a fit when you see what i do," remarked the other, shaking his head in despair. as the afternoon was now getting along, they determined that they might as well start things moving, looking toward supper. both of them were fairly wild to get the first taste of meat on the trip. at home, and cooked in the civilized fashion, with possibly only a poor appetite spurring one on, venison is apt to seem dry eating; but take it out in the woods with the proper surroundings, and hunger that is clamorous in its demands; with the game cooked after the hunter's fashion, and there is nothing more delightful. just so the coffee tastes like nectar out of a rusty old tin cup, while at home much of the pleasure is lost if there happens to be a crack in the delicate china cup in which the fragrant juice of the java bean is served. the conditions and surroundings have a great deal to do with the enjoyment of a thing; and venison was never intended to be eaten over a snow-white table cloth, and flanked by cut glass and china and silverware. while felix commenced to get supper tom gave his attention to taking off the gray "jackets," as he called them, of the wolves. "some day, not a great ways off," he remarked, "they'll be keeping a chauffeur or a gentleman in a car snug and warm, and that's a better use for them, than just covering three pesky calf-killers. i'm always tickled all to death to see a wolf knocked over, i despise the breed so; they're so sneaky and so cruel." "well, they looked that way to me, let me tell you," remarked felix from within the shack, where he was busily employed; "especially when they drew back their lips and showed me what long fangs they had, all of 'em. but all's well that ends well; and we've got a nice bunch of wolf pelts to start on." after awhile the tantalizing odor of coffee began to steal out to tom; and then this was supplemented by the delightful smell of frying meat; for they had fetched along a good-sized frying pan, without which tom never would go camping. he had just washed up, after completing his job, so far as the first part of it went, when felix announced that supper was ready. "i reckon you'd better take a look around tomorrow," tom remarked, as they sat there by the fire, enjoying a bountiful meal that made both boys as contented as kings. "i had my inning today; and besides, i've got lots of work to do, what with getting these wolf pelts fastened on stretchers; and setting a few traps in places not a great ways from the shack. and after the time you had, i give you fair warning that i'll never be caught out, with my gun at home. if you'd had time, of course, you could have climbed a tree; but those hungry chaps didn't mean to let you try such a dodge. chances were they'd have nabbed you in three shakes of a lamb's tail." "but we've got enough meat for awhile, haven't we?" asked felix. "better lay in a stock while the chance offers," replied the other, wisely. "if we want to keep it i know how the indians jerk their venison, and it ain't half way bad, cooked in a stew, or eaten as it's dried. pemmican they call it, and some of the lot they carry is about as black as your hat, from the smoke it was dried in. an indian brave can run for days with only a handful of that stuff along to nibble at when he feels faint. it's a life saver, all right." "perhaps, then, i will take a look around," felix admitted; for he was eager to try his luck with the deer, as well as have a chance to observe what the surrounding country looked like. they passed a pleasant evening, both busy doing some little thing; for there could always be found plenty that needed attention; and tom was a great hand to want to have everything about him shipshape. and when finally, becoming tired, the two chums turned in, they did not need any rocking to put them to sleep. chapter vi felix takes his turn so another day found the campers under the shadow of the great rockies. they were up early, for it had been about nine o'clock when they turned in on the preceding night; and there was plenty waiting to be done. "suppose you let the pelts go until later in the day, tom," remarked felix as they ate breakfast at the rough table, which old sol had built for his use when he used to spend so many months every winter up here, in this favorite nook. "what for?" asked the other, well knowing that felix would never make this odd proposition without having some good reason for it. "well," said his chum, slowly, "i'd like to go with you for a little while, and see how you set the traps you think of putting out. then, later on in the day, perhaps after we've had a bite of lunch, i might try a tramp in another quarter from where you went, just to see what the country looks like." "just as you say," replied tom, readily enough. "i didn't stop to think that perhaps you'd like to see the operation. and i guess it's just as well that you pick up some information about how to do the job; because some days perhaps you'll want to run the line of traps yourself; and then you'll have to know how to set them, as well as keep your scent from staying around, and warning timid animals away." in about half an hour they started forth, each carrying a few traps. tom had been cudgeling his brains to remember all that old sol had told him about his favorite places for setting his mink traps. there was a little ravine close by, through which a stream of water ran; and along the banks of this the wary animals abound. perhaps tom may not have gone about his task in exactly the same way an experienced trapper would; for it takes years of work to learn all there is to know in connection with the cunning little fur-bearing animals that look on man as their most implacable foe, as indeed he has been ever since the world began. some people have a knack for doing this sort of thing, while others never seem able to learn anything about the game. tom was one of the former. he had spent enough time with old sol to learn a great many points that were worth knowing. the rest could only come through personal experience in the field. these mink traps were set in front of certain openings in the banks which, from the signs, were "used" by the mink in traveling about, a peculiar habit they have of doing at certain times of the year. then a couple of fox traps were left at spots which tom understood were likely to bring about results. great care had to be exercised in setting these traps, so as to conceal the human scent, which would come to the acute sense of smell of the sly fox, and completely baffle the designs of the would-be trappers. after that some muskrats traps were placed in a little marsh where the rodents lived in great numbers. they are possibly the easiest animal to trap there is; and as the price of their skins has been going steadily up from next to nothing, until now they bring as high as sixty-five cents apiece, it pays a trapper to devote his entire time to taking the rats; which, truth to tell, are really no relation to the ordinary house rats, but are called musquash by the indians, and are really very tasty as food. it was when the boys were starting back to the dugout, after locating the last of their muskrat traps in the marsh, that tom made a discovery. "looky here!" he exclaimed, pointing to one side; "what's been going on, d'ye suppose? part of a deer, and it hasn't been killed more'n a week. why, the foxes haven't made way with it all. queer those hungry wolves didn't scent it; but then they don't eat carrion as a rule, like the coyotes. they're daintier in their choice of food." "whatever do you suppose killed this deer?" asked felix, as they turned that way. "we'll soon find out," replied his chum; "but the chances are ten to one it was a bullet from a rifle." he bent over to examine the few remains, and presently looked up with a smile. "what did i tell you, felix?" he demanded, holding some small object before his chum's eyes. it was a bullet, somewhat flattened from having struck the heavier bones, when it pierced the body of the deer. "and only a week back, you say, tom?" remarked felix, a frown appearing on his face. "then some party has been around here a short time ago? i had begun to believe we were going to have it all to ourselves; but i suppose that would be too good luck. any idea what sort of a man the hunter was?" "injun," replied tom, laconically, as he pointed to the mark of a moccasin in the soft soil near by; and which felix noticed "toed-in;" for an indian always walks that way; as nature intended man should, before he began to wear stiff boots, and started to use his feet the wrong way, by "toeing-out." "whew! then all i hope is, that it turns out to be that good old halfbreed we heard so much about, charley crow they call him, because his other name is too much for a fellow's tongue. i wouldn't mind him so much; and if he's starting to put in a season trapping in this neighborhood, why, we might make friends with him, you know." "as for me," declared tom, with a disconsolate look on his sun-burned face; "you know, i don't take much stock in any injun or half-breed. i only hope we have the good fortune not to run across this fellow, or any of his kind, all the time we stick it out up here. but then i'm prejudiced, i own up. charley may be all they say about him. we'll let it go at that. if he doesn't bother us, be sure i'll not go ten steps out of my way to look him up." all the same, it made them a little serious as they walked back to the camp. if there were others hunting and trapping in that section, such a thing always opened the door for all sorts of new troubles. supposing there should turn out to be a whole hunting party of shoshones or flatfoot indians off their reservation, and engaged in a grand hunt; they would make things look pretty "sick," as tom expressed it, around there, in short order. but then, fortunately perhaps, boys are not much given to forebodings; and presently both tom and his chum were feeling themselves again. doubtless the recollection of that deer would return to them more than a few times to arouse these same doubts and speculations. and every time tom felt that smashed bit of lead in his pocket, he would allow himself to indulge in guesses that could hardly lead to anywhere in particular. it was now getting on toward noon, and felix announced that he would not bother making a start until some time afterwards. there was no need of hurry, and inside of a couple of hours, he thought he ought to cover as much ground as he wanted to get over for that time. "i'd better be making a start with those wolf pelts," said tom; "because there's no telling what we may have on our hands by tomorrow, if only a third of those nine traps bring us returns. makes me think i'm out again with old sol. how much i'd like to have him along, right now, he's such a bully old chap; and with a lot of queer things to tell about his experiences." although felix did not bother to say so, truth to tell, he was entirely satisfied with the way things ran just then; there could not be a better comrade than tom tucker, and according to his mind, two was always a better number than three. he watched tom get busy with one of the pelts, and affix it to the large stretching board; after he had done considerable scraping, so as to get the skin as free from flesh as possible. "they're prime skins, and that's what," the worker declared. "and if you'd shot this fellow on purpose so as not to injure his hide, you couldn't have done better." "that must be the one that was trying to butt in at the door when i opened it just a mite," declared felix. "i gave him his right down his throat; for he had his mouth open, and i could see the rows of shining white teeth; besides his red tongue hanging out." "of course that's it," remarked tom. "i remember now that the others are shot in the side, and both of them just back of the foreleg. great work, that, my boy; and when it comes to shooting i'll have to take a back seat, i reckon." "lay it to the gun," chuckled felix; "all you have to do is to stick that shooting-iron out, and shut your eyes as you pull trigger. it does all the rest." "yes, and goes out to retrieve your game besides," added tom, with a laugh. "the gun's all right, and i've used it enough to know what it can do; but there's a whole lot in the fellow behind the gun, as they say in the navy." "by the way, tom, you'd better tell me if you think there's any chance of my getting lost in these same old woods. i don't know half as much as you do about finding my way about; and i used to have the greatest weakness for losing my bearings you ever saw, some time back. yes, i studied up all the known ways for telling the direction, if i lost my compass and could point out north as well as the next fellow; but the trouble with me was, i couldn't say whether camp meant north, south, east or west, most of the time. of course, here i'd have the mountains to guide me; and besides, i've got a bully little compass somewhere around; so i don't think i'll worry about it. and even if i did stray off, it could only be for a night. after several stabs at it, i'd be sure to arrive at the proper direction." "i don't believe you would lose yourself around here if you tried, felix," asserted tom, positively. "you're only saying that to josh me. but i'm not going to let it bother me any. if you don't turn up, why, i'll be on your trail in the morning." tom said this jokingly, never dreaming that he might have a chance to put his words into practice so soon. he, himself, had never been lost in all his life. like the homing pigeon, tom seemed to have some sort of instinct that, under all circumstances, allowed him to face toward home when he wanted to turn that way. and he could not understand how anyone could make such mountains out of mole-hills. why, all they had to do was to use their eyes, and what sense lay in their head, in order to figure out just how to head to get back to their starting point. and yet you could drop felix down into the heart of a strange city, even great london, and he would presently be able to find his way around, so that in a week's time the streets would be as familiar to him as those of his native town; while probably tom tucker would have to be escorted to his hotel by the police every time he sauntered forth. he was used to one thing, and felix another. when two hours had passed tom, seeing that his companion had not made any sign of going forth began to ask questions. "give up the idea of that little hunt for today, felix?" "oh! no," was the reply, as the other got up and stretched himself, for he had been busying himself with some small job that allowed of sitting. "better be moving, then, or you'll be caught by darkness away from camp; and then you'll have to try bunking alone for once," suggested the other. "that's so," felix went on, beginning to buckle on his ammunition belt, and put a few things in the pockets of his coat, the sight of which made tom elevate his eyebrows. "don't mean to take any chances, eh?" he remarked. "oh! well, there's no telling, and you yourself always say its best to be prepared. i expect to be back inside of two hours at the most, however," and felix picked up his gun, showing that he was now ready to start. "and i expect to have a lot of things done by the time you do come back," remarked tom. "if you're lucky enough to get your deer, perhaps you'd better only bring home the saddle, and leave the rest for tomorrow." "you're saying that because you know i'm not built along the same husky lines you are," declared felix; "but lots of times these thin fellows can show plenty of grit and carrying power. so-long, tom." "and felix," called out the other, as an after thought, "if you happen to run up against any of those fellows like abe cozzins and perley kline,--you remember frazer telling us about their stamp, don't you?--better give 'em a wide berth. we know they're being looked for by the government men, and p'raps they know it too, so they may feel ugly toward every one. if we were together i wouldn't think much of it; but you haven't rubbed up against that sort of border scoundrel as much as i have. be careful, won't you?" "i guess i will, tom; and don't worry about me." with that felix was gone, his gun over his shoulder, and not a sign of his recent weariness to be seen about his quick, springy step, tom noticed, with satisfaction. the time passed rapidly to the boy who was so busy in camp. in fact, he hardly noticed its passage, and when he heard a distant shot, soon followed by a second, he was astonished to find that two hours had really gone. "that sounded as though he'd struck something worth while," tom was saying to himself, with a smile, once more turning his attention to whatever it was at which he chanced to be working at the time. "but unless he hurries in his work, it'll come on dark before he gets back. at this time of year night just seems to be in the tallest kind of a hurry to get a move on the daylight." and indeed, as the dusk deepened, and he saw nothing of his chum, tom went to the open door many times, wondering whether after all felix might not have wandered so far afield that his own laughing prediction was being fulfilled, and that in truth he was temporarily lost. but tom, having prepared supper for two, waited a long time before he would sit down alone to eat his portion. as felix was still absent the western boy began to feel more or less worried. he had thought there could be little or no danger in those woods at the base of the rockies; but now, with the absence of his chum, he began to see all sorts of evil things that might have come upon felix, rather unused to these vast ranges of wilderness, so different from those he was accustomed to roaming in the far east. later grew the hour, and tom realized that the matter was getting a bit serious. he even went out, and fired his gun three times in rapid succession; and then listened eagerly; but there was no air stirring to carry sounds, and only the melancholy hooting of an owl up among the cliffs far away answered him. chapter vii unavoidable delay there was a reason, and a good one, too, for felix failing to show up that afternoon or evening, which will become apparent to the reader after a short time. when he strode away from the camp under the big tree, it was as cheerfully as ever he had felt in all his life; nor was he dreaming of the possibilities of anything odd, or out of the usual rut, overtaking him. but many times it is the unexpected that swoops down upon us; just as storms once in a while surprise the oldest weather prophets, coming from a point they have never considered. felix wanted very much to duplicate the performance of his chum. he had made up his mind to three things, which he hoped his trip to the rockies would bring forth. one of these, as has been said before, was to be able to shoot a ferocious grizzly bear, alone and unaided. then he yearned to bring down one of those sturdy jumpers of the steeps, a rocky mountain sheep, or bighorn, stories concerning which he had read so many times; and last of all, he hoped to get the head of a seven-pronged buck, something that in all his hunting before he had never been able to secure for his collection. he strode away, and in less than half an hour had begun to work things to suit the conditions of the hunt. the wind had changed materially from the preceding day, and was now coming out of the northwest. this allowed felix a chance to head in a northerly direction, which was just what he wanted; because it gave him the option of covering ground which tom had not touched in his little hunt. now he was moving cautiously along, eyes and ears on the alert; for his chum had warned him that in all probability the first thing he would know concerning the presence of a deer would be when he heard it jump hurriedly to its feet in some thicket, and then catch a glimpse of its brown side as it leaped wildly away. and felix, being a clever snap-shot with his favorite gun, was on the watch ready to do himself credit. of course, even the best of hunters may make a poor shot at times, since when a deer plunges madly through woods and brush there is no certainty for aim; but he believed that if the chances gave him half a show he would make a success of his little excursion. a more cautious or experienced lad than felix would of course have taken more pains to note the lay of the land, and its other features, calculated to prove of more or less value to him later on in case he got his bearings mixed. but he was buoyant and indifferent; besides, it happened that he had lately discovered certain tracks that held his interest, to the exclusion of all such minor things as the possibility of his getting lost. these hoof prints had certainly been made by a deer of unusual size, a fact he viewed with exultation, since it told him that undoubtedly here was the very buck for which he had long been looking, and whose antlered head he began to hope was to grace the wall of his den at home. and as he moved along he registered a silent vow that he would let nothing come in the way to interfere with the success of his undertaking, should he only have the good fortune to come up with his quarry. felix could not tell exactly how old the tracks were. he saw by several signs, however, that they had been made since early morning, since in places they had broken down the partly frozen earth. he was trusting partly to luck that the deer might not be miles away from him just then. if he had followed the usual custom of his kind he had lain down during the middle of the day, when the sun was warm, and might be feeding by this time. an hour passed away, and felix was just as eagerly tramping along with his eyes fixed upon those tracks as when he first started. if there was one trait young edmondson possessed that cropped out frequently, it was his stubbornness, once his mind was made up; no matter what difficulties loomed up ahead, that were calculated to dismay the ordinary fellow, he would not be deterred. by now he had covered fully twice the distance from the camp that he had intended to do; for instead of sweeping around, and making a half circle, he was keeping almost straight on, even though the trail zigzagged at times. even felix, without the extended experience in tracking which his companion possessed, could tell that he was gaining on the deer, which had stopped to browse from time to time, when some tempting bit of green grass was come upon in small glades under the heavy timber growth. this kept his excitement at fever height. what mattered it if he did not get back to camp that night; he had made ample preparations for spending a short period alone under the trees; and in fact was not wholly averse to trying how it felt to be making a bivouac in that wyoming wilderness, quite by himself; for felix was always seeking new and novel sensations, and he could not remember ever camping in solitary state in all his life. at any rate felix gave promise of some day making a splendid trailer; since the prime requisite to success along this line is stick-at-it-iveness, such as marks the wolf following the deer through day and night, until finally he wearies his intended quarry, and brings it to bay. the tracks now looked much fresher than when he started to follow them. he began to hope that he might come suddenly upon his game in some quiet nook; and hence his eager finger toyed nervously with the trigger, as he kept pushing ahead. and just as he had anticipated many a time, the first thing he heard was a loud snort. then up jumped a buck of such splendid proportions that felix was thrilled doubly by the apparition. nevertheless, he did not lose his head, as many boys would have done under similar circumstances; but as the big beast leaped away, the marlin repeater was flung up to the young hunter's shoulder, and its sharp report instantly followed. with a crash the deer went down in a heap; but after a wild scramble, seemed able to get upon its feet again, proving that the first shot had failed to effect a fatal wound. felix naturally expected to see the animal go off with frantic bounds, and was prepared to send several shots after him, in the hope of bringing him down with a lucky bullet; but he did not calculate what a painful wound might accomplish in arousing the combative spirit and fury in an old buck. to his intense amazement and consternation, the animal, while "bounding" all right, headed directly toward him, instead of away. this surprising fact must have disconcerted the young nimrod a trifle, at least, as it has many a veteran marksman under similar conditions; at least it caused him to aim badly; so that although he pulled trigger and the gun spoke, the advancing animal did not seem to swerve from the direct course he had taken in starting, and which if pursued, would bring him swooping down upon the boy. now felix had heard tom tell about the far from amiable qualities shown by these same hermit bucks, when aroused, and enraged by wounds; and how dangerous a charge on the part of one might prove. he even noted that the antlers were much larger than the coveted seven-prongs upon which he had set his mind and hopes; and indeed just at that moment they must have appeared to his excited imagination about five feet long, and each prong threatening to do him a tremendous amount of harm if it came in contact with his person. felix rejoiced in the fact that he was in the neighborhood of a good-sized tree, behind which he could take immediate shelter, for the charging animal was so close upon him that he had no chance to shoot for a third time. and it was with considerable activity and eagerness that the young nimrod gave a leap to one side, and placed the tree-trunk between; but he clung with a desperate clutch to his rifle, knowing instinctively that sooner or later this was the only thing that could rid him of the implacable foe that his shots had aroused to such fury. and then began a merry chase around that tree, with the wounded buck trying all he knew how to reach the fleeing hunter with those terrible antlers, which felix had coveted so much; it began to look just then as though he might make their acquaintance in a fashion he had never dreamed possible. of course the boy had only part of the distance to cover that the deer required, in order to pass around the large trunk; but he was compelled to do this so many times, and kept going at such constant whirlwind speed that presently it began to cause felix to puff a little; while to his alarm the raging beast seemed capable of keeping the chase up indefinitely, despite the wound in his shoulder, which felix noted was bleeding considerably. this fact warned felix that he had better get busy, and think up some new line of tactics, if he hoped to come out of the scrape with flying colors, for he certainly could not gallop, or even slide, around that tree as he had been doing now for ten minutes, much longer. the buck was desperately in earnest, and several times, came near impaling the boy with his antlers; so that felix found himself kept busy between rushes in avoiding these dangerous attacks. his attention being taken up just then with trying to work the mechanism of his rifle, in the hope of being able to put another bit of lead into the anatomy of his pursuer, possibly he failed to note just where he was stepping, for suddenly felix tripped over some object, and fell just in the path of the swooping buck! the rifle was twisted from his hands as he tried to save himself, and dropped far beyond his reach. as he tried to squirm out of the way of the charging buck, he felt a thrill of horror when the antlers of the beast were thrust under him, just missing his flesh, as it were, by an inch. before he could think twice, he was raised in the air by a sudden upward movement of the deer's head; and then went sailing swiftly through space, with his arms and legs flying in four separate directions. just how high he really did go felix never knew, though he often pondered over the matter with considerable amusement, and wished some ambitious photographer might have been present with his little snap-shot camera to take the picture, for his edification in future days. at any rate, he felt his progress checked by the branches of the tree under which he happened to be at the time; and with an involuntary movement, for thinking was positively out of the question at that moment, he instantly threw out both hands, his one idea being to clutch something that would prevent his falling back upon those cruel looking antlers of the wounded buck. fortune was kind enough to allow felix to fasten to a friendly limb, and hold on tenaciously so that after a little struggle he found himself astride the same, and looking down in mingled astonishment and satisfaction on the chagrined buck below. the furious animal seemed surprised that the object of his sudden hatred should decline to drop back again, to be gored and trampled upon, in order to satisfy the rampant spirit of revenge that was now wholly dominating the buck's actions. he gave positive evidence of his humor by leaping upward again and again as if in hopes of reaching the panting lad, who sat there just out of range; though once the sweeping antlers managed to touch the dangling foot of the hunter, causing felix to experience an involuntary thrill of apprehension, as he snatched his leg hastily away. then by slow degrees the ludicrous nature of his predicament dawned upon felix, and leaning back he laughed long and heartily; this only after he had anxiously felt of his ribs and limbs, to make positive that nothing beyond a few minor contusions and bruises had resulted from this heaving act of the animal in causing him to take an unexpected aerial flight. after that he amused himself in addressing the animal, snorting and prancing below, calling him many sarcastic names that might have wounded the buck's self respect, could he but have understood. but the stubborn deer seemed bent upon only one thing, which was to visit his wrath upon the object of his hatred, or at least keep him treed, if it took him all night. when another hour had passed without the beast showing the slightest inclination of quitting his post, felix gave over his playful mood, and began to survey the situation in a more serious light. why, the stubborn old chap was apt to keep up his vigil all night; and even then some. while the boy might be able to maintain his position among the branches of the tree that length of time without great difficulty, felix considered the possibility of having to remain there inactive during a chilly night, with anything but pleasure. thoughts of a cozy campfire taunted him, and urged him on to devise some method of outwitting the old buck. what could he do to frighten the beast away? apparently mr. buck was not one to be easily scared; and unless heroic measures were adopted, the chances of his occupying that elevated position until at least dawn, seemed excellent. felix cudgeled his brains, endeavoring to recall anything he had ever heard or read covering this strange ground. of course his first thought and expectation lay in the direction of his rifle; for if so be he could only get this valuable asset in his grasp, it would soon be goodbye to his tormentor. then he remembered that there was also another method of frightening the buck away, if only he could apply it. this consisted of taking some powder from several of the cartridges belonging to his gun, which still reposed in his belt, moistening it until it had the consistency of paste; then allowing it to partly dry; but while still in a soft condition thrusting a number of pins into the ball, with the points sticking out like the quills on the back of the "fretful porcupine." watching his opportunity, he would have to make a skillful cast, after first applying a lighted match to this boyish idea of a "spit-devil," and fasten it to the back of the jumping deer. rendered frantic by the pain, and fright, the animal would of course dash madly away, and leave the prisoner of the tree a chance to descend at his leisure. this latter scheme was very alluring in the eyes of felix, in that it would relieve him of his persistent enemy; but at the same time he remembered that he wanted that same buck's antlers, and more than ever now, since they had given him the strangest free ride of all his experience; and letting him get away was not at all to his taste. then again, not being an experienced bull fighter, expert in tossing the ribbon-bedecked burrs that fasten to the sides of a bull in the ring, and make him ready for the sacrifice of the matador's sword, felix doubted his ability to land his projectile upon the back of the buck at just the right second, and make it stick there long enough to frighten the valiant old fellow. on the whole, he concluded to attempt the other plan, which had to do with the recovery of his precious rifle. to accomplish this it was first necessary to produce some cord, and a hook; and then do some fishing for the weapon; all the while the buck must be watching his labors, with a possibility of defeating his efforts just when success seemed assured. fortunately felix had the cord, all right; and in that wonderful little ditty bag, which tom had taught him to always carry, there turned out to be a solitary fish-hook; though what use felix had intended putting it to, was a problem which he could hardly have answered, had the question been asked. he also hung a little weight upon the cord, to properly balance it, and allow of better angling. everything being ready, felix crawled out on a limb where he would be just above the coveted rifle. the watchful buck noted his movements with no doubt considerable curiosity; and even followed below, shaking his antlered head from time to time, as if to warn the treed hunter what he must expect if he should slip from his hold, and fall to the ground, an accident felix did not mean to have happen if he knew it. the boy saw that if he commenced work now, the deer might frustrate all his efforts by entangling the line in his horns, and jerking it from his hands; so he settled down, as if to locate there permanently on that new limb. presently, as if reassured by his actions that there was nothing to be feared from the hunter, the deer began to move restlessly around, stopping now and then to look up questioningly; it seemed as though the beast had an idea he might thus coax his enemy to descend; for his manner was as plain an invitation as anything felix had ever seen; but the boy failed to take advantage of it, continuing his labor of allowing the line to drop nearer and nearer the gun. it was quite an exciting moment for the boy when the hook finally landed. chapter viii plenty of trouble felix found it a more difficult task, getting that hook fastened in the trigger guard of the rifle, than ever he had dreamed could be possible. a dozen times he thought he had accomplished the feat, only to have the cord twirl, and the tricky hook double upon itself; so that his "bite" turned out to be a mere "nibble," altogether unsatisfactory in results. but felix would never give over, and kept at his task with a grim determination that was, in fact, born of desperation; since he could think of no other way whereby a cold night in that tree might be avoided. finally success came to crown his efforts, and he actually felt the "pull" of the rifle's weight, when he tightened the cord. the suspicious buck, attracted by the movement of the ascending rifle, started to advance in that direction, as if bent upon investigating this new feature of the game; so that felix, in sudden fear lest his little trick might be spoiled just when it promised a golden success, had to make a quick ascension. when his angry four-footed foe made a vicious leap forward and upward, as if bent upon sending the swinging gun a dozen yards away, the boy's heart seemed to be almost in his mouth with the suspense; but as the old saying has it, "a miss is as good as a mile," and the buck failed to strike the object of his sudden new animosity, though coming perilously near it. when his eager fingers clutched the precious marlin, felix felt like giving vent to a shout of joy. he knew now that the game lay safely in his hands; and had the old buck been as wise as he was savage, he would have lost not a second in trotting away from that dangerous vicinity; but unaware of his new peril he only started a new series of furious jumps in the air, in the futile endeavor to strike the dangling legs of his tantalizing human foe. at another time felix might have allowed himself to feel a little compunction about taking the life of such a valiant old fellow; but his sides still ached from the rough experience he had passed through, and it was absolutely necessary that he clear the way to his descent from that tree. so he quietly waited until he had a chance to get in a death shot, and glancing along the matted top of his rifle barrel, he pulled the trigger. then the report sounded, the gallant buck went over in a heap; there was no wild leap into the air as so frequently happens when a deer receives its fatal hurt; but the buck just seemed to crumple up, and drop dejectedly in his tracks, as if to prove that he had kept up the fight to the bitter end. then felix came down from the tree that he had never climbed; which queer feat few people could duplicate, in even a varied experience. he already knew that, as night was now at hand, he would have to make camp there in the wilderness; so that at least it was some consolation to know that he need not starve, with all that fresh meat ready at his hand; since he had in the buck, tough eating though he might prove, sufficient food for any length of time. felix immediately set about making ready for the night, after bleeding the dead deer--fuel was hastily gathered, and a rude temporary shelter erected, after the way he had seen it done by adirondack guides, and called a "lean-to." this was fashioned out of boughs that he found handy, and which would at least keep off most of the cold, penetrating north wind, as well as snow, should this last fall during the night. in front of this shelter he built his fire; and once its cheery presence came to bolster up his courage, felix felt no anxiety concerning his experience. in the words of the immortal wandering indian, he could say when rescued: "injun no lost--wigwam lost--injun _here_!" for he felt that it would prove an easy task on the morrow to take the back trail, loaded with the spoils of the chase, and by noon no doubt, bring up close to the camp under the big tree. proudly he severed the head of the buck, with those grand antlers which would some fine day hang in his den at home. this he managed to hang from the limb of the tree, hoping thus to preserve it from any animal that might be attracted to the spot by the scent of fresh blood. afterwards he meant to come with tom, and manage in some fashion to "tote" that head back to camp, where with the aid of the western boy he would no doubt be able to preserve it for mounting. after that he began to cut away some of the choice portions of the meat, and when the job was completed, he hung the balance that he cared to keep from the limb of the tree, encased in the hide of the old buck. felix was feeling pretty hungry by now. soon several generous slices of meat had been secured upon the points of splinters of wood the other ends of which he thrust into the ground, and inclined at such an angle that presently the venison began to sizzle under the influence of the red coals, and at last send out a very appetizing odor, calculated to make the hungry boy even more ravenous. the meat proved pretty tough, partly on account of the age of the animal; and also because of its not having been allowed to hang a certain length of time, as is always preferable in climates where the game will not easily spoil. when, however, a fellow has the real woods appetite, these minor things are ignored; and felix munched away for half an hour in perfect content, until in the end he realized that he had had enough. after that there was nothing to be done but get ready to spend the night as comfortably as the circumstances allowed; indeed, after thinking it over, and what a lucky escape he had had from staying in that tree all night, hungry and cold, the boy felt that he had nothing to complain about. he had taken pains to gather an ample supply of firewood, and also made sure that the magazine of his gun was fully charged; so that when he got good and ready, he felt quite safe to lie down and sleep; knowing that in all probability he was sure to be up and down many times during that night, since camping entirely alone was in the line of a new experience for felix. nothing of any note occurred during the hours he spent there under his temporary shelter of an arbor; although he fancied that several times when he awoke, and got up to put more fuel on the fire, a sly bobcat must be prowling around, eager to steal some of the meat but deterred by the blaze; the presence of a human being possibly had also something to do with its lack of courage; for when day came nothing was missing. breakfast, which was an exact repetition of supper, being disposed of, felix began to figure on what course he should take in order to make a bee-line for the camp. he consulted his little compass, and sent several glances around him at the big mountains, that strangely enough seemed to encompass him about much more than he had dreamed possible, and gave him a puzzle to solve. so he decided upon his course, although with a lingering doubt that he might once more be about to enjoy an old experience in his career--that of losing himself. half an hour later, with a pack upon his back containing all he could carry of the choice portions of the gallant buck, felix started forth. he cast one backward look, filled with regret, at the antlered head of his prize, still secured to the limb of the tree; at least he hoped to return at some time in the near future and secure those horns for a trophy, even though it were not possible to preserve the head entire. felix walked for half an hour, trying to keep as near to the course he had laid out as seemed possible. really it was not such an easy proposition as he had at first calculated. why was it he had so poor a sense of direction, he could not say? but he felt sure, that unless he improved very much in this respect, he could never hope to make a good woodsman like tom was, for instance. somehow, by this time, the boy began to lose a little of his former confidence. things did not seem at all familiar, and he began to feel sure that he could not have come this way. once more he consulted his compass, and tried to figure out which direction stood for home. he laughed at himself for feeling so uncertain. what a silly sensation this must be to a proud boy, to realize that he is actually all at sea in the woods, and cannot say for a certainty which way he ought to go. felix laid out a new course, and made a fresh start. he was not at all discouraged as yet, and only looked on the thing in the light of a joke; just as he had his sailing through the air, to hang to the limb of the tree, after the buck had given him a rise in the world. once he heard a shot ahead. this caused him to wonder whether it could be tom, or some one else; and he soon decided that if his chum were anywhere near by he would be more apt to give the well known signal of three shots in order to let the wanderer know of his presence; when felix would be expected to answer in kind. tom had warned him several times to keep an eye out for certain vicious characters, said to be in hiding away up in this part of wyoming--men who had once been honest guides, but drifted into bad ways; and having been known to kill game in the yellowstone park reservation, were being sought after by the authorities, who meant to make an example of them to deter others from doing likewise. he had understood that such men might not be averse to robbing and abusing a young chap who happened to cross their path; and so felix, with this troublesome thought struggling in his brain, walked on in silence, looking cautiously to the right and to the left, as if he feared that he might suddenly run upon some kind of danger. was that a groan he heard; or did some wild animal give vent to a sound? it seemed to come from the bushes over to his left; and as he stood stock-still, and listened, he once more heard the strange and doleful sound, which seemed to be half way between a groan and a grunt. immediately felix lowered his burden softly to the ground, and clutching his rifle in readiness for instant use, he walked slowly in that direction, scanning every foot as he thus advanced. then he discovered a slight movement, as the sound again came to his ears; and realized that some one was sitting upon the ground, holding fast to his arm, as if in great distress and pain. the sight of red blood trickling between the bronzed fingers of the party told felix that he had come upon the scene just in time to be very useful along his chosen line. undoubtedly the dark-faced stranger had been badly injured by the accidental discharge of his own gun; which would account for the single shot felix had heard. without question the man was an indian, perhaps a halfbreed; though he dressed pretty much as did any white man who spent much of his time in the wilderness; wearing corduroy trousers; and a blue flannel shirt, covered by a faded heavy jacket; while a greasy slouch hat lay upon the ground, where it had evidently fallen at the time he hurriedly dropped his gun. felix hastened forward to reach the side of the suffering man, whose raven black locks he now saw were being touched with the frost of years. the prospect of a job along his favorite line caused the lad to quicken his steps; for all the professional instincts of his nature were aroused. the indian seemed to maintain the usual stoicism of his race; though the pain and the weakness at times caused him to shut his teeth hard, in the effort to stifle the groan that tried to well forth. any one could easily see that in this quarter at least the boy was quite at home, even though there might be a few things connected with woodcraft wherein he could blunder. he immediately took hold, examined the ugly gunshot wound that was bleeding so freely, in the fleshy part of the left arm, made a rude but effective tourniquet by twisting a stout stick in his handkerchief, which he had carefully knotted, so that the protuberance rested exactly on the artery; and in this fashion stopped the cut from bleeding. then he bound it up as best he could, showing considerable skill in so doing. the old indian did not utter a single word while all this was going on. he had shown considerable disappointment upon first seeing that the newcomer was only a mere lad; but presently his black eyes began to glitter with satisfaction, when he saw the business-like way in which felix took hold of his job, and the astonishingly clever way in which he accomplished that which the other had in vain tried to do by working the wrong way. "there, my friend," said felix, as he finished his job, "i guess you'll hold out now, until you get home. listen, and i'll tell you just what must be done after that," and then he proceeded to explain in simple language what should follow his "first aid to the injured work;" to all of which the other listened gravely, with an occasional nod of his head, to indicate that he understood. "how far away do you live?" asked the young hunter, finally, wondering whether he had not better volunteer to accompany the wounded man home; though he understood that an indian's pride would be terribly hurt by such a happening. for the first time the other spoke, and he proved to have an excellent command of english, quite surprising the boy. it told that he was accustomed to associating with the whites, and that in all probability he had served as guide to many a party of bighorn hunters from the east, as felix suspected. "not far away--can get to cabin all right now. charley crow never forget this. never before pull gun through bushes by muzzle--much fool this time, serve right if head 'stead of arm get bullet. worst of all is shame of telling my people, who will say charley crow getting too old go on hunt any more; better stay home and dry venison. but i go now on back trail; no need any that you come 'long. tell me name of little doctor, so i may let my people know what friend they have. some day mabbe my turn--you wait. now shake hands, and say goodbye. charley crow him get to cabin all right, you never be 'fraid." so felix gladly told him who he was, and how, with a chum, he had come to spend some weeks hunting, and doing a little trapping, in the foot-hills of the rockies. in speaking of tom tucker he happened to mention the name of old sol; and immediately the brown face of the old halfbreed lighted up. "known old sol right well. here one year, we come this way, and always good friend charley crow. much glad meet him tom. some day mabbe drop in see same. if need help, come to cabin under shadow of yonder peak, and my boys they glad do you good turn, because me, charley crow, still head of house! goodbye!" he drew himself up proudly, regardless of the pain his wound must be causing him; and the lad could see that despite his evident age, the well-known halfbreed was as straight as any pine that ever grew in the northland. then he stalked away, leaving felix to look after himself, and wonder if fate had any further adventures in store for him during his little outing. he did not doubt in the least but that so vigorous a man could easily reach the home cabin which, in company with his family, he must be occupying for a winter's campaign among the fur-bearing animals that frequented the district. at the same time it did begin to look as though there might be a storm in prospect, as the heavens had clouded over, and an occasional snow-flake drifted down lazily, as though they might be reckoned ambassadors sent to herald the coming of the first real snow fall of the season. so felix once more lifted his pack to his back, and again started in the direction he believed the camp to be. when it was too late he bitterly regretted that he had not also swallowed his pride, and asked charley crow the right trail that would take him to the cabin of old sol. he had no positive sense of certainty as to whether his course were the right one; and for all he knew, with the mountains apparently turned around in his mind, he might even now be heading in the wrong direction. the lad presently began to realize that his load was beginning to tell, for he had really attempted to carry off too much of the venison in the desire to stock the camp for some time to come. twice he found it convenient to halt, and rest up a bit; when he once more took up the tramp with a shade of reluctance, and half a notion to divide the spoils. it was while he was resting the second time that he caught a strange sound that gave him quite a thrill. the baying could only proceed from a pack of hounds chasing a fleeing deer! felix was troubled a little, and for a very good reason. in talking about those lawless guides who had been expelled from yellowstone park by the government authorities, tom tucker had incidentally informed him that one of their favorite tricks was to keep several deer dogs, with which they were accustomed to having regular old fashioned chases, such as used to be frequent in the adirondacks in his native state before the anti-hounding law was passed and enforced, making it a crime to use dogs for such a purpose. he hoped that the chase would lead away from him, as he certainly did not want to make the acquaintance of these rough men, against whom tom tucker had warned him more than a few times. listening carefully as the snapping and baying sounded constantly louder, felix presently concluded that the animals were certainly heading his way, and approaching rapidly. he gritted his teeth with a grim determination to defend himself if beset by the hound pack; and picked up his rifle from the ground, where he had laid it when resting. at least he was not kept long in suspense. inside of three minutes he discovered something moving rapidly through the bushes, and almost immediately saw that it was a noble buck, with its tongue lolling from its mouth, and giving other evidences of having been chased hither and thither for hours by the hounds, that doubtless had been educated, just like a rabbit dog felix owned, to bring the tired animal back to where the hunters waited. somehow the sight of that tortured buck gave felix a wave of disgust. he seemed to feel an immediate hope that it would escape from the game butchers who used so unfair a mode for securing their quarry. yes, felix, in the heat of his anger, even went so far as to mentally express a hope that one of the owners of the pack--who must be near by, because he had plainly heard a shout, as of exultation over the possible ending of the chase--would fall into the clutches of the keepers of the great government game reservation, said to be on the lookout for them as transgressors of the law. to his astonishment the pursued buck suddenly changed its course a little, and headed almost directly toward the spot where felix was standing, watching the affair with considerable interest. it actually seemed to the excited boy as though the despairing deer had turned toward him, in a last frantic hope that he might be merciful, and stretch out a hand to give the help that was elsewhere denied; though in all probability the deer never noticed his motionless figure standing there, as it sprang past, and vanished in the thick scrub beyond. the pack of hounds was now in full sight, racing eagerly along, yapping, and giving tongue after the manner of their kind when they are close on the fleeing quarry. they looked about as fierce and ugly as so many wolves might have been, since the old instinct had been aroused in them by the chase. for the time being they had gone back once more to the state of the primal beast in pursuit of the prey so necessary to continued existence, as a survival of the fittest. felix shuddered as he saw their foam-flecked mouths, from which the red tongues lolled. there were just three of the dogs, all told, and felix drew back the hammer of his marlin, not liking the looks of the aroused beasts, and suspecting that in their present condition they might not hesitate to attack a boy, under the impression that as the trail led almost directly toward him, he must have spirited away their intended prey, which they had chased so long. in that event there was just one thing felix could do, which was to defend himself against the pack, no matter at what cost. chapter ix adrift in the snow forest felix did not have much time to settle this question, for immediately the hounds swerved upon the trail, they must have caught sight of him, for there came an even more savage and vengeful tone to their baying; and leaving the scent, they plunged helter-skelter straight toward the standing figure of the young hunter. perhaps the pack of meat at his feet aroused their instincts for food; felix never knew. one look would be sufficient to tell what they meant to do. to felix it became patent that, since running would not avail him in the least, he must either climb up a tree in a big hurry, or else defend himself; unless he meant to allow those savage beasts to drag him down, and mangle him shockingly, before their owners could reach the scene. the prospect was not to his liking, but he had made up his mind as to what his course should be; so he threw up his gun, with the full intention of settling one, or all of the dogs, unless something intervened. he heard a loud shout as he did so, from some little distance away; but it was impossible to tell whether the call was intended as a warning to him not to fire on the ferocious pack; or an endeavor to recall the hounds; but no matter, it was a wasted effort, since felix could not hold back his fire, his very life being in peril. remembering the serious consequences that had followed his hasty shot at the big buck, felix was a little more careful when pressing the trigger of his repeating rifle. in return he had the satisfaction of seeing the leading hound roll over immediately after he fired. calmly the boy threw out the empty cartridge, and sent another into the firing chamber. had he been a volunteer upon parade, and firing at an inanimate target, he could not have gone through the manoeuvre with more precision and exactness. consequently, the gun, being made by the most skillful workmen, did its duty faithfully, as it always will when properly handled; and in about two winks of an eye felix stood there, ready to repeat his performance, in case the necessity awaited. neither of the other two dogs had taken the least warning from the fate that had overtaken their companion. if anything, they tried to increase their speed in chasing toward the boy who stood there as though defying them to come on, though of course this was hardly the thought animating the actions of felix. "all right; you will have it, then!" he muttered, as his eye glanced along the matted barrel; and then his forefinger ever so slightly touched the willing trigger, at which there was a second sharp report. dog number two proceeded to whirl around, leaping up in the air, and in many ways showing he had received a dose that was likely to put him forever out of the running. felix put him immediately away from his mind. there was one more, and all the danger now centered in that remaining beast. by this time the leaping dog was fearfully close to him, and coming with unabated speed that proved him a stayer, after such a long chase. he presented a really terrifying aspect, with the foam dribbling from his open jaws; the hair on his short neck standing on end like bristles; and his eyes seeming to be bloodshot through the heat and excitement of the long pursuit. still, felix did not seem to be rattled even a little bit, a fact that caused him to feel considerable wonder, as well as satisfaction, later on, when reviewing all the circumstances connected with the momentous occasion. he had his gun up to his shoulder with pretty much the confidence of a veteran nimrod, meeting the charge of an old rogue elephant, or a wounded tiger, in the east indian jungles. when the dog was not more than twenty feet away, he pressed the trigger. his confidence was well placed, it seemed, for his ball must have entered the brain of the third and last hound; which whirled half way around, to fall in a heap; staggered to his feet, took several tottering steps forward, still strong in his overmastering impulse, even in death, and then once more dropped, never to rise again. the lad had hardly dared hope to meet with such remarkable success in such an adventure, yet there were the three hounds lying on the ground--felix had doubtless saved the poor hunted buck from destruction; but at what cost to himself? loud curses could be heard, drawing rapidly closer; and it was evident that the owners of the pack would presently burst upon the scene, filled with fury at the fate of their hounds. most young fellows might have deemed discretion the better part of valor, and abandoning the meat, made themselves scarce as soon as possible; taking to their heels, with but one thought in view, and that to leave the immediate neighborhood as speedily as possible. that might have been the wisest plan, too, considering all things; but somehow felix edmondson was too proud to give in to this impulse. he was still flushed with the success of his battle; and also with indignation toward those who would resort to such unsportsmanlike methods for securing game. besides, would he not have been torn to pieces by the fierce animals, only for his ability to handle that faithful rifle? so felix simply took a look at his gun, to make sure that it was ready for use, slipping in several more cartridges where they would give a good account of themselves, and awaited the coming of the fuming owners of the defunct pack. they proved to be two in number, and at sight of them felix realized that his worst fears were about to be realized, in that he was face to face with a pair of the most notorious characters in the whole region--the descriptions tallied exactly, even to the single eye of abe cozzins; and the flaming red beard of perley kline. in times past these men had served as guides, and possibly skillful ones too, because they were born woodsmen; but the love of liquor had dulled their sense of honesty, and after a time they began to gain a reputation for being light fingered, valuables disappearing mysteriously from camps where they had charge. by degrees, then, they lost all chance for securing regular employment, since gentlemen coming from the east for big game shooting, liked to feel that they could depend fully on the guide, in whose hands they entrusted their fortunes, even their lives, at times. consequently cozzins and kline, being unemployed most of the time, began to hunt game illegally within the confines of yellowstone park; which, coming to the attention of the authorities, always keen to punish anything of this sort, the men were really being looked for, far and wide, and in a measure found themselves in the place of the hunted. it was this unwholesome looking couple who now strode angrily up to young edmondson, with fury blazing in their eyes. felix held his rifle in such a manner that, had they shown a disposition to attack him, he could have defended himself, and treated them to a dose of the same medicine he had handed out to their dogs. "hold hard, there!" he remarked, sharply; "you've come close enough. now say what you want from there!" the two rough men, while evidently astonished to find themselves spoken to in this strain, understanding that the young fellow who could stand there and deliberately knock over three savage hounds in succession was not one to be easily daunted, pulled up, and divided their scowling glances between the hunter and the dead dogs, for the last animal had ceased to make a movement by now. "say, what d'ye mean ashootin' our dawgs thataways?" spluttered the fellow who had only one eye, though that was now glaring with a fierceness equal to half a dozen ordinary optics; he also punctuated his words with a variety of forcible exclamations, which there is no necessity for repeating, though doubtless abe cozzins imagined they added vim and picturesqueness to his query, and might help awe the boy. "i was minding my own business when they started to attack me, with murder in their eyes. if i hadn't shot i'd have been torn to pieces. everybody has a right to defend himself. if i hadn't happened to have a repeating rifle of the best make to fall back on, and knew how to use it, there'd have been murder done; and you'd have to stand the blame. i'm sorry, now, i had to kill the poor brutes, for they hardly knew what they were doing. i reckon the whole blame lies with their owners." bold words these, from a young fellow not yet fully grown, and addressed to two of the wildest, most reckless spirits in all wyoming; perhaps those men could not remember having been taken so to task for many a day; and in surprise they exchanged dubious glances, and then looked hastily and uneasily around, as though half expecting that felix must be backed up by half a dozen comrades. seeing no signs of such an enemy, however, they became themselves again, though far too tricky to throw off the mask wholly, while that lad stood by his gun, and seemed ready to try conclusions with them. felix should have known that they were just as furious as ever under the surface; but then he was not experienced in such matters, and judged other people more or less by his own feelings. he saw them talking together in low tones; after which they allowed their dark faces to take on a more affable look, as they once more turned toward him. "say, younker," commenced abe cozzins, in a whining voice, "we ain't got no grudge aginst yuh for what yuh done. them dawgs was some valuable tuh us, sure, but if so be they pestered yuh, thar was on'y one thing yuh could do; an' we reckons yuh done thet good an' hard. the pesky critters broke away from us, an' we was atryin' tuh git holt o' 'em agin, when this hyar thing happened. they's no reason we should hold hard feelin's aginst yuh fur defendin' yerself aginst 'em; anybody'd a done the same. but it comes mighty hard on two pore guides outen a job; fur yuh see, we was atakin' of them dawgs tuh colonel walpole over at ther reservation, who'd promised tuh buy 'em off us, tuh run down fellows as gits too gay ashootin' up the game in ther park." abe put on a piteous face while telling this hastily constructed yarn; and altogether he did succeed in disarming the suspicions of felix, even though the boy might still consider that the two men were hard characters. felix felt sorry at once. "if that's so i don't mind chipping in, and giving you something to help out. perhaps it wasn't your fault, then, that the dogs were loose; and i've heard of colonel walpole, too. here's ten dollars on account; and if you choose to leave me an address, i might send you another bill when i get back home." felix spoke from the depths of a frank and honest heart. he felt that he had unwittingly been the cause of depriving these men of something they doubtless valued highly; and so far as he could within reason make amends, felix was willing to settle the claim, unjust though it might be. the two men exchanged looks, and actually grinned, as though with pleasure; after which cozzins advanced with extended hand, at the same time talking volubly, evidently with the intention of taking the boy off his guard, though felix did not suspect such a thing. "say, that's purty white in yuh, stranger. 'taint many fellers as'd do sech a nice job as thet, arter the dawgs'd broke loose on 'em. me an' my pal is much obliged, and yuh bet we'll never furgit sech kindness. 'taint often we sees a tenner these hard times. now, if so be we kin do anything in return, why--take thet, ye young cub!" and of a sudden, catching felix off his guard, he struck him a vicious blow in the face, and at the same instant snatched the rifle out of his hands. the boy staggered back, and would have fallen, only for the support of a tree. for half a dozen seconds he stood there, staring at the brutal ruffian, now laughing, and examining the captured repeating rifle; while the blood trickled down his cheek, where the heavy and hard knuckles of the man had bruised and broken the skin. then, as if realizing the dastardly and cowardly nature of the attack upon him, even while he was in the act of generously compensating them for having killed their dogs, felix became wild with anger. uttering a scream he started to leap at cozzins, reckless as to the consequences, and only desirous of returning that foul blow. the man swung the rifle up so as to cover the advancing lad; though it may be deemed doubtful whether he would have fired under any provocation, since they were already two against one; and then there was always a possibility that the boy might be connected with those grim guardians of the park, whose advent on the scene abe and his comrade dreaded more than they would be willing to confess. perley kline, however, sprang in between, throwing aside the barrel of the gun, and giving felix a push that sent him headlong to the grim ground, his head striking with such force that for a brief time he actually lost all consciousness of what was going on. he felt hands searching his person, and knew that the rascals were actually turning to downright robbery in their extremity; though truth to tell, possibly this was not the first time they had had their hands in the pockets of others who happened to be asleep. then they seemed to consult in low tones, after which each of them gave the lad a contemptuous kick, as if to vent their spleen further, in order to cancel the debt they thought he owed them on account of the slaughter of their trained dogs. as felix lay there in a half conscious condition, smarting from his wounds, he realized that they had gone off, after stripping him of everything of value he possessed, and even taking the pack of venison he had "toted" over such a weary distance, up to that time. felix, still full of grit, attempted to follow them, after staggering to his feet; but really he found himself so weak from his injuries that his head began to fairly swim, and he had to drop down on a friendly log before going twenty paces. he heard a derisive laugh that made him groan with disgust over his inability to do anything; then the sound of footsteps grew fainter, and he knew that he had been left alone in the heart of the wilderness, with no weapon for self defense, or to be used in an effort to procure the means of continued existence, in case he could not find the camp. this, however, sank into insignificance beside the ignominy of those kicks; and his proud young soul writhed under the memory of the insult; while he mentally registered a vow to make those two ruffians pay dearly for the experience, sooner or later, as the chance arose. by slow degrees he began to get back his strength, and could think seriously concerning his next step. at first he burned with the desire to try and follow after those scoundrels, and in some way manage to recover all they had taken from him; but second thought convinced him that such a task was far beyond his capacity in his present helpless condition; even supposing he could follow successfully, which was extremely doubtful, how could he hold two armed men up, and make them disgorge? no, it would surely be better for him to conserve his powers in every way possible, and try to effect a junction with his chum; when they could talk it over, and decide what ought to be done in order to turn the tables on cozzins and kline. the fact that he was now without food seemed to give felix more cause for concern than anything else. the thieves had confiscated the contents of the little knapsack he had carried with him, or rather ditty bag; all he found of any value was a lone match that seemed to have escaped the hasty search of the men; and in his eyes this assumed an importance all out of proportion to its size. felix believed that if only he could follow his back trail, and reach the tree where his desperate encounter with the wounded buck had taken place, he would find plenty of meat to last him many days; and with that last precious match he could start a fire that he would not allow to go out; so that here he might camp until such time as tom came hunting for him. this, then, was the sensible programme that finally took possession of the boy; although it was with considerable disappointment he gave up all idea of following after the two men, seeking revenge because of their cowardly conduct. every time felix put a hand up to his bruised cheek he gritted his teeth, and in imagination saw the rogues brought to account through his instrumentality; and it was surprising how much satisfaction such a pleasing prospect gave him. quitting the vicinity of the three dead dogs that had been left where they lay by their late masters, he started to follow his back trail, with all the skill he was capable of calling to his assistance. this was, of course, something he had never dreamed of doing half an hour previously; but all the same, he was glad to see he had somehow managed to leave such a plain series of tracks, burdened with the meat pack as he had been, that there promised to be little trouble in following the trail, if only the snow held off. that began to worry him now; what if a bitterly cold storm should break while he was wandering about in the wilderness, with only a single match between himself and freezing to death? the idea proved so very unpleasant that it urged him to make better time in following his back trail; and yet when he remembered how long he had been walking since starting forth after breakfast; and that it must take him at least the same length of time to again cover the ground, felix began to fear he was in for the worst experience of all. however, the lad was full of grit, and could not be made to easily lie down when trouble threatened; he would meet it face to face. when almost an hour had passed, and he reckoned that he was possibly half way back to the tree that had been a haven of refuge to him in that fight with the wounded buck, he took heart of grace, and hope began to rise stronger in his breast; but only for a brief space of time. then he took notice of the fact that the lazy flakes were beginning to descend more thickly and it began to look as though the air would soon be filled with the feathered harbingers of coming winter, until he could not see ten feet away. the remembrance of that single match gave him a strange sense of comfort, small item that it might be reckoned. what did cause him to fret, though, was the possibility of the ground soon being so covered with the snow that he could no longer find his own late trail, and must give over the hope of reaching supplies under the big tree. five minutes later and he realized that this condition really faced him, since he was now utterly unable to discern the faintest trace of his footprints; while around him stretched the vast woods, each quarter looking the same in the rapidly descending snow. he had taken his bearings after a fashion, and continued to stumble along for a little while, in the hope that he might by good luck run across the tree in which he had fastened the antlered head of the buck. finally felix realized the hopelessness of his hunt, and determined to make a camp, where he could hold out the best way possible against cold and hunger. imagine his utter dismay when he discovered that in some strange manner his little ditty bag, containing that one precious match, must have been detached by some officious branch, when he was making his way along. at least, it had utterly disappeared, and he was now facing a condition rendered doubly bad on account of the increasing cold which deemed to come with the snow. chapter x turning the tables the discovery that he had now no possible means for fighting the cold, that was sure to increase as the day wore on and night approached, gave felix a rude shock. he faced a situation that might prove very serious indeed; and it was little wonder that he instituted an eager search of all his pockets, in the faint hope that he might in some way manage to find just one fugitive match that had escaped the spoilers, and in the end prove, his salvation. only keen disappointment rewarded his efforts; and after going three times over every pocket, he was forced to give it up with a grunt of disgust. all thought of trying to find the tree in which the venison hung now passed from his mind; and he devoted his efforts to searching for some friendly hollow, where he could make a shelter in some rude fashion against the night that would come after a while, for it must by now be about the middle of the short day. what would he not have been willing to pay for a little box of safety matches, that sell for a penny in town? but he might as well wish for the moon; as one was as easy to secure as the other, just then. so he pushed on, staggering through the increasing snow fall. when he was indifferent to such a thing, he had noted several splendid places where he might have found decent shelter, and built up a refuge against the storm; but now that the need had arisen, fate seemed to take an especial delight in baffling him, for, look as he would, he did not come across anything that appealed to his fancy. rendered desperate at length, when he found his strength giving out on account of his unusual exertions during the two days, and the rough treatment he had received both from the wounded buck and the angry desperadoes, felix finally made up his mind that he could wait no longer for what he wanted, but must make a virtue of necessity, and take what offered. so, coming across a tree that had fallen during some violent wind storm, he saw that when the roots had been torn up quite a large patch of earth had come along with them. the hollow back of this barrier would prove a very good refuge against the storm, for it happened to face in the best possible way. here in this hole, then, he must burrow, doing the best he knew how to hide from the wind that blew the snow with such violence. felix set about carrying out this idea without further loss of time. of course it was but an apology of a den after all; though much better than remaining out where the cold wind had a sweep at him. here he settled down to pass the balance of that dreary afternoon, which he remembered must be followed by a night he was not soon apt to forget. bitter regrets swept over him from time to time, as he lay there huddled in a heap. never again would he be caught so easily by soft words, when he ought to know these were only a mask to hide treacherous work. and then, after taking himself to task in this manner, most severely, felix would recollect that even an experienced woodsman may make a mistake occasionally. look at old charley crow, for instance, a man born and brought up in the wilderness, and accustomed to handling a gun from childhood; yet had he not been incautious enough to draw his rifle toward him, _muzzle first_, through some bushes, with the result that the weapon had been discharged, sending the bullet through the arm of the old halfbreed? yes, some others besides greenhorns in the woods, make mistakes occasionally. slowly that afternoon dragged on, and then came night, which felix knew was apt to be the longest and most disagreeable of all his life, thus far. little sleep came to the lost lad. in fact, he hardly dared lose himself, for fear lest he actually freeze to death; for although the temperature did not actually fall very low at any time, to his excited imagination this humble little storm was in the nature of such a blizzard as those which tom had told him visited the far northwest every winter, carrying death to many cattle that were caught without shelter. every hour at least, felix would crawl out of his shelter, to ascertain what the signs of promise might be with regard to the weather; and on such occasions he thought it the part of wisdom to exercise his limbs energetically; so as to keep his blood in circulation; and hence, upon creeping into his hole again, very like a fox, as he would grimly remark to himself, he was hardly in a condition to settle down. he could not tell what time it was for several reasons; in the first place he had no watch, for the ruffians had carried off his little dollar nickel contraption in conjunction with all his other effects; and even had this not been the case, without a match, how could he have seen the face in order to note the position of the hands? a woodsman would have known of several ways by means of which to tell about the time of night; but felix was hardly up to such tricks, especially on a stormy night like this, when neither moon nor stars were visible. but one thing cheered him after a while; and this was the fact that the snow had ceased to fall when about three inches lay on the ground. then, after all, things might not be quite so bad as he had begun to picture them, and he would not be snowed-in, destitute of food, and all means for securing warmth; why, there might even be a chance for finding the camp on the following day, if only he could keep his wits about him, and figure correctly as to his present position, so as to locate the direction where the cabin lay. when felix had crawled out of his poor shelter for the seventh time, as he figured it, he began to look hopefully toward the quarter where according to his calculations the east must surely lie. nor was he deceived, for he discovered to his great joy a very faint but positive sign that the sky was brightening, and this told that dawn must be near. as soon as it was fairly light, he left his shelter, which after his boyish fashion he had named camp shiver, and struck out in what he believed to be the proper direction. it was not very encouraging, however, starting on a long tramp hungry and cold; but felix still had plenty of grit, and shutting his teeth hard, resolved to let nothing dismay him. two hours later, and he found himself obliged to confess that his knowledge of woodcraft seemed at fault, when brought face to face with the difficulties to be encountered in a snow forest. he was really hopelessly bewildered, and could not give the slightest guess as to whether he should head north, south, east or west, in order to reach camp. the mountains loomed upon two sides, now, as though he had wandered somehow into a sort of pocket. he tried shouting now and then, though it seemed next to foolish to hope that any one could hear him, unless indeed it might prove to be the rough men with whom he had had his recent unhappy experience; so presently he stopped that. the cold no longer brought anxiety, for his exertions kept him from feeling this; but he was mighty hungry, and had visions of all the glorious dishes he and tom had ever eaten in company in the past; somehow they seemed to arise before him, and make him groan with the empty feeling within. about this time felix chanced to notice that he was almost under the shadow of a peculiar peak, which he remembered noticing before; and all at once it dawned on him that this was the very mountain charley crow had pointed to, when he declared that his cabin nestled at its base; and that if the little doctor chose to drop in there at any time, he would receive a royal indian welcome. the very idea filled felix with unutterable joy. oh! if only he could run across that indian cabin now, how readily would he throw aside all his pride, and accept whatever food they could give him; perhaps even securing a guide in addition who would take him back to the camp. and so, filled with a new ambition, he pushed ahead, his hopes revived once more. through the branches of the trees, to which none of the snow had clung on account of the wind accompanying the storm, he could catch glimpses of the spur that extended out from the main mountain chain; and such progress did he make that in about an hour he fancied he smelled smoke in the air. after that it was not a difficult thing to follow the direction in which this came to him on the wind; until in the end he gave a shout, upon discovering a rude log cabin nestling under an over-hanging shelf of rock. it must certainly be the temporary home of charley crow and his family; and with renewed hopes felix started forward on a half run, so eager was he to make sure that his eyes had not deceived him. now he could see human beings moving about, and a couple of yellow mongrel curs started out with loud barks to meet him; but somehow he did not feel that they were dangerous, like those savage hounds that had been running the deer; and while only grasping a stout cudgel in his hand, felix continued to advance. a couple of young indians hurried after the dogs, calling roughly to them to behave; and felix knew that he had found friends. he lost no time in explaining that he was nearly famished; whereat the two exchanged glances, and ranging alongside, took him by the arms, and assisted him to the cabin; for somehow, such was the effect of the change from despair to great joy, that a singular weakness seemed to grip the lad. he spoke the name of charley crow, and as if understanding what he wished to convey, they led him into the comfortable cabin, where the boy found himself face to face with the old halfbreed whom he had so gladly assisted in the woods. charley crow had his wounded arm done up in bandages, and was sitting in a rudely made but comfortable chair. at sight of felix a broad smile of welcome came upon the bronzed face of the old guide. he held out his well hand, and greeted felix warmly; indeed, there need be not the least fear but that every wish of the lost hunter would hardly be expressed before it was sure to be granted, if it lay in the power of these people. upon learning that food was the first thing he wanted, charley crow spoke to his sons, and to his wife, who seemed to be a full blooded shoshone squaw. eager to do something to show their gratitude toward the little doctor, of whom they had heard so much since the home coming of the wounded man, the two well-grown sons darted from the cabin, doubtless to get food from a _cache_ in the open, where meat would keep fresh all winter, once it was frozen. felix soon related what dire misfortune had befallen him some time after parting from the old guide; and the anger of charley crow was aroused toward the pair of precious scoundrels who had dared to do this thing. "they pass night not half mile away from here," he declared, "for my son jo, he see same when he come in from his line of traps. he speak with these men, not wishing to make foes out of same; but when they ask him to stay at their fire, jo, he no stop, for he know how they bad case. i promise you, my friend, all be return to you before this day it pass. but listen, that not all. revenge you shall have for such kicks they give you. not two mile away i know where is a camp of men from park, who hunt for these abe and kline, i understand. when i learn about them i say to my sons, this is not business for us; let mr. harbison and his men find them. now it is my affair. make mind easy, for all will be well." felix was delighted with this assurance, for he disliked the idea of having to pass the remainder of his vacation in the region of the rockies without that fine repeating rifle, which he looked to obtain him other trophies of the chase, in the shape of a grizzly bear; and possibly a bighorn, strange acrobat of the mountain ledges. he was speedily placed before a bountiful breakfast, though since he had eaten nothing since that last meal under the big tree where the buck had fallen, he was at a loss to know what name to give his repast. mrs. crow, it seemed, had learned how to cook after the white woman's way, for everything tasted just splendid to the boy, and after he had finished he declared he felt like a new fellow. when about this time he saw the two sons of charley crow enter the cabin for a last conference before starting out, he begged to be allowed to accompany them. old charley looked dubious at first, and then noting the eager flush on his face, and apparently sympathizing with the feeling that prompted felix to wish to see with his own eyes the discomfiture of the two rascals who had robbed and mistreated him, he finally nodded his head in the affirmative. so, armed with the rather antiquated rifle of the old man, and fortified by his late good meal, felix felt like a different person from the forlorn lad who had hovered in the hollow beneath the upturned roots of the fallen tree, and counted the long minutes of the preceding night, as they crept past. they speedily passed over the two miles separating the indian cabin from the place where charley crow had known the government officers, who were out looking for offenders against the laws, to have their temporary camp. luckily they found mr. harbison, who was in charge of the expedition, and both his deputies there. felix soon told his story, and was pleased to see the decided interest the others showed in his recital. they had long been trying to get on the trail of the two men, against whom they had warrants for several lawless acts. a dozen or two questions followed, and the answers of felix managed to put the officers in complete possession of the facts; especially after they heard what one of the sons of charley crow had to tell. speedily the party set out to find the spot where the two thieves had spent the night, according to the story of the young indian. of course it could hardly be expected that abe and his partner would be found still there, since they may have been heading for some distant point at the time, possibly intending to sell the fine repeating rifle that had come into their hands, and which they could claim they found in the woods; but with three inches of new snow covering the ground, there should be little trouble in following their trail. it turned out just so; and upon making a close examination it was decided by the wardens, as well as the indians, that the men had been gone just an hour; it appearing that they were in no hurry, since they had plenty of venison, thanks to felix. this was but a small start, and could be easily overcome, especially since those in the advance had not the slightest warning to the effect that they were being pursued, and hence would not be apt to make any especial effort looking to speed. if felix began to feel his limbs grow weary he would not have admitted the fact for worlds; but shut his teeth hard, and conjured up the scene he soon expected to feast his eyes upon, with those two ruffians who had kicked an almost senseless boy, in custody, perhaps their hands in irons; since he had noticed mr. harbison drop a couple of pair of wrist irons in the pocket of his coat ere starting out. it was a pleasing picture, and with every twinge he felt from his wounds felix kept saying to himself that it was a long lane that had no turning; and that he was perfectly justified in wanting to have the brutes caught. they pushed on steadily, six in all, and every one armed. from time to time mr. harbison informed felix they were steadily overtaking the fugitives, and that in all probability they would be apt to come upon them while they were taking a bite around noon. often, in time to come, would the boy recall the picture, and once again see each eager face of indian and white man, as they pushed along through the aisles of that snow forest, bent upon the mission of justice. he felt a constant sense of exhilaration, knowing that with every passing minute they must really be shortening the distance separating them from those whom they sought. and as he pushed on, filled with much of his old time determination, felix kept a bright lookout ahead, endeavoring to discover the first sign of smoke in the air, or moving figures, that could only be those of the two bad men they sought. so the time went by until, from the position of the sun, felix knew that it could not be far from the noon hour. and at any moment now he hoped and expected to hear the welcome announcement that they had overtaken the men they followed. chapter xi the buck's head an exclamation from one of the sons of charley crow announced that their quarry had been sighted ahead; and shortly afterward, even felix could discover the smoke of a fire through the vista of tree trunks beyond; proving that, just as mr. harbison had said, the two men had halted to cook some more of their easily acquired venison, and take things easy. in single file the party advanced; and so earnestly were the pair of scoundrels at the fire employed getting their lunch ready, that they failed to note the presence of the others until the six lined up close by, and mr. harbison called upon them to throw up their hands and surrender. both of them looked very ugly; and given half a chance they might have made it very interesting for the posse; but with six rifles covering them, they saw it would be the height of foolishness to resist. besides, they had reason to know and fear the man in charge of the force; so, with a forced laugh, they held up their hands, and announced that they would not try to run away, or resist. mr. harbison took no chances with such men. he speedily snapped the irons upon their wrists, which act brought out a chorus of hard words; for they had not expected being treated so severely, not having recognized felix as yet, as his hat was drawn down well over his face, and he was wearing an extra old coat belonging to charley crow. so that the men fancied at first they were being arrested on account of some misdemeanor connected with their work in the reservation known as yellowstone park. when, upon the request of the head of the posse, felix stepped up, and identified the pair of rascals as the men who had set upon, beaten, and robbed him of his rifle, as well as everything else of value he had with him, they began to show signs of positive uneasiness, realizing that they were in a pretty bad fix. it was indeed a great pleasure for the lad to once again fondle his own gun; and his first act was to carefully wipe it all over, as though he thought it may have suffered more or less contamination through contact with such a dirty specimen of humanity as the one-eyed abe cozzins. the officers announced their intention of starting immediately south with the prisoners, as it would take them several days to reach the town they expected to use as a place for locking the men up in. felix made arrangements to give his deposition when he came out with his chum, about christmas; although mr. harbison admitted that he hardly needed anything more in order to send them to the penitentiary for a term of years. somehow felix, now that he had recovered his possessions, did not feel so vindictive as he had expected he would; and had the fellows shown a proper spirit of humility the boy would have only too gladly allowed the matter to drop, so far as he was concerned. but they chose to take just the opposite course, cursing him roundly, and making savage threats of all kinds as to what they would do if they got free; which was just the way to arouse all his resentment, and cause him to give his promise to appear against them later on. felix was very glad when they finally went away, leaving him with the two sons of old charley crow. learning that they were not more than five miles away from the little shack where old sol had often held forth during the trapping season, the boy was seized with an overwhelming desire to get back home, and rest up; and when the others heard this, one of them, the strapping big fellow called jo by his father, said he would see him safely there. it was really quite a tug for felix, and only his grim determination carried him through, for his lower limbs began to feel as though each of them weighed a ton; so that he found considerable difficulty in dragging them along; but as familiar scenes began to crop up, the nearer he came to the cabin, as a consequence he finally found himself in sight of home. never did a ship-wrecked mariner greet port with more enthusiasm than felix did the little old dugout under the big tree. of course tom was away, undoubtedly wildly scouring the woods in search of his missing chum; but then he would come back after a certain time to see whether the lost one had returned; so all that felix had to do was to make himself comfortable and wait. jo said he would like to stay with him, and meet tom. any one who had known old sol was worth cultivating, in the eyes of the indian boy, who had looked upon the veteran trapper as a veritable wonder. they had a fine fire that warmed the interior of the cabin, and felix was drowsing before this, while jo examined the wonderful repeating rifle; when the door was flung violently open, and there stood tom, his eyes staring as though he could hardly believe what they showed him. returning almost in despair because he could get no trace of his missing chum, he had discovered from the smoke that some one was occupying the dugout; after that it took him just five seconds to reach the door, and open the same. in another instant tom had thrown his arms around his cousin, and was hugging him just as though he might be a long-lost brother, instead of just his every-day chum; meanwhile muttering all sorts of things, and laughing hysterically, in the effort to master his pent-up emotion. felix was almost as deeply affected, and it was then and there that he learned just how dear tom had become to him during the comparatively short time they had been comrades. from beginning to end tom made him tell the whole story, not omitting a single detail; and for an hour felix held his audience spell-bound by a recital of the many queer things that had come his way, since that hour when he said goodbye with such a light heart, and started off after venison. it was all like a story from a book to tom. and of course it pleased him to hear how the conventional end had been reached, with the two rascals captured, the stolen goods restored to their real owner, and the criminals bundled off to jail in irons. why, tom could not hear enough of the details, but kept asking questions, and even turning to the indian boy to find out what his chum could not tell. "we'll get that buck's head the first thing tomorrow--that is, if you feel decent enough for the tramp," he declared, after he had had felix minutely describe the place of the strange encounter, and where he had passed his first night. of course the other declared that he would be all right, and eager for business at the old stand; but the actual truth was, that for several days he felt the effects of his series of adventures; and the mark upon his cheek was still faintly visible two months later. all the same, with jo accompanying them they did go to the tree and secure the prized head, as well as what venison was left--some animal had been feasting on the latter; but there was still enough left to carry a lot away with them, and every mouthful of that meat which felix masticated gave him more or less satisfaction, since he felt that he had well earned all that was coming to him in this respect. of course the traps had been neglected during all this confusion; and so tom said he would take a run along the entire line that afternoon, in order that if any prizes had been captured, the skins might not be spoiled by too long an emersion in the water. jo started back home after they had had lunch. both boys noticed with some amusement that the boy's last fond look was in the direction of the wonderful coffeepot, from whence had come that rich, smooth, fragrant nectar that had so tickled his palate; doubtless they would see more of jo while they lingered among the foothills of the rockies; but they would always have their latchstring out for any one who was connected with old charley crow. as we already know, tom had not felt any undue anxiety concerning his chum until the hour grew late on that first night. then he had thought to step out, and fire his gun several times; but as felix had not heard the reports, it seemed that he must have been further away than anyone suspected; or that the wind was wrong. in the morning tom had started out in the direction he supposed felix might be; hoping to come across signs of his friend. but the woods were wide, and apparently he could not at any time have come near the place where the other had had his adventures. returning at nightfall, tom had hoped he would find the other at the dugout, and a keen disappointment awaited him. that night was a restless one for him. the second day had been a repetition of the first; and late in the afternoon, dispirited and weary, tom had drawn near the vicinity of the shack, when he was electrified to see smoke oozing from the chimney. one thing the incident had surely accomplished, and this was to acquaint the boys with the fact, if they had not realized it before, that they were unusually fond of each other. in many ways they were unlike; but it seemed that what one lacked the other could supply; and in this respect they made an ideal team for campmates. the right kind of a cheerful, willing and genial comrade, who will wear well in camp, is hard indeed to find. it appears that, no matter what a fellow may seem like at home, when he lands in the wilderness, the veneer is bound to drop off, and the true elements that go to make up his real nature are quickly apparent. after securing the buck's head felix was content to remain in camp for a short time; ostensibly with the idea of "curing" it, so that it might ornament his room at home; but to tell the plain, unvarnished truth, the boy was still very sore, and until this in a measure wore off, the prospects of a long jaunt through the woods and into the mountains failed to appeal to him very much. this feeling began to gradually grow less positive as a couple of days passed, and finally there was no longer any excuse to hug the fire-side, because the buck's head had been prepared after a fashion that tom said he had never seen beaten. so felix fell back into the rut, just as though there had been no break, sometimes accompanying his chum in the round of the traps, or doing that duty alone; and again going out to look for fresh game, with generally the best of success. doubtless, as the boy tramped through the snowy woods he sometimes found himself starting when he fancied he heard the coarse voices of the two unfaithful guides; or it might be a smile, as of amusement, would creep over his face when it happened that some particular tree awakened memories of the one into which he had been so neatly tossed by the wounded buck. these experiences all go to make up life; and one learns more quickly from having passed through such actual performances than by mere reading; or even listening to what others may have accomplished, pleasant though this may seem. felix believed he was a much better woodsman for having met and boldly faced the difficulties that had been spread like a net for his unwary feet on that occasion. his eye seemed more positive; his nerves firmer; and when he handled his rifle, it was with an assurance born of experience, so that his aim was apt to be more accurate than before; while a confidence had been aroused in his soul that he would not have exchanged for anything he knew of. so the youngster, upon being tossed into the water by an apparently cruel elder brother, and told to swim, upon striking out in desperation finds that by moving arms and legs he is able to keep afloat, and even make a little clumsy progress; and into his soul springs a pride that is never surpassed in later life, even when he wins battles in the business arena. perhaps the birdling experiences something of the same sensation upon being actually pushed from the nest by the wise mother, and discovering that by using its wings it can fly a short distance; it is an exhilaration never surpassed. the buck's antlered head certainly did look mighty fine when fastened up on the wall of the shack; and tom vowed that if old sol could only be there in spirit, he must feel pretty proud to see the walls of his well beloved dugout decorated in such a manner. of course, with his marlin, felix had also recovered all his other little traps from the ugly pair, while they were in the hands of the game wardens from the park; so that he again had his little watch, his compass and his knife, together with what money they had taken from him, and which had tempted the cupidity of the thieving guides. realizing what he lacked in using a compass, he now set about studying things, under the guidance of his chum, in connection with the woods, that would prove useful to him in all time to come. it was for some time a source of wonder to tom tucker why old charley crow and his family, although within so short a distance of the dugout, had never set a line of traps in that neighborhood. one day, when young jo was visiting them, drawn by memories of that seductive coffeepot, they plied him with questions, and thus learned that old sol had the last year he was up here, through the use of certain medicines, of which he knew the value, been able to save the life of mrs. crow; and in gratitude none of the family would ever encroach on his preserves. they knew that the old trapper had been absent for several years, and that game was very abundant over in that direction; but a sort of "dead line" had been established, across which none would wander with the intention of doing business. lacking information to the contrary, they expected that sol might show up at any time; and all of them were very jealous of having him suspect that they had "poached" on his territory. when they heard this the boys felt drawn more than ever toward the honorable crow family; and felix privately declared that when he got back home, the first thing he meant to do was to dispatch a case of rifles just like his, though of a less expensive pattern, to make those good fellows supremely happy. and so out of evil good many times springs; and as long as they stayed there at the foot of the great rockies, felix and his chum were likely to enjoy friendly intercourse with the dusky family in the cabin not many miles away. chapter xii burning out a honey thief but it seemed that felix was not destined to absorb all the adventures that happened to be adrift up there in that neck of the woods adjoining the mountain chain. and the next one had to fall to the lot of tom. it was such an admixture of peril and humor, that whenever either of the chums happened to glance up at the wall of the cabin, where the wretched looking pelt of a black bear was stretched, almost invariably a grin would have to follow. this is the way it came about: just a few days after felix had been in that queer mix-up with the wounded buck, and the two guides, tom was on his way back from a little line of traps, when the notion came to him to step aside from his beaten path, and explore a dense patch of timber into which neither of them had happened thus far to stroll. there was no telling what he might not discover, for it certainly looked dark and forbidding enough to shelter almost anything. as his catch of furs that day chanced to be limited to a couple of muskrats, and a single mink, tom was just in the humor for striking at something out of the common. he hung the pelts from the limb of a tree, and in plain sight, so that he might not have any particular difficulty about recovering the same; and with his rifle in readiness, plunged into the tangled growth, which was thicker than anything tom had noticed around them. progress was rather slow, for he had to pass around many obstacles, so dense was the vegetation in this low lying spot adjoining the marshy tract where he found the muskrat colony. there was a sense of pleasure, however, in peering around, not knowing at what minute a fleet doe might jump up before him. to his surprise, and also a little to his chagrin, the tempting place did not appear to harbor any sort of game whatever. but then tom was enough of a sportsman to know that such often proves the case; the likely spots turn out good for nothing; while, when least expected, luck often springs upon the unwary. only one thing caught his attention in making his way along, that seemed worth a second thought. stooping down in the heart of the dense growth, tom picked something up, which he proceeded to examine with increasing interest. it seemed to be a piece of comb from the honey store of a wild colony of bees, such as are found in nearly every section of the country south of a certain belt, beyond which the winters are too severe for the busy little insects. now, tom had at some time in the past been in the company of a man who had once made a living, far away in new england, gathering wild honey, spruce gum, and many other products of the maine pine woods. the subject had interested the boy exceedingly, and he had asked many questions relating to it, that brought him quite a store of information. just the sight and smell of this old piece of comb aroused within him an eager desire to discover just where it came from. if only he could bring home a pail of delicious honey, what would felix say? why, his mouth began to water at the very thought of such a delightful accession to their larder. think of dripping sweetness flowing over the fine flapjacks felix liked to make, and in which he really excelled! that was too much for tom. he just couldn't stand it any longer, but resolved that since game refused to spring up before his rifle, he would forget all about hunting; save that somewhere in this thicket growth there evidently lay a bee tree, fairly groaning with richness; and which he was resolved to find, if it lay in his power to do so. he looked up, but could see no sign near him indicating that bees had a hive in any tree; in fact there was none of a suitable size right there. tom shrewdly guessed the truth. he knew that black bears have a sweet tooth; and will go miles to rob a bee tree. the stings of thousands of the little insects do not appear to bother bruin a particle; perhaps he is immune to the poison they inject; or else most of them fail to reach his skin, on account of the thick hair. apparently, then, some thief of a bear was periodically robbing this secret storehouse of its sweets, and had dragged this comb away with him on a recent visit. the comb, while somewhat discolored, had not been drained of its nectar more than a few days, tom thought. that would seem to indicate that the hive could not be very far away. if he could only find it, with an axe he might soon fell the tree in which it was secreted, and then take toll of the preserves. every tree around came under his observation, and was only allowed to pass after he had surveyed its entire trunk, and become convinced that it had no hollow part in which a colony of busy workers might find a home for the winter's sleep. and now that he was upon the subject of bear, he remembered that only a couple of days back he had himself seen signs of such an animal in the woods, and wondered how it came that a black, usually hibernating at this time of year, chanced to be moving around. this explained it. bruin had made a late discovery, and his appetite for sweet things would not allow him to shut himself up until "the last horn blew." and perhaps, if he could find the bee tree, he might also get track of the bear, since it would be difficult to divorce the animal from so dainty a morsel, once he had found how to get at the hive. so tom kept up his search, all the time hoping to make a pleasing discovery that would make his chum's eye dance, and add a pleasing variety to their meals. he had spent half an hour in this vain hunt when he came upon a tree that seemed to offer possibilities; for it had a big cavity, and there was more or less of a chance that some of its larger limbs were also hollow. it is this kind that appears to be the favorite lodgment of the bees after swarming from some other hive that is overcrowded; a place where they can grow indefinitely, and lay up an increasing store with each successive summer. a ton of honey has sometimes been gathered from a single bee tree; much of it too old and discolored to be of much good but showing that the little workers never know when they have enough for their winter use. tom became so impressed with the possibilities of this particular tree that he determined to climb up its trunk and investigate at close range. of course, in order to ascend, he was compelled to lay his rifle on the ground, as he would surely need both hands to draw himself upward. perhaps at the time tom may have remembered the strange experience of his chum, felix, while held unarmed in a tree, by the wounded buck; but if so, tom did not dream of allowing such an idea to deter him in the least. who could imagine any trouble springing from such an apparently innocent amusement as climbing a tree to see if any of its limbs being hollow might shelter a swarm of bees, with their golden brown store of honey? and besides, a rifle is not often used to shoot such small game, tom remembered with a chuckle. once among the branches, he had little difficulty in climbing aloft; and was soon going about his business of examining the various limbs that seemed to promise a hope of containing the treasure house he sought. he must have passed the hole in the trunk while climbing up the other side, for otherwise such keen eyes as tom tucker possessed would surely have noticed certain scratches calculated to arouse his suspicions. one by one the limbs were looked over, and dismissed from the list of possibilities, until there remained only a small opening in the main trunk, about twenty feet above his head. without much hope of finding what he sought there, tom climbed laboriously upward to this point, just about to give over the quest; he could not discover any signs that would indicate the presence of a swarm; and yet, as he placed his ear to this last opening, it seemed to him that he could catch a faint buzzing sound from within that excited new hopes. he examined the trunk up and down, but there was certainly no chance of finding the anticipated hive further aloft; and if in the tree at all, it apparently must be down further. the cavity beside him seemed to extend some distance downward; indeed, tom was now of the opinion that it must connect with the larger opening he remembered having seen when on the ground, and which had slipped his attention when climbing. on his way back he must certainly take a look in there; meanwhile he would like to know positively that the bees were not snugly ensconced in the upper trunk near this minor gash; and as an idea flashed into his mind, without a second thought he set about carrying it into practice. taking a piece of oiled rag from the pocket of his khaki canvas hunting coat, which he was wearing at the time over his sweater and vest, he ignited it with a match, and immediately dropped this into the opening; holding back to see whether even a solitary bee made its appearance, since that would tell the story. and tom immediately became aware of the fact that there was certainly _something_ going on inside that tree trunk. at first the boy found himself thinking that he stirred up the biggest bees' nest ever heard of; for from what at first seemed to be a simple buzzing, there grew a rumbling that kept on increasing, until it was simply astounding; and tom hardly knew what to make of it all, as he hung there to the side of the tree trunk, looking downward. the next thing he saw was smoke puffing out of where he knew the big opening lay. "hello!" he exclaimed, with mingled astonishment and amusement; "i did more than i expected, i reckon, and set the old buster afire inside. say, she must have been as dry as tinder, to catch like that. perhaps it's the fire making all that racket--no it ain't, either, for i never heard a burning tree make a noise like that. sounds like growls, too--by george, it _is_ growls, and i just bet you i've struck the snuggery of mr. bear first pop!" the idea was so surprising that tom just clung there, and stared with wide-open eyes at the opening below, from whence welled those strange sounds; together with various little wisps of smoke that seemed to be getting stronger as they ascended. by and by the boy sniffed at this smoke, and as he did so he gave vent to another exclamation as if to voice his wonder, while something like a broad grin decorated his face. "burning hair, as sure as you live!" he exclaimed. "bless me, if i don't think the old critter must be on fire; that oiled rag lit on his back, and took hold!" even as tom gave vent to this startling opinion something appeared at the opening below; something that speedily resolved itself into a smouldering black bear, that looked both scared and angry as he backed out of his den, snapping at various parts of his fat body, where the fire had touched most severely. if tom had been able to restrain his loud and scornful laughter, in all probability bruin would have scrambled down from the tree, and ambled off; or else rolled in the snow to cool his scorched body; but the sight seemed so very comical that the boy burst into a shout. he was immediately sorry for doing so. the singed bear twisted his head when in the act of lowering himself stern first, and caught sight of his human enemy above. somehow the sight of the boy seemed to completely alter the animal's plans; and instead of showing fear, he now gave evidence of extreme anger, just as though he might be able to figure out some connection between the presence of that biped in his tree, and the suffering he was even then undergoing. he showed his teeth in a vicious growl. "go on down, old man!" called out tom, waving his hand; "the walking's fine. besides, there's nothing for you up here. i'm not hankering for company, i tell you. so just skip out, please--do you hear, you beggar?" and tom ended with a shout; for, to his consternation, the singed bear had commenced to ascend the tree again, evidently with the intention of trying conclusions with this enemy who had hurt him so grievously. tom did not exactly like the looks of things just about then. there, he was, above the ground some forty feet, with an enraged bear climbing in his direction, and evidently bent on mischief. it was too great a distance to be covered in a jump, since the ground was frozen and hard, so that a broken ankle might be the result. to ascend further would mean that he must soon be chased to the very pinnacle of the tree, with bruin close after, bent on clutching him with his sharp claws, and teaching him a lesson in politeness. whatever he expected to do must be started quickly, for the animal was getting closer all the time. if he only had a good long pole; or even a stout club, tom believed he might poke the brute so furiously that he would conclude to give over his attempt to close with the boy who had laughed so heartlessly over his misfortunes, though tom was doing so no longer, it might be noticed. but he might just as well wish for his rifle, lying there so temptingly on the ground; it would be impossible to twist off a branch large enough, and reduce it to the proper consistency in time to meet the bear's attack. tom, as the bear came close, began to move out on a limb, wondering whether the animal would really follow after him. that doubt was speedily removed, for bruin never so much as hesitated, though he came with extreme caution, feeling his way, step by step, suspicious lest he were being led into a trap. it seemed to tom, however, that if any one appeared to be in a trap, that individual must be himself. with each foot that he crept out on that bending limb, he felt that his chances for escaping those cruel claws in an encounter with their angry owner grew less and less. suppose the limb should break under their combined weight, it would be a serious thing to go tumbling down fully forty feet, in company with the fat, hairy monster; possibly to be clasped in his embrace after landing. of course, if he could only be sure of alighting on bruin when the collision came, it would not seem so bad; but that was only one chance in ten; and on the other hand the miserable beast might drop squarely upon him, which would be completing the tragedy. one thing tom noticed was, that the further out on the limb he crawled the more it sagged, so that he was even now close to the outcropping branches below; and the daring thought flashed through his brain that possibly he might suddenly let go his hold above, and by a show of dexterity, succeed in securing a new grip as he fell! that would be leaving bruin in the lurch nicely; for not daring to trust his cumbersome body to do likewise he would have to hedge back to the trunk, an operation taking time; and then descend in the ordinary way. meanwhile tom could be slipping down the balance of the tree with the speed, that, in his boyish vernacular, he called "greased lightning," and when the bear arrived later on, he would find himself up against a snag in that always dependable rifle. there was really no other course left open to him, and hence tom felt bound to take the chances, such as they were. he was naturally agile, and his muscles accustomed to hardy exercise; so that after all, it was not such a tremendously difficult task, slipping dextrously down the outside of that limb, and clutching hold of the next one as he reached it. tom half expected to see the bear go plunging downward, as the limb, relieved of the boy weight, must have been violently agitated; but apparently the animal knew just how to crouch there, and hold on. a single look upward showed tom this, and also that the bear was already commencing to edge cautiously backward, moving one foot gingerly at a time, just as tom had seen a domestic cat do when after a sparrow in a tree. undoubtedly that must have been the strangest way in which tom tucker ever came down a tree; just as the ascension of felix had shattered all records. while his movements were certainly pretty rapid, he managed to carry himself so dextrously that, save for a number of small scratches, mostly along his wrists that did not count for anything, he presently reached the ground, none the worse for his remarkable experience. by this time bruin had succeeded in backing along the limb, and reaching the body of the tree, down which he commenced to pass, with an eye to business. hence, tom knew that he had no time to waste, if he meant to hold the advantage that his slide had given him. three bounds took him over to where his rifle lay, and snatching this weapon up, he was quickly back again at the base of the tree. after that it was just a picnic--that is, for tom; what the bear thought no one ever bothered trying to find out. the boy even felt a little compassion for the poor beast that was so rudely disturbed in the very beginning of his long winter nap, by having his house take fire; and upon crawling hastily forth, had the double aggravation of finding himself laughed at by a cruel two-legged foe; and when he sought to punish such liberties it would be to have a queer stick poked at his head, and hear a terrible bang that ended his earthly career. but to tell the truth it was bear steaks that animated tom now; for he realized that as a piece of marketable fur that sadly singed hide of bruin would not pay for the trouble of taking it off. he believed that the bear was both fat and rather young, and these considerations outweighed any compunction he might feel, as the animal kept coming closer to him. several times the bear stopped to look down at the human enemy waiting so confidently for him below; and it would seem as though some intuition must have warned bruin that he could expect nothing less than trouble from that source; but to descend seemed to be the only thing left him, since his late den was now burning in a way that promised the complete destruction of the tree in due time. and so the beast again started downward, growling ferociously; but now more in the expectation that such fierceness might frighten the hunter away from his post, than because of a genuine desire to come into contact with him. however, tom did not mean to take any unnecessary chances; he had never fought a "singed" bear, and hence could not say just how vindictive such an animal might turn out to be. so when bruin was just about down tom thrust out his gun until the muzzle almost touched the beast's small head, close to his ear; when he pulled trigger, and there was one less live bear in that neck of the woods. later on, tom, following the trail of the marauding bear, did manage to discover the bee tree, and upon felling it, secured a bucket full of good honey; though he afterwards declared that he had never before heard of such a thing being done in the winter season. bruin had gotten at all he could easily reach, and had then taken up his quarters in the near vicinity; possibly in the hope and expectation that when spring came around, and the dormant bees awoke to new activity, he would be on hand to start a fresh campaign, in the hope of another rich feast. he had not calculated upon the coming of tom tucker; and the discovery of that empty comb which he must have tossed contemptuously aside after draining its sweet store; so that its finding started the hunter on the track that ended in bruin's downfall. it was with considerable pleasure that tom set about the task of denuding the honey thief of his singed pelt. he meant to simply keep this as a reminder of the strange adventure that had waylaid him on his return from the little marsh where the northern muskrats abounded. but the meat was the main thing after all; and none of it must go to feed some prowling bobcat or panther. with the assistance of his chum tom managed to get every pound worth saving to the cabin, and that which could not be immediately used was frozen in a secure spot, from which it could not be stolen. whenever their stock became low, all that was necessary, was to go out with the axe, and chop a few pounds off, as though it were fuel for the fire. that account also went down in the log of felix; for it gave him even more amusement than his own story of the buck that had tossed him into the tree; he often wished he had a picture of tom in that tree, with the bear reaching out for him; and the boy finally sliding down the outside branches with desperate haste. when tom brought in that pail of wild honey, and declared they could really get all they wanted during their stay in the mountains, felix fairly danced with glee. it just seemed to fill a long-felt want; and how delicious it did taste upon the next lot of flapjacks, which, of course, had to follow at the succeeding meal. they ate so heartily, tom declared that if this kept on, the larder would be cleaned out before half the time they had set for their stay in the camp were exhausted. but to all this kind of talk felix turned a deaf ear; for when such a magnificent appetite had come to him, building up his energies splendidly, it just _had_ to be catered to, regardless, even though the two big crow boys were hired to make the long trip to civilization on snow-shoes, perhaps, and "tote" back a fresh supply of stuff on a sledge. one can accomplish almost anything when the pocketbook is well lined, especially with where substantials in the woods are concerned; and those hardy indian lads would think little of such a trip through the snow of the valleys; indeed, it must seem something along the order of a picnic for them, since doubtless they had more than once done the same thing, without the inducement of a fat reward, such as felix would be sure to promise them. it seemed as though adventures were flocking their way thick and fast; and the boys could not help wondering what the nature of the next one would be like, as they sat in their cozy dugout at night time, and took their ease before a roaring fire that made things look so cheery. all this while felix had not forgotten the two principal things he had in mind when laying out this trip to the rocky mountain region. a grizzly was the height of his ambition, and unless he could manage to get such a prize to his credit, all alone and unaided, he would feel very much disappointed indeed. and then there was that bighorn business--he had heard so much about these strange sheep of the rocky heights that he often expressed a wish to try and secure such a splendid trophy. could he see a pair of those curved horns decorating his den at home, the boy felt that it would please him more than words could tell. and tom, understanding what all this eagerness meant to his comrade, was making preparations looking to a start along those lines; he had his eye out for signs of the monster that had passed near the cabin on the first night of their occupancy, and whose den he believed must be among the rocky canyons of the mountains, not half a mile away from the edge of the valley where the dugout lay. chapter xiii hunting the bighorn "i've fixed things so that today the traps can take care of themselves," remarked tom, one morning, as they sat there at the rude table eating their breakfast of oatmeal, and coffee, and some biscuits felix had managed to make, using a pan for his oven, and with pretty fair success, too, tom had declared, after making away with his tenth one, covered with honey. felix looked quickly up at his chum. he could read between the lines, and understood that tom would not have said this unless he had something to propose. "and what were you thinking of doing, then?" he asked, seeing that the other was waiting to be questioned. "well, i happened to notice yesterday that a little flock of bighorn sheep seemed to be feeding in a certain patch away up the face of the mountain, where there must be some grass that has been protected so far from the freeze; and i was wondering whether you would feel like taking a shy at the same, always providing we can climb up to a place within gunshot?" felix jumped up, as he was really through eating; his eyes danced with eagerness, just as tom anticipated they would. "let's start right now," he remarked; whereat the other laughed at him. "not a bit of need for hurry," he said; "and i want to make certain preparations for the jaunt. it isn't any easy thing, climbing the mountains, and especially at this time of year. we may be away all night, for all we know, and must dress warm enough for anything like that. besides, we want to make up something to eat; these left-over biscuits and some dried venison will just fill the bill. and then there's that rope we brought along, because you said we might need it; i'll wrap it around my middle, because in mountain climbing a rope is sometimes worth its weight ten times over in gold. fact is, no mountain guide over in the alps would think of starting out for a climb, without at least one rope along." "i guess you're right," replied felix; "and i'll begin to get things moving now. looks like we might have a decent day, too; which i'm right glad to see. i'd hate to be caught up there in a snow storm, with a howling wind blowing." and stepping to the door he looked up to where the frowning rocky heights could be seen through the partly bare branches of the trees of the valley. tom would not allow his impatient companion to hurry him in the least. he declared that there was plenty of time; and he did not want to forget something which they ought to carry, the absence of which might work a hardship later on. but about the time the sun was an hour high showing through the gap to the east, the two lads left the old dugout, and headed toward the west, where the main ridge arose like a monstrous barrier, shutting them out from everything lying beyond, since to cross its snowy peaks was a task utterly beyond their ability, even had they ever dreamed of such an undertaking. later on, when they were really in one of the canyons, felix began to comprehend something of the magnitude and grandeur of the massive rockies. at a distance they had excited his curiosity and interest; but once he found himself in their midst, it was a feeling of awe that gradually took possession of his soul. still, the ambition of a hunter was strong within the eastern lad; and when his companion pointed out to him a certain green spot nearly half way to the top of the nearest ridge and told him to notice the moving white specks upon it, he realized that these must be the famous big-horns feeding. "however do you expect we're going to get up there?" asked felix, aghast at the prospect of climbing at such a height, which looked something formidable to him just then. "perhaps we can't do it," replied the other; "but we're going to make a jab at the job all the same; and i reckon i know about the best way. i haven't been studying the make-up of these mountains, day after day, for nothing." "i'd just depend on it, you've got your plan all laid out," laughed felix. "i never knew you to start into anything without doing that." "oh! yes you have," answered the other, chuckling. "when i invaded the den of my friend, the black bear, and started to smoke him out without even knowing that it was his house, why, i guess i didn't have any plan made up beforehand. any old thing just had to answer; but after all, i came out of that scrape better than i deserved, after being so breezy as to invite the gentleman to come out and get acquainted." they started in to climb. tom, as he said, had figured it pretty well all out, and in this way better progress was made than felix would have thought possible. sometimes it turned out to be easy enough; and then again, they would either have to go around some obstruction, or else make a difficult ascent of a small cliff. when noon came they had ascended a pretty good distance, and felix saw that the green patch was much closer. indeed, he could easily make out the bighorns now, and even counted them several times. "seven all told, in sight, tom?" he remarked. "and i wonder if they'll still be there when we get within range, if we ever manage it?" "if not, we must lie over until tomorrow, and take chances that way," replied the other. "for after going to all this trouble, we must try and get a sheep, just for the horns; because the mutton of a big fellow will dent your teeth." "have you got our route all mapped out above here?" asked felix. "yes; and from now on we must be careful not to let them glimpse us even once," returned the western boy. "i haven't hunted sheep before, but i know something of them, and they're mighty suspicious animals." "i notice that we've got the wind in our faces," continued the other. "oh! sure, we couldn't have done the first thing any other way," tom declared, as they once more started off. an hour later, and felix was allowed to creep to the edge of a little ridge of rock in order to take an observation. he found they had made such splendid progress that it almost seemed as though he might try to bring down that fellow sporting the massive horns, but then tom had warned him that distances were deceiving up in that clear mountain air, and if so, after all he would be apt to make a mess of it should he try. so once more, then, they had to go creeping along, always keeping out of sight of the wary game, yet forever ascending. and still, when felix looked up at the top of the mountain they were climbing, it seemed about as far off heavenward as ever, in his eyes. later on tom began to work around more. he believed that they were now about as close to the bighorn sheep as they could possibly get; and besides, as the afternoon was waning, the animals might at any time take a notion to quit their feeding ground, for some other locality, where they were in the habit of passing the night; and unless the boys got busy shortly, they would have to wait until another day before securing the coveted chance for a shot. leaving felix lying in a little hollow, getting his breath after the last fierce climb, tom crept forward. the other saw him gradually raise his head, and appear to take a peep over the rocks. then drawing back, he turned and made a motion that meant he wanted his chum to come alongside. trembling with eagerness, felix did so. and no sooner had he raised his eyes to a level with the line of rock, so that he could look over, than he saw a sight calculated to pay him for all the trouble he had been to, in order to gain this position. there were the sheep within the easiest possible gun range, so that it would seem as though even a greenhorn could not miss his aim, if he but took ordinary precautions. "oh!" it was but the faintest sound, and seemed forced from felix by the closeness of the game; but tom nudged him in the ribs, as though to indicate that even such a whisper must not be indulged in. there was really no need of saying a word, because, as they climbed, the boys had made all the necessary arrangements. felix, therefore, knew absolutely that he was to try and take care of the buck carrying those massive horns which he envied; while tom, on his part, having his mind bent more on securing some mutton that could be eaten without first being chopped into atoms, meant to pick out a yearling, or one still younger, provided the flock contained any such. nor was that all, for they had arranged a silent code between them, looking to the critical moment when they would want to shoot. tom was to give the signal for this, after he had learned that his comrade was all ready for business. and on his part felix must keep a bead on that big buck. perhaps the leader of the flock had some reason to feel suspicious. he had ceased browsing on the grass that grew in the little plateau sheltered thus far from the cold, and getting all the warmth of the sunshine; they could see him standing there as though he might be cut out of solid rock, apparently sniffing the air as if in some incredible manner he had caught a whiff of danger, even though the wind blew almost directly from him toward the spot where the boys lay. tom kicked the ankle of his chum twice. that meant he was ready to give the word to fire and felix must be ready to press the trigger of his marlin when he heard the one word that was to be whispered, so the eastern boy nudged an answer with his elbow. "now!" there was a double discharge, tom firing just after his companion; for in his generosity he did not want to precede him, even by the fraction of a second, lest this serve to make the patriarch of the flock move, and disturb felix in aiming. the big buck with the wonderful horns made a leap into the air, and then rolled down the slope, falling from the end of the shelf. they could see his desperate efforts to cling to the rock at the brink with his forefeet; but powerful as he may have been, that deadly ball had sapped his strength with its shock; and ten seconds later he vanished from the sight of the hunters. of course the balance of the flock had bounded off in wild alarm, not waiting to see what the fate of their leader might be; all but one, which lay there on the green spot, perfectly still. tom evidently had not suffered in his aim because of allowing his chum the first chance to pull trigger. as usual he had made a centre shot; and if only they could find a way to get across to where the young bighorn lay, there was a prospect of some pretty fine eating ahead. "i got him, didn't i, tom?" cried felix, greatly pleased over the result of his shot. "but where d'ye suppose the beggar dropped to, and will we ever be able to get to him? i'd just hate awfully to lose those horns, now that i've knocked him galley-west. what had we better do, tom?" "i'll tell you," replied the other, calmly; for it took considerable to excite tom--an angry bear climbing up a tree after him had been known to do the trick all right, though. "first of all, before we try and go down after those horns you want, let's see if we can get over to where the sheep were grazing. for my part, i've got my mouth set for some mutton, when we get home again; and i'd hate to lose what i've shot. it would be a wicked waste, that's what." they began to look around, there being no longer any necessity for concealment; and in a short time tom announced that he believed he saw how he might cross over to the little green plateau where the bighorns had been feeding. chapter xiv a wakeful night it required considerable climbing, as well as taking chances, for the boys to cross over to where the dead bighorn lay on the green plateau which had long been the dining table of the flock, and where they undoubtedly felt they were safe from all the ordinary enemies of their kind. but in reckoning thus, they knew not of the long range of the modern rifle, nor the terrible expanding power of the up-to-date softnosed bullet, that mushrooms to three times its original size upon striking even the flesh of an animal. when both of the lads had successfully landed on the plateau it was beginning to grow a little dusk. the sun had long since vanished behind the great rocky ridge that stood out above them against the sky. "we'll have to put in a night up here, all right," commented felix, as they arrived at the side of the dead sheep, over which tom bent eagerly. "well, since we prepared for that same thing, it won't be so hard on us," replied the western boy; "and i'm not any disappointed in my game either. i don't believe it's a year old even, and i'm only sorry we haven't some way to make a fire up here; for a slice or two off this chap would go great. come over this way, and let's see; i've got a dim idea i saw a few stunted trees hanging to the face of the rock, where there were gaps, and some earth had blown in from time to time. if it turns out that way, count on a supper worth while; and that'll go better than just cold biscuits and jerked venison." they had hardly rounded the shoulder of rock mentioned by tom, than he gave vent to a shout of delight. "there they are, just as i thought;" he remarked; "and now to see what we can do about picking up enough fine wood to make a fire. every scrap will count. look in the crevices, and every which way, for broken branches, twigs, and anything that will burn. we've just got to have supper, and that's all there is to it, with such bully game on hand!" presently tom found a way to reach the stunted trees himself, and here he came upon a regular bonanza in the way of partly dead branches, which he kicked off in any way possible, until the boy below declared they had more than enough fuel to cook two suppers. by the time they had selected the nook where a fire would be best sheltered from the night wind at that elevated spot, the darkness had begun to creep around them. below lay a black gulf, for they could no longer see the trees, or anything else that in the daytime marked the peaceful valley where they had their dugout home. "we're lucky to have all this wood," remarked felix, "because, unless i miss my guess, it's going to be pretty snappy cold up here tonight, and we've got no blankets along." "yes, i thought it would come in handy," returned tom, who was already busily engaged cutting up the sheep, so as to have something to eat as soon as possible, because the climb, and the cold air of the mountain, had made both of the boys fairly ravenous. "and that's why i kept on sending down more, after you said three times we had enough. a fire eats up a heap of stuff, when you have to keep it going all night in the open air." it was not long before felix had the blaze going, and he declared that it certainly made things look a thousand per cent better. it was a dreary place, so far up the side of the mountains; and without that cheery blaze the night must have proven one they would never remember with any degree of pleasure. after all, the mutton did taste pretty fine. even tom, who being the son of a cattle raiser, knew what prime beef meant, said it was very good, and well worth all the trouble they had taken to get it. "but how about those horns?" asked felix, who could not wholly get his mind off the subject that seemed to concern him, even more than the supper did; though for that matter he ate his share, and seemed to enjoy it. "do you think we can get down to where my fine old granddaddy buck fell?" "we must, sooner or later, and that's all there is to it," replied tom. "what d'ye suppose we carried that rope along for if not to use it? make your mind easy, you'll have those horns, chances are ten to one." "unless some wild animal carries the body away in the night," remarked felix. "no danger of that, my boy," laughed the other. "fact is, the only beast that is able to do such a thing around here, would be a grizzly; and if he does, why, we'll just follow him to his lair, and tackle him. then you'll have a chance to get back the bighorn head-piece, and knock over your grizzly, at the same time." felix had to smile at this. "you know how to comfort a fellow all right, tom," he remarked. "that would be sort of climbing up on our reverses, and making them pay a profit, wouldn't it? but i'll just try to forget all about the horns now, and enjoy the good things we have right here--heat and grub in plenty." they did pass a pleasant evening; and later on, when both of them felt like lying down on the rocks to try and get some sleep, the fire was arranged so that it might keep going for some hours. tom expected to be up a number of times before dawn could be expected, and promised to take care that the blaze did not go entirely out at any hour. although tom did not mention anything about it to his chum, he was a bit anxious concerning the state of the weather. that was the one thing that had made him hesitate when thinking about pleasing felix by a climb up to the place where the coveted bighorns might be found. what if a howling storm should swoop down upon them, while they were away from the cabin and up here in this elevated eyrie? he knew about how fierce a blizzard could rage, once it took a notion to come out of the faraway alaska country. and should such a thing come to pass, the boys would be in for an experience before which all others must pale into insignificance. with the bitter cold, there would be snow filling the air, perhaps with a fierce wind; so that for several days they would not dare attempt to descend into their blessed valley. could they manage to keep from freezing there, in that exposed position, where a change of the wind would find them out, and prevent any possibility of keeping a fire going, even though they secured fuel to last out, an almost impossible feat. and that was the main reason why tom hardly slept at all during that night. he allowed his chum to get all the rest he could; nor did he envy felix when, up and down almost every hour, he counted the minutes until they might see the first peep of dawn away off there in the eastern sky. it had clouded up, which was one reason why tom worried, for he thought he detected symptoms of a storm in the air. but as even the longest night must come to an end, so finally tom was heartened when he believed he could detect a little change off toward the east, which gradually grew better, until he was sure dawn meant to greet them. so he caused the fire to pick up, and by the time daylight aroused felix, breakfast was all ready for their attention. the fact of the matter was, tom was bent on getting out of that as quickly as possible, even though they had to leave the task of recovering those massive horns until another day. he had a pretty fair idea with regard to where they might have fallen; and it would not be necessary to climb near so high up the side of the mountain. and, too, it could be done on a clear, promising day. felix was disappointed when he heard about the change of plans; but being a sensible fellow he quickly agreed with his chum that their first consideration must concern their safety. he, too, had been secretly fearing lest they find themselves trapped up in that high altitude by the coming of foul weather; and so he agreed to let the matter of securing his trophy go until later on. "tell you what," remarked tom, as they prepared to depart the same way they had come, for that seemed the only means by which a human being could leave the elevated plateau, not being able to jump, like the bighorn sheep; "tell you what, we can swing around a little, after we get down from here, and if it happens that we get sight of your sheep, we'll make a try for it." "that's good of you, tom," replied the other, warmly; "but remember, we're not going to take any extra hazard, just to save those horns. i'd like to have them, all right, but a fellow's life is worth much more than a trophy." a few flakes of snow drifted down as they started to leave, and tom eyed the heavens critically. "you never can tell about this snow business," he declared. "seems like i know when it's going to give us rain, nearly every time; but this other fools me. but if we can get down to that next level i'll like it. plenty more protection there; and some chance of getting wood too. come along, and be mighty careful, felix." there were one or two places where it looked so risky that tom insisted in fastening the rope to felix. then one of them would go at a time, while the other braced himself for a shock, which luckily never came; afterwards the leading one would take his turn at standing still, while the other came on. all the while those tantalizing flakes drifted slowly down, just as though intent on keeping the young bighorn hunters' nerves on edge. an hour later, and tom expressed himself as delighted, because they had managed to reach the lower level. now, even though the storm did descend upon them, he believed they would have a chance to keep on down into the valley; for the most dangerous rocky heights had been left behind. felix had not noticed how his chum was heading, and hence was surprised to hear tom suddenly call out: "here it is, all right; been no grizzly around, you see, felix!" "my old buck, and with not a notch taken out of his grand curved horns!" cried the other, as he saw what his chum was pointing at, just ahead. tom set to work to get the trophies. he could not make the fine job of it such as he always liked to carry out; because the flakes seemed to be getting more numerous now, and evidently the storm was becoming tired of holding back, just to accommodate them. "i can fix 'em up in apple-pie shape after we get home," he remarked; and felix had no difficulty in forgiving him; because just then he believed that it would be a good thing to be quartered once again under the roof of the dugout, where he could find a peaceful bed, after a night on the hard, unyielding rocks. it was, of course, no child's play, clambering down all sorts of slippery places, burdened, as the boys were, with the meat of the young big-horn, and the heavy head piece of the patriarch of the flock; but save for a few minor accidents that did not amount to anything beyond some scratches, they managed to finally reach the valley. by that time, however, it was snowing heavily, and the wind seemed to be rising; for while the mountains were entirely concealed from their view, they could hear it beginning to whistle around the ledges and cliffs that had marked their line of descent. and when, later, the boys staggered up to the dugout, it was with a sense of deepest satisfaction; now let the storm howl, since they were assured of shelter, food and warmth. chapter xv out for a grizzly after all, the storm did not last more than a few hours. as tom had declared, no one could ever predict what a snow storm was going to amount to. the boys, however, were just as well pleased that they managed to get safely housed before the coming of another night. and as they sat by their fire, when supper had been disposed of, felix mentioned the fact that he could imagine how it must feel to be snow bound in a dreary place like that elevated plateau, with the prospect ahead of perhaps a week of fighting the cold wind to keep from freezing. he was busily engaged in working upon the bighorn trophy. and it gave him more satisfaction than he could tell, just to know that he had secured such a magnificent trophy unaided. every time he glanced up at it, when upon the wall at home, he would doubtless remember that mountain climb, and the camp under the ledge of rock. "i've got something to tell you," remarked tom, with a smile; "only before i open up i want you to promise not to try and hurry me; because, you see, i've got a lot of traps out, and they have to be attended to properly, or else i quit the business." "oh!" replied felix, "i give you my promise, all right. now, what are you going to tell me? haven't found a wolf's den, have you, with some cubs in it? perhaps, now, you've sighted one of those rare black foxes, that they say are worth all the way from seven hundred up to several thousand dollars a pelt! that would be fine news, wouldn't it, now?" "yes, if we needed the money, which i take it we neither of us do," replied tom. "but this doesn't concern either a wolf's den, or the trading place of a silver fox. can't you think of something else that has been on your mind more or less for a long time back?" "looky here, tom, do you mean a grizzly?" demanded felix, his face lighting up with eagerness and expectation. the other just nodded his head. "then you've found out where he lives, when he's at home?" felix went on. "i think i have, anyhow, felix." "but you haven't said a word to me about it; how long have you known?" demanded the other, reproachfully. "let's see; we've been home here just ten hours, haven't we; well, call it about eleven, then; that would cover it," said tom, with a chuckle. "oh! then you made the discovery while we were coming down the mountain; is that it, tom?" felix asked. "just what it is," replied his chum. "go on, and tell me about it; what did you see, the marks of his claws; or had he thrown a lot of bones out of his old den, to make room? which was it, tom?" "neither one, it happens," was the reply tom made to this. "i just chanced to look up, when we were crawling along on our hands and knees in a particularly dangerous place, and saw something sticking out from a ledge above us, that i quickly recognized as the head of a grizzly! perhaps the old fellow heard us passing, and came to his front door to see what the strangers looked like." "and why didn't you tell me about it, so i could look up too?" asked felix. "well, i had several reasons," answered the other, readily enough. "in the first place, i didn't dare sing out because, if you slipped just then, you stood a pretty good chance of being killed. and by the time we both got to where the climbing was safer, he had pulled his nose in out of sight. so i just marked that place, and thought i'd keep the news until tonight." "all right; and when you're good and ready, not before, tom, why, we'll pay our respects to mr. grizzly bear." "h'm! how about the day after tomorrow?" asked tom. "suits me fine; do you really mean it?" asked his chum, eagerly. "wind and weather permitting, i think we might chance it, felix. and i'll try and not let him know we're coming. sort of a surprise party, you understand. i only hope the old chap's at home when we knock." felix came over, and clapped a hand affectionately on the shoulder of his cousin. "you're the finest chum a fellow ever could have, and that goes," he said; "always thinking of doing something to make things move along for me. once i get my grizzly, and after that i'm going to turn around, so as to try and fix things for your liking, see if i don't." "just as if you ain't always picking out the best flapjack in the lot for me; the juiciest piece of meat; the clearest cup of coffee. i guess when they started to making chums, they lost the pattern after they had you built up, felix. and it makes me sick to think what a gap there'll be in my life after you go back east again." "but you promised to make me a good long visit soon; and i'm going to hold you to your word. after this we've just got to see more or less of each other right along. i'm coming out here again, make your mind easy to that. perhaps i'll take a notion to invest in a ranch near you, because, you know, my mother left me some money, more than i'll ever know what to do with." "that would be the greatest thing i know of!" cried tom; "and i'll see that you have chances enough, mark me." and so they chatted on, as each carried his chosen work along; for tom was busy with some of his best pelts, which did not quite look well enough to suit his eye, and he thought needed a little further manipulation before being tied up. on the following day tom cleaned up all work possible with the traps, visiting every one that was set, and bringing home quite a bundle of fresh skins, which he of course immediately stretched after their kind, some cased, and others split open, with the fur side out. they were accumulating quite a collection of pelts by this time, and somehow both boys enjoyed the work very much. if they had had to do it for a living, possibly some of the pleasure would soon evaporate; but as long as it was just carried on as fun, it did not seem to pall upon them. and sitting there by the fire evenings, they had easily settled what they meant to do with the main part of the skins. after picking out what they wanted to keep as a reminder of their great time in the foothills of the rockies, they agreed that the balance should be turned over to mrs. crow, for the benefit of herself and family. as old friends of sol ten eyck, they seemed to have first claim on any surplus; and then there was something so fine about the way the old halfbreed had kept strictly away from that part of the region which he looked on as sol's preserves, that both lads believed he deserved to be rewarded. "and," tom tucker had said, in conclusion, after one of these talks; "as sol will never come up here again, i'm going to make over all he has, except the traps he values, and which we're to take home for him, to charley crow. he can call this shack one of his homes, and trap along the little stream where we've found the mink so plentiful." felix, on his part, had already thought about those marlin guns he meant to send west as soon as he got home again; and his companion applauded the idea when he learned of it. tom worked hard that night trying to get everything in shipshape around the shack, so that they could take a day off with clear consciences; and felix gave him a helping hand in stretching the many pelts; for with two days catch to be taken care of, and all in the faultless manner that marked tom's work, it took considerable time to clean the slate. but in due time tom admitted that he could not think of anything else that needed attention; so during the balance of the evening they just rested. in the morning they made a few simple preparations looking to the great event of the day. what one needs most of all, when about to start out after a grizzly, consists of a cool head, steady nerves, and a gun on which he can always depend. the harder this latter shoots the better; and if he can carry sixteen cartridges in the magazine, it will not be too many, for they are about the toughest beasts to kill on the face of the earth, barring none. and there have been hunters willing to declare that some grizzlies can carry off as much lead, and still live right along, as would wind up the earthly career of a dozen lions or tigers. so about the only thing the boys did was to look their guns over carefully, and make sure they had an abundance of ammunition along, together with such other things, like matches, hunting knives, and the like, as they were accustomed to carrying with them. the day was everything they could wish; indeed, the weather seemed to be doing its best to behave. felix used to say that it was trying to coax him into making another lone trip, so that it could suddenly veer around, and show him the other side of the picture. but he was not at all anxious to go wandering off again; and while tom did not joke him about the matter, he was of the opinion that the events of that previous experience had sunk deeply into the mind of his chum. having made all preparations, therefore looking to pushing a vigorous campaign against the grizzly, if they were lucky enough to find him home, the boys shut the door of the dugout, and departed. felix looked back toward the old shack with something like affection. "we haven't been here very long, tom," he remarked, "but do you know, i've begun to just love that old place. and when i'm far away, perhaps at home in the east, let me tell you, many a time i'll just shut my eyes, and see it as we do now. yes, and i'll never hear the crackle of a fire but what i'll be sure to picture the two of us sitting there, busy at our work." tom looked pleased. "i'm right glad to hear you talk that way, partner," he remarked, earnestly, as he too glanced fondly back over his shoulder. "she's a homely little old shack, and sure not much to look at; but somehow or other she seems to suit me o. k. and when you say you'll always remember our days and nights up here in the rocky mountain country, you're just echoing what's in my mind. i never had a chum like you; and i never expect to again. it was a bully good idea that brought you out to visit our ranch, the luckiest day in my whole life." tom was usually not given very much to sentiment, as his cousin knew; and hence, when he did speak his mind after this fashion, it might be set down that he meant every word of it. the subject turned to other points of the compass as they walked sturdily on in the direction of the mountain pass. with such glorious surroundings there need never be any want of things to talk about. even the grand air that greeted them with the rising of the sun was invigorating enough to deserve frequent mention; while the impressive scenery by which they were surrounded was surely of a character to evoke admiration. in this manner, then, they presently reached the rougher country that lay along the foot of the uplifts. having come this way before, when going upon their bighorn hunt, and also returning from the same, it was in a measure familiar to both boys; still, they saw it now under new conditions, and discovered many features in the landscape that had eluded them on the previous occasion. "here we are at the canyon where we came out," said felix, as they found high rocky walls beginning to shut them in on both sides. chapter xvi the terror of the rockies "you must know," said tom, as they climbed over some of the many rocky obstacles in the canyon, left there by the last flood, when some cloud-burst had perhaps filled it dozens of feet high with a raging flood, "that this grizzly bear hunting is different sport from bagging an ordinary black." "i'd always understood that," felix answered. "you see, i've read a lot about the thing, and i'm pretty well posted on that subject. i know that the grizzly is the toughest animal in existence, barring none, and that many hunters who have shot big game in other parts of the world give him the palm, when it comes to being difficult to down." "and that's why," continued the western boy, "men who would hardly hesitate to openly face a panther, or a pack of wolves, and meet them on the level; will even climb a tree when expecting an attack from a full grown grizzly; because it is well known that the old fellow can't climb worth a cent." "yes, i've read even that about him," remarked felix. "he's sure the terror of the rockies; and the indians used to always reckon a brave the greatest ever, when he could show the claws of a grizzly, and prove that he killed the beast in a square stand-up fight." "whew! i should say so, felix. why, nothing could tempt me to try such a fool game as that. when you see what awful claws the old fellow has, and the frightful muscle back of them, you'll understand why it's never looked on as a piece of cowardice to get up in a tree, and then dare him to come on. chances are even then, that if the tree is only a sapling, the bear'll drag it down, and get his man." "are you trying to throw a scare into me, tom?" laughed the other. "oh! not at all," replied his cousin; "only i wanted you to know that as we're only a couple of boys after all, we had ought to take as much precaution as most old hunters would, when out to stalk a grizzly bear." "that means climb a tree, i take it, eh, tom?" "well, it would be wise; and my father would say it was the right thing to do," went on the ranch owner's son, firmly. felix frowned, as though there was something in the proposition that somehow went against his proud soul. and seeing this, his cousin was only the more urgent in his appeal. "remember, you promised me that you'd do anything i said in this game, felix!" "that's right, i did, and i will, tom; but you don't know how mean it makes me feel to think of getting up in a tree, and then daring the bear to come on; only to fill him full of lead as he accepts the challenge." "oh! i can understand all that, my boy, and it does you credit; but after you see that monster at the foot of the tree, stretching himself, and shaking it in his mad effort to get at you, after being wounded a dozen times, you'll agree with me that anybody would be a fool to try and meet such an enemy on equal terms, when, if his rifle missed fire it would all be over with him." "but this rifle never misses fire!" declared felix. "all the same, i suppose i'll have to do it, though under protest. but see here, tom, weren't you telling me just the other night about seeing some of your dad's cow punchers having a bully old time throwing ropes over a grizzly that was caught on the open, and badgering the old fellow every which way, before they pumped him full of lead? how does that agree with what you're saying now? are cowboys braver than old hunters, that they take such chances?" "well, you must know that every one of us was mounted on a fleet pony; and that though the bear chased after us in every direction, he couldn't catch up. then they got their ropes to flying, and he was rattled, so that before you could count fifty he had as many as four lariats holding him. when he tried to go one way he was dragged over by the other three ropes. and when they had had all the fun they wanted, they shot the old mountain charlie. oh! no, a cowboy on his bronco is a different sort of a fellow from the time he's afoot. you just bet he couldn't climb up in a tree any too fast, if ever he met with a grizzly, and wounded him, when in the mountains." "oh! well, that makes it easier for me, i suppose," said the reluctant felix; "but all the same it galls some." "i don't see why it should," remarked tom. "just look back a little, and you'll see me taking a mean and cowardly advantage of that black i got, stepping up when he was sliding down that tree, and shooting him while his back was turned, so to speak." then felix laughed a little, as though he might be convinced. "i guess you're right, tom," he observed. "it just occurred to me that when the wounded buck had me held up in the tree a prisoner, i was only too glad to fish up my marlin, and give him his dose. of course i didn't climb that tree in the beginning; he tossed me up there." "well, i don't suppose you could induce the grizzly to try that same thing; but if he did, you'd think it all right then to plug him, would you? i rather guess it don't amount to much difference after all, felix, whether you climb first, or get pushed up a tree. the whole fact of the matter is, that a man isn't in the same class as a big buck or a wounded grizzly, when it comes to muscle; and he's just got to fall back on guns, and trees, and such, to even things up." "consider it settled then, tom; i'll climb," concluded the eastern boy; and with this his chum seemed content. they were getting deeper into the mountains all the while, and felix could even see where they had started to climb when heading upwards on that other occasion at the time they went after bighorns. and tom led the way over some of the same ground. it was more familiar to them now, and they did not have the same difficulty as before. indeed, felix remembered in many instances just where to place his foot; or to reach up and seize on a projecting knob in order to pull himself upward. he began to look curiously ahead, wondering just where it could be that tom had sighted the head of the grizzly thrust out, as the animal surveyed the descending hunters, who were bearing fresh meat. indeed, he really wondered why bruin had not seen fit to follow after the scent, and make them drop their packs, or else fight for the spoils on the spot. tom, upon being asked declared that ordinarily such might have been the programme of a grizzly, that fears nothing under the sun, in either the human or the animal kingdom; but that possibly his majesty, as he called the beast, may have recently dined; and when one has no appetite, it seems the part of folly to go to any extraordinary exertion to secure food. "but he may be on edge today, just the same," he added, after giving this information in answer to the question of his cousin. "i hope so," replied felix. "if i just do have to climb a tree, and ask a bear to step up and be shot, i want to see him at his worst. that's the only thing to give me an easy conscience." tom only smiled. he had a pretty good idea some of these gallant notions would undergo a decided change in his chum before they were done with this business. five minutes later he remarked quietly: "we're nearly there, felix. hold up a bit, and get your breath. look up, and see if you can notice where that seam in the rocks has a black look." "oh! i get that, all right, tom; is there where you saw his head sticking out?" "that's the place; and chances are we'll find a regular trail leading up to the mouth of the den. what i'm going to look for the first thing is the tree. in hunting a grizzly that's an important part of the game; unless you happen to have a gully in front, that no bear could cross over. i've known of a good many hunters coming out here to get the hide of a grizzly; and they told my father that while the idea of doing such a thing struck them at first as cowardly, after they'd had a look at the monster they meant to tackle, the only thing that bothered them then was about the size of the tree. it seemed to them that they wanted one as tall as the redwoods in california." felix chuckled at this, but made no further remark. he had noticed that tom no longer talked in his natural voice, but whispered. even this circumstance seemed to add more or less to the gravity of the occasion. it told of hovering danger, and the need of ordinary caution, if they did not want to arouse the sleeping dragon, and have him rushing wildly out to assail them, before they were good and ready to give him a warm reception. tom kept on looking carefully around him every chance he got, as they pushed on slowly. felix knew the wisdom of this, and that he would be doing the right thing to also get his surroundings firmly fixed in his mind, before the grand circus began. there could be no telling how much need of this there might be before the little mountain drama closed in the death of the bear. he discovered in the first place that there was an occasional tree in sight, not of any great size, but with a trunk that would baffle any ordinary animal to bend down, felix thought. as the grizzly could not climb, a perch in one of these would place the hunters out of danger, and they could proceed to accomplish their work as they felt inclined. how the bear was to be coaxed out, and to the tree, felix of course did not as yet know; but he was quite willing to leave this to his chum. tom understood all about the ways of grizzlies; he had heard them discussed since childhood, and seen many of the species brought in by hunters; for since they are a serious menace to the raising of cattle, there is a price on the head of every grizzly known to have his haunt within miles of a ranch. tom was moving about now, and appeared to be scanning the rock at his feet eagerly. undoubtedly he was looking for the well worn trail which, he had told his chum, he expected to discover, leading upward toward that dark spot in the rocky wall, where, according to his figuring, the animal's den had its yawning mouth, although as yet they had not actually looked into it. so felix stood there, waiting, and holding his gun in his hands, wondering what he might be expected to do should the grizzly appear unexpectedly from some other quarter, heading toward his den. and possibly because tom had impressed the necessity of a tree so strongly on his mind felix even made sure that there was one of these growing close at hand which he believed might be scaled in a hurry if there arose any need. he saw that his companion was now examining the ground more closely than ever; and there was that about his manner to tell that he must have made a discovery of some sort. a few seconds later the western lad arose to his feet, and his face shone with satisfaction as he turned toward his friend. "it's here, just as i said, felix," he whispered; "and from the signs i'm pretty sure the old fellow is right now squatted in his den. things look all right to me, and the next thing is to coax him out. like you, i only hope he's hungry; but no matter whether he is or not, he's just got to come, and that's all there is to it." chapter xvii when music was played out like a general arranging his plan of campaign, so tom looked around him, up at the place where the den of the monster was believed to be, and then in search of the available tree. "that's where we ought to perch," he remarked, pointing to a spot close by. "we can each have a tree, which is really better than both getting up in the same one; for while he's trying to get at me, you can pump him full of lead. i'm only going to dip in here in a case of necessity, because i want you to say you got him all by yourself." "up a tree," muttered felix, disconsolately; but his chum paid no attention to the half protest, being satisfied that time would vindicate his course. "now, there are some trees up yonder, closer to the den, and they would answer in a pinch, if we had to run for it," tom went on to remark. "i don't just get on to what you mean," remarked the other; "i thought you expected to climb up, fix a comfortable seat, and then ask him to step out, and get acquainted." "but perhaps he won't come," retorted tom. "you never can tell about these grizzlies. some days they're ready to just rush out, and tackle a whole army. then again they have to be nearly dragged out, they're so full, and so lazy. but once you get 'em stirred up, they're always the fiercest ever." "do you expect to go up there, then, and have a look in?" asked felix. "we might have to, if he won't come when we start to shouting," answered the other. "let us only get a peek at his nose, so you can touch him up, and i give you my word there won't be any trouble about coaxing him. you'll hear a roar that'll just about make your blood run cold, and then we've got a fight on our hands you'll never forget." "but see here, tom," urged felix, "suppose, now, we go up there poking around and just when we're in a fix where we can't back down, the old rascal heaves in sight down the trail. he'd have us in a lovely hole now, wouldn't he? then i guess we'd have to make it a stand-up fight. trees wouldn't figure in it that time, eh?" "but i'm dead sure he's in his den," declared the other. "how d'ye make that out, tom?" "why, see here, there's some dirt where he goes up and down. you can see that he's just worn a path with the many times he's gone in and out. now, look close, and i can show you several prints of his big feet, with the claw marks sticking out ahead. and they all point _toward_ the den, showing that the most recent tracks are the ones he made going in! get that, felix?" "sure i do; and i must say it looks just as you figure it all out, tom; and if that's the case, our old chap is at home, all right." "then let's move up closer," said the other. "on the whole, i reckon we'll use the trees that lie up yonder. we can see into his hole from there, which we couldn't do down here." they started to advance, slowly and cautiously, keeping a wary eye up in the quarter where danger lay. but nothing occurred to give them a start, and presently the boys had reached a point where they could see that tom had hit the truth when he said the dark spot on the face of the cliff's base must be the entrance to the grizzly's den. "that's where he enters, is it?" said felix, looking closely at the aperture that simply yawned darkly before them, with the rock hanging overhead. "yes," tom replied; "when he heard us talking, that other time, he must have walked over to this spot, where he could poke out his head, and look down." "you don't see anything of him around, do you, tom." "never a sign," came the answer. "chances are, he's fast asleep inside." "and now, do we pick out our trees, and squat in them waiting, for him to show up?" "we'll see if a little music will coax the old gentleman to show his nose. which tree do you want, felix?" "don't see much choice between them; but i suppose i might as well take this, because it seems to be a trifle closer to the den than the other," replied the boy from the east, indicating his selection. "but it's smaller in the bargain," complained tom; "don't you think you'd better let me have that one?" for answer the other commenced to climb; and as there was nothing else to be done tom followed suit. he knew that felix had a stubborn streak in his make-up; and in fact he liked him all the better for it, because, without such spice, in tom's mind, a fellow would be like cake without the ginger in it, flat and commonplace. "well, here we are," commented felix, after he had fixed himself comfortably, and raised his rifle to his shoulder several times, as though wishing to make certain that he could cover any advancing enemy without difficulty. "how does it suit you?" asked tom, grinning. "oh! i've sat on worse seats, one of 'em a wasps' nest," replied felix. "all right. now, what'll we sing?" continued the other. "sing?" echoed felix. "yes, to coax our grizzly to look out. strike up any old song you like, and if i happen to know it, i'll join in; i can do that anyhow, because our audience ain't going to be particular. fact is, the worst noise we make, the more chance of his coming out in a bad temper." "all right, just as you say, tom," laughed felix, falling in with the humor of the idea. accordingly, felix began to sing some school song, at the top of his voice, and his chum joined in with a pretty good bass. they went clean through with a verse, and roared out the chorus in good style, although felix was laughing so hard at the end that the effect was terrific. "if he can stand that howl, he's equal to anything," the latter remarked, as they finished; "see any signs of our friend yet, tom?" "sorry to say i don't," replied the other; "though that ought to have fetched him hurrying out, to see what lunatic asylum had broken loose. hit up another verse, my boy, and give him all the variations you can." so they went through with it, yet there was not the first sign of the grizzly. "that's queer," remarked tom, when after they had completed their duet, not a single thing occurred; only the gaping mouth of the den mocked them, with vacancy behind it. "don't fancy the tune, perhaps?" suggested felix, humorously. "that might be so. the old fellow might have his favorites. can you give him a change, felix, something more solemn like. he must have a weak spot, if only we could hit on it. strike up 'plunged in a gulf of deep despair,' or something that thrills you the same way." accordingly, as he liked to be obliging, and the situation appealed to his fine sense of humor, felix did start a song that sounded very much like the "dead march of saul." tom added all the touches possible; and had anybody chanced to be in the vicinity he must have thought he had struck a camp meeting. "how's that?" asked felix, when they had finished. "simply elegant, take it from me. queer that we haven't thought to sing a little while we sat around the blazing fire nights," declared tom. "well, if we did much of that sort of thing, we'd soon go hungry, tom." "think so?" chuckled the other. "every animal would take to its heels, and never come within miles of our shack again," asserted felix. "strikes me it don't seem to have any effect on _one_ animal i know of, and that's our big friend in the hole yonder," tom declared. "perhaps after all he isn't at home," his chum remarked. "i'm dead sure he is, in spite of the fact that he doesn't show up," said tom. "then grizzlies must be lacking in a musical education, that's all i can say," felix observed. "sorry our efforts to amuse don't seem to be appreciated," tom went on to observe with a grin. "shall we try one more? do you know, i think something inspiring, like 'dixie' for example, might stir him up. suppose we give him that, and follow with the 'star spangled banner.' if one of those don't bring results, why something else has got to be done, that's flat." felix, entering into the spirit of the occasion, held his gun as though it were a guitar which he was picking; and presently, after a few extravagant motions, broke out in the invigorating strains of the well known southern song, that in times of old, when the armies of the blue and the gray faced each other in battle array, did so much to inspire the latter to plunge into the fray. but then, this was not a southern bear; and at any rate, the music produced no result save to amuse the singers. "well, i must say he's a hard customer to please," laughed tom. "or to make mad either," remarked felix. "why, after hearing how we murdered that noble tune, i should think any self respecting bear would rush out, foaming at the mouth, and proceed to rub the assassins in the dust. he just goes on snoozing, and paying not the least attention. shall we give it up, tom?" "well, let's try if he's got any patriotism about him. give him one stanza of the other song. if that doesn't make him look out, then we'd better put our horns away, and quit singing. we're dead failures as a drawing card, seems to me." "you were right," observed felix, a few minutes later, when, after they had done their level best rolling out the chorus, "and the star spangled banner in triumph shall wave, o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave," not a single sign of an encore did they receive. "he don't seem to mind it in the least," remarked tom, grimly. "perhaps now the old fellow may be stone deaf. i should think he must be, to stand for all that stuff, and never whimper once." "but that couldn't be," declared felix, "because he must have heard us talking that other time, when you saw him peeking over at us. i'm not so sure as you are that he's in just now." "well, here goes to prove it," said tom, as he made a move as though intending to leave his tree; but when felix also started to vacate, the other called out: "no, i want you to stay just where you are, and keep tabs on the opening. if you see the first sign of anything moving, you want to give me the tip right away, so i can run back to my tree." "but what are you going to do?" asked felix anxiously, for if there was anything dangerous to be accomplished, he did not see why tom should not let him share in the enterprise. "just wait and see," was all the satisfaction he received. "and don't forget you gave me your solemn word to obey. i'm the captain of the ship just now, and the crew has got to do what the skipper says." "but if you're going to take chances, i'd like to be along, tom." "only one of us can do the little job; the other's business is to stay there, on guard, and give the alarm if anything shows up. and i've detailed you for that part of the programme, felix." so, unwilling though he was, the other had to sit there, rifle in hand, and try to figure out just what tom meant to do, in order to bring the inmate of the den to his front door, in case he was at home. the ranch boy had been keeping his eyes well about him, and knew just where he could find what he wanted. first of all, he crept up to the frowning aperture, and looked in. felix felt his heart in his throat, so to speak, with a sudden fear lest his chum take a reckless notion to enter that gaping hole; he was even on the point of calling out, and begging tom not to incur such unnecessary chances, when he saw the other moving away again. evidently, whatever reason tom had for going there to the mouth of the cave, he was perfectly satisfied; for, as he caught the eye of his chum, he nodded, and made suggestive motions, as if to say that he was more than ever convinced that the animal was somewhere inside, though possibly at some distance back from the opening. felix now watched him with deepest interest. if he had figured on how tom meant to draw the grizzly forth, he could not have struck on the right answer to the question, for suddenly he gave an exclamation, and said as if to himself: "now, what's he gathering wood for? it sure doesn't seem like time for our noon lunch? and what would tom want to camp here for in front of the place? now he's got an armful, and--why, of course, he's going to stack it up in front of that hole. that's the ticket, tom; smoke the old rascal out?" and he ended in calling aloud to his chum. the other only turned, and nodded his head as he made his way cautiously up to where the black hole gaped silently. here he tossed his bundle of small wood, and then went back for more. felix had gripped his gun a little nervously while all this was going on, ready to take up his part of the game should occasion arise; but even when the brush from under the trees was thrown down, the inmate of the den did not deign to show himself, and offer any objection. felix concluded that there must be a mistake, and that the grizzly was away from home; or else the old fellow was so gorged with a recent dinner that he just could not bother moving, because some foolish boys chose to play pranks outside of his house. now tom had returned with a second armful of wood, which he piled up on the other lot. then felix saw him stuffing a crumpled piece of newspaper under the pyramid, and he understood why tom had put that in his pocket so carefully before leaving the shack. everything seemed ready, and he wished tom would hurry, and come away from his dangerous quarters, for the bear might rush out at any second. so felix breathed a little easier when he saw the other moving off, and noticed little spirals of blue smoke beginning to weave themselves in and out of the piled up brush and wood. chapter xviii a hard customer "that's bound to settle it, one way or the other!" declared tom, after he had climbed up into his tree again, and resumed his former position of squatting in a crotch, gun in hand. "you mean about his being home, or away i reckon?" remarked felix, who was feeling fifty per cent easier in his mind, now that his chum had carried out his little programme without being rushed by the bear. "that's the idea," replied the other, keeping his eyes on the spot where the fire he had kindled was burning fairly well. "plenty of smoke, if there is only a little flame," observed felix. "i wanted it that way; and so i picked out some green stuff that would make a whole lot of smell, but not burn too lively, you see, felix." "whee! i got a whiff of it right then; and say, if our friend is at home, and can stand that smell, why, he's welcome to stay where he is the rest of the winter, for all of me. it beats anything i ever whiffed," and the eastern boy held his fingers to his nose while speaking, to emphasize his words. tom grinned, as if he really felt proud of that fire. a hot blaze would have caused very little smoke; and after all might not have accomplished the end they had in view. "wait!" he said, with a chuckle; "you'll see." a few more minutes passed. felix noticed several things, for he had come to pay considerable more attention to small matters than before meeting this cousin who had been brought up in the open, and imbibed many of the instincts that govern the actions of indians and veteran woodsmen, among which observation stands at the head. he saw, for instance, that the breeze was blowing straight toward the face of the cliff where that hole lay; and as it came in rather strong gusts now and then, it undoubtedly served to carry pretty much all of the pungent, highly scented smoke into the yawning aperture. and felix also knew that it would drive this odor a long way ahead into the recesses of the cave. if bruin were at home, he could not help getting a whiff of it presently, and smoke always serves to make a bear both suspicious and angry. where shouts of derision, and the singing of songs had failed, a more silent and powerful agency would succeed. and it did. one, two, three more minutes passed away. then felix heard something that gave him a thrill, and caused him to turn quickly in the direction of his comrade, perched in the adjoining tree. tom nodded his head, and simply remarked: "what did i tell you? that fetched him; and he's waking up!" it had undoubtedly been a rumbling roar that came to the ears of the two boys. bruin had at last become aware of the fact that there was smoke rolling into his snug retreat; and instinct warned him that smoke never came without there being some sort of fire in connection with it. again they heard the heavy thrilling sound, and it was now more distinct than before, which told them that the grizzly must be advancing hurriedly toward the opening. doubtless this was the only exit he had; and alarmed lest he be caught in a trap by the fire, he was now shambling along, bent upon seeking the open air before it was too late. "ready!" called tom. hardly had he spoken than felix saw the smouldering stuff at the mouth of the cliff den thrown violently aside, as a huge bulk almost filled the hole. then there came into view the very largest grizzly tom had ever seen, as he hastened to declare, with boyish vigor. "wow! but ain't he just a jim dandy, though? big as a house nearly; and say, did you ever see a madder thing in all your life. he hears me talking right now, because he's looking this way. bet you his eyes are that full of smoke he can't see as well as he might, and he's rubbin' 'em with his paws, would you believe it? hey! you, we made that fire! what d'ye mean upsetting it that way? think you own the earth, don't you? well, come on, and have it out with us. dare you to knock the chip off my shoulder! bah! you're nothing but a big bag of wind! who cares for you?" just as though the grizzly could really understand what tom howled at him, he immediately started toward the trees where they were ensconced. "oh! my, ain't he mad as hops, though?" jeered tom. "look at him shake his head, would you, felix? he knows we did it, and he means to let us understand he won't put up with such a racket as smoking him out. now, don't be in too big a hurry to start firing. take my word for it, you'll have plenty of chances to fill him up with lead before he caves under. shake the limb, and holler at him, if you want him to pay attention to you." that was just what felix did want. he was afraid that the bear would know tom had started the fire, and ignore the other boy. so he too commenced to taunt the old fellow, as boys know how to do so well. the result was just as tom had predicted; for having his attention thus diverted, the bear now changed his course a little, and came directly toward the tree that bore such strange fruit in the shape of the second human enemy. what the grizzly thought, at being so rudely disturbed in his after-dinner nap by all this shouting, and the smell of smoke in his den, felix could only guess, for by his actions alone could the animal tell. there certainly could hardly have been a madder bear than that one was. he acted as though bent upon teaching these impudent boys a much needed lesson. when they felt like playing any of their annoying tricks, they had better keep away from his particular sleeping place, if they did not want to get hurt. "get one in before he reaches your tree!" called out tom; who seemed to know what the tactics of the grizzly would be after this had occurred, and that possibly felix might not be able to fire with such sure aim, once his haven of refuge were being violently shaken, as it would be. so the eastern boy, who had all along kept his marlin leveled at the advancing grizzly, sought to aim in a vulnerable spot; or at least what would be reckoned as such with any other wild animal than a grizzly or an african rhinoceros. when he fired he heard the most dreadful roar that ever assailed his ears. but to his surprise, the bear did not stop his advance in the slightest degree, no matter how the small bullet "mushroomed" when it came in contact with his body. felix hastily got his gun in shape to shoot again, and this he was able to do before the animal succeeded in reaching the tree. another roar, more wicked than the preceding one, told that this bullet had also lodged in the body of the fierce brute; but as before, it failed to have any appreciable effect on the grizzly, save to arouse his slumbering passions the more. "hold on tight, now, felix!" shrilled tom, no doubt itching to use his gun, and ready to do so if he thought the situation began to look desperate for his chum. "he's going to try and shake you out of that tree like a wild plum! get a firm grip and don't try to shoot yet awhile, till he quits!" the big animal reared up on his hind quarters, and as he did so felix could see signs of blood about him, which told that his bullets had not missed connections, even if they did not bring him down. the beast endeavored to reach the form of the boy, whom instinct told him was responsible for his wounds; because he connected that puff of smoke, and sharp report, with the acute pain that racked him. of course felix was perched too far up in the tree for that, and the most the eager grizzly could do was to come within six feet of him. then the monster hugged the tree as though about to try and ascend. indeed, the boy above felt a spasm of fear lest this was just what he meant to attempt; and as he had seen black bears climb, he found it hard work to believe that the grizzly was deficient in this accomplishment. all at once the tree began to sway violently to and fro, with increasing speed. having been warned in time, felix had secured himself against being thrown out, although at one time he began to actually fear lest the savage monster below might succeed in breaking the tree off at its base; he was so big and powerful that few things of an ordinary nature would be beyond his capacity. and now that he was enraged to the very limit, doubtless he might accomplish wonders. but fortunately that did not happen, and felix breathed a sigh of relief when, after testing his strength for a minute or two, the grizzly backed off, to look up at him out of his wicked little eyes, and growl as he dropped back upon all fours again. "bully boy!" shouted tom. "he wanted too, all right, but he couldn't quite spell able. now, try him again, felix; and watch out for one of his rushes. quit shooting when he tries that racket, and just hold on. you can wear the old critter out; and say, that gun does send 'em in like fun. i could see him quiver all over each time you pulled trigger. but you'll get him yet, don't fear!" just as tom said that last word felix fired a third time, trying to pick out a better place to send his bullet. truth to tell he was more than anxious to finish the game old bear, which he knew must be suffering horribly already. although he was confident that he planted his lead in the identical spot he wanted, still the only appreciable effect was to send the monster furiously at the tree again. never did felix expect to see such baffled fury. after finding that all his terrible strength was not sufficient to shake the clinging boy from his perch, or bear down the tree under his weight, as he had doubtless done many a stout sapling, when wishing to feast off berries growing beyond his reach, (if grizzlies do partake of such things, as their black cousins have always done,) the baffled animal actually started to gnaw at the bark of the tree, as though in this manner he believed he might weaken it sufficiently to attain his ends. "now, watch your chance, and give him another!" cried the deeply interested tom, who was closely observing every little phase of this strange fight, so one-sided felix thought. as he had by this time put his hand to the plow, felix did not mean to back out. he must have that grizzly pelt, if it took every ounce of ammunition he carried on his person. and since the beast was so badly wounded that he might eventually die anyway, he ought to be finished. but somehow felix did not feel as though he would ever want to go through the experience again; not that he was afraid; but it seemed too much like butchery to him, with the chances always against the animal. and those feelings did him credit, too, even if they marked his decline as a big-game hunter, for as such he could not consider that his quarry had any right to live at all. this time when he fired he believed that the bear was weakening. tom must have thought along the same lines for he immediately called out in an exultant tone; for tom being a stockman's son, only considered the grizzly as a possible enemy of his father's herds; and on account of previous losses from a similar source he bore the grizzly tribe only the hardest of feelings. again did the wounded beast try to vent his fury upon the inoffensive tree, biting and clawing at it in the utmost fury, as though possessed of the one insane idea that in some fashion it had conspired to keep the object of his anger beyond reach of his teeth and claws. between spells felix sent in a fifth, and then a sixth shot. after that he would have to reload, since he had exhausted the contents of his gun's magazine, with the grizzly still on deck, though weakening. "he's got his, i reckon!" said tom, as the other was working with feverish haste to insert another set of six cartridges through the opening meant for this purpose, as well as to eject the empty cases after firing. "better give him another to wind him up, though, felix!" the seventh shot did bring the unequal combat to an end, for the gallant old grizzly rolled over, and became still. tom immediately dropped down from his perch, and went over to where the bear lay. "now, if we only had the old kodak along, we could take your picture, standing with one foot on the fallen game!" he remarked, as felix joined him. "i'm glad we haven't," said the other, simply and tom looked a bit puzzled, although by the way he nodded his head presently it was evident that he had something like an inkling of the truth. "well, he _was_ a game old sport, all right," he declared; "and that pelt will be something worth while. reckon i'll have to get you to help me take it off, because it's too big a job for one fellow." of course, after a little while, felix got over the sensation of regret in connection with the shooting of the monster. he realized that a grizzly is really of no known use in the world and must be a source of great annoyance to any stockman; so that he need not regret having slain this fellow. but one would be quite enough for him. somehow, the sport was not all it had been cracked up to be. possibly it was because they had been compelled to locate in those trees; but then, felix learned afterwards that those who hunt grizzlies frequently, have so great a respect for their savage fury, as well as their ability to carry off lead, that they think it no disgrace to place themselves out of the animal's reach before opening the battle. it was late that evening before the two tired nimrods reached home; but at any rate the last great ambition on the part of felix had been attained; he had killed a grizzly, and all unaided. from that time on he felt that he would be satisfied to pursue the even tenor of his way, and not allow vaulting ambition to draw him into fresh fields of adventure after big game. chapter xix breaking camp--conclusion after that the days just glided along, each one seeming to bring something in its train that would occupy considerable of their attention. tom kept up his trapping, and felix became himself deeply interested in learning more and more about the habits of the sly little bearers of the prized fur; for which there was such a growing demand in the world of civilization, that men were visiting hitherto unexplored sections of the world in search of new supplies, since the old fields showed signs of giving out. he spent some time in the partly frozen marsh, examining the homes of the muskrats; and after that had tom tell him all he knew about the ways in which the mink lived, both at home, and when abroad searching for food. they had no trouble in getting all the venison they wanted; and once, when their larder began to decline, on account of a spell of bad weather, who should come to the dugout but jo crow, bearing the choice portions of a young buck, which his father had sent over to the little doctor, as a slight token of his gratitude for services rendered. just as though that small debt had not been wiped out, felix remarked, when he was so hospitably received in the crow cabin, fed, and then assisted in recovering his stolen property. but then tom knew that young jo must have fond recollections of that smooth tasting java, and he made sure to treat the boy to many cups of coffee at each meal, while he stopped over night with them. and when, after a heavy storm, they found a chance to make the first use of the snow shoes they had brought along, the boys proved that they knew how to utilize the advantages this means of locomotion gave them over the animals of the forest. once tom, when on his way back from his traps, was pursued by a pack of hungry wolves; but he had what he was pleased to term a "picnic" with them. he would stop and let them come within a certain distance, when several shots from his repeating rifle lessened their number considerably. after that he would start on again, all the while slipping fresh cartridges into his gun so as to have a full equipment, in case of an emergency. as the animals still kept after him, tom repeated his former tactics, and knocked a couple more wolves over. he would have liked to keep dotting the snow with their forms, because he hated the breed violently; but by this time they scented trouble, and hauled off. so tom even went back, and secured the pelts of the last two, adding them to the lot he was taking home. "you see," he remarked to felix that night, as they sat around the fire, speaking of what had happened during the day, "that's a great advantage one gets by knowing how to use snow shoes. the varmints floundered through the drifts, while i just skipped over them as if i had wings. why, i could have circled the pack at times, if i'd wanted. and they were savage with hunger, all right, too, because only for that they wouldn't have kept so hard after me." "but i'd have thought they'd stop to make a meal off those you shot at first," remarked felix. "i see you're on to wolf habits, all right and good," chuckled tom. "well, a bunch of 'em did hold over, to have a sort of wake with the remains; but i guess the rest of the lot felt that it wouldn't go around. they kept after me, that's all i know. p'raps they had their minds set on a nice tender juicy tucker for supper; but if they'd known how tough he was, they might have hauled off sooner, and two of the bunch would be alive yet," and he glanced at the skins he had stretched on the big frames meant for such purpose. "and next winter perhaps those same hides will be keeping some chauffeur warm, as he guides his car along fifth avenue in new york," said felix, humorously. "that's putting 'em to good uses, anyway," remarked the wolf-killer, calmly. only the next day felix had a chance to see for himself what a great advantage those same snow shoes gave a hunter over his quarry. the snow was deep enough to come to his knees on the level, and besides, in many places it had drifted considerably. then there had come a slight thaw, that caused the surface to become coated with ice. through this the small hoofs of a deer would break with every jump; while the boys could glide along on the broad netting of their snow shoes without disturbing the crust. thinking he would take a little turn around, felix started out while tom was off looking after his traps again. he did not intend going any great distance from the shack, and hardly expected finding game; but then there was never any telling when one might run across a deer, for they were fairly plentiful. and hearing a floundering noise some distance ahead, he suddenly discovered a full grown young buck making off at full speed. under ordinary conditions it would have been the utmost folly for felix to even dream of overtaking that alarmed deer; but he wished to test the speeding qualities of his snow shoes. the tables were turned by the presence of the deep snow, since the deer could not run as fast as ordinary, while the powers of locomotion on the part of the boy had been trebled, at least. and so he had by degrees gradually come up on the fleeing buck. the animal was snorting, and plunging desperately in the endeavor to get away; just as though he realized that the mortal enemy of his race was close behind. breathing so rapidly that it looked like clouds of steam arising from his nostrils, he kept on in his wild run. when felix had gained a position where he could see the exposed flank of the deer he came to a sudden halt. and no sooner had his rifle spoken than there was an end to the chase, for the buck was floundering on the snow. those were days neither of the boys would ever forget. but the weeks were slipping past, and they began to figure on the time, now close at hand, when they must break camp, and set their faces once more towards civilization. it would be with more than a little regret too, even though both of them must rejoice to again see the dear ones who were at home; for they had certainly enjoyed this vacation period in the rockies more than words could tell. tom had looked over his trophies, and decided on what few they wanted to take away with them. these were, for the most part, pelts calculated to remind them of certain adventures which had befallen them in their camp life. for instance, there was that bobcat skin, which had once been sported by the animal whose vicious growl had greeted them on that first evening of their arrival at the dugout; then felix had the pelts of the wolves he had shot, after they had given him such a lovely little scrimmage, before letting him get to the shelter of the shack with his burning torch; and the big grizzly hide, that occupied a place of honor in the collection also. besides, there were a few choice mink skins; a fox that tom particularly wanted, because he had tried for three weeks to trap the wary reynard before he managed it; and some muskrat skins that felix wanted to show his folks at home. the bighorn head adornment had been beautifully prepared; and together with the head of the big buck, must be carried on the sledge they meant to drag behind them, when they went out of the mountain country, headed south. all the remainder of the catch, together with quite a supply of store provisions they handed over to charley crow and his boy jo, when at the invitation of the inmates of old sol's shack the two came over to see them for the last time. and how that dusky boy's eyes did dance when he saw that among the lot there chanced to be some of that glorious coffee, that had quite taken his heart by storm. felix was not one to easily forget; and later on he did send out a bulky package to his cousin tom, which, upon investigation was found to contain three good reliable marlins for charley crow and his boys, just as hard hitting guns as the one felix himself carried, only of much less value, because the material was along different lines. and besides, there were a dozen cans of pulverized coffee for jo, that would be sure to make him the happiest shoshone indian boy on or off the reservation. they looked their last on the old shack one morning when the weather seemed to promise well for a day or two; said goodbye to every familiar object, and with one farewell glance around, as though to secure a mental photograph of the picture to do them for all time, turned their backs on the spot that had given them the very finest time of their lives. felix knew that he had benefited greatly from his outing, and indeed he felt fully able to return home with the new year, to resume his studies. those happy weeks spent in camp had brought the ruddy hue of health back to his cheeks, just as his wise father had expected would be the case; his step was elastic; and his eye bright; while as for appetite, he declared he would eat them out of house and home, unless a curb were put upon it presently. as the snow was in pretty fair shape, they made good progress that day, and hoped by another to be where they could take advantage of the frozen river to finish their journey on the ice, bringing up at the ranch of tom's father. this programme was faithfully carried out, even though it did turn bitter cold that night, so that they had to keep a fire blazing every hour, in order to ward off the fate of being frozen stiff; for their camp happened to be exposed to the breeze more than tom would have liked, had he been given any choice. arriving at the river, they met the man who had come from the ranch under the former agreement. he had been waiting two days, and made himself as comfortable as the conditions allowed; and it was the smoke of his fire that directed the two boys to his hideout. as he had a pair of snow shoes with him, they were able to continue their journey along the snow-covered surface of the frozen river; and in due time reach the ranch. here the sight of their trophies, and the story of all that had befallen them during their two months' stay in the country of the rockies interested the cowmen greatly, and for several nights they plied the boys with innumerable questions concerning the various happenings that went to make up the experience. when felix arrived home early in january, his father was delighted with his improved appearance; and doubly proud of the spoils which the young fellow displayed, to supplement his stories of the events clustering around the camp in the big game country. and it was easily arranged that later on he should again go out to be with his cousin; indeed, as the good doctor had no need to continue his practice, since he was well supplied with this world's goods, he declared it to be his intention to give up his business, and accompany felix, for he had always wanted to see what ranch life was like. toward spring a letter came from tom in the faraway wyoming country, saying that he had had a chance to get up to the reservation, where charley crow and family were finishing the winter, taking the splendid present felix had sent with the party; and that there was great rejoicing in the crow family. those wonderful guns, as well as the enticing coffee from java's distant shores, quite overwhelmed the astonished shoshones, and they never knew when to stop sending their thanks to felix. but as the boy remembered that occasion, when, after wandering through the snow forest, hungry, cold, and weary, he sighted the smoke of that humble cabin of charley crow, and what a warm welcome had awaited him there, he felt that after all he had only begun to pay back the great debt he owed these dusky people of the fur country. the end [illustration: "some animal has gone along here, sure enough," said x-ray] the mountain boys series phil bradley's snow-shoe trail or the mountain boys in canada wilds by silas k. boone the new york book company new york copyright, , by the new york book company contents chapter i--into the land of the moose and caribou chapter ii--beside the fragrant camp fire chapter iii--fishing through the ice with tip-ups chapter iv--lub's bear chapter v--x-ray straps on his snow-shoes chapter vi--a quarrel over the game chapter vii--not to be bluffed chapter viii--again on the trail chapter ix--the waif of the snow forest chapter x--a rude awakening chapter xi--on guard chapter xii--laying plans chapter xiii--the mystery of the pine woods chapter xiv--mr. james bodman gives a dance chapter xv--the fire vigil chapter xvi--baylay's home-coming--conclusion phil bradley's snow-shoe trail or, the mountain boys in canada wilds chapter i into the land of the moose and caribou "that cold chicken mrs. mcnab put up for our lunch yesterday went fine, fellows; and i only wish we had the like of it for to-day!" "you always did have a weakness for fowls, ethan." "just so, x-ray tyson; that's why they put me out in the left garden on our brewster baseball team so i could gobble all that were knocked that way." "well, we've heard you boasting lots of times about that wonder of a rooster you've got at home." "oh! you mean old robinson crusoe, don't you, lub?" "yes, that sorrel-topped ungainly looking crow-factory we've all seen strutting around your yard so often. i never ran across an uglier bird, for a fact, if you'll excuse me for saying it, ethan." the boy who answered to the last mentioned name only laughed as he continued: "no apologies needed, x-ray; because i know myself he's sure no beauty; but say, let me tell you he's a scrapper from the ground up." "how on earth did you ever come to call him by such a queer name, ethan? did you happen to get him on friday? mebbe you found him on an island; or fished him out after a shipwreck on the water?" "you're away off your base, lub. i'll proceed to enlighten you a bit. it's a wonder to me some of you haven't asked about that before now. first of all, we got him from a man named robinson, who peddles chickens, and collects eggs through brewster territory. for a while we always referred to him as 'robinson's fowl.' get that?" "yes, but go on, ethan." "well, when he had his fierce fight with zack avery's game rooster that had beaten everything to flinders, and robinson actually whipped him, we began to think he deserved a medal. after he had made the game run for home he perched on the dividing fence and let everybody know about it with his clarion voice; so i said right on the spot he ought to be given the rest of the famous robinson name because he _crew so_!" "oh! somebody take hold of me, or i'm liable to fall off the sled and be left behind!" shouted the boy called lub, and who was well named it appeared, judging from his generous proportions. the stout boy was duly restrained and hugged by x-ray tyson and ethan until he begged his companions to desist. "i didn't mean that i wanted you to _squeeze_ me to death," he complained; "that would be jumping out of the fryingpan into the fire. i'm fully recovered now from my weakness: but, ethan, _please_ don't do anything like that again." there were just four boys in the party, all dressed warmly for a winter outing, and perched upon a number of bundles that went to make up the cargo of the homely old canadian two-horse sledge, built not unlike those in common use around moscow during a russian winter. besides ethan allen, x-ray tyson and the stout youth, lub fenwick, whose real name however was osmond, there was a fourth lad, to whom the others seemed to defer in a way that might suggest leadership. in fact phil bradley did occupy this position among his chums, and with reason, for none of them could compare with him in concocting clever ideas, and also in carrying out the same. they all belonged to the town of brewster, which was situated hundreds of miles to the southwest of where we find them on this crisp winter day. those who have had the opportunity of reading the earlier volumes in this series know how it happened that there was no school in session in brewster that fall and early winter, so that the scholars were given a long vacation. phil and his three chums had come to call themselves the mountain boys; just why we have not the time or space to explain here, except that it may have had something to do with ethan allen's ancestors, who were revolutionary heroes, and connected with the famous green mountain boys. phil was an orphan who had been left a large fortune in trust, so that he could do almost as he liked financially; though he had no bad habits, and used his means in a healthy way for the benefit of others, as well as his own enjoyment. lub had a rich aunt who spoiled him; and the parents of the tyson boy were also considered well-to-do--by the way his name was really raymond, but he was always so quick to see through things, that his playmates soon corrupted his first name as above. these four boys were ambitious to take certain trips calculated to call for considerable expenditure of cash. the allens, not being rich, and ethan, being too proud to accept of continuous favors at the hands of phil, for a time it looked as if the magic combination must be broken. between them the other three hatched up a wonderful scheme which they immediately put into operation. it has been spoken of in earlier books, but in order that new readers may understand the situation, a few words of explanation may not be amiss. ethan had always been a boy given to earning various sums of money by doing odd jobs, and at the recommendation of phil he started to use some old traps he happened to own, with more or less success in securing such pelts as muskrats in the marsh, together with an occasional fox or mink, while even 'coons yielded up their hides for his benefit. in the spring and summer ethan scoured the woods for certain valuable roots such as wild ginseng, golden rod and others. these he dried, and when he had a quantity, shipped to a certain dealer according to the directions of phil. the results were certainly pleasing, for the checks that came back made ethan very proud. but the fact of the matter was, this was all a little scheme of phil's. to tell the truth the pretended dealer in roots and furs down in new york was a certain rich bachelor uncle of phil's, who entered heartily into the game, once he learned the purpose of his nephew's idea. he even had letter heads and envelopes printed as though he might be doing a land-office business in purchasing such commodities. but if the wonderfully fine prices that he paid ethan for everything he sent prevailed all along the line, it is likely that nine-tenths of the male population of the country would be turning their attention to such profitable pursuits. of course the reader can understand that nine-tenths of the money ethan received in these complimentary letters came from phil; but not for worlds would this intelligence be allowed to reach the proud trapper and root-hunter. it was in one way rather a mean thing to do, but the intention was noble. it allowed ethan to pay his share of the general expenses on their outings, and saved his self-respect. granted that he never learned of the subterfuge everything would be well. there were times, however, when ethan quite naturally boasted just a little about his superior ability to dry roots better than anybody else; and also of his grand luck in trapping a prize black fox, when in reality the skin that brought him almost three hundred dollars was not worth more than five at the most. on these occasions lub would titter a little, though he quickly turned it off if ethan turned to stare at him, by coughing, and complaining of a tickling in his throat. only when they were positive that ethan was out of hearing did the three conspirators dare compare notes on this subject, and laugh over the success of their grand scheme. but as x-ray once said, it was like skating over a "ticklish bender" on the frozen mill pond; because they might try it once too often, and excite the suspicion of the boy who was being hoodwinked, greatly to his profit. phil and his three chums had spent some time in camp up in the adirondacks not a great while back. their latest trip had been down on the coast along a certain section on currituck sound, where phil owned a "shooting lodge" that had been left to him by an old hermit. what amazing adventures developed during their stay on the salt water in pursuit of wild fowl have been given in detail in the preceding volume. this trip up into the canadian wilderness had been planned for a long time. in fact ever since x-ray received a present on the last christmas of a pair of fine canadian show-shoes he had done little but talk of his desire to some time or other get up there where they always had plenty of snow, just to learn how to use his treasured gift. strangely enough there had never come about a time since then when he could do any decent work with his snow-shoes. when a fall of snow did come along it was followed by a soft spell that ruined the going; and so it came about that here they were, headed for a certain place in the canadian "bush," where they hoped to spend a week or two hunting, and enjoying themselves in every possible way. phil had been put in touch with an old scotch farmer who had promised to take them bag and baggage into the woods, and come for them again at a certain date. on the previous morning they had started over the snow on his queer sledge, with a large quantity of luggage that was intended to make for their comfort. one night they had camped on the way, and "the" mcnab, whose other name was tammis, promised that before darkness rolled around again he would have them located in the best hunting region of the saguenay country. of course x-ray tyson was not the only one who had snow-shoes, because there were three other pairs in plain sight. phil alone really had had previous practical experience on the clumsy "gunboats," as lub called them; though x-ray claimed to have paddled around in his yard many times on an inch of snow, without any dire disaster. the mcnab was a red-faced scotch-canadian, warm of heart, though possibly a bit over fond of imbibing, and perhaps not as dependable as he might be when in one of these bibulous moods. he was greatly interested in the four lively american lads, and listened to the many stories they told connected with their past experiences. thus the second morning of their tedious ride began to wear away. surrounded by the rough country that characterizes all this section of northeast canada, they began to feel that ere long they would be cut off from all communication with civilization. all that morning they had not seen a single house of any description. the road over which the two sturdy canadian shaggy ponies were dragging the sledge was only a logging or "tote" road along which teams sometimes went on the way to or from some logging camp situated nearer the river. "we'll soon be leaving even this road, and taking to the bush, you say, mr. mcnab?" lub was asking, as he clutched the arm of ethan in a sudden spasm of fear lest he be shaken from his seat when one of the runners of the sled struck an obstruction, tilting the whole load dangerously. "oh, aye, but i assure ye it couldno' be any worse than this. ye ken that the road is seldom used, and it gets in a peetiful state. but it will not be for lang. when we turn off the going will be better, ye understand." mr. mcnab had a very broad touch of the brogue. lub loved to hear him roll the "r's" off his thick tongue, and often asked questions just to be amused in that way. "look ahead there, will you?" cried out x-ray just then; for when it came to using his eyes to advantage the tyson boy had all of his chums "beaten to a frazzle," as ethan used to say; "here comes a man walking along the road. why, we must be getting near a town of some kind." "aweel, laddy, nae doot ye think so, but it taks more than one man to mak a toun. that party is a logger coming from the camp. i dinna ken why he should be giving up his job so airly in the season, but it may be he is seek, or has had some sorry news frae hame." the brawny logger had an ax, with a small bundle suspended from the same, slung over his shoulder. he stopped and waited for them to come up, when he nodded his head in salutation. "you're the mcnab, i take it," he remarked, addressing the driver of the shaggy ponies. "i'm one of the sawyer bunch over on the river ten miles away. on my way back home; wife down with a fever and the kids need me. get up later on if all goes well. what sort of a crowd are you taking up into the bush this time, tammis? seems like a young outfit for such big game hunting." "oh! ay, so it does," replied the driver, quickly; "but these braw laddies hae seen muckle mair o' such business than most men that come up this way. they weel know how to tak care o' themselves, nae doot. what are the chances for game this season; and do ye know o' anny ither parties in the bush?" "i hear there are moose aplenty this year," the logger replied, as he filled his pipe from the bag of tobacco mcnab held out to him; "and so far i've only heard tell o' one party o' sportsmen along these parts. they're camped nigh the hogback on cranberry creek." "seems to me i heard talk aboot the baylay coming back to his old haunts again. they did say he had reformed, but, mon, they leed, fo' that de'il would never be annything but the toughest man in all the saguenay region, though he lived to a hundred." "yes, they say it's true, and one of our crew ran across him," the logger returned, with a frown, and a shake of the head. "he is still nursing a broken head; and bore the word from baylay that if any other loggers tried to take the quarrel up they knew where to find him." "oh, ay, he never hides _his_ light under a bushel, mon. and i only hope that the laddies here will not run a foul of the braggart while they are in the bush." "well, if they do they'd better knuckle under, and whisper small. there isn't a man i know as would be willing to stack up against baylay when he's roused and in one of his quarrelsome moods. he is a terror if ever there was one. but i must be on my way; the sooner i get home the better. good-by to ye, boys, and i hope ye have a fine time; but beware baylay!" he struck out down the logging road with his bundle dangling from the ax that lay across his shoulder. mcnab chirped to his ponies and once more the sledge started on its way. lub had an apprehensive look on his chubby face. his eyes sought those of phil in a mute inquiry. "would you mind telling us something about this man, baylay, mr. mcnab?" asked phil; while both x-ray tyson and ethan nodded their approval, for their curiosity had also been aroused. "oh! ay, though the least said aboot him the better," replied the driver, as he glanced uneasily on either side of the road at the thick "bush" as though he half feared lest the party under discussion might be within earshot of them and take offense; "he is a verra big and powerful man who has a most ungovernable temper. he has gi'en the authorities a great deal o' trouble in the past, but it is maist difficult to get any one to try and arrest him. he has been a logger in his time, and one o' the best ever known along the river. they say he used to smuggle across the border; and to this day he kills game out o' season as he pleases; yet the wardens are sore afraid to attempt his arrest." "whew! that sounds nice, i must say!" exclaimed x-ray tyson. "rather an unpleasant neighbor to have around, seems to me," added ethan. "i should remark," declared lub. "i only hope," phil finished with, "that we don't have the bad luck to run across this baylay while we're up here. for while it might be policy for us to knuckle down and try not to cross such a quarrelsome man, it goes against the grain of the mountain boys to be meek and uncomplaining when they are in the right." "that's what we all say, phil!" declared x-ray. tammis mcnab looked at his charges, and rubbed his bristly chin reflectively, as though it struck him there might be some lively times in prospect in case these american lads and the baylay did happen to run up against each other in the bush. chapter ii beside the fragrant camp fire "i heard say that this baylay had come back to his old haunts; does that mean he used to live up in this section, mr. mcnab?" asked phil, a little later, showing that his thoughts were still fixed upon the unpleasant neighbor they were likely to have during their outing. "aweel, he did spend some time up aboot this way," the driver replied. "you see, the mon has a family, for all his wild ways, and somehow he manages to support the wife and childer and a raft o' dogs, though it's a mystery how he does the same." "children you say, and up here in this wilderness?" exclaimed lub, looking more or less surprised. "oh! ay, a pair o' thim i'm tawld, tho' for the matter i couldno' say for certain, since i never ha' set eyes on the same. they tell me that the wife is a wee sma' woman, but that she has been known to subdue her giant husband as no mortal man ever dared." "gee! i'd like to see her do it, then," asserted x-ray, impulsively, of course never dreaming at the time that any such opportunity would drift his way. when noon came they stopped and made a fire, so as to have hot coffee, which of course every one declared to be very refreshing, for they were chilled more or less by the long inaction. then it was on again deeper into the wilderness. the road had been abandoned for some time, since it turned sharply in the wrong direction, heading for the lumber camp on the river. besides, the vicinity of such a place, where trees were falling all day long, and rough loggers calling out or singing at their labor, could not be reckoned a good hunting-ground, since the game would be scared away. as the shadows began to lengthen the boys were cheered by hearing tammis declare they were now close on the spot he had in mind. once before some years back he had piloted a hunting-party up here, and from all accounts the prospects for big game were much better this season than for a long while back. one of phil's hobbies was along the line of flashlight photography. indeed, he had become quite fascinated with the idea of "shooting game with a camera," and was even losing some of his hunter spirit that had until recently been such a pronounced part of his make-up. he had already made quite a collection of wonderful pictures, and yearned for other worlds to conquer. some of these days he declared he meant to take a trip into the fastnesses of darkest africa, where he could snap off the wild animals in their native haunts--elephant, lion, rhinoceros, hippopotamus and every other species of creature that lives in jungle and swamp and forest in the country which roosevelt had recently visited on his great hunt. of course phil expected to add to his collection while on this jaunt; and since ethan was a born hunter, with x-ray backing him up, they could supply the camp with what fresh meat was necessary, leaving lub to manage the culinary department, and lend phil a helping hand if necessary. the sun was just about an hour high when mcnab suddenly drew in his shaggy team. "what mair cud ye want than this braw place, laddies?" he demanded, as he sat there, and swept his hand around in a semi-circle. phil followed his movement. he saw that indeed there could hardly be a finer spot for camping. it was on the shore of a lake, and they could look far out over the ice-covered surface to where the fir crowned hills came down to the further shore, fully a mile away. situated in the heart of the virgin forest, with the ax of the logger still a stranger to the splendid growth of timber, it seemed to offer them a glorious opportunity for spending their fortnight there in the wilderness. the boys jumped to the ground, and commenced exercising their arms so as to induce a better circulation of blood. "no need of that, fellows," laughed phil; "we're going to have plenty of things to do to tire you out before we get settled here. grab hold, and unload the sledge to begin with. then all of us must get busy putting up some sort of temporary shelter for the night, like we did before. to-morrow we can start in to build a more permanent one that will resist a blizzard if it comes along." mcnab looked after his team while the mountain boys began to get to work under the direction of their leader; for phil happened to know a great deal more about this sort of thing than any of his three chums. the merry whack of the two axes they had fetched along told that preparations were underway looking to the temporary shelter spoken of by phil. lub was quite an adept in building fires for cooking purposes, since he had had considerable practice; accordingly no one interfered when he started to roll two logs he had picked out until he had them forming what might be called a v, with a little space separating the ends that were close together. in arranging this he had made sure to leave the broad end toward the prevailing breeze, which at the time was from the west. this insured a good draught, once the fire was lighted; and would also conduce to the comfort of the cook bending over the coals, as it would blow the pungent smoke away from his face. phil, not knowing what they might strike away up in this section of canada, had made sure to purchase certain supplies at a sporting goods emporium in new york, and which had come to him through the mails. just what these were none of the other boys knew up to the present, though phil had promised to tell them before long. of course they had coffee and tea, sugar, biscuits, bacon, salt pork, beans, rice, some canned goods and like things. and at mcnab's they had been fortunate enough to lay in quite a supply of butter and fresh eggs, that might last through half of their expected two weeks in the woods. by the time darkness began to gather the shelter for the night had been completed, and they clustered around the fire intending to take things easy, as well as eagerly sniff the tempting odors that were beginning to permeate the neighboring atmosphere. "now is the chance to tell us, phil, what under the sun you have in that big package you got from new york city before we left home," suggested x-ray, who did not like to have anything that was connected with a mystery go long unexplained. "well, i suppose i had better keep my promise," laughed phil, starting to cut the cords that bound the package in question; "or else you will have a fit. there never could be a secret when you were around." "oh! i don't know about that," muttered x-ray, giving phil a wink, and then looking blandly toward the unconscious ethan who did not dream that he was concerned in the matter in the least. "well, these are some of the concentrated foods that are used by prospectors and arctic explorers, who can carry but a small pack on their backs, and yet may starve to death for all the game they can get. they are splendid in their way, i'm told, though i must confess that outside of the condensed milk and the soups i never tasted any of these things. i know what they are, though." the boys commenced examining the various articles for themselves. "now tell me what the dickens _erbswurst_ can be?" demanded ethan as he took up a strange roll that must have weighed several pounds, and looked like a sausage. "oh! that's in common use in germany, especially in the army. it is made of concentrated pea-meal ready to use, and with other vegetables, and some dried meat mixed in with it. you can eat it as it is, or made into a soup it is very fine, and will sustain life better than almost any other thing you could find." "and what is this queer looking can that has a label telling that it is self-heating; explain to me how can that be?" asked x-ray tyson. "that is really a wonderful discovery, and duck hunters shivering in their blind, on a winter morning, balloonists far up among the clouds, and all persons who need something warm to take away their shaky feeling, but can't have a fire, find a great boon in those soups." "but how can it be self-heating i'd like to know?" asked ethan, scornfully. "it is after all very simple," explained phil. "the soup is in a second can, and the space between the two is filled with dry quick-lime. when wanted, a small hole is cut in the top of the outer can and some water allowed to pass in. this you see generates a terrific heat, and in a jiffy the soup is made piping hot." "well, did you ever hear the beat of that?" exclaimed lub, who had stopped his culinary labors long enough to look and listen to what was going on, for it really concerned his department. "and here we have some desiccated vegetables, looks like," remarked ethan, as he pointed to a variety of cans. "those are what they call dehydrated vegetables," explained phil. "they are potatoes, spinach, onions and cabbage in a concentrated form. one can weighing from four to twelve ounces is equal to from seven to fifteen pounds of the fresh stuff." "but how do you use them?" asked lub, wonderingly, thinking no doubt what a labor saving device this would be for the cook. "oh!" phil told him, "just add the proper amount of water to a small portion, and cook it the same way you would the fresh vegetable. they are used pretty generally in the united states navy, i understand; for it is sometimes hard to get green stuff, and a diet of salt meat is apt to induce scurvy in sailors." "well, i see you have soup tablets," continued x-ray tyson, examining still further, "something that is called trumilk, and another that goes by the name of truegg; do you mean to tell me these are all right, and that you can actually carry eggs along in powder shape?" "yes, two of those cans of condensed eggs are equal to four dozen of the fresh variety," explained phil. "they say they are fine, scrambled or in omelettes, and that is the way we can use them after our other supply gives out." "well, if only you've got the money to buy things," remarked ethan, "there's no need of anybody going into the woods, and taking chances of starving these days, when they supply all these wonderful condensed things. but as for me i'd rather just keep them for an emergency, and live on the fat of the land as long as i could find any fresh meat." the old scotch-canadian was greatly impressed with the explanations given by phil. he examined the various cans and packages closely, and seemed to handle them almost reverently, as though it was utterly beyond his ken how they could so preserve eggs and things in such a condensed form. and yet for years he had been using, off and on, milk that had been conserved after the same principle. "supper's ready for serving, fellows; so get your pannikins where i can dish things out!" announced lub about that time. they were soon enjoying themselves about as well as any one could wish. really lub was getting better at his profession all the time, and x-ray as well as ethan did not hesitate to tell him so. "now, i know you're just giving me that taffy so as to influence me to keep on the job right along," urged lub, a little suspicious when the "greeks came bearing gifts," though his eyes did twinkle with gratification at hearing the warm praise, because time had been when the same fat boy was very green in connection with camp cookery, and afforded his chums many a hearty laugh over his blunders. "honest to goodness i mean every word of it, and more too, lub!" affirmed x-ray. "i never tasted a better cup of coffee," declared ethan; "and these beans are warmed up to beat the band; while the bacon is as crisp and brown as--well, as i could fry it myself, and that's the highest praise anybody would want to have handed out to them, i guess." there was enough and to spare, for after the last appetite had been appeased lub declared that it was a shame to leave that small portion, so he would have to put it away himself, which he accordingly did, though they warned him he was in danger of bursting from over feeding. afterwards they made themselves comfortable, each with his warm blanket about his shoulders, and facing the fire. a couple of logs rolled up near the blaze afforded them seats, and for at least two hours they continued to chat on every sort of subject. their home life was often touched upon, as well as previous outings in which they had taken part. ethan even told "the" mcnab what wonderful success he had had in his root-gathering and fur-trapping. on hearing how a single black fox skin had netted him three hundred dollars the scotch farmer said he did not doubt it as he knew a man who had received three times that sum for an especially fine pelt. "as for meself," he added, "it's verra curious but i never even saw a black fox in all me trapping experience. they do be verra rare, they tell me. i have a good woman and three bairn at home, and a thousand dollars would be a muckle fortune for us, but i dinna expect sich luck to come my way. ye are verra fortunate i must say, ethan, lad." of course lub had to titter at that, when x-ray gave him a kick on the sly, as if to warn him to behave himself, so that their great secret might not be endangered by ethan having his suspicions aroused. presently lub began to yawn and stretch at a great rate. that might be taken for a sign that he was becoming sleepy, and wanted to turn in. they had their several places portioned off under the temporary shelter, so that if lub chose he could crawl in when he pleased. he was evidently of a mind to do so, and had even started to rise to his feet, when the others heard him give vent to an exclamation. "didn't that logger say baylay owned several dogs, fellows?" he demanded. "why yes, he did," replied x-ray, quickly; "but what makes you ask such a thing as that, lub?" "because i reckon then he must be somewhere around here right now, for there's a strange animal nosing about in the shadows over where i threw what scraps were left of our supper!" at that every one looked. sure enough they could see a moving figure, that did look like a pretty good-sized dog. phil, however, uttered a low word of caution. "sit tight, everybody!" he hissed, "until i reach out and take hold of my gun!" "but, phil, go slow if that's one of the poacher's dogs!" warned lub in alarm. "dog nothing!" came from phil as he took up his gun; "that's a gray wolf i tell you!" chapter iii fishing through the ice with tip-ups no one moved after that save phil himself, though lub breathed very hard, as if the information had given him the "heart-jump," he often spoke about. phil knew he had made no mistake when he pronounced the prowling animal a bold timber wolf; though he would have had some difficulty in believing it if some one else had told about one of those animals daring to venture so close to a camp where a number of hunters were sitting about a fire. he judged that the beast must be unusually hungry, or else not in fear of mankind, from some reason or other. "whoo! see his green-yellow eyes, will you?" whispered lub. "put the bullet square between 'em, phil!" advised ethan, secretly wishing it had been _his_ rifle that was within easy reach at the time. hardly had he spoken than there came the report. a jet of flame spurted from the end of the leveled gun; there was one sharp yelp and that was all. "you got him, phil!" shouted x-ray tyson, always the first to see things that happened. "hold on, don't rush over there till you get your guns!" advised phil. "if the wolves are that brash up here, there may be more of the lot." mcnab had thrown some small stuff on the fire so that the flames shot up, and in this way illuminated the vicinity. they could see a dusky figure sprawled out where the animal had been crouching and glaring at them with his terrible wolfish eyes. so when ethan and x-ray had secured their rifles, with phil they advanced to the spot where the victim of the shot had fallen. phil was a trifle concerned himself, and anxious to make certain. if after all it turned out that he had shot a cur dog belonging to that terrible poacher and one-time logger baylay, it was going to make them a tremendous amount of trouble. he was speedily convinced, however, that there could be no doubt; and was also rejoiced to hear mcnab declare: "a fearsome sicht i ken, lads, and the largest wolf i ever saw in all my days in the bush. it was a braw shot ye made, phil; it goed close between the eyes, and finished the beastie for a'. i tauld ye there was game worth the hunting up this way; if only ye may not have the misfortune to run across yon de'il o' a baylay and get his ill-will." they stretched the defunct wolf out, and lub stared at his size, as well as his ferocious appearance, shuddering as he fancied what a time any one would have if attacked by a pack of such monsters. "i expect i'll let you fellows do most of the prowling while we're up here," he remarked, with the air of one who knew when he was well off. "i never did care very much for that sort, you know; and there will be plenty of things to employ my time around the camp, i guess." "yes," phil told him with a smile, for he knew that lub's heart was not the most valiant in the world, "and the first chance we get to-morrow i mean to show you how to fish through the ice out there." "oh! i've often read of that, phil, and wished i could have a whack at it," the fat chum exclaimed, rapturously; "please tell me how it's done, won't you? they have what they call tip-ups, i believe, that let them know every time a pickerel takes a bait." "it's all as easy as falling off a log," phil went on to say. "you cut half a dozen holes in the ice some little distance apart. then you drop your baited hook down, and fix a little contraption across the hole, connecting the line with the same. the idea is that when you get a fish his struggles tilts a stick, and lets you know about it. sometimes one man 'tends dozens of holes, running this way and that as he sees he has a catch, to take the fish off, and rebait the hook." "are all the tip-ups alike, phil?" asked the deeply interested lub. "not by any means, although they have the same common idea of notifying the fisherman that he has made a catch," the other continued. "some i have seen consist of a stick, with a cord and a red piece of cloth; when the fish is caught he drags on the extra cord, and this causes the flag to appear at the top of the stick set upright in the ice. that is a good way, though it means considerable labor fixing your poles." "tell us the easiest way, then," said lub, who did not care for too much work, because, as he often said, of course in fun, he was "dreadfully afraid of wasting away to just skin and bone." "the simplest tip-up," said phil, "consists of a crotch with two short prongs and one longer one. the line is tied to this in such a way that a jerk causes the longer prong to dip down into the hole, though the crotch cannot be wholly drawn through, care being taken to have it too large for that. of course this tells the watchful fisherman to hurry his stumps and take his catch off." "show me how to cut one of those same crotches the first thing in the morning, will you, phil?" asked lub; "while the rest of you are building our shack i might as well busy myself out there on the ice gathering in a mess of pickerel and pike, for i reckon both of them live like cousins in our lake." phil accordingly agreed to this, and so lub presently crept off to lie down in his selected place. they heard his deep breathing shortly afterwards, and knew he had passed into the land of dreams. "i hope lub doesn't get to hauling in big fish while he's asleep," complained x-ray tyson; "i've known him to do the silliest things in his dreams, and it wouldn't surprise me a bit to find him trying to hug me in the night, under the belief that he had hooked a monster sturgeon or muscalonge that was trying to get away from him. if you hear me let out a yell, pull him off, boys, please." of course both phil and ethan promised faithfully that they would accommodate him, though possibly they were half hoping something of the sort might occur, because it would be a ludicrous sight to see lub with his arms wrapped around the more slender comrade, who would be gasping, and trying to break away. "there, it was certainly a wolf let out that wailing howl!" declared phil, as they were about to follow the example of the fat chum, and crawl into their already arranged blankets. "ef i had a bawbee for every one o' the creatures i've heard howl i'd nae doot be fixed for life," the mcnab assured them. "then it is a wolf, a genuine one, that howled, is it?" asked x-ray. "hoot mon! it could no' be annything else." "would they dare attack your ponies, mr. mcnab?" continued ethan. "i dinna ken, laddie; but the baith of them have been accustomed to takin' care o' themselves ever sin' they were knee-high to a duck. i would peety the wolf that was brash eno' to tackle the heels o' my ponies." the thought appeared to amuse mcnab, for he continued to chuckle for some little time after he had snuggled into his waiting blanket. it was a long night, yet nothing happened to disturb the campers. phil slept in what he was pleased to call "detachments"; that is, he would lie there for an hour or so, and then raise his head to listen, perchance to crawl noiselessly out from his snug nest so as to place more fuel on the smoldering fire; and then under the belief that it would keep going for another spell again seek the warmth of his covers. at last came the peep of dawn in the east. phil saw it first, but he did not immediately arouse the others, for they were in no especial hurry, and his fellow campers seemed to be sleeping so soundly it was a pity to disturb them. indeed breakfast was well on the way when lub came crawling out, blinking his heavy eyes, and looking as though he had only burst the bonds that fettered his senses with a great effort. "what's this i see and smell?" he exclaimed in a voice loud enough to awaken the seven sleepers. "gone and stole a march on me, hey? got breakfast started, and without calling on the head chef either? all right, go ahead; if i see you making any amateurish mistakes pardon me if i correct you. we want things done according to soyer's cook book in this camp. that's what i'm studying at home, you know. he's simply great. f'r instance, when he starts to tell you how to make rabbit stew he says: 'first, get your rabbit! see how pointed his directions are? now a lot of cook-books ignore that fundamental condition altogether. they seem to think rabbits grow on bushes, and all you have to do is to put out your hand and pull one in. first get your rabbit! that's sound common sense for you!" the others began to make their appearance and by the time breakfast was fully prepared all of them were ready to do justice to the spread. "are these real eggs, phil, or the sawdust kind?" demanded x-ray. "well, that hardly needs an answer," he was told; "they may be able to condense eggs in a small compass like dust, but no man who ever lived could put them together again once they are broken, and the yolk runs into the white, didn't you learn that 'all the king's horses and all the king's men, couldn't put humpty dumpty together again'? which meant that it was an egg fell from the wall." after breakfast mcnab hitched up and said good-by to his boy friends. "depend on it, laddies," he said, after shaking each one by the hand, "if so be ye dinna arrive at my h'use in twalve days i'll be for startin' up this way once mair till fetch ye back. that is the compact i make ye this day. and the best o' luck be with ye, amen!" they were sorry to see mcnab go, for he was good company; but there was plenty to engross their full attention. ethan and x-ray had already begun to use the two camp axes, and the merry sound of their lusty blows was as music to the ears of phil, who soon had a picture of camp brewster in the making, to add to his collection. then there was lub who had hurried through the clearing up of the breakfast things in order to get at that fishing through the ice. they took a hatchet with them so phil could cut the first hole. after that he showed the fat chum just what kind of a crotch to select from the scrub growing near the shore, and how to fashion it so that it would answer the purpose. "if we had live minnows i think it would be much better than this bought bait that is said to be extra good for pickerel fishing," phil told him; "but we couldn't very well fetch such things away up here. where fishermen make this ice fishing a regular business they keep a big supply of minnows in a spring hole that does not freeze over in winter; and each day they use a quantity until all have been put on the hooks. i don't know much about this patent bait, but it is said to answer a long-felt want." lub worked industriously indeed. when he had six good tip-ups made he proceeded to cut five more openings, about fifty feet away from each other. then he began to bait his hooks, and set the lines. before he had the third hook baited he was thrilled to discover the first tip-up trying to get into the hole; and when he saw it moving he hurried over to ascertain whether he really had caught his first fish, or if it was going to turn out a false alarm. a vicious tug at the line assured him he had something worth while at the other end, and hand over hand lub pulled a wriggling captive in, finally tossing out on the ice a pickerel weighing at least seven pounds. no wonder he gave a shout of joy and proceeded to dance around, holding up his glittering barred prize. the others called out to congratulate him on his work. "do it some more, lub, and we'll have all the fish chowder we can eat!" ethan told him; whereupon the delighted fisherman once more started in to finish his line of holes through the ice, working with a will. the fish must have been pretty hungry in that canadian lake, or else the "bought" lure that phil had fetched along with him had some magical properties about it to attract the finny denizens. certainly they kept lub hopping from one place to another, amidst frequent bursts of joy, and also considerable puffing; for it must be remembered that the boy was excessively fat, and this action made him short of breath. the results must have gladdened his heart. every time he took a pleased look at the stack of fish he had started to build he chuckled with pride and glee. some of the prizes were by now frozen, and remained where he had placed them; later arrivals flopped all around on the ice; but as fast as they became numb with the cold lub would add them to his pile. such splendid fishing he could not remember of ever indulging in before. after such glorious success the boys would have to crown him as the king of tip-up fishermen. and no doubt lub's mouth watered as he contemplated the feast that would come at the end of that wonderful day. if this good luck was going to be a specimen of what was coming their way surely the canadian trip must be marked down with a red cross in the annals of their vacation experiences. lub was wholly given up to his work. so engrossed did he become in it that even the sound of the axes, and the voices of his chums failed to draw his attention any longer. in fact, he was fascinated with the charm of hauling in those glittering striped prizes; with an occasional muscalonge as well, fierce fighters that struggled madly against being dragged from their native element. the boys ashore had apparently cut enough small trees by now to satisfy their present wants. they no longer used the ax save to trim some end as they started to build the shack. phil had put all other things aside, lending his aid to further the work and really things were commencing to look like business. ethan and x-ray were bending down, and urging a stubborn tree trunk to settle in its appointed place, while phil waited to fasten it there, when without the least warning they heard a wild whoop. it came with such astonishing vigor that every one of the three boys started up, the business in hand forgotten for the moment. of course they knew that it came from lub out there on the ice. he had been giving some fancy exhibitions of shouting from time to time; so that the others had reached a point where they only grinned on hearing his notes of delight. but this was different. there was no chant of joy about the howl that had just reached their ears, to thrill them through and through; on the contrary plain _fear_ dominated the outburst! chapter iv lub's bear "it's lub!" exclaimed x-ray, like a flash, for he was always quick to jump at conclusions. "he's fallen in one of his holes!" gasped ethan. "not much; it's something worse than that!" cried phil, as another whoop came to their ears. it happened that they could not see out on the ice where they were standing, and consequently the first thing any of them thought of doing was to jump around the patch of bushes so as to get a clear view. they could hardly believe their eyes. there was poor lub trying his level best to run over the smooth ice, with a shaggy black bear in hot pursuit! even as they looked the animal went through a queer sort of gymnastic performance, as though striving to seize hold of some object that lub seemed to be dragging after him. "it's a fish on one of his lines the bear wants!" exclaimed phil, hardly knowing whether to burst out laughing, or consider the situation a serious one for the terrified boy on the ice. he compromised matters by darting aside and snatching up his rifle; an act that caught the eye of ethan allen, and was instantly copied by that wideawake individual. "help! make him let up chasing after me!" shouted lub, as well as he was able, considering the fact that he kept slipping and rolling over, only to scramble wildly to his feet, and start off once more in his clumsy fashion. "let him have the fish you're dragging after you!" shouted phil, even as he began to move out on the ice, with the other two at his heels. "i can't! line's got fast to my leg; and he ate up all the others anyway!" lub called back, as he waddled along with frantic zeal. "turn to the left so you'll be out of range when we shoot!" bellowed phil. apparently the fugitive heard this, and also understood, for they could see that he was doing his best to obey; though the slippery ice did play all manner of tricks with those uncertain "pins" of his, causing him many a frantic struggle. as he ran lub could not keep from "rubbering" as ethan called it. he would twist his fat neck around in order to learn just how close his hairy pursuer chanced to be at the moment. this helped to make his flight more uncertain, and brought about his downfall several times. as phil and ethan were much more surefooted than the stout boy, and not at all frightened, they made better progress. on this account they gained continually, so that when lub had managed to sheer off, and presented his left side to them, they were really close enough to make sure of the bear. "ready, ethan?" called out phil. "yes!" came the reply, as both of them suddenly stopped short. the two reports sounded almost as one. lub gave another squeal as though his nerves were strained to the limit; but when on casting one of his apprehensive looks over his shoulder he saw his tormentor struggling there on the ice as though he had received his death hurt, the fat boy's humor changed. "give him some more, fellows!" he shrieked. "the glutton! to devour all my fine fish. we'll make it up by feasting on bear steak to-night, then; that's the only way to get even. oh! he's getting up again, and he's got it in for me because i said that. shoot him once more, phil!" "it's no use, because he's done for," phil told him, for the bear after that expiring effort had fallen back again, and given his last kick. when lub made sure of this, and saw that his chums were all gathered about the fallen animal, he summoned up enough courage to join the circle. "how did it happen, lub?" asked x-ray, who had now joined the rest. the stout chum rubbed his chin, and shrugged his plump shoulders. "gee! but he did give me a terrible shock!" he remarked, as though once more passing through the dreadful experience of the surprise. "tell us about it," urged ethan; "and how did it come you let him eat up all your fish without giving the alarm?" "well, this is about the way it happened," lub began. "my back was turned on the pile of fish for i was fighting with the gamiest one of the lot, this husky muscalonge here, the only real decent one that's left," and he mournfully surveyed the still flopping fish that he had been dragging after him all the while. "yes, go on, what happened then?" continued the eager x-ray. "why, i remember hearing some sort of champing sound back of me, but i guess i must have thought you fellows were making it ashore. anyway i never bothered paying the least bit of attention to the same but kept on fighting this musky here for all i was worth. whew!" "you pulled the fish in finally of course?" said ethan as the other paused to wipe his streaming forehead for all it was so cold. "yes, with a great big yank," lub explained. "it kind of flew through the air a bit, and i turned at the same time to see that bear rear up on his hind legs and do his level best to grab the flying fish. when it fell to the ice he started for it, and that was when i managed to let off my first whoop for help." "yes, i kind of thought you called out that word, but i wasn't dead sure," x-ray told him; "but what next did you-all do, as our old friend simon blodgett down on the coast would say?" "what, me? i ran like everything, fell down, got on my feet again, and seeing the bear putting after me i kept agoing and awhooping for all i was worth." "did you know he was after the fish, and not you?" asked phil, secretly amused, though managing to keep a straight face. "why, yes, i got on to that wrinkle, all right," replied the other, "because i could see him trying to fall on the fish every chance he had. but i objected to turning over my last catch to the old scoundrel; even if the line hadn't gone and got fast to my leg i don't believe i'd have let him have it, unless it came to nip and tuck with me." "well, you have plenty of time to gather another lot of fish, lub," suggested ethan; "and after all, your adventure has been the means of gaining us our first fresh meat in canada. we paid enough for our licenses to hunt up here to want to get the worth of our good money." "and, phil, don't you think i've got a right to call him _my_ bear?" asked lub, as if struck with a sudden inspiration. "what! after the two of us shot him?" ejaculated ethan. "but didn't i _lure_ him along with my trailing muscalonge?" demanded lub, triumphantly; "if it hadn't been for me fishing so industriously out here on the ice, and tempting bruin to show himself, would you have had a chance to shoot? i guess not. you only finished my work for me; i must have had him all tired out running." ethan wore a wide grin by that time. "sure you did, lub," he declared frankly, with a wink toward phil; "anybody could see that you meant to wear him down to his death. his tongue was hanging out of his mouth, and if you'd kept him going _long enough_ there isn't any doubt but that the poor thing would have turned up his toes without a single shot being fired. we'll call him lub's coaxed bear after this." "there's two of your tip-ups acting crazy, lub," called out x-ray just then; "and you'd better be taking off the fish you'll find on the hooks." "isn't this the greatest sort of sport though?" said lub, as he started off to attend to his lines. "it certainly couldn't well be beaten!" admitted phil, as he and his two comrades indulged in a fit of laughter that was none the less vigorous because they chose to keep it silent, out of consideration for the feelings of their beloved fat chum. "i wonder how it comes this chap hadn't gone into winter quarters yet?" ethan remarked, poking the dead bear with the toe of his boot. "down our way they can seldom be seen after the first snowfall, and never come out until there is a regular break-up of winter." "well, away up here the winter lasts much longer, and that would account for it," phil suggested. "they may want to stay out to the very last, knowing how it holds on away up to may. but no matter what the cause, this fine fat fellow stayed out too long." "he'll not hibernate any more if we know it," observed x-ray tyson, with a satisfied smirk; "instead he'll help to fill up four hungry chaps i happen to be acquainted with. and after all what nobler end could any bear wish to come to than that?" two of the boys returned, to get busy again on the shack; while phil stayed out on the ice to attend to taking the hide from the dead bear, and securing what choice portions they wanted. it promised to be a long task, but phil did it, as he was in the habit of doing everything he undertook, with exactness. lub kept on taking more fish, though whenever he found a breathing spell between bites he would amble over to watch what phil was doing, and make remarks. "i'll have that skin made into a fine rug, some of these days," he declared, as he ran his hand over the silky hair; "and every time i look at it i'll remember what a great time i had luring the beast within range of your guns." "what would have been your plan of campaign, lub, in case we had not happened to be within hailing distance?" asked phil, looking quite innocent as he said it. lub gave him rather a suspicious glance, and then replied loftily: "oh! i don't know. to be frank i hadn't reached that point. mebbe i might have used my knife, and cut the fish line, so he could grab the muscalonge. then while he was devouring that i might have found a chance to sneak up behind and finish the rascal with one sure blow from my trusty hunting knife. course i don't actually say i _would_ have done that; but it might have occurred to me, you know." when phil allowed his memory to go back and recall the look of terror he had seen on lub's white face he decided in his own mind that there was about as much chance of such a wonderful feat being carried out as there was of lub developing wings and flying. "you're getting as many fish as we can well use, i reckon, lub?" he remarked, to change the subject. "sure thing, phil; and after i pull in three more i think i'll call it off for to-day. i've covered a good many miles, running from one hole to another, and back again over the whole line. i didn't come up here to reduce myself to a shadow, you know. over-work is a bad thing for a growing boy, they say." "there's only one thing i'll always be sorry for, lub." "you mean about this bear adventure, don't you?" asked the other, suspiciously. "yes. i should have kept my wits about me and have done it, too." "what was that, phil?" "snatched up my camera and managed to snap off a picture of how you lured your bear into the trap. some of our boy friends down brewster-way would like to see it. they may be inclined to doubt more or less when they hear the story; but that would be proof they'd have to accept as genuine, lub." the fat boy seemed to consider it for a brief time. when he turned to meet phil's gaze again there was a whimsical expression on his face that spoke volumes. "well, on the whole, phil," he went on to say, "i guess i'm just as glad you did forget to grab up your camera that time. you see, in telling a story a fellow might accidentally embellish just a little more each time; and a picture is a terrible accusation, for it keeps you pinned down close to facts. there, i've got a bite on two lines. whoof, hold on!" chapter v x-ray straps on his snow-shoes long before evening came around lub had time to recover from his excessive labors of the day, so that he was in good trim to start supper. "it wasn't so much the strain of fishing, and attending to half a dozen tip-ups that knocked me out, as that warm little dance the bear led me, you see, fellows," he explained, when some one chanced to remark that he got up on his feet as though his knee-joints were stiff and rusty. "yes," said ethan, drily, "this thing of _luring_ is always hard on the muscles and nerves. only the most rugged constitutions can stand it." lub grinned, but did not pursue the subject any further. he was soon busily engaged in cooking the fish which had been cleaned and prepared long before. luckily they had two good-sized frying-pans with them; for that was one of the occasions where they came in handy. nothing would do but they must have some bear steak, though phil warned them they were apt to find it rather tough. still, who would have the heart to complain about a little thing like that, when the game had fallen to their own rifles, after lub had gotten in his fine work; certainly none of the mountain boys, who had gone through too many episodes along these lines not to accept things as they came, with a laugh and a good word. that was a bounteous feast, and one to be long remembered. the fish tasted as sweet as shad, and had the same sort of "pitchfork" bones in them too, which must be watched for, and jealousy guarded against. if the bear steak was hard to masticate, at the same time it was a camp dinner, not one served on a damask tablecloth, with cut-glass, and silver, and napkins to boot! "well, it's coming along at last, fellows!" announced x-ray tyson, about the time they had finished their meal. "what's that you're referring to?" demanded ethan; while lub looked hastily on all sides of him, just as though he half expected to see the mate of his bear standing there on the border of the camp, and sniffing at the odor of cooked meat that still hung around the scene. "why, don't you see 'em trailing down?" demanded x-ray, who seemed to be quite jubilant over something or other. "he means it's commenced to snow!" said ethan. "just what," the other added, "and if it gets a good move on perhaps to-morrow will see me gliding along on my snow-shoes that i've owned nearly a year now, and never had a decent chance to use." he made a dive over to where the said articles were hanging, and taking them down proceeded to try them on. the others had seen x-ray do this so often that it was no novel sight to them. phil, who had had considerable experience with snow-shoes, had shown the other some little "wrinkles" in connection with fixing the clumsy contraptions to his feet, so that x-ray was quite proficient, so far as that part of it went. he seemed to fancy that there would be no trouble at all about spinning along over the country, once he "got the hang of things." "i'm bound to pull off some stunts while we're up here," he remarked, as he sat and looked at his prized possessions, now fastened with the straps to the toes of his shoes, leaving the heels free; "and i only hope the snow gets knee-deep by morning. i've read about how hunters up here in canada chase the moose when a crust forms on the deep snow, and i want to try it for myself." "that is reckoned the best time for hunting," phil explained; "though it doesn't seem hardly fair to the caribou or the moose. you see, with their weight and their sharp hoofs they break through the crust at every jump, and flounder more or less in the drifts; while the hunter on his broad snow-shoes glides swiftly along, and can easily overtake the strongest of them." "how about those moose yards i've read about?" asked ethan, who though a descendant of a new england family knew much less about big-game hunting than did phil. "oh! they are found in new brunswick, and parts of canada as well," the other explained. "when the snow gets very deep, so that the moose find it hard to move around in the woods, they make their way to some place previously selected, where they can feed on the tender shoots of certain trees. there they stay, trampling the snow down constantly, until the place looks like an enclosure surrounded by walls of snow." "then that's how it came to be called a moose yard, i suppose?" ventured lub, who was listening to all of this talk, even though he did not profess to be very fond of hunting. "yes," phil continued; "and there are some hunters so low down in the scale as real sportsmen that if they ran upon one of these yards they would take advantage of the opportunity to slaughter every one of the moose in it, no matter if they numbered ten or a dozen." "but good gracious! isn't there a law limiting the number of moose any one person can shoot in a year?" asked lub. "of course there is, and it's generally a single specimen, because moose are getting more and more scarce every season," said phil; "but what does the game law signify to these hogs? so long as they can feel pretty sure of not being found out there's nothing too mean for them to do." "what a shame they can't all be arrested, and sent up for a term of years," lub remarked, indignantly. "and don't think for a minute," ethan broke in with, "that it's the guides who do things like that. they know better than to kill the goose that lays the golden egg for them. on the contrary, as a rule it is some reckless so-called sportsman who allows his primal passion to have full play when he finds himself up against such a golden opportunity. and i suppose he even makes his boasts of what great feats he performed when he finds himself back home with other fellows about the same build as himself." the snow was by this time falling heavily. if it kept up at that rate, by morning it would certainly be measured by a dozen inches. x-ray was so tickled he could hardly think of taking his snow-shoes off, but sat there a long time admiring the bent wood and stretched gut contrivances which men have used for so many years as a means for getting over the drifts of these cold countries. "looks like you meant to sit up all night, admiring yourself, x-ray!" suggested ethan finally, with a little touch of sarcasm in his voice. "better put a chain on him, and make sure he doesn't scoot out in the night!" lub sang out. "that word scoot makes me think of the motorboat we had down there on old currituck sound a while back," chuckled x-ray, not at all bothered it seemed by these remarks on the part of his chums; "you remember it was called the _skoot_, though for that matter it belied its name, for it never could go fast." soon afterward, however, x-ray relieved lub's anxious mind by removing the snow-shoes, and saying as he did so: "guess i can wait till to-morrow for my run; and, phil, remember, you gave me your solemn promise to keep me company the first chance that came along?" "we'll see," was all phil would admit. "lucky we got our bully little shack all done before this started in, eh, boys?" remarked ethan. "it held off for us, which was a mighty fine thing for the weather to do," lub told them, as he changed around in order to get his back warm, for he was now thinking of turning in. they had arranged it so that the shack could be closed against the weather in time of stress. phil made sure they had an abundance of fuel handy, for he said they would need it right along. the fire was to be kept up through the night; for a certain amount of heat might be expected to enter the lean-to through the opening where the canvas apron was drawn aside. the fresh meat was hung from a limb, and high enough from the ground to prevent any wandering wolf from jumping up and carrying it off. lub had been very solicitous about that part of the program, instructing the others to make sure by actual tests that it was a sufficient distance from the ground. "bear meat is too hard to get," he said, with considerable pride, "to want to feed it to the sneaking wolves." of course the others indulged in another pantomime laugh, as though they quite enjoyed hearing the peace-loving lub talk in that strain. it did them no harm, and seemed to afford lub more or less pleasure, so none of them attempted to shatter his dream of conquest by rude remarks. although x-ray tyson was the one most interested in the snowfall he never aroused himself enough at any time during the night to crawl out and take an observation as to the state of the weather. phil and ethan looked after the fire; though on several occasions when one of them reentered the shack after performing this duty a sleepy voice would inquire after the weather conditions, and on hearing that the snow was still falling heavily x-ray would grunt his usual phrase: "that's hunky-dory; let her come!" with the arrival of morning there could no longer be any doubt that winter had set in for good. a foot of snow on the level, with many drifts that were several times that deep, told how busy the old man plucking geese aloft had been while the mountain boys slept. x-ray was wild with delight. "at last my day has come around!" he kept repeating over and over; "the day i've been waiting for so long. when shall we make a start, phil?" "certainly not till after we've had a good hot breakfast, for one thing," asserted the other; "and if it keeps on falling like it does now nothing would tempt me to start out for a snow-shoe tramp." "but it looks to me like the clouds were ready to break over there in the northwest," urged the eager one. "let her break, then," phil told him; "time enough to talk about going when we see the sun peeping out. i understand it's no soft snap to get twisted up in this same canadian bush, with a blizzard blowing the snow down, and the cold getting away below zero point." "whoo! excuse me if you please," spoke up lub; "i'll take mine out alongside this cheery blaze. somebody has got to eat the drumsticks, my mother always says; and even in camp there must be a cook." "and a jolly good one we happen to have along with us!" remarked x-ray, generously. "no taffy, please," warned lub. "i may take a notion to strike, one of these days, and then the rest of you would have to throw up heads or tails to see who takes my place." "we hope that day will be a long way off," declared the wily ethan, "because the chances are we'd have to come to eating that _erbswurst_ just as it is, because no one could do justice to the culinary department after being spoiled the way we have." of course lub was not so green as to think they meant all they said; yet at the same time it must have been pleasant for him to know his valiant efforts over the fire were appreciated by his chums. he worked harder than ever, and the satisfied smile that spread over his rosy face told that his thoughts were happy. after all x-ray was right about those clouds, although he did not claim to be a weather prophet, as he had once done. even as they sat there and made away with the fine breakfast that had been prepared a bright ray of sunlight fell aslant the party; and looking out they could see that the snow had a dazzling appearance. "bully for that!" cried x-ray; "if i didn't have my breakfast in my lap i'd feel like jumping up and dancing a hornpipe for joy. that means we'll soon be starting forth on our snow-shoes, eh, phil?" "i suppose you'll never give me a minute's peace until i do go out with you," the other declared, with a laugh; "though it's pretty hard work paddling around on snow-shoes when there isn't a trace of crust on top of the fall to hold you up. you see, every step you have to drag a shoe after you, and when the stuff is soft it means real work." "well, you never were known to go back on your word, rain or shine," said the other, in a satisfied sort of way, as though he did not mean to let it worry him in the least. half an hour later they were getting in readiness for the start. "we'll carry our guns of course," said phil, "for we might run across a caribou, and just now a little venison in camp wouldn't come in bad. and make sure to take plenty of ammunition along, for while we may not need it you never can tell. likewise some matches besides your usual supply. i'll put up a snack for our lunch; and besides we can carry some of that pemmican from the six pound can. nothing to equal it as a life-saver in a pinch." "whew! to hear you talk," said the astonished lub, "one would think you really _expected_ to get lost, and roam through the bush for days before you struck our own camp again; but of course you don't, phil?" "if i did think so i'd hesitate about going out," the other told him. "in doing what i am, lub, i'm only taking out an insurance policy. no man expects a fire is really going to come and eat up his house; it's the last thing he looks for; and yet all the same he wants his mind to be at ease. if it should hit him he is in a condition to rebuild again. well, chances are ten to one we'll bring this condensed food back with us; but in case we _do_ need it we'll be mighty glad we have it along. and that's the right kind of policy to follow when you're off in the bush; for it is often the unexpected that happens." presently they had looked after every minute detail that could be thought of; and as x-ray was very impatient to be off phil did not have the heart to delay any longer. "here we go to hit the snow-shoe trail!" sang out the exultant x-ray; and then he found it necessary to go through some violent contortions of the body in order to keep himself from tripping over his own feet, encumbered as they were with such unaccustomed appendages. phil had given him a staff, however, which he was expected to use in case of any need; and this prevented him from falling. a minute later, and waving good-by to the others the two started forth. chapter vi a quarrel over the game "i'm getting to do first-rate at it, don't you think, phil?" asked x-ray, after they had been moving along for an hour and more. "yes, you seem to have mastered the trick all right," he was told, "though you did take a few headers when you grew too confident. snow-shoes can only be successfully mastered through experience. they are clumsy things to a novice, and apt to play all sorts of sly tricks on him. i've seen a chap with both feet sticking up out of a drift; and unable to get out alone." "yes, i'd think they would act about the same as a life preserver fastened down around a fellow's knees. the very thing you are depending on to save you turns out your worst enemy when you treat it the wrong way. now watch me make a little speed, phil." "take care. pride goes before a fall, they say. there, that's the time you did manage to tumble in good earnest." "help me up, that's a good fellow, phil. i guess i'll feel my way after this. you may think you have mastered snow-shoes, but as you say they can spring a trick on you unawares. your feet get twisted, and of course down you flop. but i'm satisfied with as far as i've gotten. the next thing is to learn to slide over a crust like the wind, climbing rises, and spinning down the other side like you were on skis. say, it must be great sport; i hope it melts a little soon, and then freezes on top." "probably it will, now that you have expressed a wish that way," chuckled phil, who was really having more or less fun observing the actions of the new beginner. a short time later and phil uttered an exclamation. "what have you struck now?" asked x-ray, eagerly. phil pointed to the snow close by. "some animal has gone along here, sure enough!" said x-ray, bending over to examine the marks more closely. "a moose most likely, eh, phil?" "no, it was a caribou," the other assured him. "a horse of another color, then; but it means game, all the same, phil?" "yes, caribou are classed in that list, and make pretty good eating, too," the other explained. "of course we might take a little turn after the old chap, just to give me my first snow-shoe hunt; say yes, phil." "there's no reason that i can see why we shouldn't, though we don't want to get too far away from camp, because it's heavy work dragging a pair of shoes after you, once you begin to feel tired." "we can stop whenever you think it's best," promised x-ray. accordingly they began to follow the trail. it was so easy any novice could have done it; and yet there was a certain thrilling sensation about the whole matter that gave the new beginner much pleasure. he had so often pictured himself in some such scene as this that the reality afforded him more genuine delight than words could describe. phil allowed him to take the lead, thinking that would satisfy x-ray; who while not so fond of hunting as ethan, at the same time was able to enjoy it to a certain extent. with the trees all heavily laden with snow, some of the birches and pines bent almost double under the burden, it was a beautiful scene by which the two boys found themselves surrounded. phil admired everything as he went along. x-ray seemed to be thinking only of the chance they might have to come up with the caribou, and wondering if they would have the good luck to bring it down in case they did sight it. he had never seen a caribou in his life, though he knew they were a species of deer inhabiting the barrens of new brunswick and canada, where they are often run across in herds of hundreds. the snow was deep enough to give considerable trouble to the animal they were following, though it seemed that he kept persistently on. he was possibly heading for a certain rendezvous where he knew he would find others of his kind assembled, to pass the severe weather in company, as a protection against roving wolves that would soon bring a straggler down, yet dare not attack a herd. x-ray was more or less excited. every little while he would in a whisper ask his companion what he thought about it, and if they were drawing up on the caribou. "seems to me the trail is getting a heap fresher," x-ray suggested; though truth to tell that was put forward as a "feeler" to draw out an opinion from phil, and not because he knew much about the tracks. "yes, it is getting fresher all the time," admitted phil; "which shows that we are making much better time than the caribou. but it remains to be seen whether he can put on a burst of speed when he sights us that will leave us far in the lurch. he may be taking it easy along here." "and what if he does flicker away and out of sight before we can drop him, phil; do we keep up the good work, or drop out?" "if he once gets going good and hard," phil declared, "we might as well say good-day to him, and head back toward the camp." "the camp! well, if you asked me now, i couldn't tell you which way we'd have to go to get there; but of course you know, phil? you always were a great hand to keep tabs of things." "yes, i've been watching our course all the while," phil told him, confidently. "and whereabouts would you say the camp lay from here, then?" asked x-ray. without the slightest hesitation phil pointed straight into the southeast. "if you started off and kept a bee-line that way i believe you'd come within pistol-shot of our shack," he affirmed. "when you struck the shore of the lake it would be easy to locate the camp by the smoke rising, if not from other landmarks that every wise hunter would have jotted down in his memory." x-ray did not continue the low conversation immediately; he was trying to remember if there was any such landmark that he might have noticed close to the camp, and on the ice-bound shore of the lake. "oh! yes, there was the odd-shaped tree that looked like an old man on his knees and saying his prayers!" he broke out with, a look of satisfaction crossing his face at being able to recollect; "that was near by, and i think i would know it from across the lake if i happened to strike in there." "i'm glad you remembered," said phil; "but suppose we stop whispering now." "oh, my, do you expect we're as close to him as all that, phil?" demanded x-ray, beginning to finger at the lock of his gun, in order to make sure it was in readiness for quick use in an emergency. "he passed along here just a bit ago, for a fact," phil told him. they continued to push on, with that trail always before them, though sometimes they turned aside on account of the barrier presented by a growth of bushes, through which the caribou had gone. phil had now come up alongside his companion, and noticing this x-ray believed things must be quickly getting to a stage when something was liable to happen. he was expecting to see the caribou ahead of them at some little distance, and paid but small attention to points close at hand. when without the least warning there was a sudden rattling sound heard, and a large brown animal was seen departing with great leaps, x-ray gave utterance to a gasp of disappointment. even as the two young hunters threw their guns to their shoulders the fleeting caribou suddenly shifted its course, and turning abruptly to the right, sped on. it now presented a splendid mark, and the two shots rang out almost as one. a remarkable thing happened just then. with the crash of their rifles the animal was seen to leap high in the air, just as deer often will when stricken in full flight. and to the astonishment of the boys another report sounded from the other side of the caribou! "he's down, phil!" shrilled x-ray, trembling with the excitement. "yes, come on!" replied the other, immediately starting forward as fast as he could go on his snow-shoes. "but, phil, wasn't that another shot we heard?" expostulated x-ray tyson, as he did his level best to keep close to the heels of his chum. "yes, it was a gunshot," snapped phil, who seemed to be laboring under some sort of emotion, though x-ray could not say what its character might be. they could see where the caribou had struck when he fell. his antlered head was resting on the snow, showing that he had fallen with that last leap, with his legs under him. phil saw a figure advancing from the opposite quarter, and also on snow-shoes. he was pleased to note there was only one, for he anticipated that there was likely to be trouble of some sort around that locality before long. "there the other hunter comes, phil!" said x-ray, wanting to be sure that his chum was made aware of the important fact. "all right, but we're going to get up before he does," was all phil replied. the first thing he did on reaching the spot where the stricken caribou lay was to bend down and closely examine the right side. as said before the animal lay just as it had fallen, so that both haunches were in plain view, did any one take the trouble to step around. phil was gratified with what he saw in that hasty survey; but nevertheless he immediately leaned over to ascertain the condition of the animal's left side. by that time x-ray had come up, and the stranger sportsman was also close at hand. up to that moment phil had not taken the pains to give the other a look; but as he had found out all he wanted concerning the state of affairs in connection with the game, he now turned his attention on the advancing man. he was a rather stout and exceedingly peppery looking individual, who was rather out of breath, and puffing from his exertions. his florid face did not impress phil favorably at all; it seemed to sense the bully, and the overbearing man of millions, accustomed to lording it over others. there was no question at all in phil's mind but that this man was a member of the other party he had been told was in camp in that vicinity. he might have even thought him to be a beef-eating englishman only that his information had been to the effect that they were all americans from below the border. "i don't like his looks!" muttered x-ray. "no more do i," added phil, under his breath, for the stranger sportsman was getting close up by then, and might hear if words were spoken in an ordinary tone. "but the game is ours without a question, and we're going to have what we want to carry off, make up your mind to that." "bully!" muttered x-ray, who was inclined to be pugnacious on occasion; and at any rate never disposed to allow himself to be "used as a door mat, for some other person to wipe his feet on," as he used to put it. perhaps phil meant something when he calmly placed his foot on the fallen game. it was a significant move, at any rate, and could hardly be mistaken. it struck x-ray as peculiarly defiant, and he felt like chuckling as he watched to see what that red-faced individual did when he arrived on the scene of action. if anything his face took on a deeper tint until it looked almost purple. when he saw that he had only two boys to contend with the other hunter must have believed he could frighten them with his looks, for he scowled like a pirate. somehow neither of the mountain boys drew back and began to apologize for daring to rob him of any of the free air. and no sooner had he arrived than the domineering tactics, with which perhaps he had pushed himself through business so as to accumulate his million, began to make themselves manifest. "here, what are you doing with your foot on _my_ caribou, i'd like to know?" was what he jerked out, being still short of breath. "excuse me, sir, but you'll have to explain what you mean," said phil, coolly. "i am not aware of taking any such liberties with your caribou. if it happens that you are referring to this animal here, you've made a big mistake, that's all. it is _our_ game; we saw it first, shot it first, and got here first. so you'll have to go to court and put in a claim. possession in this case is nine points of the law!" the man stared at the speaker. he evidently had seldom been spoken to in that manner before, certainly never by a mere boy. and yet something in phil's face must have impressed him as worth observing. he saw that those eyes were fastened on him with a steady and keen look that did not falter under his scowl, or his muttering. "i tell you it is my caribou, for i shot it," he proceeded to affirm, embellishing his assertion with certain strong words which he doubtless expected might make the boys hesitate before they went any further and incurred his ill-will. "i was just creeping up within easy gunshot when you came along and scared the beast. i claim it as my prize." "and we have been trailing the same caribou for at least two hours," said x-ray under the impression that since he was a party to the dispute he should at least be allowed to get a few words in. "the matter is easily settled," said phil, quietly. "i am glad to see that you mean to act sensibly; for since you came up after i had started to stalk the caribou it put you in the wrong," the other said, as if rather relieved in his mind at the turn affairs had taken. "don't mistake me, sir," continued phil; "what i meant was that we can easily prove which has the right to the game. there's a way to settle that question that neither of us can rightly deny. if you look over here at this side of the caribou, which was the side toward us, you remember, you will find that _two_ bullets entered his body, one directly in the region of his heart. that shot killed the animal instantly. he could only make one jump, and then collapsed as you see him." "humph!" grunted the stout red-faced sportsman, with one of his ugly frowns; "and i suppose then you'll make out that i missed him entirely?" "i'm not making out anything, sir, for you can see from the red mark just where your lead cut a little section from his hind leg. i'm sure i heard it sing past me and hardly ten feet away. that hurt would never have crippled a strong beast like a young bull caribou. you would never have had the least chance to lay claim to any of the meat if you had depended on your shot. but we're not greedy, sir; and if you care to forget this little unpleasantness we'll gladly call it our combined trophy of the chase, and divide the meat with you!" it was a generous offer, and did the boy credit; but apparently the quarrelsome sportsman with the purple face felt himself insulted by being patronized by a couple of boys, for he ground his teeth together, and looked daggers at phil. chapter vii not to be bluffed "i mean to have all, or none!" and as he said these words the red-faced hunter glowered at phil as though he felt like eating him, x-ray afterwards declared. "suit yourself, sir," remarked the boy, coolly drawing out his hunting knife. the man looked a little startled; perhaps he thought phil intended to attack him. "be careful what you mean to do, boy!" he stammered, some of the color leaving his fade; but he saw that x-ray stood there with his gun under his arm, and finger playing with the lock, so he dared not try to elevate his own weapon in order to threaten phil. "i expect to cut this caribou up," said phil, firmly. "half of it is as much as we care to tote back to our camp with us. i shall leave the balance here. you can take it or leave it, as you choose, sir. it matters nothing to us." he turned and said something in so low a tone to x-ray that the sportsman could not catch its import. since the other boy immediately drew back the hammer of his repeating rifle, and swung the weapon slightly around until it was pointing directly at the man he could easily guess what phil had told his chum. "perhaps you do not know who i am," blustered the owner of the red face. "well, you haven't taken the trouble to introduce yourself yet, i believe, sir," phil told him. "my name is james bodman, and i am interested in american railways!" it was amusing to see the way the stout party drew himself up proudly as he said this. of course phil knew instantly that he was face to face with one of the best known millionaire railroad owners in the whole united states; and he also remembered reading that the same james bodman was noted as a domineering financial despot. phil did not flinch. he gave no sign of being greatly impressed by the importance of the other's position in the world of finance. instead he merely flirted his hand around to indicate his chum, and remarked with the greatest indifference possible: "oh! is that so? well, let me introduce my friend, raymond tyson, mr. bodman. as for myself i'm phil bradley." that was all phil said. he immediately started work on the fallen caribou, with an air of business that could not brook delay. there were some miles of snowy bush to be traversed before he and his comrade could expect to reach their camp, and he did not wish to be detained any more than was absolutely necessary. meanwhile x-ray was having considerable fun in watching the expressions that chased each other across the florid countenance of the stout hunter. mr. bodman apparently found himself taken aback by the indifferent manner in which the news of his identity was received. he had possibly expected the boys to be dazed, and perhaps hasten to beg his august pardon. "huh! you'll be sorry for this, let me tell you!" he finally burst out with. "so?" phil simply said, as he continued with deft strokes to hack away at the part of the dead caribou's carcass he meant to carry off with him. unable to stay there and be defied so boldly, the sportsman turned his back on his tormentors. he looked as though he might be close on having a fit of some kind the last they saw of him. once he turned and shook his fist in their direction. x-ray half raised his gun, as though to let him understand two could play at that game if he dreamed of firing at them; but apparently mr. bodman had no intention of risking a shot, for he moved away clumsily on his snow-shoes, with which he was no adept, it appeared. x-ray chuckled as though tremendously amused. "just hear him growling like a bear with a sore head, will you, phil? my stars! but he does hate a fellow who has the gall to sass him to his face. i guess he's so swelled up with a sense of his importance, that he expects everybody to fall to trembling when he says so high and mighty like: 'i am james bodman, huh!'" "i feel that i did the right thing, x-ray," said phil, working away industriously. "you were more than generous to offer him half, when he didn't deserve a pound of this meat," said the other, scornfully. "what if he did draw blood, that wound wouldn't have feazed the caribou even a little bit. but it seems that mr. bodman's policy has been rule or ruin all his life, and he can't get away from it. in plain language i'd call him the great american hog." "i'd hate to have any dealings with that sort of a man," phil continued. "he's the kind that always wants the best, and others can take the leavings." "that's how he got his millions, i reckon," x-ray suggested. "seems that there's a glut in the market of hard cases up here in this canadian bush while we're on our little hunt, what with this bully, and that other one to boot." "meaning anson baylay, the poacher, and all-round terror of the backwoods, eh, x-ray?" "say, i'd give something to see those two run up against each other, and have it out. the free show would beat the old one you hear about, when "'there once were two cats in kilkenny, and each thought there was one cat too many. so they quarreled and fit; and they gouged and they bit, till save the tips of their nails and the ends of their tails, there was naught left of the two cats of kilkenny.'" "it looks to me as if this mr. bodman might be a bad hater," mused phil; "and all i hope is he doesn't get a chance to give us trouble while we're up here." "why, how could he do that, phil; the woods are free to every one; and i'm sure we paid for our hunting licenses as he did, if he is worth his millions. in what way could he injure us?" "mind, i don't say he will try to do anything," urged phil. "fact is, i hope on second thought the man may come to the conclusion he made a fool of himself. perhaps he'll hide until we go away, and then return to get his share of the meat. he may even keep it secret that he met his match in two american boys. that would end the matter, so far as we are concerned." "i suppose he's got a pretty hard crowd over with him in his camp; that lumber-jack gave us to understand as much. they might take a notion to make it unpleasant for us up here, so we'd want to clear out. but they'd better go slow. the mountain boys can stand up for their rights." "let's forget all about the unpleasant experience, and talk of other things," was phil's wise suggestion. later on, when he had secured all the meat they would care to carry, at least a fair half of the carcass remained untouched. "if he cares to come back and cut it up he's welcome," said phil, as they prepared to leave the scene of the killing; "if not, i warrant you there will be only clean-picked bones here by to-morrow morning." "yes, with so many hungry wolves hanging around," added x-ray; "if they're all like that one we bagged at our camp they could clean up a mess like this in half a jiffy." nothing occurred on the way home, and in good time the two weary snow-shoe trampers came in sight of the lake and the camp. when it was learned that they had been successful in their search for a caribou the other two expressed considerable delight; lub because it would be a new kind of food for them to experiment on, and ethan regarding the exploit with the interest of a born hunter. "and, phil?" the latter immediately broke out with, "to-morrow i hope you'll take another little trip with me. i kind of think i know where we can get a moose; and you've been saying you want to shoot one in the snow forest with your camera." "how is that?" demanded phil, naturally interested at once. "why, i took a little turn around this afternoon, just to exercise my pins, and practice with my show-shoes, because i'm not as clever at it as you. and i just had a glimpse of a big moose scooting off through the brush." "did you fire at the beast?" asked phil; "because if you wounded him the chances are he'd keep on going as long as he could move his hoofs, and we'd never get a sight of him again." "why, no, i hope i'm too good a sportsman to shoot recklessly when there isn't one chance in a hundred of my bringing the game down," said ethan a little indignantly. "i want to be fairly sure when i throw lead; i don't believe in giving any animal unnecessary pain." "excuse me, ethan, i ought to have known you better than to ask that. and if the day is anyway decent i'll promise to take a wide turn with you." "thank you, phil, for saying that; and i hope on my part we get close enough up for you to snap off the old bull moose before we drop him." "did you see that it was a bull?" asked the other, curiously. "well, no, i didn't for a fact," replied ethan; "i just caught sight of the big beast; then the brush closed behind him, and left me staring, with my gun half way up to my shoulder. but it was a good-sized one, let me tell you, even making allowances for any little excitement on my part." the caribou had chanced to be a young one, which phil considered fortunate indeed. lub did his very best at cooking the steaks cut from the joint, but for all that none of the boys seemed to be wildly pleased with the meat. the fact probably was they had too many good things along with them; had their larder been empty, and their stomachs craving food, that meal would have been a real hunters' feast without a doubt. "i think we're doing remarkably well, so far," lub was saying, after they were through with supper, and sat around in lazy attitudes, enjoying the sparkle and glow of the comfortable fire; "what with getting a real savage wolf, a walking bear, and now a caribou, the last a species of deer which none of us have ever seen before." "yes, all we need now to complete the string of big game to be found up here is a moose, together with a lynx that has tassels on its ears," laughed ethan; "and to-morrow may bring that list down to the cat tribe, if phil and myself have any luck on our tramp." "i'm wondering how i can set my usual flashlight trap up here of nights, so as to get a few pictures of canadian wild animals in their native haunts," phil remarked. "if any of you happen to glimpse the tracks of a fox, or a mink, or any sort of little beast, be sure and let me know. i want to follow the trail up and learn where he has his haunt, so i can lay for him." "how about the beaver houses mr. mcnab told us we might find up that stream, unless some sportsmen or fur-gatherers have cleaned the colony out?" ethan asked. "i was thinking of that," replied phil, "and there may be a chance for us to hit that same stream on our way to-morrow. so i think i'll carry my camera along, and be ready." "i've seen their houses behind a dam they'd made," remarked ethan; "but it was in the early fall. a place like that must look picturesque when the snow is everywhere around." "i hope we can find the colony pond, and that the hard working beaver haven't been cleaned out," phil continued; after which the conversation drifted into other channels, though ethan would not be apt to forget when the morrow came, for he was always a great hand to recollect things. the night had closed in as cold as ever, and it was easy to be seen that winter was getting a good firm grip up here in the far northern wilderness of canada, and in the famous saguenay river region. with all the comforts they had at hand the boys did not dream of complaining; in fact they were thoroughly enjoying every minute of their stay. even x-ray, who a year back had been rather inclined to seem sickly, was showing a remarkable improvement in his physique, partly due no doubt to these days and nights, spent in the open air, when on excursions with his three chums. long they sat there before the cheery camp fire, laughing, singing some of their school songs, telling stories, and having the time of their lives, as lub declared. the stout chum insisted on having the skin of "his" bear close to him most of the time, and he was very fond of running his hand down the long shaggy hair in a caressing way. he hoped he would be able to impress those fellows at home in brewster with the wonderful value of being smart enough to lure a bear within gunshot of his comrades. and surely none of them would be so mean as to sneer at his claim to the quarry on that score. at any rate trials so far in the future could not give happy-go-lucky lub any harassing care. he was in fine spirits on this particular night, and kept the others in roars of laughter with his comical sayings, and his songs. later on they sought their blankets. the program of the previous night was duplicated, and the fire kept burning through the long hours when darkness held sway over the primeval wilderness. morning showed no important change in the weather conditions, for which ethan at least was glad. x-ray grumbled a little, because he had hoped a short thaw might set in, so they could have a glaze of thin ice on top of that deep blanket of snow, for he wanted now to try his hand at gliding swiftly over the levels, climbing ascents after a fashion, and spinning down the slopes beyond like the wind. ethan was ready soon after breakfast, and phil did not detain him long, waiting only to make sure that as on the previous day they carried such things along with them as would come in handy in case they found themselves detained longer than they figured on. lub and x-ray gave them a parting cheer. "make it moose for supper to-night, fellows!" called the latter. "variety is the spice of life, you know!" lub told them; "and since i've got my hand in so well at cooking, nothing scares me these days. why, i'd as soon try a steak of elephant meat, a piece of a giraffe, or perhaps a monkey roast. so-long, boys, and good-luck to you all!" chapter viii again on the trail "here's about where i stood when i heard something rushing off, and looked just in time to get a peek at the moose." as he said this ethan pointed down to where the marks of his snow-shoes could be plainly seen. "now lead me to where you saw the moose, which i take it must have been over there in that direction," remarked phil. "as sure as you live," declared the other; "and i guess you knew that from the way my tracks set, eh, phil?" "just what i did look at the first thing," confessed the other. presently they were bending over the trail in the deep snow which showed where the alarmed moose had gone plunging off. "it's a moose, all right," phil admitted, without much delay. "can you tell if it was a bull?" asked the other. "well, not from the tracks. did you happen to notice any horns on the beast?" was what phil inquired. "i can't just say i did; but then it all happened so quick i couldn't be dead sure either way. it's a good-sized critter anyway, i think, phil." "yes, no doubt about that, ethan. but let's get started on the trail." that pleased ethan, for he was full of eagerness. the love for hunting ran full and strong in his veins. phil used to be built in the same way, but since discovering the peculiar fascination of hunting with a flashlight camera he seemed to be losing much of his former liking for killing game. he would much rather spend his time playing his skill and brains against the natural caution of the wearers of fur, in endeavoring to photograph them in their native haunts. for a while they continued to move along. sometimes they could make pretty good speed, where the going was easy; and then again it became necessary to push through thickets where the branches were so thick as to hold them up. "have you any idea yet whether it's a bull or a cow?" asked ethan, after they must have been going fully two hours. "not absolutely," returned phil; "but i've got an idea we're going to find it the latter." "tell me what you base your judgment on, please, phil." "i may be all wrong at that," replied the other, who never set himself up as infallible. "there have been a few places where the chase led us through thick woods, with the lower limbs of the trees hanging down under their snow burden just so far. if the moose had big horns, which would be the case in a bull, no matter how far back on his shoulders he laid them they would be apt to break some of the twigs loose above, and we'd have seen them lying on the snow." "then i take it from what you say there were none of these signs, eh, phil?" "not that i could see, and i looked carefully, not once but several times. i'm afraid, ethan, your moose is going to turn out a big cow after all." "and we promised ourselves we wouldn't shoot a cow moose even if we had to go without such big game, didn't we, phil?" "that's where i have the bulge on you, ethan," laughed the other. "as how?" demanded the eager hunter; "you sure subscribed to that rule with the rest of us, phil." "yes, but only so far as my gun went," he was told; "i can shoot that cow with my camera, and never injure a hair of her hide, you see." at that ethan shrugged his shoulders, and made a grimace. "yes, that's a fact, you have got the jump on us, phil. but i suppose, then, we can keep on the move, and take our chance of catching up with the cow, so as to let you get in a snap-shot of the same?" "we'll keep going up, to a certain limit," figured phil; "i wouldn't care to tramp beyond that. we'd want to be able to make the home camp by night, you know." "as for that," said ethan, indifferently, "what should we worry about even if we had to stay out a night? fact is, i'd rather enjoy the experience in your company. so don't count me in when you're figuring things, phil. i c'n take pot-luck any old time." as on the previous day phil could readily tell that they were gaining on the animal they followed. he had shown ethan where the moose spent the previous night and it seemed as though the animal could not have been very greatly alarmed by seeing the young hunter, for it had not gone more than two miles after that before stopping to browse upon some tender branches of a certain tree, and stop until another day dawned. the trail did not always keep on in a direct line, but there was more or less of a zigzag movement about it. from this phil drew the conclusion that the moose must be scouring the bush in hopes of meeting up with others of its kind, so as to keep company with them for the balance of the long winter. it began to get along toward high noon. ethan felt hungry, since they had been on the tramp a long while now. still he did not dream of stopping to build a fire, and waste time with such foolishness, thus losing most of the advantage they had gained. "we can chew at something as we keep right along, eh, phil?" he remarked, after mentioning the subject of lunch. "yes, unless we come up with our game before the sun is at the zenith," the other replied. "of course, after we've met the moose we needn't be in such a hurry, and an hour's rest would make both of us feel a heap better for the return journey." apparently ethan was quite content to let it go at that, for he did not mention the subject again. a short time afterward phil whispered that the trail was so fresh he would not be surprised if they came in sight of the moose at any moment. he had slung his gun to his back and held his camera ready for instant use in case the chance came. of course they could never have come so close to the animal had the wind been blowing from them toward the moose; but the animal followed the habit of most of the deer tribe in advancing into the wind, so as to be able to detect any danger ahead. then all at once ethan gave a low cry. "look, phil!" there was a snap, and phil had secured a picture of a big animal not unlike a hornless domestic cow standing there staring at them. he even had time to roll the film and get his camera in condition for business again before, with a sudden plunge the unwieldy beast went off through the drifts. "got two beauty shots at her, didn't you?" queried ethan; "oh! what a dandy chance for me to pull trigger, if it had only been a big bull with massive horns. but i'm glad for your sake there was so fine a picture. it ought to make a dandy showing, with the snow woods for a background, and those dark firs on the right." of course now that the excitement was all over the boys began to feel somewhat tired after such tedious walking with the clumsy snow-shoes; so when phil suggested that they find a good place, make a cheerful fire, and sit around in comfort while they ate their lunch, there was no objection from his companion. a fire is certainly the hunter's best friend, in winter time at least. without it how gloomy and cheerless would his surroundings appear, and what physical discomfort must he endure? the two boys sat there for more than an hour, a friendly log serving them for a seat. there was plenty of fuel to be had for the gathering; indeed, the site had been selected on that very account. "i'm trying to make out just which way we ought to go so as to strike that little stream," phil was saying, when the other asked what he was doing with a pencil and paper. "oh! you mean the one mcnab called cranberry creek, and that has the beaver colony on it, somewhere like five miles from our lake; is that it, phil?" "yes, and this is how i figure it," continued the other, showing what he had done in drawing a rough map on the paper. "here is the camp on the lake; this is the way we got to where we are sitting now, having headed pretty generally into the north. this is the way the creek runs, so if we start from here and keep bending a little to the west we're likely to strike the stream." "looks good to me, phil." "then let's call that our program," phil wound up with saying. "according to the way you figure how long a distance would you think we'd have to cover before we got to the creek?" asked ethan. "oh! anywhere between half a mile, and three times as far," the other told him. "and after we reach the frozen creek," continued ethan, "all we have to do is to follow it down to the lake, hoping to run across the beaver village on the way." "just so, and since we've rested and feel in good trim again, suppose we make a start right away?" ethan had no objections. he liked to be on the move, and besides, there may have been a lingering hope still lodged in his mind that they might happen to come upon a noble bull moose before the tramp was over. if there was one of those animals wandering around that region why not others? so as he strode along ethan was careful to keep in condition for business. and if by good luck they did happen on game he meant to do his type of shooting even as phil pressed the button and featured the moose for admiring eyes at home to see. they were heading pretty generally into the west, though it was phil's idea to swing around gradually, and begin to aim more for the lake. ethan left all that to his chum. he never boasted of his ability to keep track of localities; in fact, on numerous occasions ethan had lost himself. it was a weakness, he admitted it, and one so ambitious a hunter ought to be ashamed of; but somehow ethan rather enjoyed the sensation of finding himself suddenly thrown on his own resources, and being compelled to find his way out of a labyrinth. "i always did like to solve any old puzzle when i was a little kid," he used to say when phil took him to task for his lack of forethought in this particular, "and when you wake up to the knowledge that you're really and truly without your bearings, seems like you had a new and intricate riddle to guess. and i haven't starved to death yet, you notice. guess i'll always be able to _smell_ my way home, one way or another." at the same time ethan frankly confessed that his way was not the right one, and he did not advise any one else to copy after him. they might not enjoy the sensation like he did; or have that faculty for "smelling" home, the instinct that causes a bee to start on a straight line for the hive after loading itself up with nectar from the blossoms, even when a mile distant from home. the cold seemed to be getting worse, if anything, and ethan predicted that they would have a bitter night of it. "but then what do we care?" he added, with a laugh; "with plenty of good grub, a warm fire under a snug shelter, and blankets to wrap around us, we can afford to snap our fingers at the cold weather clerk. let him order out one of those canada blizzards we've heard so much about, if he wants to give the mountain boys a run for their money." "we must have covered a whole mile after leaving the place where we sat on that log and ate our lunch," remarked phil. "and no creek yet, as far as i've seen, phil!" "nothing doing," admitted the other; "so i think we'd better begin to swing around a little more to the southwest from now on." "you'll try another half mile, you said, didn't you?" asked ethan. "that will be all i care to risk. if the old creek hasn't cropped up by then we might as well give it up for to-day. another time i'll start up from where it flows into the lake." "that would be the better way, phil; you'd make sure then of finding the beaver colony, if it was still there. as we're going we may even strike the creek below the dam, and have all our extra walk for nothing." the woods seemed very still. even the crows had gone somewhere for the day to find their rations. early in the morning the boys had seen flocks flying in a certain quarter, and phil had given it as his opinion they were heading toward a large lake that would not be frozen up so early in the winter, and along the shores of which doubtless crows could pick up plenty of food. "looks like i wasn't going to be treated to that shot at a moose to-day, at any rate," half grumbled ethan, who had been considerably disappointed because the animal they had tracked so persistently had failed to turn out to be a bull with towering horns, and a fit subject for his skill with the rifle. "other days coming," phil told him, consolingly; "and we've had a fine tramp on our snow-shoes to boast of, even if i hadn't secured the snapshots i did." "excuse me for speaking in the way i did, phil; i forgot myself that time. it's all in a day's work, i guess. and i want you to understand that it's a treat for me just to get out in the woods along with you." "i thought i heard something just then," said phil, quickly, swinging his camera around so as to be ready; while ethan drew back the hammer of his rifle once more, his eyes sparkling with renewed anticipation. "yes, i can get it, too, phil," he whispered; "it sounds as if it might be over yonder in that thick patch of trees. move a little to the left, so we can have a clear field in case it rushes out. now let's advance slowly." they kept on going ahead, and nothing burst into view. still that queer sound came to their ears. it was not unlike a sob, ethan thought; though he immediately took himself to task for imagining such a silly thing. picking up a stick he gave it a toss into the thicket. the sound stopped, it was true, but not a thing appeared. then a minute later and they heard it again. the two boys turned wondering eyes on each other. "what in the dickens can it be?" whispered ethan, in a puzzled way. "i give it up; let's push in and see. be ready, if it's a cat, which is the only thing i can think of," said phil. with that they started ahead again, and gradually working into the thicket soon found themselves staring at a sight calculated to amaze them. chapter ix the waif of the snow forest ethan winked several times as though he could hardly believe his eyes, and little wonder; for there, half lying in the snow was a child, a sturdy looking little chap not over five years of age possibly, and uttering sounds that the boys now realized were pitiful moans. apparently the little fellow had actually tried to light a fire, for there were a few sticks gathered, and half burned matches that had been struck in the useless endeavor to ignite the wood, lay scattered on the surface of the snow. "look at the little make-believe popgun, phil," said ethan, in a quivering voice; "honest to goodness, i believe he's started out to hunt game just as his daddy is in the habit of doing, and got lost. but, phil, he must be nearly frozen. let's get a fire going and thaw him out in a hurry!" phil had already leaped forward. forgotten was his camera at that moment, because his generous warm boyish heart was throbbing with sympathy for the poor little chap lying there. "how about it?" asked ethan, hovering close by while the other hurriedly examined the boy, who lay there with his eyes half open, seeing them, yet not appearing to notice what they were doing, with only that doleful little cry falling from his blue lips. "no, he's not frozen yet, i believe," asserted phil; "but another hour would have done the business for him. i reckon he knew how to keep his arms going until he got tuckered out. get a fire started, ethan." that was all the other was waiting to hear, and in all probability ethan allen excelled all his previous records for a quick blaze; because he worked with might and main. meanwhile phil was rubbing the hands and limbs of the child, astonished beyond measure at having run across such a little fellow there in the midst of that canadian wilderness. "here you are, phil; fetch him up close to it!" called out the other boy, as he judiciously added further pieces of wood to the blaze he had contrived to start. neither of them could solve the problem as to where the little fellow had come from. "he must have rained down," said ethan; "or else he's been with that other party of sportsmen, and slipped away from their camp, bent on having a regular moose hunt of his own. look at this popgun, will you; it's one of the kind that has a spring in it, and shoots b. b. shot. i've owned the same kind myself years ago. but what do you think, phil?" "i'm all up in the air," replied the other, candidly. "if he came from that other camp he couldn't be connected with any of those rich sportsmen, for you can see his clothes are those of poverty, though warm enough. he must belong to some canadian backwoods family. it might be they've got a man and wife cooking for them in their camp, or the man as a guide and the woman to get the meals. and the child could belong to them, it might turn out." "didn't mr. mcnab tell us that terror of the pines, anson baylay, had several kids at his home, as well as a wife, a small woman who knew how to manage the big giant?" inquired ethan. "that's a fact!" declared phil, looking again at the small boy; "i wonder now if this could be one of his brood? but when he gets so he can talk perhaps we'll be able to find out all about him." "what's the program?" demanded ethan; "we don't want to stay here, do we, hoping some one may come in search of the poor kid?" "no, our best plan is get him to camp with all speed. he may not be as well off as i've hoped is the case. and with a night ahead of us, a shelter, with food and a fire will be good for all of us. fact is, there's a change coming on; the sun has gone behind the clouds, and it wouldn't surprise me if we had one of those blizzards you're so fond of talking about." "well, for myself i wouldn't mind," said ethan, loftily; "but it would be pretty tough on the little chap if we got caught in a howling storm, with the mercury going away down below zero. i'll take my turn carrying him, phil, remember." "we'll have to change about, because he's going to be no light load," phil admitted; "i wish the boy would come to himself; he might tell us something that'd put us on the right track. but we're not going to wait for that." with these words he gathered the little fellow up in his arms and started. ethan on his part took charge of the guns, as well as the camera; and in this manner they headed in what phil believed to be a bee-line for the camp. it would have been no small task carrying the boy for any distance, even under ordinary conditions; and the fact of their being on snow-shoes made it all the more difficult. still, both of them were stalwart fellows, and able to do considerable along the line of carrying burdens. their outdoor life had given them more strength than most boys of their age possessed. phil kept it up for quite a time. "better change off with me, now," ethan hinted, for the fifth time. "all right, then, ethan; just lay those things down where i can get them, and i'll give you the boy. he's some heft, believe me, and a pretty chubby lad for his age, which i shouldn't take to be more than five, or six at the most." "but isn't it queer he hasn't come to, and asked us who we are, and where we're taking him?" remarked the second boy, as he took the object of their solicitude into his arms. "he'll come out of it all right later on, i feel pretty sure," phil observed, as he loaded himself with the guns and camera, after which he started ahead of his companion so as to break the way. "there's a dash of color beginning to show in his cheeks, i do believe!" called out ethan, presently. later on he had to hand his burden over to the other; and this sort of thing continued many times, until all of two hours had gone. both boys were growing very tired after their long tramp, and now with carrying their human burden, too. but phil buoyed up the spirits of his chum by saving that they were close on the camp. "i can see where the lake lies over yonder," he remarked, when they chanced to be on a rise that gave them a chance to see around more or less; "and away over in that direction there's a black smoke rising that must come from the camp of that other party with james bodman." "but that isn't where we've just come from, phil?" observed ethan, shrewdly. "far away from it, to tell the truth, and i see what you mean, ethan. it doesn't look as if this chap could ever have wandered away from _that_ camp this morning, because he would have had to cover miles, which he could never have done with all the deep snow." "and, phil, it must be that he's a baylay; but we'll find all that out when he comes to himself again in the camp. i'm rested now, so give me a chance to spell you." both of them were more pleased than they would have liked to say when they discovered the little shack they had built close to the shore of the lake; with x-ray just starting out ax in hand to cut some wood. ethan gave a whoop, and lub came running out of the shelter, all excitement. "bringing home the bacon, are you, fellows?" he called; "well, you do seem to be staggering under a bully old load, ethan. have you bothered getting the moose's head, horns and all to camp? might have left that hanging up till--well, what's this i see? great jehosophat! this isn't a moose's head; it's a child!" x-ray was equally astounded. they crowded around, and stared, and seemed ready to fairly burst with curiosity. "wait till we get him between blankets, boys, and then you'll have the whole story," said phil. lub rushed in ahead of the others, and it was his blanket that he held up in front of the fire to "get it good and warm for the poor little chap," he explained. there was more color creeping into the face of the unknown child, phil discovered. he did not believe anything serious could have come upon him, and hoped for the best. "i really think he's sleeping from exhaustion and fright now," he told the others, after they had bundled their charge up snugly, and were sitting there before the glowing fire, with both lub and x-ray impatiently waiting to hear all about the remarkable occurrence; for it is not often that hunters start out after moose and return bearing a child that they have saved from being frozen to death. by degrees the story was told, first how the two hunters managed to get close up on the cow moose so that phil could take a couple of snapshots; and then later on when aiming to discover the beaver village how they had run upon the lad in the thicket, where he had gone to try and make a fire. "think of the little duffer having matches in his pocket, and believing he knew all about the job of making a fire, too," said ethan, as though he considered this the most remarkable feature of the whole thing. the little toy gun had been carefully carried along with their own larger weapons and phil held it up as he went on to say: "and he was trying to find his deer just as much as we were, it seems like, from his having this 'repeater' in his possession. that's why i think he must belong to a backwoodsman or a guide, because children in such families take to doing all these things like ducks do to water." "and," continued ethan, solemnly, "so far as we know there's only one party up in this neighborhood who has kids of his own, because you remember mr. mcnab told us about him." "gee! you mean that terrible baylay, don't you?" asked lub, aghast, as he glanced apprehensively toward the place where the child was snuggled in his blanket, and then toward the adjacent woods. "yes, ethan and myself have about come to the conclusion he must be a chip of the old block, a baylay, afraid of nothing; though he did bite off more than he could chew when he started off on a hunt for big game in winter time, and found himself lost in the forest, with the snow half way up to his neck in places." they talked it all over, but no one could suggest any particular thing they could do, save to keep the boy in camp, and wait to see what would turn up. it came time for them to think of getting supper. x-ray generously offered to "spell" lub, for he was afraid they were overdoing it in allowing the stout youth to fill the office of cook continually, and that he might suddenly rebel. "i don't mind having some help, since you are so kind, x-ray," lub told him; "and so the first thing you do fetch me some more wood." x-ray had perhaps thought to be the "chief-cook-and-bottle-washer" himself for once, as he himself expressed it, for he made a wry face upon being ordered about in such a summary fashion. however, he nodded his head toward the autocrat of the culinary department, and went off to get his arms full of fuel, saying as he did so: "anything to keep peace in the family; and besides i'll have some say about the bill of fare we put up at our hotel this night." while supper was cooking ethan caught hold of phil's sleeve and pointed over to where the little chap had been placed, rolled up in lub's blanket. he was now sitting bolt upright, and rubbing his eyes with his knuckles as though he did not know what to make of it all. phil immediately hurried over, and threw himself down beside the little fellow. "it's all right, bub, we're your friends, and mean to keep you here with us until your daddy comes along for you. went out hunting, eh, and got lost? well, never mind, plenty of bigger men than you have done the same thing. you tried the best you knew how to light a fire, too; and i believe you'd have done it if the ground had been clear of snow, so you could find plenty of small wood. but supper will be ready soon, and we're expecting you to be pretty hungry." somehow there was that about phil bradley to invite the confidence of any one, especially when he smiled as phil was doing now, and spoke so soothingly, and directly from the heart. it was not long before he had the little chap smiling; and when lub came over into the shelter with a cup of warm soup for the boy, he drank it ravenously. this told phil that it must have been many hours since the child had tasted any food. "i wouldn't be surprised if he left his home, wherever that can be, early this morning, and had been pushing his way through the snow ever since. no wonder he was all tired out, and couldn't say a word, but keep on moaning. but he's all right now." "if they start out and follow his trail," ventured x-ray, with one of those bright inspirations that had given him his nick-name, "they'll show up here in our camp some time or other, i should say. whee! i hope now, that terror of the pines will be reasonable, and believe what we tell him; that is, i don't want him to suspect we tried to kidnap johnny here." "by the way, i wonder what his name really is?" said lub. "ask him, phil; he seems to think a heap of you already," suggested x-ray. accordingly phil bent over the boy, while the others crowded around. "we want to know whose boy you are, and what your name is, my little man. do they call you johnny at home?" he asked, and as clearly as possible. the small urchin shook his curly head vigorously; he even in a measure returned phil's smile; and then started to make a series of unintelligible noises that sent a thrill through phil's heart. the latter turned with piteous look toward his chums, whose faces reflected his expression of commiseration, almost horror. "no wonder he didn't say anything, boys!" exclaimed phil; "for don't you see the poor little chap is tongue-tied?" chapter x a rude awakening "the poor little kid!" gasped warm-hearted lub, as he impulsively threw an arm around the boy they were entertaining as their guest in camp. both x-ray tyson and ethan also betrayed their intense interest by sympathetic looks that spoke volumes. "i don't know that i ever ran across a case just like this," x-ray remarked, as he turned on phil. "you mean that while you've met people who were deaf and dumb you never saw one who was what they call tongue-tied; is that it, x-ray?" the latter asked. "yes, you've got it straight, phil; but tell me, is this sort of thing incurable?" "it all depends on the conditions," was the reply. "some are afflicted worse than others; and then again i believe that if it's taken in hand at an early stage there's much more chance of the operation being successful than if it becomes an old affliction." "but my stars, why haven't the parents of this fine little chap looked after it before now?" demanded ethan. "well, when you're saying that, just stop and think what you're up against," phil told him. "we're not down in new york city, where paid doctors visit the poorer sections, and there are wards in all hospitals where such operations can be undertaken free of expense. this is away up in the wilds of canada." "like as not," interrupted lub, "his folks never dreamed that any remedy could be found to help him get his speech. i reckon now his mammy has grieved her heart sore many a time wondering what would become of a boy growing up to manhood who'd never be able to say a single intelligible word." "yes," added ethan, bent on entering another wedge to the debate, "and money has a heap to do with these things, even if they did know. it costs considerable to send a boy all the way down to montreal, and keep him there, not to speak of the doctor's big fee." phil looked grave, and then a smile began to slowly creep athwart his face. this was discovered by the sharp-eyed x-ray, for he quickly demanded an explanation. "you've thought of _something_, phil; that look gives you away. now speak up and confide in your chums. we're all just as much interested in this queer business as you can be, i want you to remember. what's caught you?" phil smiled in even a broader sense. "why, to be sure you have a right to know, fellows," he told them, frankly. "i'm not intending to keep it a secret. i was just wondering why i shouldn't try and take this little chap down with me when we leave here, and see that he has one good chance to have this impediment to his speech removed. we can go to montreal without a great deal of trouble; and in fact we had decided that we'd visit there, as we saw old quebec on the way up to the saguenay region. what d'ye think of it?" "i object!" burst out lub, to the surprise of his mates. "why, what's got you, lub?" demanded x-ray, indignantly; "i always thought you'd be the last one to kick up a row, when a thing like this was being talked over." "i object on the grounds that it isn't fair for phil to take the burden all on himself," continued the stout chum, resolutely, with his affectionate arm still hovering about the small boy, who had cuddled closer to him, as though recognizing a warm friend in lub. "oh! i haven't said i meant to do that, lub!" exclaimed phil. "well, we know you too well to believe it wasn't in your mind to stand for every cent of the expense such an operation would cost," continued the fat boy. "course you wouldn't feel it any more'n a flea-bite; but then that isn't the question. you've got to think of us. we cut some punkins in this arrangement, and we insist on standing our share of any expense. how's that, x-ray, ethan?" "bully for you, lub!" ejaculated the former, enthusiastically, slapping the fat chum on the shoulder with almost crushing force that made lub wince, though he immediately forced a broad smile to dominate his rosy face. "share and share alike, that's the ticket!" declared ethan, though doubtless the poor fellow was at the same time making a rapid mental calculation as to the state of his finances, for he had no private fortune, or rich parents, or doting aunt to help him tide over. "i've got another bundle of ginseng roots ready to ship down to my dealer, and if they fetch anything like the splendid price the last lot did i can spare enough to square my share of the bill. and i'll do it willingly too, if it's the means of giving this little fellow the gift of speech." there never were four boys quite as generous as phil bradley and his chums. fond of manly sport they were, and full of a love for frolic, and such good times as came their way; but never failing to respond to a call for help, no matter what the source from which the appeal came. phil threw up both hands as if in surrender. "you never will let me do anything like this by myself, fellows," he told them; "even when i've got money to burn. but i want to say right here that i think ten times as much of you, lub, x-ray and ethan, as if you did. it means something to all of you to make this sacrifice, while to me it isn't a bit of difference. so i say and i repeat it, that you deserve a whole lot more credit than i ever can. and what's more, i'm as proud as anything to shake hands with such chums." he gravely went around pumping a hand of each fellow, and there was a deal of sincerity in the act, even though they all laughed--perhaps to hide the fact that there might be a suspicious moisture in their rapidly winking eyes. "isn't it queer how we seem to rub up against something of this kind everywhere we go on our trips?" remarked x-ray. "why, so it is," ethan added; "in the first place, when we were in the adirondacks there was that old hermit and his little girl, mazie; we had a hand in bringing them a measure of joy, and reuniting meredith with his estranged wife. they've been writing ever since how grateful they were on account of the little we managed to do for them." "yes," lub hurriedly continued, "and even around our home town of brewster, when we were gathering nuts for the children in the orphan asylum remember how we had a chance to help that country boy, casper bunce, who had run away from the farmer he had been bound to. the courts fixed all that, and he's got a happy home now on the farm of miss bowers." "even down on the shore, when we were duck shooting on currituck sound," x-ray went on to say, not wishing to be left out entirely, "we managed to bridge over the troubles between the young bayman malachi jordon, his little wife, and her savage old dad who was separating the couple. when we left they were all bunched and waving us good-by." "it does seem to be the bounden duty of the mountain boys to carry some sunshine along with them wherever they go," laughed phil; "and to tell you the truth i'm not so very much surprised." "you mean it's getting to be a regular thing with us; is that it, phil?" questioned lub. "that's what you might call it, when you keep on repeating a certain thing," phil declared. "there's an old chestnut of a story you may remember that illustrates the point i'm making. it seems that a lawyer was trying to get a witness to admit a certain point that would favor his side of the case, and the old fellow kept on doggedly avoiding committing himself. so the lawyer asked him what he would call it if he leaned from the window and fell out. 'i'd call that an accident,' replied the witness. 'then suppose you deliberately walked up-stairs and repeated the identical performance, what would you call that?' demanded the lawyer. 'oh! i should say that was a coincidence,' the witness told him. 'well, now what if you even went up again, and for the third time looked out of that same window, only to fall again; what would you call it?' and the witness without the least hesitation bawled out: 'why, sir, i'd say it was a _habit_!' and that's what it's getting to be with us mountain boys." of course they all laughed at phil's description of the condition into which it seemed they were drifting. "it's a habit that gives us a heap of lively satisfaction let me tell you," said lub, earnestly. "for one i like to look back and think of a lot of things we've had a hand in carrying through." "yes," said phil, "we've enjoyed them to the limit, and the best part of it all is that they leave no regrets behind. i hope it will always be that way with the mountain boys." a little later on phil took his turn at cuddling the small boy up close to him. he was talking to him in a low tone, and the others, knowing what he had in mind, did not bother him, but conversed among themselves of other things. presently phil called softly to ethan. "come and take him off my arm; he's sound asleep, and my arm is too, so i can't move it. easy now, and lay him down where he'll be the warmest." "that's where my blanket happens to be," spoke up lub; "i've figured on having him with me to-night, phil; so please don't interfere." "i guess he'll be snug enough alongside such a hot-box as you are, lub," interrupted x-ray; and consequently ethan gently laid the small chap so that lub's generous blanket could be tucked in around him. "did you manage to find out anything worth while, phil?" asked x-ray. "well, he's some shy yet; and i'm a poor hand at trying to hold a talk-fest with a child that can't say a single word," admitted phil; "but i'm sure now he does belong to the people we spoke about." "meaning that terror of a poacher, baylay?" said ethan. "yes," phil continued, "but until we rub up against the man ourselves, and can testify to some of his awful ways, perhaps we'd better go slow about calling him all those names, boys. he may be a rough man, but what more could you expect up here in this wilderness? all loggers are of that stripe. for one i'm going to form my opinion of this baylay more from how he treats his family, than from his relations to game laws he considers unjust, or other rough men who meet him on the level of give and take." "i wouldn't be surprised if there was a whole lot of good sense in that policy, phil," assented lub, for it agreed with his ideas exactly. "but he does seem to have gotten a terrible bad reputation around these districts you'll admit?" ventured ethan. "there may be two sides to every story," phil told him; "and so far we've heard only one. i'd like to know just what that kid over yonder thinks of baylay; then i'd have a better pointer to the true character of the man than i could get from outside talk. he's a fighter, as nearly all these loggers are. he has licked lots of other scrappers in his time, and you couldn't expect them to say nice things about baylay. so let's hold off a bit, and not condemn him unheard." even ethan admitted that such a course was nothing more than fair. "we'll wait then," continued phil, "till the time comes when we can see into his home, and find out if he's a big brute there or not. yes, that's the way to learn the truth; surface indications don't amount to much. you've got to scratch a man on the back and find out what he does when he's alone, or with his own family, to learn his real nature." though the boys may not have known it there was a deal of sound philosophy in what phil was advancing; and if more people would carry it out there might be less misunderstandings and suffering in this world. some time later on they began to feel sleepy themselves, and lub was the first one to crawl under his covers. ethan helped him get settled, for the fat chum had to be unusually careful, so as not to awaken his little blanket-mate, who was apparently sleeping soundly. the night wore on. though the wind outside might be cold and bleak the campers had managed to fix things so well that little of it could find entrance to their shack. the fire was to be allowed to take care of itself, unless one of the boys chanced to wake up in the night, and chose to crawl out in order to throw more fuel on the embers. it is not the most pleasant task in the world to do a thing like this on a bitter cold night, when all seems so comfortable under the covers. even phil might conclude to let it pass, since a fire was so easy to start in the morning, and he could have a merry blaze going long before any of the rest thought of sticking their noses out. no doubt lub, and perhaps the others also, dreamed of home as they lay there so many hundreds of miles away from those they loved. it would have been only natural, because their thoughts often dwelt with the distant scenes, even though they might be enjoying every hour of their vacation in canadian wilds. if any of them awoke they had no means of telling how the night was passing unless they cared to peep out and note the position of the planets, those telltale clocks of the skies. all of the boys had paid more or less attention to such things, knowing how useful the knowledge can be when there is no watch in the party; and many times they had vied with one another in seeing who could display the better judgment in explaining where certain bright stars would be at a designated hour. lub was lying squarely on his back, and breathing so hard that some of his comrades would have reproached him for "snoring" had they heard him. but lub seemed to be far away in his dreams, and not concerning himself in the slightest degree as to whether he emitted little snorts or not. from this happy condition, so free from care, the fat boy was suddenly and rudely aroused by a terrifying sound. it was a shout, and undoubtedly came from the throat of x-ray, who could elevate his voice in a shrill manner that few of his friends could ever hope of emulating. he was the cheer captain of their school football squad in brewster, just on that account. and what he now shouted was not calculated to cheer the hearts of his comrades but to send a pang of fear through every fiber of their being: "hello! hello! rouse up everybody! our shack's on fire!" chapter xi on guard everybody was awake in an instant. even though the cry had thrilled lub through and through somehow he did not seem to forget about the little fellow who was under the covers with him; for his very first act was to lift him up, blanket and all, and struggle to get out of the shack. they had all seen a light, though it had remained for the keen eyes of x-ray to discover what caused it. but as soon as they emerged from the shelter, phil, ethan and lub found no difficulty in seeing that the alarm had not been a false one; for one side of the shack was all afire. "go for it, everybody!" cried phil, as he started to throw all the snow he was able to snatch up on the fiercely burning mass. "fire-fighters get busy!" echoed x-ray, copying the other's example; nor was lub long in finding a place where he could deposit his burden and join in the attack. thus beset on all sides the fire quickly died down as the snow melted and drowned the ardor of the flames. before many minutes had passed away they had it under control. "we want to save a part of it for our regular fire, because we'll need it to get warm by!" observed long-headed ethan. "warm!" gasped lub. "why, i'm fairly roasting right now." "well, you won't be in a jiffy, when that cold wind strikes down your back," the other warned him; "how about the fire business, phil?" "it's a good idea," he was told; "but don't bother carrying any of what is left of this stuff over; we have plenty of good wood handy, you remember. and i want to look a little closer into this brush-heap, you see." "ginger popguns; that's so," cried x-ray; "however did that stuff get there, i'd like to know? we didn't bank it up that i remember." "never mind about that yet," phil told him; "get the fire going, and then we can talk it over. there's something about this affair that looks pretty suspicious to me, i want you to know." all of them were thinking the same thing as they hurried to get their own fire going in front of the shack. when this had been accomplished they found time to look around. the boy was sitting up, and lub had seen to it that he had the warm folds of the blanket about him, so he was in no danger of taking cold. he looked both puzzled and full of wonder, but phil noticed that he did not appear to be afraid. "he's made of good stuff, most likely," he told himself; "and is a chip off the old block all right, if he's baylay's boy; because they admit the poacher is a man without fear." "now," remarked ethan, after they were all seated near the fire, "let's try and get a little light on this mystery. how did that fire come to be started; and who put all that brush up against the back of our shack, i want to know?" "that's so, who did?" echoed lub, wagging his head with the words, and looking unusually solemn. "notice in the first place," phil continued, "that it was piled up on the windward side; that was done so it would take hold in a hurry, once the match was struck. i even got a whiff of _kerosene_ when i was working at putting out the blaze; and it strikes me some of it was used over the brush to make it burn more furiously." "whee!" gasped lub; "then you mean to say, phil--" "i mean that this thing didn't come about by accident," the other interrupted lub to say positively; "none of us put that stuff there, and we have no kerosene to waste throwing it around. besides, every one was sound asleep inside the shack when it happened." "somebody meant to burn us out, that's it, phil!" declared x-ray. "baylay?" cried ethan, on a hazard. "not on your life," x-ray told him; "baylay doesn't know there are any such fellows as the mountain boys on earth. but there is one man who does, because he ran up against a couple of the same latterly, and had to duck. i'm referring to the eminent capitalist and financier millionaire, mr. james bodman." "whee!" breathed lub again, as his emotions almost overpowered him; he did not venture to interrupt, but just sat there and listened with all his might to the exciting talk that was going on among his chums. "well," said ethan, slowly, "from the description of that sportsman, and the way he acted when he found he couldn't bulldoze the pair of you, i wouldn't put a thing like this past him; but how would he know where we were camped?" "oh! that is easy to answer," phil told him; "don't you remember how we learned where they were settled by seeing smoke rising in the cold air, straight as a church pillar?" "i reckon they could see the same if they happened to look this way," admitted ethan, "because lub uses all kinds of wood, and some of it makes a black smudge. well, i'll admit for the sake of argument that they could easy enough learn where our camp lay; but do you believe that stout sportsman would go to the trouble to sneak all the way over here, several miles it must be, just to try and make us some nasty mean trouble?" "no, i don't," replied phil, instantly. "then what follows?" demanded the other, desperately. "he knows the power of money, because he uses it right along to further some of his big schemes," phil exclaimed. "you mean he could bribe a couple of his guides to come over here and do the burning racket; is that what you have in mind, phil?" asked ethan. "yes, there's no doubt of it in my mind," he was told. "but we'd always have to just guess at it, because we could never know for sure," x-ray went on to say, in a dubious tone that told of disappointment. "perhaps not," phil remarked; "come over with me, and let's take a look; for i've got a notion we can settle that thing in our minds, even if nothing might ever be done to punish the sneaks who did the job." he picked up a burning brand from the fire that promised to serve fairly well as a torch; and with this swinging from his hand led the others to the back of the scorched shack. "close by we've all trodden things into a mass," he explained; "but let's look further away. here's a place where it happens we find only a couple of inches of snow, and you can see footprints plainly marked. look again, and tell me if any of us made those tracks coming and going?" "they carried the brush along here, too, phil, because you can see little twigs lying on the surface of the snow!" announced ethan. "but examine the footprints, because they will tell the story," said phil. "why, they are not like our tracks at all," said x-ray, immediately. "none of them show any sign of heels, phil!" exclaimed ethan; "does that mean they can be moccasins made of tough hide, and not hunting-boots like ours?" "now you're getting close to the heart of it," the leader assured him; "for most of the guides up here in this region wear such foot coverings, as the indians did before them. i believe there were two men concerned in this outrage, and that they were paid by mr. james bodman to come over here and burn us out." "the coward!" muttered lub, indignantly, as his pent-up feelings broke bounds; "why, they might have smothered us while we slept." "oh! i don't suppose the millionaire believed it would be as bad as that, for i hardly think he's got to the point where he'd commit murder outright; but he meant to give us all the bother he could. that was his way of trying to get even because we refused to knuckle down to him, and let him claim our caribou." "huh! guess then he's been crazy to shoot game like that for a long time; and was a whole heap disappointed when he found it was our shots that had downed the young buck," and x-ray chuckled as though he felt that after all the score was still decidedly in their favor. "what surprises me, and makes me feel small," continued phil, "is how i could sleep through it all and never know that they were creeping up, fetching that brush along with them, and piling it against the back of the shack." "oh! we're all in the same boat," said ethan, "because i was hundreds of miles away from here, and going to singing school with sally andrews when x-ray let out that yawp!" "and i own up that it was just by a lucky chance i happened to wake up," x-ray tyson admitted; "you know smoke always makes me choke, and that's why i try to sit on the windward side of fires. it must have got in my throat as i slept, because i suddenly sat upright to get my breath. course i knew right away something was on the boards that ought to be attended to, and so i woke the rest up gently." "gently!" echoed lub; "say, it seemed to me as if an electric current heavy enough to execute a criminal had been shot through my system. i bet you i've lost as much as five pounds in weight just through the nervous excitement." "poor chap!" said x-ray; "it's a pity then it doesn't happen oftener. i think i'll take to giving you a regular shock like that every few nights. you could drop forty pounds and be all the better for it." "who's running my heft, me or you, i want to know?" demanded lub; "it suits me just as it is. when i get a notion that i want to start to join your living skeleton class i'll give you due notice. and until that time comes please let me sleep in peace." "well, what can we do about this outrage?" asked ethan. "nothing much," admitted phil. "it would be silly to think of going over and entering a complaint to that red-faced grunter," declared x-ray; "because we'd only be insulted to our faces. why i wouldn't put it past him to threaten to have us kicked out of his camp, though of course james would have too much sense to try the job himself." "we'll have to pocket the insult, and try to guard against having it happen again, that's all," was phil's conclusion. "and let me tell you we have to be thankful it turned out no worse than it did. the damage isn't worth mentioning, and it's opened our eyes to the fact that we have dangerous neighbors who will bear watching from this time out." "but, phil, we don't mean to let them chase us away from here, do we?" interposed lub, who came of good revolutionary stock, and was a sticker. "well, i guess not, if we have to keep on the watch every single night," retorted x-ray, belligerently. "are we going to sit here till it's time to get breakfast?" asked lub, casting a solicitous glance over toward the spot where the boy was wrapped in his blanket--it would be hard to say whether lub were concerned about the welfare of the little fellow, or coveted the warmth of the said blanket; perhaps he might have been influenced by both motives, for his heart was warm, even when he shivered with the cold breeze on his back. "no use of that, when it's hardly an hour after midnight right now!" declared phil, with a look aloft to where the star-studded sky gave him the information. "the rest of you toddle back to the shack and let me sit here a while," ethan told them, as he gathered his blanket closer about him, after picking up his gun, as phil noticed. "i was just going to say the same thing myself, ethan," remarked the leader. "but first come, first served, that's the rule we go by, remember, phil." "i'll agree, on one condition," he was told. "name it then, phil." "there's jupiter away up yonder; in just about two hours he'll be setting below the horizon. promise to call me before he disappears from sight, will you, ethan." "agreed, though i wouldn't mind sticking out the watch till daylight," said the other, and his manner told that he certainly meant every word of it. "but how about me?" complained x-ray; "there's another star up yonder that will set by five o'clock; you've got to promise to let me stand guard from then on to daylight. i refuse to be left out in the cold in any deal." "and don't i have any show at all?" whined lub, though rather faintly, as though he knew very well they would not consent; for he had a failing with respect to going to sleep on his post, having been tested on numerous occasions and found wanting. it was presently arranged then that phil would arouse x-ray when the second star was about to disappear. he smiled faintly when making this concession, but x-ray did not appear to notice it. the fact of the matter was phil knew very well that there had been a serious miscalculation on the part of the ambitious sentinel, because that second star would still be half an hour from the horizon when the sun was due to send his flaming banners athwart the eastern sky to herald his approach. the fire had scorched the back of their shelter but no serious damage had been accomplished. that was owing to the fact of smoke affecting the sensitive throat of x-ray tyson; a thing that may have caused him more or less discomfort in times past, but which certainly stood them all in good stead on this particular night. on this account they could sleep just as well as before, granting of course that their nerves had not been too much disturbed by the sudden peril, and the fight they had had to put up in order to save their possessions. the fire was now to be kept up without intermission, day and night. should any of those unprincipled men come over again from the other camp, bent on doing them an injury, they might well pause and abandon the attempt when they discovered how the boys maintained a constant watch, with arms in their hands, and sufficient light to discover a creeping figure, which they would be justified in firing at. true to his promise ethan aroused phil when jupiter was about to dip behind the horizon. "all well, and getting colder right along, so that the fire feels bully!" was all the report the late sentry thought fit to make, after he had seen phil take his place on the log, gun in hand, and blanket about his shoulders. "then crawl in, and go to sleep," advised the new guard, as he watched ethan trying to smother a huge yawn. "guess i will, because it's quite some time to daylight, and there's little use for a pair of us to stand sentry duty." so ethan vanished inside the shack, and phil was left to insure their safety, as the brilliant heavenly bodies kept up their steady western march, and the night breeze sang mysterious chants through the snow-covered branches of the firs. chapter xii laying plans "is that the way you keep a promise, phil?" asked x-ray, reproachfully, as he came crawling out of the shack, to find it beginning to get daylight, and with the sentry busying himself before a cheery fire, where he meant evidently to forestall lub in starting breakfast. "oh! the joke is on you, that's all," laughed phil. "i don't see how," complained x-ray, who really felt hurt in that he had not been allowed to stand his share of the night watch after being told he might. "you'll have to learn to figure better, that's all, my boy," the other told him. "figure; how's that, phil?" "well, learn to judge distances that are millions of miles away, to be more definite. look over there to the west; see that star just going down? well, that's the one you told me would set in two hours after jupiter disappeared. i've been watching it right along, and somehow it just refused to vanish. there, i believe it's just dropped out of sight. if you were asleep, x-ray, i'd think it my duty to go and get you on deck, because i promised i would." x-ray looked a bit foolish, and then laughed. "another time i'll see to it that i'm johnny on the spot!" he declared. "chances are you knew i'd figured wrong at the time, phil?" "what if i did, it wasn't in the bond that i should take you to task for that blunder. a little thing of this kind is going to impress it on your mind better than any words of mine could ever do. you'll never forget again to prove your sums so as to make doubly sure." and phil was right. x-ray would never look up at the stars and try to figure on how long it would be before a certain one would set, without remembering his error of judgment, and taking especial pains that it was not repeated. the others soon made their appearances, hearing this talking outside. "whew! but it's sharp this morning!" exclaimed ethan as he joined them. "that blanket of mine isn't as warm as it might be, and i don't believe it's all wool and two yards wide. where's the ax?" "going to cut some wood so as to get warm?" asked x-ray tyson. "what, me?" cried ethan, pretending to scoff at the idea; "why, fact is i want to chop a hole in the lake ice, and take a bath just to get my blood in circulation. they say there's nothing like it, you know." all the same, after he had picked up one of the axes he was found to be cutting wood, which proved his daring assertion that had made lub gasp to be pretty much in the nature of a great "bluff." the boy was sitting by the fire where lub had found him a place. lub had insisted on phil giving over the completion of breakfast into his charge. "i've been elected chief cook by unanimous vote," he said, as he waved a big spoon about his head to emphasize his assertion; "and i expect you all to do what i tell you." so he set them each one a task, phil "spelling" ethan at the woodpile, x-ray to fetch plenty of fuel up, and ethan something else when he had recovered his wind after his recent violent exertions. as he cooked the breakfast lub talked confidentially to the boy, who was looking quite contented and happy, as indeed who would not when finding such good friends, and being treated to such bountiful spreads? "are we going to try and take him back to his mammy to-day, phil?" asked ethan, later on, as they sat on the log, and discussed the eggs and bacon and coffee and flapjacks which had been produced so bountifully under the deft manipulation of the obliging lub. "oh! what's the hurry?" the cook hastened to say; "it's threatening again, you can notice if you look at that bank of storm clouds coming up yonder. better put it off a while. we've got oceans of grub, you know; and i like to feel him wrapped up in a blanket with me first-rate." all of them looked to phil to give the deciding word, though as a rule he always consulted his chums before saying anything, and tried to have it so that majority ruled the camp. "i quite agree with lub," he went on to say, quietly, as he gave that individual a smile, and then nodded his head toward the little chap. "good for you, phil!" burst out lub, clapping his hands together in delight. "i don't altogether like the looks of things over there where those clouds are coming up," continued phil. "it wouldn't be the nicest thing in the world to try to take this boy miles away, and then get caught in a howling blizzard. we'd do better to hold our horses and see what turns up." "oh! then you expect that some one may come along looking for him, do you?" asked x-ray, jumping to conclusions. "it's possible," he was told. "if they care at all for the child, when he's missed it seems to me there would be some stir; and one of the first things that ought to occur to his father would be to notify any campers around here, so they could be on the lookout for the kid as they trailed through the bush." "phil is right," asserted ethan allen, hastily. "it's sure up to baylay to get a move on him and do something, if he's lost his boy. he couldn't expect to stay at home and wait for others to find the lost child." "we don't know," said phil, "but the chances are the mother and father have been pretty near being distracted because by now they must feel there's no chance of the kid being alive, unless he was picked up by a roving hunter or trapper." the boy listened to all they said, though of course it was not likely that he understood much of it. he could see nothing but friendly smiles on each one of the four faces by the fire; and he knew as well as anything could be known that his lines had fallen in pleasant places. when this matter had been settled all of them seemed to be relieved of a weight. the fact of the matter was they had already taken a great fancy to the waif, and like lub none of them wanted to see him depart. it did begin to blow and snow heavily ere another hour had passed. x-ray declared that from the signs they were in for a fierce blizzard; and he told some fearful stories he had read concerning these dreadful storms. lo! and behold the treacherous weather played him a sly trick, for the sun came out even while he was in the midst of the most doleful yarn, and his chums gave him a merry laugh in consequence. at the same time there was enough of threat in the clouds to keep them in camp that morning, finding plenty to do to employ their time. in prowling around phil had made several little discoveries concerning the abiding places or haunts of certain small fur-bearing animals that frequented the border of the lake. his collection of flashlight pictures was lacking in some particulars, and he believed it would pay him to commence work trying to obtain results while on the spot. "i wouldn't want to go back home without a few additions to my splendid series of flash exposures," he told the others while getting things ready so that he could place his cunning little trap when the shadows of evening began to gather; "and i want to see if the animals up here in this half arctic region are as obliging as they are down in our section of the country, so as to take their own pictures for a poor hard worked photographer who needs sleep, and can't afford to sit up all night just to press a button and fire the cartridge." "you always make it a paying business for the victim, phil," declared lub; "for you give him a jolly lunch to settle for his trouble. huh! seems to me i'd like to just pull a string and get a flash if only it meant grub every time, and no harm done. they're a lucky lot, i'll be bound." lub had taken a turn during the morning in trying to talk with the tongue-tied boy. of course it could only be done through the use of many signs, although there was always a chance that the little chap might know a name if he heard it. "when i kept repeating the word baylay i could see that he seemed interested," lub told the others. "it's too bad we didn't ask mr. mcnab what the names of the baylay kids were. i've tried every one i could think of and none seemed to fit. he shook his curly head every time as if he wanted me to know he owned to no such name. i reckon now they must be out of the ordinary." and it afterwards turned out that lub was quite right when he chanced to make this assertion, for the boy's name was indeed out of the ordinary; so it was no wonder lub failed to strike it in his vocabulary. noon came and found things just about as before. some of them had been half expecting to see a bulky figure pushing toward the camp; but the hours had crept on without such a thing coming to pass. "it's too late now to think of starting out to try and find the place where the baylay cabin is located," asserted ethan, when the afternoon was fairly well advanced, and the clouds seemed to have given up the battle for supremacy, for they were retreating all along the line, leaving a cold blue sky in evidence instead. "of course it is," lub hastened to add, a wrinkle making its appearance across his forehead, a "pucker" ethan always called it, and which was apt to show whenever the fat chum became worried over something or other. the quick look he took in the direction of his charge explained the cause on this particular occasion. lub always was fond of kids, and they loved him too. in this case the fact of their visitor being a waif of the snow forest had more or less to do with his feelings; and then, besides, the poor little chap being unable to do more than make those distressing sounds when he did want to express his feelings the worst kind brought a pang to lub's tender heart. "yes," phil decided, "it would be foolish to attempt anything of the kind now. it can wait until morning. they've given up all hope by now, i'm afraid, so they'll not be apt to suffer much worse for a little more delay. and getting the boy back safe and sound will make them all the happier." "that's the way it treats me always," affirmed lub, looking inexpressibly relieved at hearing the dictum pronounced that meant another night with his little blanket-mate; "i never wanted a thing real bad, and kept being put off and put off but that it got to be what my mother would call an absorbing passion with me." "yes, just like the baby in the bath leaning over and trying to reach a cake of well known soap, you'd 'never be happy till you got it,' eh, lub?" jeered x-ray. "it's contradiction that makes men great," said lub, ponderously. "difficulties bring out all there is in a fellow, and phil will tell you so too. the life that flows on calmly never amounts to much. that's what makes these mountaineers such a hardy lot; they have to fight for everything they get, while the people on the fertile plains make an easy living." "gee! listen to the philosopher talk, will you?" said ethan, pretending to be much surprised, when in truth he knew very well that once in so often lub was apt to drop into this moralizing mood, and air some pretty bright views, for the benefit of his comrades in arms. "no trouble now telling where that other camp is," x-ray informed them. "all you have to do is to take a glance over that way, and you'll see a thick black smoke rising up." "if we'd had any idea there'd be trouble lying in wait for us around here," ventured ethan, "we might have kept them guessing where we had our camp. it would be easy to pick out good dry wood, of which there is plenty lying around, and using only that kind. it gives out so little smoke they never would have noticed; whereas the half-green stuff tells anybody with half an eye where the fire is." "what you say about the wood and the smoke is all very true, ethan," remarked phil; "but all the same i doubt whether it would have prevented their finding our location, once mr. james bodman started to make things interesting by offering a bonus to his guides to smell us out. they'd have heard us chopping, it might be, for in these still woods sounds carry a long ways when the air is just right." "yes, i guess that's so," x-ray admitted, "because several times i've been positive i heard the sound of a faraway ax at work; and i noticed that the wind was coming from that quarter too." "to-night we keep watch as we planned, eh, phil?" ethan asked. "we'd be wise to do it just as long as we expect to hang out around this section, and that crowd is over there," he was informed. "yes, and i ought to be given the first watch, because i managed to get off so slick last night," asserted x-ray; "promise me that, won't you?" "if it's going to worry you the sooner we say yes the better," laughed phil; "so we'll consider that the night is to be cut up into thirds, and i choose the second watch for my turn; ethan, you have to tag on at the end." "so long as i get my full share of the work it doesn't matter a bit to me where i come in; but let there be no tricks on travelers played to-night. what's fair for one is fair to all." "i suppose you mean to count me out, as usual?" complained lub, feebly protesting. "you have all you can do attending to the grub question," said x-ray, sternly. "if you do happen to wake up in the night, and can't get to sleep again, why you might employ yourself fixing up in your mind some new dish you want to spring on us as a surprise. but as a sentry, wide awake and vigilant, you know you're a rank fizzle, lub. now please don't fire up, and want particulars, because i'd hate to rake up bygone happenings." "oh! well, if you're three to one against me there's no use in my kicking," admitted lub, trying to look only resigned, whereas in spite of him a grin would persist in spreading across one side of his rosy features. he had done his duty in showing a willingness to take part in the protection of the camp; if his chums were a unit in deciding against him having a share in the sitting-up business he could not say anything more. "your part to-night will be to see that our little friend here is kept cozy and warm," phil told him, as he patted the boy on his curly head, and was surprised when the little fellow in the gratitude of his heart suddenly seized hold of his hand and actually pressed it to his childish lips. never would phil bradley forget the sensation he experienced upon receiving mute evidence of affection; it drew him more than ever to the hapless one whom affliction had marked for its own in refusing him the great gift of speech. "hello! listen to all that row going over there, will you?" cried x-ray tyson. as they started up with strained ears there came floating on the wind faint but unmistakable sounds that somehow thrilled the listeners through and through. chapter xiii the mystery of the pine woods "what in the dickens can it all mean?" exclaimed ethan allen. "i'm all up in the air about it," admitted lub, helplessly. "i heard several shots from guns!" declared x-ray tyson, positively enough. "yes, we all did," affirmed phil; "and there was a howl in the bargain that sounded to me like that of a dog." "whew! i bet you one of their animals has gone _mad_, and had to be shot!" burst out lub, in still further excitement. "what, at this season of the year?" cried x-ray; "i thought curs only went mad in the heat of summer, and that was why they called a part of august the dog days." "that isn't a fact, is it, phil?" appealed lub. "they used to think so," came the reply, "but of late it's been learned that the heat has little if anything to do with a dog going mad. because they always run with their tongues hanging out people had an idea the heat affected them. on the contrary the very sight of water causes a mad dog to go into spasms. it's just a terrible disease, and in cities is said to be more frequent in winter than in summer." "the racket has died out now," remarked x-ray, partly to change the subject, and hide the little confusion he felt at displaying his ignorance in his little dispute with lub. "and i guess the dog has been killed," ethan went on to remark; "but it took a whole lot of gunning to do the job, seemed like. they must have been pretty badly rattled, those new york city sportsmen who are up here to run the country about as they see fit." "i'd like to have seen the affair," observed x-ray tyson, meditatively, as if he might be trying to draw a mental picture of what must have been an exciting episode; for a mad dog in camp is likely to create considerable of a wild stampede. "excuse me from that sort of fun," lub protested; "i'm too fond of dogs to want to watch one running around, frothing at the mouth, and having to be executed." "shot down like a dog, you mean," interposed ethan; "and i wouldn't be much surprised if that old saying originated in a mad dog scare." all seemed quiet and serene once more over in the direction of the other camp. whatever the cause of all that shooting and shouting may have been, it had become a thing of the past, apparently. "well, it isn't any of our funeral," x-ray remarked, with a queer shrug of his shoulders; "and so i guess we'd better forget all about it." lub noticed that phil did not seem to agree with the last speaker. he had a serious expression on his face that told of some idea forming in his brain. "perhaps it wasn't a mad dog scare after all," phil suggested. "but what else could it have been?" asked ethan. "those sort of sportsmen always fetch lots of liquor along with them into the woods," asserted phil; "and it might be one of them had a fit of _delirium tremens_, so that he even tried to shoot up the camp, and had to be restrained." "well, now, there might be something in that," admitted x-ray, nodding his head reflectively. "and p'raps right now they've got a badly wounded man over there, with no doctor inside of a hundred miles." "i was thinking of that," ventured phil; and something in his tone and manner caused ethan to instantly leap to a conclusion. "were you figuring on going over that way, phil?" he demanded, "and offering to help that tough crowd if they needed any assistance, you knowing so much about looking after gunshot hurts that we often threatened to call you doctor bradley?" "yes, i was considering doing that," phil said, smiling, "though there might be no necessity for our entering the camp, if we seemed to find it all serene." "i take note of the fact," continued ethan, "that you use the plural pronoun 'we,' phil, which would indicate that you meant to have one of us go along. i'd like to speak for that privilege, if it's all the same to you." "shucks! you beat me out in saying that, hang the luck, ethan," grumbled x-ray tyson, who was not often caught napping, and therefore felt additionally sore in connection with this instance. "yes, if we think it a wise thing to do, you might as well help me out, ethan," phil told him; at which the allen boy grinned happily, and could not keep from casting a side look full of triumph toward x-ray. "i don't see that it could do any harm," lub advanced in his ponderous way, "if you scouted in that direction. you wouldn't have to brush in on them unless you saw signs that they were all mixed up, and in need of the right kind of help. and like as not you'd easily enough be able to find out what all the row was about, so as to tell us stay-at-homes." "come on, let's go, phil?" somehow the idea seemed to appeal more and more to ethan as he thought it over. the other camp was only a couple of miles, more or less, away, and on their snow-shoes they could make it in what the boys would call "double-quick" order. phil looked up at the sky. it was only a part of his customary caution, and not that he really expected there would be any signs of trouble in that quarter. "all right, then, ethan; get your gun and your snow-shoes. we'll take that scout and see if we can find out anything worth while." "i hope both of you keep your eyes smartly about you while you're passing along through the woods," urged lub. "a mad dog is a terrible thing to run across; and for all we know the beast might have got away." "ten to one, phil," sang out ethan, with a carefree laugh, "poor old timid lub here will spend every minute of the time we're away sitting on a log by the fire with his gun on his lap, and ready to whack away at any suspicious four-legged beast that shows up." "well, can you blame me?" demanded the stout boy; "i read about a fellow who was bitten by a mad dog, and it's haunted me ever since. i guess i'd rather be taken prisoner by hostile indians, and burned at the stake, than bitten by a dog suffering with the rabies." he stepped over and securing his gun found a comfortable spot on the log near the fire. here he drew the small waif close to his left side, and looked as though he meant to stay there in that one position as long as two of the guardians of the shack were absent on their risky errand. phil only loitered a couple of minutes to snatch up his camera. there could be no telling when he might run across a chance to make use of this. it is like a gun in that respect, for you often see the most marvelous pictures when you have unfortunately left the camera at home. they started off with the best wishes of those left behind. "course you've thought to put your little medicine-case in your pocket, phil?" sang out lub; "it came in mighty handy down on the coast, when we found that young bayman doubled up with pain, after eating some canned stuff that gave him a little touch of ptomaine poisoning; yes i can see it bulging out on the left side of your coat. well, so-long; and hurry back, because the night isn't so far away, and supper will be cooking, you know." the two boys made a bee-line for the other camp. both of them remembered its location, from having taken note of the column of smoke so often. ethan was doing better work with his snow-shoes right along now, for there is nothing that serves one so well in this respect as practice. they had covered the first mile with ease. "must be all of half way there, phil?" suggested ethan. "yes." "and do we keep straight on as we're going now, or make a little detour so as to come on the camp from the other side?" continued ethan. phil smiled. "i see you're up to all the little dodges of the profession, ethan," he chuckled, "and are bound to make an a number one tracker yet. yes, we might as well begin to circle some from here on, always keeping in mind the point we're aiming to reach." "no trouble at all about locating the camp, phil, as long as they continue to burn that half-green wood." "it does send up a pile of black smoke for a fact," admitted phil, looking in the direction his chum was pointing; "and we'll keep an eye on it as we go." of course as they made progress through the bush the boys did not neglect to observe everything around them. lub's solemn warning may not have made much of an impression on their minds, but habit proved strong, with phil at least, and it was his custom to be on the alert. "we're getting in close now," whispered ethan; "i thought i heard a cough, then." "that's right, and i can see the fire beyond that thick bunch of pines," was what the other replied, in the same low tone. still advancing cautiously they gradually reached a spot where they were able to look in on the rival camp. the fire was burning, but things seemed to be rather quiet. at least the two scouts failed to discover any furious rushing to and fro that would indicate excitement and alarm. "looks peaceful enough, phil, doesn't it?" whispered ethan, in rather a disappointed fashion, that would indicate he had felt hopeful the services of his chum might be needed, and that they could thus heap coals of fire on the head of the boastful and vindictive mr. james bodman, millionaire sportsman. "there's one of the guides near the fire," remarked phil. "yes, and he seems to be rather upset over something," pursued ethan; "notice how he keeps on looking to the right and to the left. see him start to hold up his hands then, will you? what in the wide world can have been going on over here?" "seems like a mystery," admitted phil, still staring at the vicinity of the camp fire where only that one guide was visible. "where d'ye suppose the others all are?" ventured ethan, keeping his voice down to the lowest possible pitch, although there did not seem to be any reason for such caution. "i suppose in those two shacks we see," came the hesitating answer; and then the other heard phil give a little gasp. "you've discovered something; what is it?" ethan asked, eagerly. "they did shoot a dog, it seems, ethan!" "how do you know?" continued the other, craning his neck to look. "you can see it lying there over by the woodpile," phil told him. "great cæsar! so it is, and with his feet up in the air. it's a dead dog, phil; no fooling about that." "yes, and has been shot, but who did it we don't know yet, ethan." "whew! i wonder if he bit that ugly red-faced sportsman you told us about, phil? i don't wish my worst enemy to meet with such a fate, it would seem as if it might be a judgment on that bully and railroad wrecker if he did get a good scare." "queer where the rest of the party are?" continued phil; "let's creep along this way a bit. we may get to a place where we can glimpse them." "there may have been another dog that got away, and the rest are hunting for him in the bush right now?" suggested ethan; but the supposition could not have struck phil very strongly for he made no comment. they made their way along as silently as they could. the soughing of the wind through the tops of the pines and the larches and the firs deadened any little scratching sound their snow-shoes may have made as they moved onward. it was while they were making this change of base that suddenly without the slightest warning phil laid his hand on the arm of his companion, and at the same time drew him down behind some bushes. when the startled ethan turned his eyes upon phil he saw that the other had a finger pressed upon his lips. this indicated additional caution. it also meant that silence was desirable for some reason or other, which of course ethan could not immediately fathom. then he saw phil gradually raise his head. he was looking carefully over the tops of the bushes at something. ethan, quivering with suspense, could hardly restrain his natural impulse to follow suit; and fortunately for his peace of mind phil just then made a gesture with his hand as though inviting him to join him. as ethan did so he saw his chum extend his hand with a pointed finger. looking on a line with this latter digit he made a discovery. something was moving near by. in place of a giant tree that had succumbed to the tempest many years previously, there had grown up a bunch of suckers, and some five of these offshoots had become quite good-sized trunks. they were arranged very much like the fingers and thumb of a partly-closed hand, so that there was a cup which the five protecting trunks surrounded. it was just a natural hiding place, and apparently some one was even then occupying the cup; for as ethan looked he saw a head projected, and held there for a dozen seconds, to be withdrawn, and then almost immediately come into view again. whoever the party might be he evidently had his whole attention taken up with watching the camp, as though it might hold something that had an important bearing on his condition of happiness and peace of mind. "he's spying on the camp, phil!" whispered ethan, in the other's ear. "looks like it," murmured phil. "can it be your fire-eater of a baylay, then?" was the next thing ethan suggested. "hardly," replied phil. "this man is _afraid_; his every action tells that he's been in a big panic lately, and hasn't recovered." "go on, phil?" urged the other, eager to know what next his chum would say. "i think i know who he must be, ethan." "good. tell me then, phil." "now watch again when he pokes out and take notice of what sort of a thing he's got on his head." "there he comes once more, and he certainly does act like a man who's afraid. but what's this i see? makes me think of the _chef_ in a hotel; for he's wearing a white cap without a peak!" "well, that's just what he is, the _chef_ these railroad magnates have fetched up with them to give them the best of meals while in camp," whispered phil. "but whatever can he be doing hiding that way, and acting as if he was in mortal fear of his life? if you've got an idea please tell me, phil." chapter xiv mr. james bodman gives a dance "i'm as much in the dark as you can be, ethan," phil told him. "it's mighty queer, i say; and i'd give something to know what it means," muttered the other scout, who evidently had more than his allotted share of curiosity. phil seemed to be debating as to whether it was enough of their business to pay them for taking any more trouble. the only thing that tempted him in that direction was the chance that some one might have been injured during all that shooting, and he would like to be useful in an emergency. all right-minded people who go into the woods feel that way toward others. "well, let's creep up and interview the cook!" he suggested. at that ethan grinned as though greatly pleased. "sure thing, phil!" he whispered. they immediately started to carry out this plan. phil kept his gun in evidence, and ethan followed suit. this was not to be taken so much in the nature of a threat as an inducement to awaken confidence in the terrified _chef_. if he saw that they were also hunters he might feel disposed to remain where he was, and satisfy their curiosity, at least to a reasonable extent. after more or less of shifting of their line of advance to meet the various conditions that arose, they found themselves close in upon the bunch of trees. and apparently the man who was hiding must have caught some little sound just then, for on turning his head he saw them. phil guessed he must be a little frenchman even before he heard him give utterance to a single word, just from his appearance, and the tiny black mustache he sported. he was dressed in white, and they might not have noticed him at all because of the snow, only that the trunks of the trees formed a darker background, against which his spotless apparel stood out plainly. he looked greatly distressed at sight of the two boys. at first they thought he was figuring on running, but somehow the camp did not seem to offer him a safe asylum; and as for the woods he knew next to nothing about such a wilderness, since he had come from a city like new york. so the _chef_ compromised, as many a sensible man before him has found it profitable to do when confronted with a choice of evils; he elevated both his hands as if to let them know he surrendered unconditionally. "come on!" said phil, on seeing this sign; "we'll ask him a few questions anyway." they quickly joined the man in white. he was surveying the boys with a look of bewilderment on his pallid face. "you do not look so terrible as heem!" they heard him say, in what might be considered a conciliatory tone. "who are you?" asked phil, getting down to business at once. "françois lavelle," came the prompt answer, as the _chef_ drew himself up with a bit of perhaps unconscious pride. "are you mr. bodman's cook?" asked ethan, curiously. "i am ze french _chef_," he was instantly told, as though there might be a vast difference; "i haf serve him for five years; and he would not even come up to zis heathen country unless françois he accompany heem to serve ze meals he adores." "what has been going on over here? we heard all sorts of noises from our camp, as though there was murder being done; and so we've come across country to find out what it meant?" when phil said this the _chef_ shivered, and drew up his shoulders in a ridiculous fashion that ethan afterwards used to recall with shouts of laughter, it seemed so comical. "if zere haf not been murder done," he said, solemnly, "it haf been because pouf! i run so fast. _begar!_ zat devil haf murder in hees eyes." "then the dog did go mad?" burst out ethan wonderingly. "dog--mad?" stammered françois, as though puzzled; "i do not understand. eet is not ze dog zat go mad but zat terrible man who haf come to take my life!" "why should any one want to kill you?" asked ethan; "did you forget to put seasoning in the soup; or was there too much cayenne pepper in the stew?" "_parbleau!_ m'sieu, eet was all about ze hot water!" "please continue, because you have interested us very much," urged phil; "what happened with the scalding water?" "i threw zat same all over ze strange dog zat come into ze camp. on my honor i hold up zis hand and swear i zink it a savage wolf; so on ze impulse of ze minute _pouf!_ and all over heem it goes!" "oh! now we are beginning to see a little light, françois; when did this happen?" phil continued, just as a lawyer cross-questioning a witness gradually succeeds in drawing out the entire story. "zis afternoon, m'sieu. ze guides zey laugh, and say i am one hero; but zey also wink at each uzzer. i suspicion zey know who ze dog belong to, and believe zat i hear again from eet. _sacre!_ i did!" "you mean the owner of the scalded dog came to your camp, and demanded satisfaction?" phil asked. "zat ees what happened. he was a terror i am assuring you. my flesh seemed to grow cold like ze ice, when i hear him roar zat he haf come to demand ze satisfaction for ze injury to hees dog." "who did he say this to, françois?" "who but ze master, m. bodman heemself. ze first zing i notice was zat both the brave guides zey haf zere hands held up in ze air, as eef to show zat it was none of zere affair." "wise men, françois, and it looks as if they knew this visitor. did you hear his name mentioned?" "oui, m'sieu. eet was when my employer say heem mr. james bodman, and zat he is a power un ze world of finance; when zis pig owner of ze dog tell how he ees ze terrible badger, and zat he runs zings up here in the woods as he pleases." "then it seems that mr. bodman met his match at last. he was pretty hot about the collar, wasn't he, françois; i mean, of course, that he acted furious?" ethan asked. "it did not make any deeference to zat terrible badger. he see ze dog zat was worth five hundred dollars, and with one shot from hees gun he kills heem." "whew! he _must_ have been wild!" declared ethan; "but we heard a lot of shooting and shouting, françois; did the others of the party dare attack this man of the woods, and was there a regular battle?" "i do not zink so, m'sieu. i myself am running evaire so fast just zen; but ze last look i take i have seen my employer dancing ze hop-step-and-jump while zat madman shoot close to hees toes." ethan could not keep a broad grin from appearing on his face at that. "then it must have been those two who were doing most of the shouting, the dancing man threatening all sorts of things that were to come; and the man with the gun telling him to try another step like the tango. you'd think, even if the guides washed their hands of the whole business, the other sportsmen might have taken a hand in the game, instead merely of looking on." "oh! zey did, i assure you, m'sieu! zey dance just ze same as ze gentleman. eet may be zat wild-man he tell zem zey must keep time wif ze music or ze bullets zey might not miss zere ankles." "and so you were running off all this time, were you, françois?" asked phil, who no longer had any difficulty in understanding what it meant. "what would you haf me do, m'sieu?" demanded the _chef_, indignantly; "i haf von wife and five charming children at home. who support zem eef i allow myself to be sacrificed to ze passion of zat madman? i am of ze brave family over in france, but i am also not ze fool." "and you managed to escape without him discovering you?" continued phil. "aha! i slip in and out of ze trees. heem so much taken up wif ze dance of ze gentlemen zat he nevaire see poor françois. so i reach zis place and sink down to ze ground to recover my breath." "but he went away finally, i suppose?" phil questioned. "after he haf exhaust ze gentlemen, and haf hees leetle joke." "and no one lifted a hand to stay his departure, did they, françois?" "ze guides would not, because zey haf to live up here in ze woods, and zey dare not make ze enemy of zat terrible badger. and ze three gentlemen could not walk over to ze cabin where zere guns were, zey were so exhausted." "but that happened all of half an hour ago, didn't it, françois?" "i am not in ze condition to say, m'sieu. all i know is zat i haf not yet entirely recover from my knees knocking against each other; and as for my heart it keeps on jumping up into ze throat every time i hear a rustle close by. i zink zat man haf come back to get _me_, ze culprit, who is guilty of throwing ze boiling water on hees hound." "but why haven't you gone back into the camp?" continued ethan. "surely it would be safer for you among those who have guns." "ah! m'sieu, it ees easy to talk, but you do not know how terrible zat wild man look. and if ze guides zey will not lift a hand to fight, what chance would poor françois haf? i shall remain here in zis beautiful retreat till ze darkness come, and zen go back to make a new bargain with m. bodman. eef he promise to protect me i can again cook ze lofely meals; but eef he refuses me zat favor eet means zat françois' skill ees lost. everyzing i try i should make a failure of. ze soup eet be spill, ze bread burned, and ze dishes he adores i forget how to make." "oh! the danger is likely all over with, françois," phil told the poor shivering _chef_. "this angry owner of the dogs has taken his revenge, and will fight shy of your camp after this. you can go back without running any great risk. but do you think any one was hurt by all that shooting?" a negative shake of the head answered this question. "but we only see one of the guides in the camp?" continued phil. "ze gentlemen zey are in ze cabin resting after zere mad dance. zey haf to keep eet up till zey nearly ready to drop before he say he haf enough. i am afraid zat m. bodman he burst a blood vessel, he appear to be so red in hees face. ze uzzer guide zey haf in zere doing somezings for zem." phil was completely satisfied by now. "nothing for us to do over here, it seems, ethan," he suggested. "i reckon not," replied the other. "our intentions were good, but fortunately there is no need of our services, as nobody was injured. so we might as well start back home, ethan." "better take a picture of françois here, with the camp for a background, phil. then you'll have something to show when you tell this story later on. and françois wouldn't object, i should think?" phil seemed to think it would not be a bad idea. "those five tree trunks will make a good scene in themselves, with the snow, and the camp with its fire and smoke back of them. françois, would you mind leaning out, and looking at me for just a few seconds?" the _chef_ was apparently an obliging sort of fellow; either that or else he had just experienced such a fright that he did not care to antagonize any more of the people he ran across up in this wilderness. he did as phil requested, and the picture was taken in that fashion. after that the boys bade him good-by, and turned their backs on the scene of the recent happening. both of them felt well repaid for their short trip. they had learned what the loud commotion in the rival camp had meant; and were carrying back some mighty interesting news for the others. ethan was chuckling all the way. "i just can't help but laugh at what that french cook told us," he remarked, as though he felt it really necessary to explain his actions. "just imagine your fiery, red-faced, stout millionaire dancing furiously, while the owner of the scalded dog fires an occasional shot, cowboy fashion, close to his toes to make him jig faster. and all the while they are both yelling, the one in crazy delight and the other as mad as they make 'em. oh! i'll burst my sides laughing yet." "well, it must have been a comical sight," admitted phil, smiling broadly himself, "at least to an outsider, though i suppose those three men think it's an outrage serious enough to cause war between uncle sam and canada right away after they get back home and report it." "if only you had been right where we found the cook, phil, with your camera, and cracked off a few shots of that dance, they'd be the best ever." "yes, that would have been a fine thing, but of course it couldn't ever be," the other continued. "but how about the man who was the cause of all this row; we ought to be able to guess who he was, without much trouble." "françois said he called himself the terrible badger!" "allowing for françois being badly frightened we can put our interpretation on that," said phil. "instead of badger say baylay, and you've got it straight." "whew! both that logger and mr. mcnab did say he was an awful case, didn't they? and seems like all men are alike to him. little he cares whether it's an american millionaire railroad wrecker, or just a plain sportsman, anson baylay snaps his fingers and tells them to dance, and they do dance." "he might choose to treat us the same way, so don't crow too loud, ethan," warned the other. "what! after we've done so much for his kid that has the impediment in his speech? i should think he'd have some kind of gratitude about him. but if this was baylay somehow he didn't seem to mention anything about losing a child, that françois heard?" "it may be he hasn't been home for several days," explained phil. "i understand he carried a line of traps somewhere up here; and possibly he is compelled to be away for days at a time. but he must have been on the way home when his dog got that scalding at the hands of the french cook, who thought it was a bold wolf invading the camp." "then if baylay gets home this afternoon or evening he's likely to hear about his terrible loss. in that case we may expect to see him within the next twenty-four hours, wouldn't you think, phil?" "if he doesn't show up by to-morrow morning i plan to start out and try to find his cabin, so we can let them know we have the boy safe and sound. but here we are close on our camp, and everything seems to be serene there." chapter xv the fire vigil when the sound of their snow-shoes crunching over the surface of the drifts came to the ears of lub, still seated there on the log, he was seen to start, and half raise his gun, while he evidently gave some sort of signal, for x-ray came rushing out of the shack, also armed. at discovering that there was no sudden peril both the defenders of the camp laughed at their fears. "welcome back, fellows!" sang out lub; "didn't expect you so soon, and supper is not even started yet. but after we've heard your report we'll get busy." "did you go all the way over?" asked x-ray, eagerly. "we sure did," replied ethan. "and perhaps now you learned what the row was about?" continued lub. "they were having a dance," said ethan, with a suggestive grin. "it must have been because they were half drunk, then," sneered x-ray. "nope; perfectly sober, so far as we could learn from their _chef_. you see, mr. bodman and his two sportsmen guests were coaxed to dance _against their will_. every time a gun went off, and the bullet kicked up the snow and dirt near their feet they had to jump all the harder!" of course it was ethan's object to arouse the wonder of the other pair, and to judge from the puzzled expression on their faces he had already succeeded in doing so. "oh! come on, and tell us all about it," said lub. at that the two returned scouts found places on the log, and started to relate how they had come upon the panic-stricken _chef_, who by degrees had told the whole remarkable happening, beginning with his mistake in scalding a stray dog under the impression that it was a prowling wolf, down to the minute they came upon him hiding there, and afraid to go back to the camp lest he be confronted with that furious giant of a woodsman, wild to avenge the insult to his four-footed pet. never had lub and x-ray listened to a more curious and thrilling story. they almost held their very breath as they hung upon every word, with a look of intense interest stamped on their faces. "now," said phil, when everything they had learned had been told, "what do you two think about it? was the terrible badger the man we've been hearing so much about since coming up here--baylay?" "must be that he is," announced x-ray, promptly. "well, the indications all point that way," lub remarked, in his slow fashion, as though he might be still weighing things in his mind. "there are so few persons up around here that it couldn't well be any one else. so we'll have to take it for granted the owner of the dog is baylay." "hurra! since lub has finally figured it out the rest of us needn't bother about it any more. lub has settled the thing beyond all dispute," laughed ethan. "well, i guess you'll find that i'm right," ventured lub, who often took himself very seriously, and in this way sometimes intensified the joke. "how about that grub, _chef_?" asked ethan; "that little tramp seems to have put an edge on my appetite." "huh! as if it wasn't always sharp enough," lub told him; "but if there's nothing more to listen to i suppose i might as well get busy. you see, i've got a pot of beans cooking there, which has been on more'n two hours, so i should think the things would be fairly done. and along with that we're going to have some fried ham, with eggs to follow, coffee, cakes, and then crackers and cheese for those who feel that way." "well, if it will hurry things up any i'm ready to pitch in and help you, _chef_," ethan told him. "get some more wood, then!" ordered lub, "and be careful about that bean-pot. i hung it across on that iron rod from two stakes with crotches on top, but it is a little shaky. if you spill the beans your name will be dennis, i warn you." "he'd better cut a hole in the ice and drown himself if he's that clumsy," warned x-ray; "for after smelling those beans cooking all this time it would make me pretty cross if i was cheated out of having three messes for supper." somehow even tender-hearted lub had not been heard to express anything like sorrow on account of what had happened over at the other camp. in fact all of them seemed to be of the one mind; and to think that it served the bossy millionaire about right to be ordered around a little, and made to dance a hornpipe at the dictation of the terror of the pine woods. according to their notion it was a dose of his own medicine mr. james bodman had been compelled to take. no doubt many a time he had by his brutal methods of frenzied finance compelled others to dance to his fiddling; and now he knew how it felt himself. indeed, x-ray was filled with only one keen regret. he would have given almost anything for the pleasure of being in position to see what the french _chef_ had so aptly described. "just to think of that red-faced fat old fellow dancing as the bullets plowed up the snow close to his toes!" he was heard to say; "i can see him jumping up and down like mad, cracking his heels together, puffing like a winded nag, and screaming his threats at the man who was treating him as if he were only a common every-day ten dollar a week clerk, instead of the great american millionaire. wow! it must have been rich, though!" they could talk of nothing else all evening. no matter what subject was broached some one was sure to bring it back to the one intensely interesting topic. it seemed to be the consensus of opinion among them that phil was right when he figured that baylay could not have been home before he visited the other camp. if he had known of his child's vanishing in the great snow forest he would hardly have bothered himself seeking revenge for the injury to his dog. on the contrary it was more than likely he would have besought the inmates of the camp to come to his assistance in trying to find the child, even though all hope of the little one being still alive must be abandoned. "i wonder if we will see him here, sooner or later?" lub ventured to say, and then giving his little charge a benevolent look he continued: "if he could only up and tell us things it'd make it so much easier. sometimes seems to me the boy knows what i'm saying to him, and tries the best he can to answer, but as yet i haven't mastered his sign language. chances are his mammy would know everything he wants to tell." "he's gone to sleep now," remarked phil, "after that fine supper he put away. one thing sure, he hasn't lost his appetite even if he has his folks." "can you blame the little shaver?" said lub, quickly; "like as not it's been a long spell since he's seen such grub as we put before him, and plenty of it at that. up here the guides are in the habit of taking what they call pot-luck; one day plenty of meat on hand, and another time the pot is pretty nearly empty." "x-ray, don't you want to come out with me for a short time?" asked phil as he got on his feet. "sure i do," the other replied, without the slightest hesitation in his manner or speech; "what's doing now, phil?" "oh! you remember i said i had found several places where certain small fur-bearing animals live. an old trapper would say they '_use_' the ground where their tracks show. well, i want to get some flashlight pictures of the same, and it's to lay my trap that i'm going out now." "glad you don't think of going alone, phil," remarked lub, seriously. "why, do you think i might run up against a wolf pack, and have to climb a tree to save myself from their teeth?" laughed phil, as he slung the camera over his shoulder, and then picked up his repeating rifle. "well, it wasn't so much that as the chance of your meeting some of the ugly crowd from the other camp that made me say what i did," lub continued. "any lot of people who could get down so low as to try and burn a party of boys out of their shack, just for petty spite, would be capable of doing pretty nearly anything." at that both phil and ethan laughed loudly. "make your mind easy about that millionaire and his party!" exclaimed the latter, "they've had enough experience with the terrible baylay to do them a life-time. i rather think they'll be afraid to venture far away from their old camp the rest of the time they're up here. fact is, it wouldn't surprise me a whit if they packed up and vacated inside of twenty-four hours." "and you're saying just what was in my mind, too, ethan," phil added. "not one of those three wealthy men could be tempted to get away from the fire this night; and i rather think they'll take a dislike to the whole neighborhood. they haven't been very lucky since coming here." "not in getting their caribou, anyway," said x-ray, uproariously, as he allowed his thoughts to go back to the time when he and phil offered their leavings to the domineering financier, after he tried to make out he had first claim to the quarry that had been brought down. as phil had made all his preparations beforehand they experienced little difficulty in placing the trap. it was so arranged that the mink could not possibly get the attractive bait without setting the flashlight cartridge off; and if everything worked well his picture would be taken as neatly as though the photographer were present in person to superintend things. "i hope this will be the beginning of a series of successful jobs along this same line," phil was saying, as after arranging things to suit his ideas they headed in the direction of camp once more. "you haven't given up the idea of visiting that beaver settlement, i hope, phil?" "just as soon as we get the boy off our hands we'll take it up," he was told. "while that is hanging over us i'd rather stay near home; because whether baylay comes in the dead of night, or by the light of the sun i want to be there to meet him." "and the rest of us would rather have it that way, i'm sure," admitted ethan, which was enough in itself to show how the balance of the mountain boys had come to depend on phil as their leader. "but if you feel so sure none of that crowd will venture out to-night, is that going to make any change in our regular program of keeping watch, phil?" "no, i don't see why it should," came the ready response. "it's a good habit to get into, and the more we practice it the better we can stand our stint without feeling like going to sleep on post." "i half expect you're looking for a visit from baylay," ventured ethan, shrewdly. "that depends a good deal on whether he knows about our being here," he was told. "if he didn't happen to see our smoke, or run across mcnab when the farmer was getting out of the bush, of course he wouldn't be apt to come this way. in that event the man would spend all his time scouting the snow woods around the place where we picked up the kid." "he must be a smart tracker, phil?" "it stands to reason that he is," replied the other; "and i can give a good guess why you say that, ethan. you think he may try to follow the boy from the time he started out, with his little popgun under his arm, just as he had seen his daddy go forth many a time on a hunt for fresh meat." "if he did, and the wind hasn't drifted the dry snow so as to cover the trail all up, why in the course of time he'd reach the spot where we found the kid; and as the trail ended there he might guess somebody had found him, or else the wolves had carried the boy off." "that's true enough, ethan; but as the wind has been blowing more or less ever since, and the snow is like powder, i'm afraid that trail of the boy has been covered long ago. even the smartest tracker couldn't keep it long. but we'll have to wait and see what turns up." they sat there before the fire for a long time. there was so much to talk about that the time passed before they knew it. lub had some while since managed to get his little charge tucked away under the capacious blanket, and he now declared his intention of joining him. phil insisted upon taking the first watch on this particular night, and while the other pair may have had some idea as to what his reason was they did not ask any questions. "you'll wake me in good time, remember, phil," had been the last words of x-ray as he smothered a tremendous yawn; and then followed ethan under his blanket. phil sat there watching the fire, which he meant to keep burning cheerfully all through his time on guard. if any one were heading for the camp through the snow woods that welcome pyramid of flame would serve as a guidepost to their steps. and somehow phil seemed to have the utmost confidence that sooner or later his vigilance would be rewarded. an hour, two of them almost had passed, and beyond the customary noises of the night nothing had broken upon his hearing. the wind murmured and fretted among the pine-tops; or a limb creaked mournfully as it scraped across another. a snow owl called to its mate in the deeper recesses of the woods; perhaps some daring little creatures came creeping from unknown recesses under various roots, and hunted for crumbs of food near the camp. then phil raised his head to listen. he smiled, and nodded, as though satisfied his long vigil was about to be rewarded. yes, plainly now he caught the peculiar crunch of advancing snow-shoes. the sound came from the quarter away from the lake; and it was in that direction they believed the waif's people had their lonely cabin, deep in the recesses of the bush, so that only with the greatest difficulty could any venturesome game warden ever find the home of the poacher who scorned all their warnings, and defied arrest. nearer the sounds came. whoever it was advancing he was apparently in a desperate hurry; and that seemed to fit in with phil's way of figuring. indeed, with the fate of that little darling of a boy hung up in the balance he could not see how any father who cared at all for his child would linger on the snow-shoe trail. phil arose quietly to his feet. the sounds were close at hand as a huge form loomed up in the light of the firelight; and phil drew a breath of relief as he realized that the crisis had come; for that could be no other than the poacher baylay, come to ask in his anguish if they had seen the lost boy. chapter xvi baylay's home-coming--conclusion as phil stood there, he saw the big man who had terrorized the bodman camp so recently, swiftly advance. there was no evidence of braggadocio about baylay now. he had a gun in his hand, but this he held up as though to let those in the camp understand that he came in peace. phil wanted the other to show his colors. great was his amazement when he caught a half-choked appealing emotion in the other's tones. evidently all the fight had been suddenly taken from anson baylay when he arrived home and learned of his terrible loss. "i'm acomin' to ask ye to help me," he started to say. "i can't find him in the snow; an' ma says p'raps _somebody_ might a picked him up. i hopes so, sure, 'cause we sets a store by the kid. hev ye seen my kinney?" "are you the man they call the terrible baylay?" asked phil. "anson baylay is my name, but i ain't so terrible; seein' i feel as weak as a cat, 'cause o' this thing that's happened; an' wi' ma acryin' her head off. but ye ain't tole me yit if ye seen a sign o' my lettle boy kinney. tell me the wost, stranger; i kin stand it; but i sure hate to fetch the news hum to her." "is kinney a little boy with yellow hair and blue eyes?" asked phil. "yes, yes, that's him!" gasped the giant, thrusting out a trembling hand and gripping the boy by the arm so that phil winced. "don't squeeze my arm like that, baylay," he said, hastily; "you may not mean to hurt but all the same you do. tell me, is kinney tongue-tied, so that he can't say a word?" "that's what he is, mister; but the dearest little cub as ever was born! does you mean to tell me ye seen him?" cried baylay. "kinney's safe and sound, baylay, and i guess that's the best news you ever had," phil hastened to say, for he saw that the man was suffering tortures in his hopes and fears. with that the giant gave a sigh that must have welled up from his heart. "is he here with ye, mister?" he managed to ask, tremulously. "he's sound asleep in our shack here," said phil; "we ran on him in the woods. he had gone out hunting, with his little popgun. when he found himself lost and getting very cold the brave little chap tried the best he knew how to start a fire, but the deep snow kept him from finding the right sort of kindling. he had given up when we ran across him, attracted by his moaning. but we came up just in time." "take me to him, mister, _please_ take me to him. i can't believe it 'less i see him, and 'less i feel him. i sure thought he was gone away from us forever. and my heart is ahungerin' for kinney. we got other kids, but there be only one kinney!" phil could not resist. he knew the big logger would have rushed into the shack anyway, even if he had declined to wake the others up. "wait here, and i'll fetch the boy," he said. first he threw on some more wood, so that the fire would start afresh. then, entering he bent over each of his comrades, saying: "wake up, and come out; he's here!" as lub started to crawl from under his blanket phil reached over and picking up the now wideawake little lad he said close to his ear: "daddy's come for you, kinney; he's outside here waiting to hug you!" they all came tumbling out in a bunch, eager to witness the meeting between their little ward and his terrible father. when lub saw the man fiercely hugging the little mite, with the child's arms pressed around his neck, he stood there staring, and phil heard him say to himself wonderingly: "and they call that big-hearted man the _terrible_ baylay, do they? well, i guess after all he's only a bluff, and just the same as any other fellow. why, honest to goodness i do believe there are real tears rolling down his cheeks right now." but phil knew it was the power of love making this giant as a child. "you must stay the rest of the night with us," he told the giant, "and in the morning some of us will go with you to your cabin. we want to meet the mother of the boy, because we've got something to propose that will be a blessing to you and to kinney." at first baylay wanted to carry the good news to the mother. but phil told him he must consider the boy. then baylay thought of going alone to take the joyful tidings to the grieving heart in that lonely cabin; but he lacked the nerve to tear himself away from the little chap whose arms were about his big neck and whose kisses were pressing on his bearded cheek. consequently he finally agreed to remain, and since sleep would doubtless refuse to come to any of them during the balance of that eventful night they sat there by the fire and talked. phil believed he knew of a plan whereby a certain cherished scheme of his own could be put through, with baylay as the manager of the farm on which phil meant to try and breed the valuable silver black foxes, with their pelts worth fortunes. he even mentioned this to the former guide, trapper, and logger, and discovering that baylay was fully posted as to every detail, phil made a proposition to him, which was joyfully accepted. when morning came lub had plenty of assistance in getting a hurried breakfast, and that finished they prepared to start forth. however, in due time the whole party managed to reach the isolated cabin where anson baylay lived. when they saw little kinney safe in the arms of his mother, who was almost wild with joy, it was noticeable how each of the boys found it necessary to turn aside and wink violently as they pretended to be looking at something which had suddenly attracted their attention. as they sat at the homely table in that cabin and the face of the poacher's happy wife beamed with smiles, phil gently took up the other subject. when those parents learned that there was a strong possibility of an operation giving their afflicted child the blessed power of speech; and that these splendid boys offered to stand all the expense, taking kinney and his mother with them to montreal for the occasion, they could not find words to express the deep gratitude that filled their hearts. so it was settled, and when the time came for the mountain boys to depart the baylay family would go with them to civilization, where anson could keep in touch with his new employer from time to time. then the mother and kinney would accompany phil and his chums as far as montreal. phil managed to get his striking picture of a great bull moose; and ethan on his part shot the monster later on, so that he could have the horns as a trophy of his skill. they no longer saw mr. james bodman and his party, as the saguenay river country had become too unpleasant for them. finally tammis mcnab came with his sledge and ponies. it was crowding matters to take them all, but he landed them safely at the town, where they could be transported to the st. lawrence. in due time the boys arrived in montreal with mrs. baylay and kinney. a famous surgeon told them there would be no difficulty whatever in performing a successful operation; and that inside of a few months no one would ever know the child had had any difficulty in enunciating. "well," said lub, when with his three chums he made himself comfortable in the pullman car at the montreal station, and were about to enter upon the last lap of the homeward journey; "i kind of think this has been the most remarkable of all our trips. and i wonder where the next one will take us." "nobody can say just now," laughed phil. "our vacation is near an end, and we'll soon be hard at work again; but no matter where the mountain boys go they know how to take care of themselves." in this happy mood, then, did phil and his chums go back to their homes in brewster, satisfied that they had a glorious time during their snow-shoe trip to the wilds of canada, and not regretting for a single minute they had undertaken the long journey. it was to be expected that the mountain boys would enjoy other outings of a similar character; and the author only hopes it will be his pleasing duty to chronicle their doings for the benefit of the many young friends who have followed their fortunes through the pages of this and the preceding books of the series. the end the mountain boys series . phil bradley's mountain boys . phil bradley at the wheel . phil bradley's shooting box . phil bradley's snow-shoe trail these books describe with interesting detail the experiences of a party of boys among the mountain pines. they teach the young reader how to protect himself against the elements, what to do and what to avoid, and above all to become self-reliant and manly. l mo. cloth, cents per volume, postpaid the new york book company east th street, new york the hickory ridge boy scouts a series of books for boys by capt. alan douglas, scout-master the campfires of the wolf patrol their first camping experience affords the scouts splendid opportunities to use their recently acquired knowledge in a practical way. elmer chenoweth, a lad from the northwest woods, astonishes everyone by his familiarity with camp life. a clean, wholesome story every boy should read. woodcraft; or, how a patrol leader made good this tale presents many stirring situations in which the boys are called upon to exercise ingenuity and unselfishness. a story filled with healthful excitement. pathfinder; or, the missing tenderfoot some mysteries are cleared up in a most unexpected way, greatly to the credit of our young friends. a variety of incidents follow fast, one after the other. fast nine; or, a challenge from fairfield they show the same team-work here as when in camp. the description of the final game with the team of a rival town, and the outcome thereof, form a stirring narrative. one of the best baseball stories of recent years. great hike; or, the pride of the khaki troop after weeks of preparation the scouts start out on their greatest undertaking. their march takes them far from home, and the good-natured rivalry of the different patrols furnishes many interesting and amusing situations. endurance test; or, how clear grit won the day few stories "get" us more than illustrations of pluck in the face of apparent failure. our heroes show the stuff they are made of and surprise their most ardent admirers. one of the best stories captain douglas has written. under canvas; or, the hunt for the cartaret ghost it was hard to disbelieve the evidence of their eyes but the boys by the exercise of common-sense solved a mystery which had long puzzled older heads. storm-bound; or, a vacation among the snow drifts the boys start out on the wrong track, but their scout training comes to the rescue and their experience proves beneficial to all concerned. boy scout nature lore to be found in the hickory ridge boy scout series, all illustrated:-- wild animals of the united states--tracking--trees and wild flowers of the united states--reptiles of the united states--fishes of the united states--insects of the united states and birds of the united states. cloth binding, cover illustrations in four colors, c. per volume the new york book company east th street, new york transcriber's note: this etext was produced from galaxy science fiction january . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed. the world that couldn't be by clifford d. simak illustrated by gaughan _like every farmer on every planet, duncan had to hunt down anything that damaged his crops--even though he was aware this was--_ * * * * * the tracks went up one row and down another, and in those rows the _vua_ plants had been sheared off an inch or two above the ground. the raider had been methodical; it had not wandered about haphazardly, but had done an efficient job of harvesting the first ten rows on the west side of the field. then, having eaten its fill, it had angled off into the bush--and that had not been long ago, for the soil still trickled down into the great pug marks, sunk deep into the finely cultivated loam. [illustration] somewhere a sawmill bird was whirring through a log, and down in one of the thorn-choked ravines, a choir of chatterers was clicking through a ghastly morning song. it was going to be a scorcher of a day. already the smell of desiccated dust was rising from the ground and the glare of the newly risen sun was dancing off the bright leaves of the hula-trees, making it appear as if the bush were filled with a million flashing mirrors. gavin duncan hauled a red bandanna from his pocket and mopped his face. "no, mister," pleaded zikkara, the native foreman of the farm. "you cannot do it, mister. you do not hunt a cytha." "the hell i don't," said duncan, but he spoke in english and not the native tongue. he stared out across the bush, a flat expanse of sun-cured grass interspersed with thickets of hula-scrub and thorn and occasional groves of trees, criss-crossed by treacherous ravines and spotted with infrequent waterholes. it would be murderous out there, he told himself, but it shouldn't take too long. the beast probably would lay up shortly after its pre-dawn feeding and he'd overhaul it in an hour or two. but if he failed to overhaul it, then he must keep on. "dangerous," zikkara pointed out. "no one hunts the cytha." "i do," duncan said, speaking now in the native language. "i hunt anything that damages my crop. a few nights more of this and there would be nothing left." * * * * * jamming the bandanna back into his pocket, he tilted his hat lower across his eyes against the sun. "it might be a long chase, mister. it is the _skun_ season now. if you were caught out there...." "now listen," duncan told it sharply. "before i came, you'd feast one day, then starve for days on end; but now you eat each day. and you like the doctoring. before, when you got sick, you died. now you get sick, i doctor you, and you live. you like staying in one place, instead of wandering all around." "mister, we like all this," said zikkara, "but we do not hunt the cytha." "if we do not hunt the cytha, we lose all this," duncan pointed out. "if i don't make a crop, i'm licked. i'll have to go away. then what happens to you?" "we will grow the corn ourselves." "that's a laugh," said duncan, "and you know it is. if i didn't kick your backsides all day long, you wouldn't do a lick of work. if i leave, you go back to the bush. now let's go and get that cytha." "but it is such a little one, mister! it is such a young one! it is scarcely worth the trouble. it would be a shame to kill it." probably just slightly smaller than a horse, thought duncan, watching the native closely. it's scared, he told himself. it's scared dry and spitless. "besides, it must have been most hungry. surely, mister, even a cytha has the right to eat." "not from my crop," said duncan savagely. "you know why we grow the _vua_, don't you? you know it is great medicine. the berries that it grows cures those who are sick inside their heads. my people need that medicine--need it very badly. and what is more, out there--" he swept his arm toward the sky--"out there they pay very much for it." "but, mister...." "i tell you this," said duncan gently, "you either dig me up a bush-runner to do the tracking for me or you can all get out, the kit and caboodle of you. i can get other tribes to work the farm." "no, mister!" zikkara screamed in desperation. "you have your choice," duncan told it coldly. * * * * * he plodded back across the field toward the house. not much of a house as yet. not a great deal better than a native shack. but someday it would be, he told himself. let him sell a crop or two and he'd build a house that would really be a house. it would have a bar and swimming pool and a garden filled with flowers, and at last, after years of wandering, he'd have a home and broad acres and everyone, not just one lousy tribe, would call him mister. gavin duncan, planter, he said to himself, and liked the sound of it. planter on the planet layard. but not if the cytha came back night after night and ate the _vua_ plants. he glanced over his shoulder and saw that zikkara was racing for the native village. called their bluff, duncan informed himself with satisfaction. he came out of the field and walked across the yard, heading for the house. one of shotwell's shirts was hanging on the clothes-line, limp in the breathless morning. damn the man, thought duncan. out here mucking around with those stupid natives, always asking questions, always under foot. although, to be fair about it, that was shotwell's job. that was what the sociology people had sent him out to do. duncan came up to the shack, pushed the door open and entered. shotwell, stripped to the waist, was at the wash bench. breakfast was cooking on the stove, with an elderly native acting as cook. duncan strode across the room and took down the heavy rifle from its peg. he slapped the action open, slapped it shut again. shotwell reached for a towel. "what's going on?" he asked. "cytha got into the field." "cytha?" "a kind of animal," said duncan. "it ate ten rows of _vua_." "big? little? what are its characteristics?" the native began putting breakfast on the table. duncan walked to the table, laid the rifle across one corner of it and sat down. he poured a brackish liquid out of a big stew pan into their cups. god, he thought, what i would give for a cup of coffee. * * * * * shotwell pulled up his chair. "you didn't answer me. what is a cytha like?" "i wouldn't know," said duncan. "don't know? but you're going after it, looks like, and how can you hunt it if you don't know--" "track it. the thing tied to the other end of the trail is sure to be the cytha. well find out what it's like once we catch up to it." "we?" "the natives will send up someone to do the tracking for me. some of them are better than a dog." "look, gavin. i've put you to a lot of trouble and you've been decent with me. if i can be any help, i would like to go." "two make better time than three. and we have to catch this cytha fast or it might settle down to an endurance contest." "all right, then. tell me about the cytha." duncan poured porridge gruel into his bowl, handed the pan to shotwell. "it's a sort of special thing. the natives are scared to death of it. you hear a lot of stories about it. said to be unkillable. it's always capitalized, always a proper noun. it has been reported at different times from widely scattered places." "no one's ever bagged one?" "not that i ever heard of." duncan patted the rifle. "let me get a bead on it." he started eating, spooning the porridge into his mouth, munching on the stale corn bread left from the night before. he drank some of the brackish beverage and shuddered. "some day," he said, "i'm going to scrape together enough money to buy a pound of coffee. you'd think--" "it's the freight rates," shotwell said. "i'll send you a pound when i go back." "not at the price they'd charge to ship it out," said duncan. "i wouldn't hear of it." they ate in silence for a time. finally shotwell said: "i'm getting nowhere, gavin. the natives are willing to talk, but it all adds up to nothing." "i tried to tell you that. you could have saved your time." shotwell shook his head stubbornly. "there's an answer, a logical explanation. it's easy enough to say you cannot rule out the sexual factor, but that's exactly what has happened here on layard. it's easy to exclaim that a sexless animal, a sexless race, a sexless planet is impossible, but that is what we have. somewhere there is an answer and i have to find it." * * * * * "now hold up a minute," duncan protested. "there's no use blowing a gasket. i haven't got the time this morning to listen to your lecture." "but it's not the lack of sex that worries me entirely," shotwell said, "although it's the central factor. there are subsidiary situations deriving from that central fact which are most intriguing." "i have no doubt of it," said duncan, "but if you please--" "without sex, there is no basis for the family, and without the family there is no basis for a tribe, and yet the natives have an elaborate tribal setup, with taboos by way of regulation. somewhere there must exist some underlying, basic unifying factor, some common loyalty, some strange relationship which spells out to brotherhood." "not brotherhood," said duncan, chuckling. "not even sisterhood. you must watch your terminology. the word you want is ithood." the door pushed open and a native walked in timidly. "zikkara said that mister want me," the native told them. "i am sipar. i can track anything but screamers, stilt-birds, longhorns and donovans. those are my taboos." "i am glad to hear that," duncan replied. "you have no cytha taboo, then." "cytha!" yipped the native. "zikkara did not tell me cytha!" duncan paid no attention. he got up from the table and went to the heavy chest that stood against one wall. he rummaged in it and came out with a pair of binoculars, a hunting knife and an extra drum of ammunition. at the kitchen cupboard, he rummaged once again, filling a small leather sack with a gritty powder from a can he found. "rockahominy," he explained to shotwell. "emergency rations thought up by the primitive north american indians. parched corn, ground fine. it's no feast exactly, but it keeps a man going." "you figure you'll be gone that long?" "maybe overnight. i don't know. won't stop until i get it. can't afford to. it could wipe me out in a few days." "good hunting," shotwell said. "i'll hold the fort." duncan said to sipar: "quit sniveling and come on." he picked up the rifle, settled it in the crook of his arm. he kicked open the door and strode out. sipar followed meekly. ii duncan got his first shot late in the afternoon of that first day. in the middle of the morning, two hours after they had left the farm, they had flushed the cytha out of its bed in a thick ravine. but there had been no chance for a shot. duncan saw no more than a huge black blur fade into the bush. through the bake-oven afternoon, they had followed its trail, sipar tracking and duncan bringing up the rear, scanning every piece of cover, with the sun-hot rifle always held at ready. once they had been held up for fifteen minutes while a massive donovan tramped back and forth, screaming, trying to work up its courage for attack. but after a quarter hour of showing off, it decided to behave itself and went off at a shuffling gallop. duncan watched it go with a lot of thankfulness. it could soak up a lot of lead, and for all its awkwardness, it was handy with its feet once it set itself in motion. donovans had killed a lot of men in the twenty years since earthmen had come to layard. with the beast gone, duncan looked around for sipar. he found it fast asleep beneath a hula-shrub. he kicked the native awake with something less than gentleness and they went on again. the bush swarmed with other animals, but they had no trouble with them. sipar, despite its initial reluctance, had worked well at the trailing. a misplaced bunch of grass, a twig bent to one side, a displaced stone, the faintest pug mark were sipar's stock in trade. it worked like a lithe, well-trained hound. this bush country was its special province; here it was at home. with the sun dropping toward the west, they had climbed a long, steep hill and as they neared the top of it, duncan hissed at sipar. the native looked back over its shoulder in surprise. duncan made motions for it to stop tracking. the native crouched and as duncan went past it, he saw that a look of agony was twisting its face. and in the look of agony he thought he saw as well a touch of pleading and a trace of hatred. it's scared, just like the rest of them, duncan told himself. but what the native thought or felt had no significance; what counted was the beast ahead. duncan went the last few yards on his belly, pushing the gun ahead of him, the binoculars bumping on his back. swift, vicious insects ran out of the grass and swarmed across his hands and arms and one got on his face and bit him. * * * * * he made it to the hilltop and lay there, looking at the sweep of land beyond. it was more of the same, more of the blistering, dusty slogging, more of thorn and tangled ravine and awful emptiness. he lay motionless, watching for a hint of motion, for the fitful shadow, for any wrongness in the terrain that might be the cytha. but there was nothing. the land lay quiet under the declining sun. far on the horizon, a herd of some sort of animals was grazing, but there was nothing else. then he saw the motion, just a flicker, on the knoll ahead--about halfway up. he laid the rifle carefully on the ground and hitched the binoculars around. he raised them to his eyes and moved them slowly back and forth. the animal was there where he had seen the motion. it was resting, looking back along the way that it had come, watching for the first sign of its trailers. duncan tried to make out the size and shape, but it blended with the grass and the dun soil and he could not be sure exactly what it looked like. he let the glasses down and now that he had located it, he could distinguish its outline with the naked eye. his hand reached out and slid the rifle to him. he fitted it to his shoulder and wriggled his body for closer contact with the ground. the cross-hairs centered on the faint outline on the knoll and then the beast stood up. it was not as large as he had thought it might be--perhaps a little larger than earth lion-size, but it certainly was no lion. it was a square-set thing and black and inclined to lumpiness and it had an awkward look about it, but there were strength and ferociousness as well. duncan tilted the muzzle of the rifle so that the cross-hairs centered on the massive neck. he drew in a breath and held it and began the trigger squeeze. the rifle bucked hard against his shoulder and the report hammered in his head and the beast went down. it did not lurch or fall; it simply melted down and disappeared, hidden in the grass. "dead center," duncan assured himself. he worked the mechanism and the spent cartridge case flew out. the feeding mechanism snicked and the fresh shell clicked as it slid into the breech. he lay for a moment, watching. and on the knoll where the thing had fallen, the grass was twitching as if the wind were blowing, only there was no wind. but despite the twitching of the grass, there was no sign of the cytha. it did not struggle up again. it stayed where it had fallen. duncan got to his feet, dug out the bandanna and mopped at his face. he heard the soft thud of the step behind him and turned his head. it was the tracker. "it's all right, sipar," he said. "you can quit worrying. i got it. we can go home now." * * * * * it had been a long, hard chase, longer than he had thought it might be. but it had been successful and that was the thing that counted. for the moment, the _vua_ crop was safe. he tucked the bandanna back into his pocket, went down the slope and started up the knoll. he reached the place where the cytha had fallen. there were three small gouts of torn, mangled fur and flesh lying on the ground and there was nothing else. he spun around and jerked his rifle up. every nerve was screamingly alert. he swung his head, searching for the slightest movement, for some shape or color that was not the shape or color of the bush or grass or ground. but there was nothing. the heat droned in the hush of afternoon. there was not a breath of moving air. but there was danger--a saw-toothed sense of danger close behind his neck. "sipar!" he called in a tense whisper, "watch out!" the native stood motionless, unheeding, its eyeballs rolling up until there was only white, while the muscles stood out along its throat like straining ropes of steel. duncan slowly swiveled, rifle held almost at arm's length, elbows crooked a little, ready to bring the weapon into play in a fraction of a second. nothing stirred. there was no more than emptiness--the emptiness of sun and molten sky, of grass and scraggy bush, of a brown-and-yellow land stretching into foreverness. step by step, duncan covered the hillside and finally came back to the place where the native squatted on its heels and moaned, rocking back and forth, arms locked tightly across its chest, as if it tried to cradle itself in a sort of illusory comfort. the earthman walked to the place where the cytha had fallen and picked up, one by one, the bits of bleeding flesh. they had been mangled by his bullet. they were limp and had no shape. and it was queer, he thought. in all his years of hunting, over many planets, he had never known a bullet to rip out hunks of flesh. he dropped the bloody pieces back into the grass and wiped his hand upon his thighs. he got up a little stiffly. he'd found no trail of blood leading through the grass, and surely an animal with a hole of that size would leave a trail. and as he stood there upon the hillside, with the bloody fingerprints still wet and glistening upon the fabric of his trousers, he felt the first cold touch of fear, as if the fingertips of fear might momentarily, almost casually, have trailed across his heart. * * * * * he turned around and walked back to the native, reached down and shook it. "snap out of it," he ordered. he expected pleading, cowering, terror, but there was none. sipar got swiftly to its feet and stood looking at him and there was, he thought, an odd glitter in its eyes. "get going," duncan said. "we still have a little time. start circling and pick up the trail. i will cover you." he glanced at the sun. an hour and a half still left--maybe as much as two. there might still be time to get this buttoned up before the fall of night. a half mile beyond the knoll, sipar picked up the trail again and they went ahead, but now they traveled more cautiously, for any bush, any rock, any clump of grass might conceal the wounded beast. duncan found himself on edge and cursed himself savagely for it. he'd been in tight spots before. this was nothing new to him. there was no reason to get himself tensed up. it was a deadly business, sure, but he had faced others calmly and walked away from them. it was those frontier tales he'd heard about the cytha--the kind of superstitious chatter that one always heard on the edge of unknown land. he gripped the rifle tighter and went on. no animal, he told himself, was unkillable. half an hour before sunset, he called a halt when they reached a brackish waterhole. the light soon would be getting bad for shooting. in the morning, they'd take up the trail again, and by that time the cytha would be at an even greater disadvantage. it would be stiff and slow and weak. it might be even dead. duncan gathered wood and built a fire in the lee of a thorn-bush thicket. sipar waded out with the canteens and thrust them at arm's length beneath the surface to fill them. the water still was warm and evil-tasting, but it was fairly free of scum and a thirsty man could drink it. the sun went down and darkness fell quickly. they dragged more wood out of the thicket and piled it carefully close at hand. duncan reached into his pocket and brought out the little bag of rockahominy. "here," he said to sipar. "supper." the native held one hand cupped and duncan poured a little mound into its palm. "thank you, mister," sipar said. "food-giver." "huh?" asked duncan, then caught what the native meant. "dive into it," he said, almost kindly. "it isn't much, but it gives you strength. we'll need strength tomorrow." * * * * * food-giver, eh? trying to butter him up, perhaps. in a little while, sipar would start whining for him to knock off the hunt and head back for the farm. although, come to think of it, he really was the food-giver to this bunch of sexless wonders. corn, thank god, grew well on the red and stubborn soil of layard--good old corn from north america. fed to hogs, made into corn-pone for breakfast back on earth, and here, on layard, the staple food crop for a gang of shiftless varmints who still regarded, with some good solid skepticism and round-eyed wonder, this unorthodox idea that one should take the trouble to grow plants to eat rather than go out and scrounge for them. corn from north america, he thought, growing side by side with the _vua_ of layard. and that was the way it went. something from one planet and something from another and still something further from a third and so was built up through the wide social confederacy of space a truly cosmic culture which in the end, in another ten thousand years or so, might spell out some way of life with more sanity and understanding than was evident today. he poured a mound of rockahominy into his own hand and put the bag back into his pocket. "sipar." "yes, mister?" "you were not scared today when the donovan threatened to attack us." "no, mister. the donovan would not hurt me." "i see. you said the donovan was taboo to you. could it be that you, likewise, are taboo to the donovan?" "yes, mister. the donovan and i grew up together." "oh, so that's it," said duncan. he put a pinch of the parched and powdered corn into his mouth and took a sip of brackish water. he chewed reflectively on the resultant mash. he might go ahead, he knew, and ask why and how and where sipar and the donovan had grown up together, but there was no point to it. this was exactly the kind of tangle that shotwell was forever getting into. half the time, he told himself, i'm convinced the little stinkers are doing no more than pulling our legs. what a fantastic bunch of jerks! not men, not women, just things. and while there were never babies, there were children, although never less than eight or nine years old. and if there were no babies, where did the eight-and nine-year-olds come from? * * * * * "i suppose," he said, "that these other things that are your taboos, the stilt-birds and the screamers and the like, also grew up with you." "that is right, mister." "some playground that must have been," said duncan. he went on chewing, staring out into the darkness beyond the ring of firelight. "there's something in the thorn bush, mister." "i didn't hear a thing." "little pattering. something is running there." duncan listened closely. what sipar said was true. a lot of little things were running in the thicket. "more than likely mice," he said. he finished his rockahominy and took an extra swig of water, gagging on it slightly. "get your rest," he told sipar. "i'll wake you later so i can catch a wink or two." "mister," sipar said, "i will stay with you to the end." "well," said duncan, somewhat startled, "that is decent of you." "i will stay to the death," sipar promised earnestly. "don't strain yourself," said duncan. he picked up the rifle and walked down to the waterhole. the night was quiet and the land continued to have that empty feeling. empty except for the fire and the waterhole and the little micelike animals running in the thicket. and sipar--sipar lying by the fire, curled up and sound asleep already. naked, with not a weapon to its hand--just the naked animal, the basic humanoid, and yet with underlying purpose that at times was baffling. scared and shivering this morning at mere mention of the cytha, yet never faltering on the trail; in pure funk back there on the knoll where they had lost the cytha, but now ready to go on to the death. duncan went back to the fire and prodded sipar with his toe. the native came straight up out of sleep. "whose death?" asked duncan. "whose death were you talking of?" "why, ours, of course," said sipar, and went back to sleep. iii duncan did not see the arrow coming. he heard the swishing whistle and felt the wind of it on the right side of his throat and then it thunked into a tree behind him. he leaped aside and dived for the cover of a tumbled mound of boulders and almost instinctively his thumb pushed the fire control of the rifle up to automatic. he crouched behind the jumbled rocks and peered ahead. there was not a thing to see. the hula-trees shimmered in the blaze of sun and the thorn-bush was gray and lifeless and the only things astir were three stilt-birds walking gravely a quarter of a mile away. "sipar!" he whispered. "here, mister." "keep low. it's still out there." whatever it might be. still out there and waiting for another shot. duncan shivered, remembering the feel of the arrow flying past his throat. a hell of a way for a man to die--out at the tail-end of nowhere with an arrow in his throat and a scared-stiff native heading back for home as fast as it could go. he flicked the control on the rifle back to single fire, crawled around the rock pile and sprinted for a grove of trees that stood on higher ground. he reached them and there he flanked the spot from which the arrow must have come. he unlimbered the binoculars and glassed the area. he still saw no sign. whatever had taken the pot shot at them had made its getaway. he walked back to the tree where the arrow still stood out, its point driven deep into the bark. he grasped the shaft and wrenched the arrow free. "you can come out now," he called to sipar. "there's no one around." the arrow was unbelievably crude. the unfeathered shaft looked as if it had been battered off to the proper length with a jagged stone. the arrowhead was unflaked flint picked up from some outcropping or dry creek bed, and it was awkwardly bound to the shaft with the tough but pliant inner bark of the hula-tree. "you recognize this?" he asked sipar. the native took the arrow and examined it. "not my tribe." "of course not your tribe. yours wouldn't take a shot at us. some other tribe, perhaps?" "very poor arrow." "i know that. but it could kill you just as dead as if it were a good one. do you recognize it?" "no tribe made this arrow," sipar declared. "child, maybe?" "what would child do way out here?" [illustration] "that's what i thought, too," said duncan. * * * * * he took the arrow back, held it between his thumbs and forefingers and twirled it slowly, with a terrifying thought nibbling at his brain. it couldn't be. it was too fantastic. he wondered if the sun was finally getting him that he had thought of it at all. he squatted down and dug at the ground with the makeshift arrow point. "sipar, what do you actually know about the cytha?" "nothing, mister. scared of it is all." "we aren't turning back. if there's something that you know--something that would help us...." it was as close as he could come to begging aid. it was further than he had meant to go. he should not have asked at all, he thought angrily. "i do not know," the native said. duncan cast the arrow to one side and rose to his feet. he cradled the rifle in his arm. "let's go." he watched sipar trot ahead. crafty little stinker, he told himself. it knows more than it's telling. they toiled into the afternoon. it was, if possible, hotter and drier than the day before. there was a sense of tension in the air--no, that was rot. and even if there were, a man must act as if it were not there. if he let himself fall prey to every mood out in this empty land, he only had himself to blame for whatever happened to him. the tracking was harder now. the day before, the cytha had only run away, straight-line fleeing to keep ahead of them, to stay out of their reach. now it was becoming tricky. it backtracked often in an attempt to throw them off. twice in the afternoon, the trail blanked out entirely and it was only after long searching that sipar picked it up again--in one instance, a mile away from where it had vanished in thin air. that vanishing bothered duncan more than he would admit. trails do not disappear entirely, not when the terrain remains the same, not when the weather is unchanged. something was going on, something, perhaps, that sipar knew far more about than it was willing to divulge. he watched the native closely and there seemed nothing suspicious. it continued at its work. it was, for all to see, the good and faithful hound. * * * * * late in the afternoon, the plain on which they had been traveling suddenly dropped away. they stood poised on the brink of a great escarpment and looked far out to great tangled forests and a flowing river. it was like suddenly coming into another and beautiful room that one had not expected. this was new land, never seen before by any earthman. for no one had ever mentioned that somewhere to the west a forest lay beyond the bush. men coming in from space had seen it, probably, but only as a different color-marking on the planet. to them, it made no difference. but to the men who lived on layard, to the planter and the trader, the prospector and the hunter, it was important. and i, thought duncan with a sense of triumph, am the man who found it. "mister!" "now what?" "out there. _skun!_" "i don't--" "out there, mister. across the river." duncan saw it then--a haze in the blueness of the rift--a puff of copper moving very fast, and as he watched, he heard the far-off keening of the storm, a shiver in the air rather than a sound. he watched in fascination as it moved along the river and saw the boiling fury it made out of the forest. it struck and crossed the river, and the river for a moment seemed to stand on end, with a sheet of silvery water splashed toward the sky. then it was gone as quickly as it had happened, but there was a tumbled slash across the forest where the churning winds had traveled. back at the farm, zikkara had warned him of the _skun_. this was the season for them, it had said, and a man caught in one wouldn't have a chance. duncan let his breath out slowly. "bad," said sipar. "yes, very bad." "hit fast. no warning." "what about the trail?" asked duncan. "did the cytha--" sipar nodded downward. "can we make it before nightfall?" "i think so," sipar answered. it was rougher than they had thought. twice they went down blind trails that pinched off, with sheer rock faces opening out into drops of hundreds of feet, and were forced to climb again and find another way. they reached the bottom of the escarpment as the brief twilight closed in and they hurried to gather firewood. there was no water, but a little was still left in their canteens and they made do with that. * * * * * after their scant meal of rockahominy, sipar rolled himself into a ball and went to sleep immediately. duncan sat with his back against a boulder which one day, long ago, had fallen from the slope above them, but was now half buried in the soil that through the ages had kept sifting down. two days gone, he told himself. was there, after all, some truth in the whispered tales that made the rounds back at the settlements--that no one should waste his time in tracking down a cytha, since a cytha was unkillable? nonsense, he told himself. and yet the hunt had toughened, the trail become more difficult, the cytha a much more cunning and elusive quarry. where it had run from them the day before, now it fought to shake them off. and if it did that the second day, why had it not tried to throw them off the first? and what about the third day--tomorrow? he shook his head. it seemed incredible that an animal would become more formidable as the hunt progressed. but that seemed to be exactly what had happened. more spooked, perhaps, more frightened--only the cytha did not act like a frightened beast. it was acting like an animal that was gaining savvy and determination, and that was somehow frightening. from far off to the west, toward the forest and the river, came the laughter and the howling of a pack of screamers. duncan leaned his rifle against the boulder and got up to pile more wood on the fire. he stared out into the western darkness, listening to the racket. he made a wry face and pushed a hand absent-mindedly through his hair. he put out a silent hope that the screamers would decide to keep their distance. they were something a man could do without. behind him, a pebble came bumping down the slope. it thudded to a rest just short of the fire. duncan spun around. foolish thing to do, he thought, to camp so near the slope. if something big should start to move, they'd be out of luck. he stood and listened. the night was quiet. even the screamers had shut up for the moment. just one rolling rock and he had his hackles up. he'd have to get himself in hand. he went back to the boulder, and as he stooped to pick up the rifle, he heard the faint beginning of a rumble. he straightened swiftly to face the scarp that blotted out the star-strewn sky--and the rumble grew! * * * * * in one leap, he was at sipar's side. he reached down and grasped the native by an arm, jerked it erect, held it on its feet. sipar's eyes snapped open, blinking in the firelight. the rumble had grown to a roar and there were thumping noises, as of heavy boulders bouncing, and beneath the roar the silky, ominous rustle of sliding soil and rock. sipar jerked its arm free of duncan's grip and plunged into the darkness. duncan whirled and followed. they ran, stumbling in the dark, and behind them the roar of the sliding, bouncing rock became a throaty roll of thunder that filled the night from brim to brim. as he ran, duncan could feel, in dread anticipation, the gusty breath of hurtling debris blowing on his neck, the crushing impact of a boulder smashing into him, the engulfing flood of tumbling talus snatching at his legs. a puff of billowing dust came out and caught them and they ran choking as well as stumbling. off to the left of them, a mighty chunk of rock chugged along the ground in jerky, almost reluctant fashion. then the thunder stopped and all one could hear was the small slitherings of the lesser debris as it trickled down the slope. duncan stopped running and slowly turned around. the campfire was gone, buried, no doubt, beneath tons of overlay, and the stars had paled because of the great cloud of dust which still billowed up into the sky. he heard sipar moving near him and reached out a hand, searching for the tracker, not knowing exactly where it was. he found the native, grasped it by the shoulder and pulled it up beside him. sipar was shivering. "it's all right," said duncan. and it _was_ all right, he reassured himself. he still had the rifle. the extra drum of ammunition and the knife were on his belt, the bag of rockahominy in his pocket. the canteens were all they had lost--the canteens and the fire. "we'll have to hole up somewhere for the night," duncan said. "there are screamers on the loose." * * * * * he didn't like what he was thinking, nor the sharp edge of fear that was beginning to crowd in upon him. he tried to shrug it off, but it still stayed with him, just out of reach. sipar plucked at his elbow. "thorn thicket, mister. over there. we could crawl inside. we would be safe from screamers." it was torture, but they made it. "screamers and you are taboo," said duncan, suddenly remembering. "how come you are afraid of them?" "afraid for you, mister, mostly. afraid for myself just a little. screamers could forget. they might not recognize me until too late. safer here." "i agree with you," said duncan. the screamers came and padded all about the thicket. the beasts sniffed and clawed at the thorns to reach them, but finally went away. when morning came, duncan and sipar climbed the scarp, clambering over the boulders and the tons of soil and rock that covered their camping place. following the gash cut by the slide, they clambered up the slope and finally reached the point of the slide's beginning. there they found the depression in which the poised slab of rock had rested and where the supporting soil had been dug away so that it could be started, with a push, down the slope above the campfire. and all about were the deeply sunken pug marks of the cytha! iv now it was more than just a hunt. it was knife against the throat, kill or be killed. now there was no stopping, when before there might have been. it was no longer sport and there was no mercy. "and that's the way i like it," duncan told himself. he rubbed his hand along the rifle barrel and saw the metallic glints shine in the noonday sun. one more shot, he prayed. just give me one more shot at it. this time there will be no slip-up. this time there will be more than three sodden hunks of flesh and fur lying in the grass to mock me. he squinted his eyes against the heat shimmer rising from the river, watching sipar hunkered beside the water's edge. the native rose to its feet and trotted back to him. "it crossed," said sipar. "it walked out as far as it could go and it must have swum." "are you sure? it might have waded out to make us think it crossed, then doubled back again." he stared at the purple-green of the trees across the river. inside that forest, it would be hellish going. "we can look," said sipar. "good. you go downstream. i'll go up." an hour later, they were back. they had found no tracks. there seemed little doubt the cytha had really crossed the river. they stood side by side, looking at the forest. "mister, we have come far. you are brave to hunt the cytha. you have no fear of death." "the fear of death," duncan said, "is entirely infantile. and it's beside the point as well. i do not intend to die." they waded out into the stream. the bottom shelved gradually and they had to swim no more than a hundred yards or so. they reached the forest bank and threw themselves flat to rest. duncan looked back the way that they had come. to the east, the escarpment was a dark-blue smudge against the pale-blue burnished sky. and two days back of that lay the farm and the _vua_ field, but they seemed much farther off than that. they were lost in time and distance; they belonged to another existence and another world. all his life, it seemed to him, had faded and become inconsequential and forgotten, as if this moment in his life were the only one that counted; as if all the minutes and the hours, all the breaths and heartbeats, wake and sleep, had pointed toward this certain hour upon this certain stream, with the rifle molded to his hand and the cool, calculated bloodlust of a killer riding in his brain. * * * * * sipar finally got up and began to range along the stream. duncan sat up and watched. scared to death, he thought, and yet it stayed with me. at the campfire that first night, it had said it would stick to the death and apparently it had meant exactly what it said. it's hard, he thought, to figure out these jokers, hard to know what kind of mental operation, what seethings of emotion, what brand of ethics and what variety of belief and faith go to make them and their way of life. it would have been so easy for sipar to have missed the trail and swear it could not find it. even from the start, it could have refused to go. yet, fearing, it had gone. reluctant, it had trailed. without any need for faithfulness and loyalty, it had been loyal and faithful. but loyal to what, duncan wondered, to him, the outlander and intruder? loyal to itself? or perhaps, although that seemed impossible, faithful to the cytha? what does sipar think of me, he asked himself, and maybe more to the point, what do i think of sipar? is there a common meeting ground? or are we, despite our humanoid forms, condemned forever to be alien and apart? he held the rifle across his knees and stroked it, polishing it, petting it, making it even more closely a part of him, an instrument of his deadliness, an expression of his determination to track and kill the cytha. just another chance, he begged. just one second, or even less, to draw a steady bead. that is all i want, all i need, all i'll ask. then he could go back across the days that he had left behind him, back to the farm and field, back into that misty other life from which he had been so mysteriously divorced, but which in time undoubtedly would become real and meaningful again. sipar came back. "i found the trail." duncan heaved himself to his feet. "good." they left the river and plunged into the forest and there the heat closed in more mercilessly than ever--humid, stifling heat that felt like a soggy blanket wrapped tightly round the body. the trail lay plain and clear. the cytha now, it seemed, was intent upon piling up a lead without recourse to evasive tactics. perhaps it had reasoned that its pursuers would lose some time at the river and it may have been trying to stretch out that margin even further. perhaps it needed that extra time, he speculated, to set up the necessary machinery for another dirty trick. sipar stopped and waited for duncan to catch up. "your knife, mister?" duncan hesitated. "what for?" "i have a thorn in my foot," the native said. "i have to get it out." duncan pulled the knife from his belt and tossed it. sipar caught it deftly. looking straight at duncan, with the flicker of a smile upon its lips, the native cut its throat. v he should go back, he knew. without the tracker, he didn't have a chance. the odds were now with the cytha--if, indeed, they had not been with it from the very start. unkillable? unkillable because it grew in intelligence to meet emergencies? unkillable because, pressed, it could fashion a bow and arrow, however crude? unkillable because it had a sense of tactics, like rolling rocks at night upon its enemy? unkillable because a native tracker would cheerfully kill itself to protect the cytha? a sort of crisis-beast, perhaps? one able to develop intelligence and abilities to meet each new situation and then lapsing back to the level of non-intelligent contentment? that, thought duncan, would be a sensible way for anything to live. it would do away with the inconvenience and the irritability and the discontentment of intelligence when intelligence was unneeded. but the intelligence, and the abilities which went with it, would be there, safely tucked away where one could reach in and get them, like a necklace or a gun--something to be used or to be put away as the case might be. duncan hunched forward and with a stick of wood pushed the fire together. the flames blazed up anew and sent sparks flying up into the whispering darkness of the trees. the night had cooled off a little, but the humidity still hung on and a man felt uncomfortable--a little frightened, too. duncan lifted his head and stared up into the fire-flecked darkness. there were no stars because the heavy foliage shut them out. he missed the stars. he'd feel better if he could look up and see them. when morning came, he should go back. he should quit this hunt which now had become impossible and even slightly foolish. but he knew he wouldn't. somewhere along the three-day trail, he had become committed to a purpose and a challenge, and he knew that when morning came, he would go on again. it was not hatred that drove him, nor vengeance, nor even the trophy-urge--the hunter-lust that prodded men to kill something strange or harder to kill or bigger than any man had ever killed before. it was something more than that, some weird entangling of the cytha's meaning with his own. he reached out and picked up the rifle and laid it in his lap. its barrel gleamed dully in the flickering campfire light and he rubbed his hand along the stock as another man might stroke a woman's throat. "mister," said a voice. * * * * * it did not startle him, for the word was softly spoken and for a moment he had forgotten that sipar was dead--dead with a half-smile fixed upon its face and with its throat laid wide open. "mister?" duncan stiffened. sipar was dead and there was no one else--and yet someone had spoken to him, and there could be only one thing in all this wilderness that might speak to him. "yes," he said. he did not move. he simply sat there, with the rifle in his lap. "you know who i am?" "i suppose you are the cytha." "you have done well," the cytha said. "you've made a splendid hunt. there is no dishonor if you should decide to quit. why don't you go back? i promise you no harm." it was over there, somewhere in front of him, somewhere in the brush beyond the fire, almost straight across the fire from him, duncan told himself. if he could keep it talking, perhaps even lure it out-- "why should i?" he asked. "the hunt is never done until one gets the thing one is after." "i can kill you," the cytha told him. "but i do not want to kill. it hurts to kill." "that's right," said duncan. "you are most perceptive." for he had it pegged now. he knew exactly where it was. he could afford a little mockery. his thumb slid up the metal and nudged the fire control to automatic and he flexed his legs beneath him so that he could rise and fire in one single motion. "why did you hunt me?" the cytha asked. "you are a stranger on my world and you had no right to hunt me. not that i mind, of course. in fact, i found it stimulating. we must do it again. when i am ready to be hunted, i shall come and tell you and we can spend a day or two at it." "sure we can," said duncan, rising. and as he rose into his crouch, he held the trigger down and the gun danced in insane fury, the muzzle flare a flicking tongue of hatred and the hail of death hissing spitefully in the underbrush. "anytime you want to," yelled duncan gleefully, "i'll come and hunt you! you just say the word and i'll be on your tail. i might even kill you. how do you like it, chump!" and he held the trigger tight and kept his crouch so the slugs would not fly high, but would cut their swath just above the ground, and he moved the muzzle back and forth a lot so that he covered extra ground to compensate for any miscalculations he might have made. * * * * * the magazine ran out and the gun clicked empty and the vicious chatter stopped. powder smoke drifted softly in the campfire light and the smell of it was perfume in the nostrils and in the underbrush many little feet were running, as if a thousand frightened mice were scurrying from catastrophe. duncan unhooked the extra magazine from where it hung upon his belt and replaced the empty one. then he snatched a burning length of wood from the fire and waved it frantically until it burst into a blaze and became a torch. rifle grasped in one hand and the torch in the other, he plunged into the underbrush. little chittering things fled to escape him. he did not find the cytha. he found chewed-up bushes and soil churned by flying metal, and he found five lumps of flesh and fur, and these he brought back to the fire. now the fear that had been stalking him, keeping just beyond his reach, walked out from the shadows and hunkered by the campfire with him. he placed the rifle within easy reach and arranged the five bloody chunks on the ground close to the fire and he tried with trembling fingers to restore them to the shape they'd been before the bullets struck them. and that was a good one, he thought with grim irony, because they had no shape. they had been part of the cytha and you killed a cytha inch by inch, not with a single shot. you knocked a pound of meat off it the first time, and the next time you shot off another pound or two, and if you got enough shots at it, you finally carved it down to size and maybe you could kill it then, although he wasn't sure. he was afraid. he admitted that he was and he squatted there and watched his fingers shake and he kept his jaws clamped tight to stop the chatter of his teeth. the fear had been getting closer all the time; he knew it had moved in by a step or two when sipar cut its throat, and why in the name of god had the damn fool done it? it made no sense at all. he had wondered about sipar's loyalties, and the very loyalties that he had dismissed as a sheer impossibility had been the answer, after all. in the end, for some obscure reason--obscure to humans, that is--sipar's loyalty had been to the cytha. but then what was the use of searching for any reason in it? nothing that had happened made any sense. it made no sense that a beast one was pursuing should up and talk to one--although it did fit in with the theory of the crisis-beast he had fashioned in his mind. * * * * * progressive adaptation, he told himself. carry adaptation far enough and you'd reach communication. but might not the cytha's power of adaptation be running down? had the cytha gone about as far as it could force itself to go? maybe so, he thought. it might be worth a gamble. sipar's suicide, for all its casualness, bore the overtones of last-notch desperation. and the cytha's speaking to duncan, its attempt to parley with him, contained a note of weakness. the arrow had failed and the rockslide had failed and so had sipar's death. what next would the cytha try? had it anything to try? tomorrow he'd find out. tomorrow he'd go on. he couldn't turn back now. he was too deeply involved. he'd always wonder, if he turned back now, whether another hour or two might not have seen the end of it. there were too many questions, too much mystery--there was now far more at stake than ten rows of _vua_. another day might make some sense of it, might banish the dread walker that trod upon his heels, might bring some peace of mind. as it stood right at the moment, none of it made sense. but even as he thought it, suddenly one of the bits of bloody flesh and mangled fur made sense. beneath the punching and prodding of his fingers, it had assumed a shape. breathlessly, duncan bent above it, not believing, not even wanting to believe, hoping frantically that it should prove completely wrong. but there was nothing wrong with it. the shape was there and could not be denied. it had somehow fitted back into its natural shape and it was a baby screamer--well, maybe not a baby, but at least a tiny screamer. duncan sat back on his heels and sweated. he wiped his bloody hands upon the ground. he wondered what other shapes he'd find if he put back into proper place the other hunks of limpness that lay beside the fire. he tried and failed. they were too smashed and torn. he picked them up and tossed them in the fire. he took up his rifle and walked around the fire, sat down with his back against a tree, cradling the gun across his knees. * * * * * those little scurrying feet, he wondered--like the scampering of a thousand busy mice. he had heard them twice, that first night in the thicket by the waterhole and again tonight. and what could the cytha be? certainly not the simple, uncomplicated, marauding animal he had thought to start with. a hive-beast? a host animal? a thing masquerading in many different forms? shotwell, trained in such deductions, might make a fairly accurate guess, but shotwell was not here. he was at the farm, fretting, more than likely, over duncan's failure to return. finally the first light of morning began to filter through the forest and it was not the glaring, clean white light of the open plain and bush, but a softened, diluted, fuzzy green light to match the smothering vegetation. the night noises died away and the noises of the day took up--the sawings of unseen insects, the screechings of hidden birds and something far away began to make a noise that sounded like an empty barrel falling slowly down a stairway. what little coolness the night had brought dissipated swiftly and the heat clamped down, a breathless, relentless heat that quivered in the air. circling, duncan picked up the cytha trail not more than a hundred yards from camp. the beast had been traveling fast. the pug marks were deeply sunk and widely spaced. duncan followed as rapidly as he dared. it was a temptation to follow at a run, to match the cytha's speed, for the trail was plain and fresh and it fairly beckoned. and that was wrong, duncan told himself. it was too fresh, too plain--almost as if the animal had gone to endless trouble so that the human could not miss the trail. he stopped his trailing and crouched beside a tree and studied the tracks ahead. his hands were too tense upon the gun, his body keyed too high and fine. he forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. he had to calm himself. he had to loosen up. he studied the tracks ahead--four bunched pug marks, then a long leap interval, then four more bunched tracks, and between the sets of marks the forest floor was innocent and smooth. too smooth, perhaps. especially the third one from him. too smooth and somehow artificial, as if someone had patted it with gentle hands to make it unsuspicious. duncan sucked his breath in slowly. trap? or was his imagination playing tricks on him? and if it were a trap, he would have fallen into it if he had kept on following as he had started out. now there was something else, a strange uneasiness, and he stirred uncomfortably, casting frantically for some clue to what it was. * * * * * he rose and stepped out from the tree, with the gun at ready. what a perfect place to set a trap, he thought. one would be looking at the pug marks, never at the space between them, for the space between would be neutral ground, safe to stride out upon. oh, clever cytha, he said to himself. oh, clever, clever cytha! and now he knew what the other trouble was--the great uneasiness. it was the sense of being watched. somewhere up ahead, the cytha was crouched, watching and waiting--anxious or exultant, maybe even with laughter rumbling in its throat. he walked slowly forward until he reached the third set of tracks and he saw that he had been right. the little area ahead was smoother than it should be. "cytha!" he called. his voice was far louder than he had meant it to be and he stood astonished and a bit abashed. then he realized why it was so loud. it was the only sound there was! the forest suddenly had fallen silent. the insects and birds were quiet and the thing in the distance had quit falling down the stairs. even the leaves were silent. there was no rustle in them and they hung limp upon their stems. there was a feeling of doom and the green light had changed to a copper light and everything was still. and the light was _copper_! duncan spun around in panic. there was no place for him to hide. before he could take another step, the _skun_ came and the winds rushed out of nowhere. the air was clogged with flying leaves and debris. trees snapped and popped and tumbled in the air. the wind hurled duncan to his knees, and as he fought to regain his feet, he remembered, in a blinding flash of total recall, how it had looked from atop the escarpment--the boiling fury of the winds and the mad swirling of the coppery mist and how the trees had whipped in whirlpool fashion. he came half erect and stumbled, clawing at the ground in an attempt to get up again, while inside his brain an insistent, clicking voice cried out for him to run, and somewhere another voice said to lie flat upon the ground, to dig in as best he could. something struck him from behind and he went down, pinned flat, with his rifle wedged beneath him. he cracked his head upon the ground and the world whirled sickeningly and plastered his face with a handful of mud and tattered leaves. he tried to crawl and couldn't, for something had grabbed him by the ankle and was hanging on. * * * * * with a frantic hand, he clawed the mess out of his eyes, spat it from his mouth. across the spinning ground, something black and angular tumbled rapidly. it was coming straight toward him and he saw it was the cytha and that in another second it would be on top of him. he threw up an arm across his face, with the elbow crooked, to take the impact of the wind-blown cytha and to ward it off. but it never reached him. less than a yard away, the ground opened up to take the cytha and it was no longer there. suddenly the wind cut off and the leaves once more hung motionless and the heat clamped down again and that was the end of it. the _skun_ had come and struck and gone. minutes, duncan wondered, or perhaps no more than seconds. but in those seconds, the forest had been flattened and the trees lay in shattered heaps. he raised himself on an elbow and looked to see what was the matter with his foot and he saw that a fallen tree had trapped his foot beneath it. he tugged a few times experimentally. it was no use. two close-set limbs, branching almost at right angles from the hole, had been driven deep into the ground and his foot, he saw, had been caught at the ankle in the fork of the buried branches. the foot didn't hurt--not yet. it didn't seem to be there at all. he tried wiggling his toes and felt none. he wiped the sweat off his face with a shirt sleeve and fought to force down the panic that was rising in him. getting panicky was the worst thing a man could do in a spot like this. the thing to do was to take stock of the situation, figure out the best approach, then go ahead and try it. the tree looked heavy, but perhaps he could handle it if he had to, although there was the danger that if he shifted it, the bole might settle more solidly and crush his foot beneath it. at the moment, the two heavy branches, thrust into the ground on either side of his ankle, were holding most of the tree's weight off his foot. the best thing to do, he decided, was to dig the ground away beneath his foot until he could pull it out. he twisted around and started digging with the fingers of one hand. beneath the thin covering of humus, he struck a solid surface and his fingers slid along it. with mounting alarm, he explored the ground, scratching at the humus. there was nothing but rock--some long-buried boulder, the top of which lay just beneath the ground. his foot was trapped beneath a heavy tree and a massive boulder, held securely in place by forked branches that had forced their splintering way down along the boulder's sides. * * * * * he lay back, propped on an elbow. it was evident that he could do nothing about the buried boulder. if he was going to do anything, his problem was the tree. to move the tree, he would need a lever and he had a good, stout lever in his rifle. it would be a shame, he thought a little wryly, to use a gun for such a purpose, but he had no choice. he worked for an hour and it was no good. even with the rifle as a pry, he could not budge the tree. he lay back, defeated, breathing hard, wringing wet with perspiration. he grimaced at the sky. all right, cytha, he thought, you won out in the end. but it took a _skun_ to do it. with all your tricks, you couldn't do the job until.... then he remembered. he sat up hurriedly. "cytha!" he called. the cytha had fallen into a hole that had opened in the ground. the hole was less than an arm's length away from him, with a little debris around its edges still trickling into it. duncan stretched out his body, lying flat upon the ground, and looked into the hole. there, at the bottom of it, was the cytha. it was the first time he'd gotten a good look at the cytha and it was a crazily put-together thing. it seemed to have nothing functional about it and it looked more like a heap of something, just thrown on the ground, than it did an animal. the hole, he saw, was more than an ordinary hole. it was a pit and very cleverly constructed. the mouth was about four feet in diameter and it widened to roughly twice that at the bottom. it was, in general, bottle-shaped, with an incurving shoulder at the top so that anything that fell in could not climb out. anything falling into that pit was in to stay. this, duncan knew, was what had lain beneath that too-smooth interval between the two sets of cytha tracks. the cytha had worked all night to dig it, then had carried away the dirt dug out of the pit and had built a flimsy camouflage cover over it. then it had gone back and made the trail that was so loud and clear, so easy to make out and follow. and having done all that, having labored hard and stealthily, the cytha had settled down to watch, to make sure the following human had fallen in the pit. * * * * * "hi, pal," said duncan. "how are you making out?" the cytha did not answer. "classy pit," said duncan. "do you always den up in luxury like this?" [illustration] but the cytha didn't answer. [illustration] something queer was happening to the cytha. it was coming all apart. duncan watched with fascinated horror as the cytha broke down into a thousand lumps of motion that scurried in the pit and tried to scramble up its sides, only to fall back in tiny showers of sand. amid the scurrying lumps, one thing remained intact, a fragile object that resembled nothing quite so much as the stripped skeleton of a thanksgiving turkey. but it was a most extraordinary thanksgiving skeleton, for it throbbed with pulsing life and glowed with a steady violet light. chitterings and squeakings came out of the pit and the soft patter of tiny running feet, and as duncan's eyes became accustomed to the darkness of the pit, he began to make out the forms of some of the scurrying shapes. there were tiny screamers and some donovans and sawmill birds and a bevy of kill-devils and something else as well. duncan raised a hand and pressed it against his eyes, then took it quickly away. the little faces still were there, looking up as if beseeching him, with the white shine of their teeth and the white rolling of their eyes. he felt horror wrenching at his stomach and the sour, bitter taste of revulsion welled into his throat, but he fought it down, harking back to that day at the farm before they had started on the hunt. "i can track down anything but screamers, stilt-birds, longhorns and donovans," sipar had told him solemnly. "these are my taboos." and sipar was also their taboo, for he had not feared the donovan. sipar had been, however, somewhat fearful of the screamers in the dead of night because, the native had told him reasonably, screamers were forgetful. forgetful of what! forgetful of the cytha-mother? forgetful of the motley brood in which they had spent their childhood? for that was the only answer to what was running in the pit and the whole, unsuspected answer to the enigma against which men like shotwell had frustratedly banged their heads for years. * * * * * strange, he told himself. all right, it might be strange, but if it worked, what difference did it make? so the planet's denizens were sexless because there was no need of sex--what was wrong with that? it might, in fact, duncan admitted to himself, head off a lot of trouble. no family spats, no triangle trouble, no fighting over mates. while it might be unexciting, it did seem downright peaceful. and since there was no sex, the cytha species was the planetary mother--but more than just a mother. the cytha, more than likely, was mother-father, incubator, nursery, teacher and perhaps many other things besides, all rolled into one. in many ways, he thought, it might make a lot of sense. here natural selection would be ruled out and ecology could be controlled in considerable degree and mutation might even be a matter of deliberate choice rather than random happenstance. and it would make for a potential planetary unity such as no other world had ever known. everything here was kin to everything else. here was a planet where man, or any other alien, must learn to tread most softly. for it was not inconceivable that, in a crisis or a clash of interests, one might find himself faced suddenly with a unified and cooperating planet, with every form of life making common cause against the interloper. the little scurrying things had given up; they'd gone back to their places, clustered around the pulsing violet of the thanksgiving skeleton, each one fitting into place until the cytha had taken shape again. as if, duncan told himself, blood and nerve and muscle had come back from a brief vacation to form the beast anew. "mister," asked the cytha, "what do we do now?" "you should know," duncan told it. "you were the one who dug the pit." "i split myself," the cytha said. "a part of me dug the pit and the other part that stayed on the surface got me out when the job was done." "convenient," grunted duncan. and it _was_ convenient. that was what had happened to the cytha when he had shot at it--it had split into all its component parts and had got away. and that night beside the waterhole, it had spied on him, again in the form of all its separate parts, from the safety of the thicket. "you are caught and so am i," the cytha said. "both of us will die here. it seems a fitting end to our association. do you not agree with me?" "i'll get you out," said duncan wearily. "i have no quarrel with children." * * * * * he dragged the rifle toward him and unhooked the sling from the stock. carefully he lowered the gun by the sling, still attached to the barrel, down into the pit. the cytha reared up and grasped it with its forepaws. "easy now," duncan cautioned. "you're heavy. i don't know if i can hold you." but he needn't have worried. the little ones were detaching themselves and scrambling up the rifle and the sling. they reached his extended arms and ran up them with scrabbling claws. little sneering screamers and the comic stilt-birds and the mouse-size kill-devils that snarled at him as they climbed. and the little grinning natives--not babies, scarcely children, but small editions of full-grown humanoids. and the weird donovans scampering happily. they came climbing up his arms and across his shoulders and milled about on the ground beside him, waiting for the others. and finally the cytha, not skinned down to the bare bones of its thanksgiving-turkey-size, but far smaller than it had been, climbed awkwardly up the rifle and the sling to safety. duncan hauled the rifle up and twisted himself into a sitting position. the cytha, he saw, was reassembling. he watched in fascination as the restless miniatures of the planet's life swarmed and seethed like a hive of bees, each one clicking into place to form the entire beast. and now the cytha was complete. yet small--still small--no more than lion-size. "but it is such a little one," zikkara had argued with him that morning at the farm. "it is such a young one." just a young brood, no more than suckling infants--if suckling was the word, or even some kind of wild approximation. and through the months and years, the cytha would grow, with the growing of its diverse children, until it became a monstrous thing. it stood there looking at duncan and the tree. "now," said duncan, "if you'll push on the tree, i think that between the two of us--" "it is too bad," the cytha said, and wheeled itself about. he watched it go loping off. "hey!" he yelled. but it didn't stop. he grabbed up the rifle and had it halfway to his shoulder before he remembered how absolutely futile it was to shoot at the cytha. he let the rifle down. "the dirty, ungrateful, double-crossing--" he stopped himself. there was no profit in rage. when you were in a jam, you did the best you could. you figured out the problem and you picked the course that seemed best and you didn't panic at the odds. he laid the rifle in his lap and started to hook up the sling and it was not till then that he saw the barrel was packed with sand and dirt. he sat numbly for a moment, thinking back to how close he had been to firing at the cytha, and if that barrel was packed hard enough or deep enough, he might have had an exploding weapon in his hands. he had used the rifle as a crowbar, which was no way to use a gun. that was one way, he told himself, that was guaranteed to ruin it. * * * * * duncan hunted around and found a twig and dug at the clogged muzzle, but the dirt was jammed too firmly in it and he made little progress. he dropped the twig and was hunting for another stronger one when he caught the motion in a nearby clump of brush. he watched closely for a moment and there was nothing, so he resumed the hunt for a stronger twig. he found one and started poking at the muzzle and there was another flash of motion. he twisted around. not more than twenty feet away, a screamer sat easily on its haunches. its tongue was lolling out and it had what looked like a grin upon its face. and there was another, just at the edge of the clump of brush where he had caught the motion first. there were others as well, he knew. he could hear them sliding through the tangle of fallen trees, could sense the soft padding of their feet. the executioners, he thought. the cytha certainly had not wasted any time. he raised the rifle and rapped the barrel smartly on the fallen tree, trying to dislodge the obstruction in the bore. but it didn't budge; the barrel still was packed with sand. but no matter--he'd have to fire anyhow and take whatever chance there was. he shoved the control to automatic, and tilted up the muzzle. there were six of them now, sitting in a ragged row, grinning at him, not in any hurry. they were sure of him and there was no hurry. he'd still be there when they decided to move in. and there were others--on all sides of him. once it started, he wouldn't have a chance. "it'll be expensive, gents," he told them. and he was astonished at how calm, how coldly objective he could be, now that the chips were down. but that was the way it was, he realized. he'd thought, a while ago, how a man might suddenly find himself face to face with an aroused and cooperating planet. maybe this was it in miniature. the cytha had obviously passed the word along: _man back there needs killing. go and get him._ just like that, for a cytha would be the power here. a life force, the giver of life, the decider of life, the repository of all animal life on the entire planet. there was more than one of them, of course. probably they had home districts, spheres of influence and responsibility mapped out. and each one would be a power supreme in its own district. momism, he thought with a sour grin. momism at its absolute peak. nevertheless, he told himself, it wasn't too bad a system if you wanted to consider it objectively. but he was in a poor position to be objective about that or anything else. * * * * * the screamers were inching closer, hitching themselves forward slowly on their bottoms. "i'm going to set up a deadline for you critters," duncan called out. "just two feet farther, up to that rock, and i let you have it." he'd get all six of them, of course, but the shots would be the signal for the general rush by all those other animals slinking in the brush. if he were free, if he were on his feet, possibly he could beat them off. but pinned as he was, he didn't have a chance. it would be all over less than a minute after he opened fire. he might, he figured, last as long as that. the six inched closer and he raised the rifle. but they stopped and moved no farther. their ears lifted just a little, as if they might be listening, and the grins dropped from their faces. they squirmed uneasily and assumed a look of guilt and, like shadows, they were gone, melting away so swiftly that he scarcely saw them go. duncan sat quietly, listening, but he could hear no sound. reprieve, he thought. but for how long? something had scared them off, but in a while they might be back. he had to get out of here and he had to make it fast. if he could find a longer lever, he could move the tree. there was a branch slanting up from the topside of the fallen tree. it was almost four inches at the butt and it carried its diameter well. he slid the knife from his belt and looked at it. too small, too thin, he thought, to chisel through a four-inch branch, but it was all he had. when a man was desperate enough, though, when his very life depended on it, he would do anything. he hitched himself along, sliding toward the point where the branch protruded from the tree. his pinned leg protested with stabs of pain as his body wrenched it around. he gritted his teeth and pushed himself closer. pain slashed through his leg again and he was still long inches from the branch. he tried once more, then gave up. he lay panting on the ground. there was just one thing left. he'd have to try to hack out a notch in the trunk just above his leg. no, that would be next to impossible, for he'd be cutting into the whorled and twisted grain at the base of the supporting fork. either that or cut off his foot, and that was even more impossible. a man would faint before he got the job done. it was useless, he knew. he could do neither one. there was nothing he could do. * * * * * for the first time, he admitted to himself: he would stay here and die. shotwell, back at the farm, in a day or two might set out hunting for him. but shotwell would never find him. and anyhow, by nightfall, if not sooner, the screamers would be back. he laughed gruffly in his throat--laughing at himself. the cytha had won the hunt hands down. it had used a human weakness to win and then had used that same human weakness to achieve a viciously poetic vengeance. after all, what could one expect? one could not equate human ethics with the ethics of the cytha. might not human ethics, in certain cases, seem as weird and illogical, as infamous and ungrateful, to an alien? he hunted for a twig and began working again to clean the rifle bore. a crashing behind him twisted him around and he saw the cytha. behind the cytha stalked a donovan. he tossed away the twig and raised the gun. "no," said the cytha sharply. the donovan tramped purposefully forward and duncan felt the prickling of the skin along his back. it was a frightful thing. nothing could stand before a donovan. the screamers had turned tail and run when they had heard it a couple of miles or more away. the donovan was named for the first known human to be killed by one. that first was only one of many. the roll of donovan-victims ran long, and no wonder, duncan thought. it was the closest he had ever been to one of the beasts and he felt a coldness creeping over him. it was like an elephant and a tiger and a grizzly bear wrapped in the selfsame hide. it was the most vicious fighting machine that ever had been spawned. he lowered the rifle. there would be no point in shooting. in two quick strides, the beast could be upon him. the donovan almost stepped on him and he flinched away. then the great head lowered and gave the fallen tree a butt and the tree bounced for a yard or two. the donovan kept on walking. its powerfully muscled stern moved into the brush and out of sight. "now we are even," said the cytha. "i had to get some help." duncan grunted. he flexed the leg that had been trapped and he could not feel the foot. using his rifle as a cane, he pulled himself erect. he tried putting weight on the injured foot and it screamed with pain. he braced himself with the rifle and rotated so that he faced the cytha. "thanks, pal," he said. "i didn't think you'd do it." "you will not hunt me now?" duncan shook his head. "i'm in no shape for hunting. i am heading home." "it was the _vua_, wasn't it? that was why you hunted me?" "the _vua_ is my livelihood," said duncan. "i cannot let you eat it." the cytha stood silently and duncan watched it for a moment. then he wheeled. using the rifle for a crutch, he started hobbling away. the cytha hurried to catch up with him. "let us make a bargain, mister. i will not eat the _vua_ and you will not hunt me. is that fair enough?" "that is fine with me," said duncan. "let us shake on it." he put down a hand and the cytha lifted up a paw. they shook, somewhat awkwardly, but very solemnly. "now," the cytha said, "i will see you home. the screamers would have you before you got out of the woods." vi they halted on a knoll. below them lay the farm, with the _vua_ rows straight and green in the red soil of the fields. "you can make it from here," the cytha said. "i am wearing thin. it is an awful effort to keep on being smart. i want to go back to ignorance and comfort." "it was nice knowing you," duncan told it politely. "and thanks for sticking with me." he started down the hill, leaning heavily on the rifle-crutch. then he frowned troubledly and turned back. "look," he said, "you'll go back to animal again. then you will forget. one of these days, you'll see all that nice, tender _vua_ and--" "very simple," said the cytha. "if you find me in the _vua_, just begin hunting me. with you after me, i will quickly get smart and remember once again and it will be all right." "sure," agreed duncan. "i guess that will work." the cytha watched him go stumping down the hill. admirable, it thought. next time i have a brood, i think i'll raise a dozen like him. it turned around and headed for the deeper brush. it felt intelligence slipping from it, felt the old, uncaring comfort coming back again. but it glowed with anticipation, seethed with happiness at the big surprise it had in store for its new-found friend. won't he be happy and surprised when i drop them at his door, it thought. will he be ever pleased! --clifford d. simak * * * * * distributed proofreading canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net double challenge by jim kjelgaard dodd, mead & company new york © by jim kjelgaard all rights reserved second printing no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher library or congress catalog card number: - printed in the united states of america by the cornwall press, inc., cornwall, n.y. _for patty gallagher, and linda, pam, larry and craig lewis_ contents . the jolt . the threat . the camp . the fugitive . coon valley . messenger dog . a flight of woodcock . trouble for nels . a black bear charges . damon . pythias . al's betrayal * * * * * _the characters, incidents and situations in this book are imaginary and have no relation to any person or actual happening._ * * * * * double challenge the jolt when ted harkness reached the summit of hawkbill, he hurried. he grinned a little smugly as he did so, for his had been a non-stop climb and most people who wanted to reach hawkbill, the highest point in the mahela and the only one that wasn't forested, had to rest at least twice. some, starting out with firm determination to climb to the top, wavered en route and never did get there. the gorgeous, tricolored collie that had been pacing beside ted ran a short ways, snuffled into some brush and disappeared. presently he came wagging back, to fall in beside his master, and ted let a hand rest on the dog's silken head. a little farther on, the collie pricked up its ears and ted stopped in his tracks. just ahead, a fallen tree lay at an angle down the slope. either rooted in soft earth or shallowly rooted, it had toppled when its upper structure became too heavy for its root system to support, and it had fallen so recently that its leaves had not even started to shrivel. sitting nervously on its trunk, suspecting danger was near but lacking the faintest idea as to where it was, were seven young bobtailed grouse. an imp of mischief danced in ted's eyes. ruffed grouse were one of the sportiest and one of the wisest of birds, but they weren't born wise and experienced. like everything else, they had to learn and certainly these grouse weren't old enough to have learned much of anything. ted said softly, "get one, tammie." very slowly, knowing his game and stalking it as a cat would have stalked, tammie slunk forward. ted watched with great interest. rarely could any dog catch a mature ruffed grouse unless it was injured, and it was questionable as to whether tammie could take one of these comparative babies. but he might. tammie neared the log, sprang, and six of the seven young grouse took fluttering wing. the seventh, clamped in tammie's slender jaws, fluttered a moment and was still. eyes proud, plumed tail waving, tammie trotted back to ted and placed the prize in his master's hand. ted complimented him. "good boy, tammie!" he took the young grouse gently, feeling its thumping heart and understanding its terrified eyes. it wasn't hurt. when teaching tammie to catch various birds and animals, ted had taught him to be tender-mouthed. after a moment, he tossed his captive into the air and watched it fly out of sight. "let's go, dog." they broke out of the beech woods onto the abutment that rose above. almost solid rock, nothing grew here except lichens and, in the cracks, occasional strips of grass. bent somewhat like a hawk's bill, it was a favorite playground for hawks that wanted to test their wings. the view was unsurpassed. ted sat down on the very tip of hawkbill and tammie squatted companionably beside him. ted looked at the mahela. for as far as he could see in any direction, forested hills folded into one another. spinning creek sparkled like a silver ribbon that some giant hand had draped gracefully down a forested valley. the road to lorton, from this distance, was a footpath beside the creek. two miles down the valley, the green clearing in which lay carl thornton's crestwood resort, the only resort in the mahela and ted's place of employment, gleamed like a great emerald. just below, almost at ted's feet, was the snug log house in which he and his father lived, surrounded by two hundred acres of forest, except for small and scattered patches here and there. the harknesses owned the last remaining private land in the mahela. its only clearings were those in which the cabin was built and one for a garden patch. al harkness didn't want or need much clearing. he preferred the beech woods to the cultivated fields, the trap line or woodsman's ax to the plow. behind hawkbill rose a mountain that, long ago, had been ravaged by fire. the fire had burned slowly in the lower reaches and the forest there remained green and virgin. but a little more than halfway up, probably fanned by sudden, fierce winds, the fire had become an inferno. nearly all the trees had been killed and had long since fallen. the place had grown up into a tangle of blackberry canes, with a few patches of scrubby aspen here and there. as ted watched, he saw what he'd hoped to see. it was only a wisp of motion, a mere flutter in the aspens, and as soon as ted spotted it, he lost it. presently he picked it up again. it was an immense deer, a great gray buck. heavy-bodied, thick-necked, it would outweigh most big bucks by at least fifty pounds. massive of beam, with four perfect points on either side, its antlers were a hunter's dream come true. it was feeding on something, probably patches of grass that grew among the briers. ted's eyes glowed and he continued to search. presently he saw the second buck, an exact twin of the first. it was standing quietly in the warm sun, a hundred feet up-slope. these were the bucks that were known throughout the mahela, and far beyond it, as damon and pythias. all who'd seen them thought that either one, if bagged, would set a new record. but so far, both had carried their antlers safely through several hunting seasons and from the lazy way they posed on the mountainside, they might have been two gray steers in any farmer's pasture. the appearance was deceptive, though, and ted knew it. let anything at all excite either buck's suspicion and they'd prove their mettle. ted rubbed tammie's head reflectively. "there they are," he observed, "and one of these days i'm going to hang one of those heads over our fireplace." tammie yawned and ted laughed. "okay, so i'm bragging again. but i'm still going to do it. let's go, dog." having seen what he had come to see, he struck back down the mountain, through the forest of massive, gray-trunked beeches that marched like rows of orderly soldiers in all directions. forty-five minutes later he emerged into his father's clearing. no shanty or casual cabin, but a solid log structure built by a master craftsman, the house was set back against the line of trees. artfully designed, it belonged exactly where it was and as it was. the harkness house fitted the mahela as well as did the big beeches against which, and of which, it was built. with a wing on each side and a covered porch that jutted forward, somehow the house itself seemed to hold out welcoming arms. a huge brick chimney told of the big fireplace within. to one side was a shed, half of which formed a home for the few chickens al harkness saw fit to keep. there were never fewer than six of these and never more than ten, just enough to furnish ted and his father with the eggs they needed and to provide an occasional fowl for the pot. the other half of the shed was a storage place for tools. behind the house was another, larger shed which sheltered a gasoline engine and buzz saw and provided a place for al to take care of the furs, wild honey, herbs and other treasures that he brought in from the mahela. in front stood the game rack, a cross pole mounted on two heavy timbers imbedded in the ground. here hung the deer and occasional black bear that al, ted and their guests brought down. to one side lay the garden, big enough to provide all the vegetables the harknesses needed but not big enough to make a glaring scar in the beech woods. as a protection against raiding deer, this garden was surrounded by an eight-foot fence. the road to lorton ran about sixty yards in front of the house but was hidden from it by trees. beside the road was the high line with its two wires stretching into the house. there was a rutted drive that served as an entrance and exit for the battered pickup truck which was all the car al harkness had ever thought he needed. when the boy and dog entered the clearing, tammie raced ahead and streaked toward the work shed. knowing his father would be there or tammie wouldn't have gone, ted strolled up and looked in at the open door. sitting on a wooden chair with a broken back, al harkness was using his hunting knife to put the finishing touches on a board over which, when the time was right, a mink pelt would be stretched. he looked up and said, "hi, fella." "hi, dad. i'm back." "figgered that out all by myself, when your dog came in to say hello." tammie was sitting near, watching al work. for a moment, ted watched, too. perfectly-shaped, with exactly the right taper, the board upon which al worked did not vary a hundredth of an inch from one side to the other. al, who got more money for his furs than other trappers did because he took better care of them, sliced off another shaving and squinted down the board. a big man, he seemed as rugged as one of the giant beech trees. his brows jutted out like stone crags, while the eyes beneath them were gentle. but they were gentle in the manner of a soft wind that can become a fierce gale. there was something about him that was more than faintly akin to the grouse ted had held in his hand, the rugged summit of hawkbill, and the two immense bucks he had seen. al harkness would be out of place anywhere except in the mahela. "what'd you see?" he asked. "damon and pythias," ted answered happily. "anybody who thinks they had a rack of horns last year should see them now!" "where they hangin' out?" "where they always are at this time of year, in the briers on burned mountain." "and where," al asked, "will they be come huntin' season?" "i don't know, but i'm sure going to find out. one or the other of those heads will hang over our fireplace." "for sure now?" al smiled faintly. "if it doesn't, it won't be for lack of trying on my part." "one, two, three, four," al counted rapidly. "one thousand, two thousand, three thousand, four thousand--you'll have to get at the end of a long line of hunters who want those heads." "i know a lot of hunters have tried for them, but they can be had." "anything can be had," al observed sagely, "and one nice thing 'bout young 'uns is they think they can get it. land either of those bucks and your picture'll be in every paper in the state. maybe even in some out of state." "sure," ted grinned, "i'll be famous as a deer hunter before i ever am as a resort owner." finally satisfied with his stretching board, al laid it carefully in a corner. he took a blackened pipe from his shirt pocket and an exquisitely wrought tobacco pouch from his trousers. made of home-tanned buckskin, even if the pouch had not borne the stamp of al's craftsmanship, it would have been recognized as his. his name, a. harkness, was stencilled on it. al filled his pipe, lighted it and puffed lazy bursts of blue smoke into the air. tammie, who, in common with most dogs, disliked the smell of tobacco, sneezed and moved farther away. for a moment al did not speak. finally he murmured, "so now you're goin' to be a famous resort owner?" "why, didn't you know?" ted asked gaily. "the mahela lodge will be known all the way from lorton to danzer." al grinned faintly. "that's a real long ways, nigh onto six miles. you wouldn't change your mind?" "about what?" "you can still go to college this fall and learn to be a dentist, lawyer, or anything else you want." "colleges cost money." "i have," al said tartly, "been scarin' up a penny every now and again since i been changin' your didies. i can still scare up enough to send you through college, but i mistrust about startin' you in the resort business. crestwood cost carl thornton more money than i've earned in my whole life." "i don't want to leave the mahela." "too much of your pappy in you," al growled, "and not enough of your mother. i want you to be somethin' besides a woods runner." "it isn't that, dad. i've tried to explain to you. it's the people--seeing them come in here all tired out, and seeing them go away rested and refreshed after we've shown them everything we have in the mahela. i know college is valuable and i don't look down my nose at education. but this is my job." al sighed. "i've tried to talk some sense into you. how are you and thornton gettin' along?" "dad, thornton owns crestwood. i just work there." "so that makes thornton better'n you, huh? you're goin' to be a right smart passel of time, savin' enough to start your own resort on what thornton pays you." "i'm getting experience, meeting people, learning how it's done. i'm really learning the business from the bottom up." "huh?" "nels anderson and i have been working on the plumbing in crestwood's basement," ted grinned. al frowned. "i'm not foolin'. this is a big job you've set up for yourself and i don't see how you'll ever get enough money to do it." ted said confidently, "i'll work it out." "i wish," al declared, "that i was eighteen 'stead of forty-nine. i'd be able to work things out, too. but it's you doin' it. everybody's got to live the way they see fit." al picked up another board and began shaping it. ted took his pocketknife from his pocket. "i'll help you, huh?" "reckon not." al shook his head. "sunday's your day off." "let me help. it wouldn't really be work to me." "nope. even if i did want help, nobody but me can make my stretchin' boards." "then i'll go get dinner." "that's a smart idea." with tammie pacing beside him, ted went into the house. everything about it was solid, strong, heart-warming. the front door was made of oak boards an inch and a half thick, the windows were set ten inches back in the log walls, the ample fireplace was of native stone. obviously it was the home of an outdoorsman. two mounted bucks' heads stared from the same wall, and of the five rugs on the living room floor, three were bearskins and two were bobcats. ted's and al's rifles and shotguns hung on a rack and there was a glass-enclosed case for fishing tackle. but al harkness, child of the mahela though he was, did not spurn modern conveniences. electric lights hung from the ceiling. bottled gas furnished fuel for the kitchen range and there was a hot water heater. al had an electric refrigerator, a large freezer and a tiled sink with regulation hot and cold faucets. tammie, knowing they'd been out and would go no more, curled up on one of the bearskin rugs. ted took a chicken from the refrigerator and began to stuff it with a dressing made of bread dough, giblets, apples and seasoning. it was a task he'd done often, and his thoughts wandered. al, who'd never gone beyond the sixth grade, had a near-worshipful regard for education and he'd insisted that his son be educated. after graduating with honors from lorton high, ted himself realized that college training would be valuable. but there were other factors involved. with no desire to become a trapper and woodsman like his father, ted wanted to stay in the mahela. it was worthy and wonderful. wilderness would always be needed, and, deep inside him, ted saw himself running a grand lodge to which guests could come and partake of the benefits crestwood's clients certainly found. people who came back to the wilderness always seemed to be coming back to the source of things and finding spiritual values that lay only at the source. ted had taken a flunkey's job at crestwood two days after he graduated. it did not pay as much as he might have earned elsewhere, but it was what he wanted and he saved as much as possible. meanwhile, his dream continued to grow. the couple of hundred dollars he had put aside was a mere drop in the bucket compared to the--ted had never even dared let himself imagine how many--thousands he needed. but he knew he would find a way and, above all, he wished that he could make his father know it, too. ted lighted the oven, put his chicken in to roast and scrubbed potatoes to be baked in their jackets. he mixed biscuit dough. since neither he nor al cared for dessert, he didn't prepare any. but he did take a package of carrots and peas from the freezer. he remembered whimsically that, before they had the freezer, his father used to can dozens of quarts of vegetables. dreamily he went about setting the table. as he did so, he noticed a man in an expensive car driving up the lorton road. there was a squeal of brakes as he stopped suddenly and a shriek of tires as he turned up the harkness drive. he was a short man, and fat, but his smile was nice, although his eyes were shrewd. "do you own this land?" he demanded. al and ted told him that they owned it, whereupon the short, fat man declared breathlessly that a diamond mine had just been discovered in their back yard and that he, personally, would guarantee them a hundred thousand dollars for the mining rights! he would give fifty thousand at once, and it was all right with him if they built a great resort in front, as long as they didn't interfere with his mine. ted grinned ruefully as his daydream faded and he went to call his father to dinner. * * * * * the next morning, the rising sun was only halfway down hawkbill when ted walked to his job at crestwood. his heart lifted, as it always did when he saw the place. he liked to imagine that he owned it. semi-luxurious crestwood, the only resort in the mahela, had accommodations for sixty guests under normal conditions and perhaps ninety if they were crowded in. it was well patronized in fishing season, had a sprinkling of guests who wanted to do nothing save enjoy the out of doors when there was neither hunting nor fishing, filled up again when the small game season started and was packed in the deer season for which the mahela was famous. while deer hunting was on, thornton turned away twice as many guests as he could accommodate. afterwards, crestwood was closed until fishing season opened again. at the far end of a spacious clearing, set back against the beeches and blending very well with the background, crestwood's main lodge was a big log building that contained a dining hall, a kitchen, a lounge, a game room, an office for thornton, quarters for the help and rooms for guests who preferred to remain in the lodge. to one side were ten neat log cabins that accommodated four guests each in normal times and six during deer season. the utility rooms and outbuildings were behind the main lodge and hidden by it and the wide driveway was of crushed stone. "hi, ted!" ted turned to wait for middle-aged nels anderson, his co-flunkey at crestwood. neither brilliant nor subtle, but always gentle, nels had been taught by a lifetime of hard knocks to appreciate the good things that came his way, and, as far as nels was concerned, the best thing that had ever come his way was his job at crestwood. always a hewer of wood and a drawer of water, the most nels asked was to be paid with reasonable regularity for his hewing and drawing. he smiled a slow scandinavian smile as ted returned his greeting. "good morning, nels. how are you feeling?" "goot. and you?" "first rate. shall we start earning our wages?" "yah. you go down? or me?" "i'll go. you catch the pipe." they entered the lodge. ted ducked into crestwood's gloomy basement, turned on the light and caught up a length of pipe. he and nels were running water to some of the upstairs rooms. he maneuvered the pipe through an already drilled hole and waited for his companion to catch it and stab it into an elbow. nothing happened and ted sighed resignedly. nels was one of those rare people who know enough about many things to do a passable job. he could run water pipes and wires, build a stone wall, shingle a roof, tend a sick cow or horse, fell trees, construct a root cellar and do well any of a few dozen more things that might need doing. but he was apt to get sidetracked, in which event he needed a while to wake up. obviously he was sidetracked now. then the door opened and nels stood behind ted. "the boss, he wants to see you." "what's he want?" "he forgot to say." "well--" "he say right now." "will you take this pipe?" "oh! yah, i take it." nels took the pipe and ted went back into the lobby. he knocked on the office door, and carl thornton opened it. "come on in, ted." the boy stepped into the spacious office. the floor was covered with a thick carpet. at one side was a mahogany desk upon which stood a typewriter. over it were hung bookshelves. there were four cushioned chairs and a satiny davenport upon which the owner usually slept. in a wall rack were thornton's high-powered rifle and a belt full of his distinctive, brass-jacketed, hand-loaded shells. ted turned to face his employer. in his late thirties, thornton was not slightly built. but there was about him an air of slightness that was accentuated by his quick movements. thinning blond hair was artfully combed to hide a bald spot. his eyes were pale blue, almost icy blue, behind gold-rimmed glasses. the ghost of a smile haunted his lips. he had a flair for conversation that always made it appear as though nothing anyone else could say was nearly as important as what he had to offer. "i've been watching your work, ted, and i like it." "thanks, mr. thornton." "there'll be a better job pretty soon; crestwood's going to expand." ted's heart leaped. this was what he'd always wanted. "thank you." "a good man," thornton said, "is not easily come by and i've learned the value of one. that's why i'm putting you on a special job right now." "you are?" ted's voice quivered eagerly. "yes. you're a pretty good deer hunter, aren't you?" "i--i guess so." "you know of those two bucks they call damon and pythias?" "everyone does." thornton said, "i want them." "you--?" "that's right. with those two heads on the wall--" thornton shrugged. "crestwood would be mentioned in every paper in the state. if they're really records, there probably would be national publicity. in any event, they'll help bring guests here." "but--nobody has even managed to get near those two bucks in hunting season." thornton looked shrewdly at him. "but before the season?" "you mean?" "that's just what i mean. those two bucks don't go into hiding until after hunters take to the woods. i'm pretty sure that anyone who knew what he was doing could get both of them before the season opened. how about it?" ted said reluctantly, "it might be done." "good! take all the time you need and i'll leave the details up to you. if you're caught, of course you'll keep your mouth shut and i'll pay the fine. but i think you'll know how to go about it without getting caught. deliver both bucks to crestwood--we'll arrange those details after you get them--and thereafter it's up to me. good luck." ted heard himself saying, "no, mr. thornton." thornton looked puzzled. "i don't understand." "i can't do it." "i've already told you that i'll pay your fine if you're caught." "it isn't that." "then what is it? does it make any difference if those bucks are shot now or six weeks from now?" "yes." "why?" "getting them now would be violating the law." "who doesn't violate the law? considering the mass of laws we have, few people can live a single day without, intentionally or otherwise, running afoul of them. have you ever looked up some of the crackpot laws, such as the one which states that, on sunday, in this state, no horse shall wear other than a plain black harness?" "it's not that." "ted, do you know anyone at all in the mahela who lives up to the full letter of the game laws? do you know anyone who doesn't take what he wants when he wants it, in season or out?" "yes." "who?" "my father and i." there was an ominous silence. thornton broke it. "it seems that i've misjudged you." "it seems you have!" ted's anger was rising. "i'll leave now!" the threat tramping along the lorton road toward his father's house, ted told himself that he had been a complete fool. with a start in the only business that interested him, he had sacrificed everything for what suddenly seemed a trivial reason. carl thornton had spoken the truth. those who lived in the mahela thought that just living there gave them a proprietary interest in the game and fish that shared the wilderness with them. but, except for smoky delbert, a notorious poacher who hunted and fished for the market, most dwellers in the mahela confined their poaching to killing a deer when they felt like having venison or catching a mess of trout when they thought they needed some fish for dinner. they broke the law, but as far as ted knew, their chances of going to heaven when they died were fully as good as his. they weren't sinners. half inclined to turn back and tell thornton he'd reconsidered, still ted went on. it wouldn't be easy, but definitely it would be possible to shoot both of the great bucks before the hunters who invaded the mahela when the season opened sent them into hiding. if ted got them, or even promised to try to get them, he would be back in thornton's good graces. "if i was smart," he told himself, "i'd tell thornton i was hunting those bucks and not get either." he played with the tempting thought, then put it behind him and walked on. nobody who called himself a man took another man's pay for doing a job and then failed to do it. ted asked himself questions and tried to provide his own answers. was he afraid of loring blade, the game warden? he didn't think so. the mahela was a big country and the warden could not be everywhere at once. the chances were very good that anyone who knew what he was doing could get both bucks safely to crestwood, where they became thornton's responsibility. besides, thornton had said he'd pay the fine if ted were caught. did he shrink from breaking the law? yes, of course. at the same time he knew positively that if he and his father were in desperate straits, if they had no food and no other means of getting any, he'd shoot deer or any other edible game he could find, regardless of whether it was in season or out. there seemed to be something else involved and ted could find no precise bracket in which it fitted. it concerned the grouse he'd held in his hand, the cool morning breeze, the view from hawkbill, his father--everything ted loved and held dear. his mind was a whirlpool in which nothing at all was clear except that he could not shoot the two bucks for thornton. it would be as easy to shoot tammie--his lips formed a sick grin at that thought! yesterday his dreams had been bright as bubbles in the sun. today all the bubbles were burst. there wasn't the faintest possibility of getting a job at another resort for the simple reason that there was no other resort. of course, if he left the mahela--but he couldn't do that either. ted was a half mile from their house when he saw al's tobacco pouch lying beside the road. he picked it up and put it in his pocket. obviously his father had been here--probably he'd been scouting mink sign along spinning creek and had walked back up the road--and he was forever losing his pouch. but somehow somebody always found it and brought it back to him. ted tried to put a spring in his step and a cheerful smile on his lips. a man faced up to his own troubles and did not inflict them on other people. he tried to whistle and succeeded only in hissing. he was a hundred yards from the house when tammie, who'd caught his scent, hurried to meet him. sleek fur rippling and short ears jiggling, he advanced at the collie's lope, which seems so restrained and is so incredibly fast. tammie came to a graceful halt in front of ted and looked at him with dancing eyes. "hi, dog! hi, tammie!" ted ruffled his head with a gentle hand as tammie fell in beside him. plucking the tobacco pouch from his pocket, he gave it to the collie. "here. take it to al." the tobacco pouch dangling by its drawstrings, tammie streaked up the road. disdaining the drive leading into the house, he cut through the woods and disappeared. ted squared his shoulders, tried again to whistle--and succeeded. his father must be home. when ted was working and al went out, tammie always went with him. ted turned up the drive and was halfway to the house when tammie came flying back to meet him. they went to the shed in the rear; al would be working. ted peered through the open door and his father, shaping another stretching board, glanced up to greet him. "hi, ted!" "hello, dad!" "no work today?" "that's right." al bent his head to hide the question in his eyes. something had happened and he knew it. his voice was a little too casual as he said, "figgered when tammie fetched my tobacco pouch that he'd made up his mind to go 'round pickin' up after me." "no, i found it beside the road and sent tammie with it. you should put a string on that pouch and tie it to your britches." "guess i'd ought. tammie and me took a whirl down the crick to look for mink sign. must of lost my pouch on the way back." "find any sign?" "there'll be mink on the crick this year. i can take a string of pelts and leave enough so there'll also be mink next year." "now that's just swell!" ted bit his tongue. wanting to keep his troubles to himself by appearing gay and careless, he'd leaned too far in that direction and been over-emphatic. al raised his head and searched his son's face with wonderfully gentle eyes. "want to tell me?" "tell you what?" "what happened to you." "oh," ted forced what he tried to make a casual laugh, "thornton fired me." al remained calm. "he what?" "thornton gave me the gate, the bounce act, ye olde heave-ho. he said, in short, that i was never to darken his kitchen towels again." al said, "come off it, ted." suddenly ted's misery and heartbreak were too great a burden to bear alone. he fought to keep his voice from quavering and his lower lip from trembling. "that's right. i've been fired." "want to tell me why?" al did not raise his voice. "i--i wouldn't shoot damon and pythias for thornton." al arched surprised brows. "why's he want those two bucks?" "he's going to expand crestwood. he said that if he had one or both of those heads to put on the wall, it would be written up in every paper in the state. he said they'd help bring guests." "boy, seems to me like you went off half-cocked." "what do you mean?" "thornton's takin' a lot for granted to think that you, or anyone, could get either one of those bucks. but if you wanted to hunt 'em, and if you did get one, 'twould do no harm to give it to him. 'twould save your job for you." "that would have been different," ted said wryly, "but that wasn't what he asked. he wants both bucks _before_ the season opens." "so?" al was almost purring. "and you turned him down?" "that's right." "you don't aim to change your mind?" "no." "not even to get your job back?" "not even for that." "you're sure now?" "i'm sure." "that bein' the case," al said, rising, "i think i'll go down to crestwood and have a little talk with mr. thornton. you stay here with tammie." * * * * * when al harkness climbed into his old pickup truck and pressed the starter, his thoughts went back thirty-six years. the mahela had been young then, and he'd been young, and that, he'd told himself a thousand times since, was probably the reason why he'd also been blind. it was not that he'd lacked eyes, very keen eyes that could detect the skulking deer in its copse, the grouse in its thicket and the rabbit in its set. but he hadn't seen clearly what was right before his eyes. at that time, the road to lorton had been a mud track in spring and fall, a dusty trace in summer and impassable in winter. nobody had needed anything better. the only car even near the mahela belonged to judge brimhall, of lorton, and excitement ran at fever pitch when the respected judge drove his vehicle to danzer, seven whole miles, without breaking down even once! lorton and the mahela itself had been almost as far apart as lorton and new york were now. even when the road was good, a traveler had needed a whole day to go the fifteen miles to town and back. whoever had extensive business in lorton might better figure on two days for the round trip. the dwellers in the woods had been inclined to sneer at the town folk as sissified and, in turn, were sneered at for being hicks. there'd been seven families in the wilderness; the harknesses, the delberts, two families of staceys and three of crawfords. all of them had gardens, a milk cow, a few chickens, a couple of pigs and a team of horses or mules. but all this was only secondary--the mahela itself fulfilled most of their wants. it was a great, inexhaustible larder, provided by a benign providence who had foreseen that men would rather hunt than work. al remembered some of the hunts. his father, george stacey and tom crawford had shot thirty-three deer in one day and sold them all in lorton. two days later, they shot twenty-nine more. there weren't that many deer when al came of an age to hunt. his elders were at a loss to explain the scarcity, unless some mysterious plague had come among the animals. never once did they think of themselves and their indiscriminate, year-round slaughter as the "plague." on al's thirteenth birthday, he shot a buck and a doe. they were the last deer taken in the mahela for the next thirteen years. it wasn't an inexhaustible larder at all, but just a place that could be depleted by always thoughtless and often vicious greed. then had come the change. the game department, the lorton paper announced, had purchased deer from a state that still had some. in the hope that they'd multiply and rebuild the vast herds that had once roamed there, twenty of them were to be released in the mahela. there was to be no hunting at all until such time as there were sufficient deer to warrant a hunt, and game wardens were to enforce that regulation. it hadn't been easy. bitterly jealous of what they considered their vested rights, the natives of the mahela had resisted the game wardens. there had been quarrels and even a couple of shootings. but the wardens had won out and the deer had come back. there were as many as there'd ever been and perhaps more. protected by strict and sane laws, they flourished. seven families had all but exterminated the mahela deer. now four thousand properly regulated hunters a year couldn't do it, and this al harkness had seen. he thought of the families--still the harknesses, the delberts, the crawfords and the staceys, who lived in the mahela. with the exception of al and ted, who observed the game laws to the letter, most of them took more than their share of the mahela's wildlife. smoky delbert was an especially vicious poacher who belonged, and one day would land, in jail. but, with game wardens on constant patrol, even smoky could no longer indulge in wholesale slaughter. there was, al had always conceded, some excuse for the crawfords and the staceys. al was the only mahelaite who'd held on to the entire family acreage. glad to raise money any way he could, the staceys and crawfords had sold theirs, all but a homesite and garden patch, and the proceeds were long since exhausted. most of the men worked at day labor and their employment was never certain. always struggling, there were times when they would have no meat at all if they did not shoot an occasional deer. that condition would not endure. since all the younger people left the mahela, preferably for some brightly lighted city, as soon as they possibly could, the staceys and crawfords who remained were not going to last forever. but if there was some excuse for them, there was none whatever for carl thornton. comparatively wealthy, certainly he was in no danger of going hungry. educated, he must understand what conservation meant. supposedly intelligent, he must know that nobody at all could take what he wanted simply because he felt like taking it, or for his own advantage, and still hope to leave enough for others and for future generations. al braked to a halt in crestwood's drive and entered the lodge. jules crowley, thornton's pale-faced clerk, stepped in front of him. "you can't come in here!" al said, "oh yes i can." he moved around jules, jerked the office door open and closed it behind him. thornton was sitting at his desk, going over some papers. he looked up. al hesitated. now that he was here, just what was he supposed to do? it would be silly to threaten carl thornton, and how could he report him to the game warden when he had broken no law? al felt a little foolish and thornton's voice was as cold as his eyes when he spoke. "what do you want?" "you fired ted?" "that's right." "what for?" "inefficiency." "ted told me different. he told me you fired him because he wouldn't shoot those two big bucks for you." "he's a liar." al stepped to the desk, twined his right hand in thornton's lapel, lifted him to his feet and used his left hand to slap both thornton's cheeks. then he let the resort owner slump back into the chair and turned on his heel. "for callin' ted a liar," he said. he stalked out, knowing as he did so that he had made a deadly enemy but not caring. thornton owned crestwood. but he was still a little man and sooner or later little men stumbled over big problems. as al climbed back into the pickup, he almost forgot thornton. he had something more important to occupy his thoughts. he had hoped mightily that, after he finished high school, ted would go on to college. it didn't matter what he studied there as long as it was something; a harkness would go out of the mahela to become a man of parts. but ted had not only wanted to stay in the mahela, but also to start a resort there, and for almost the first time in his life al faced a problem to which he saw no solution. an expert woodsman, he earned a comfortable income. since his own wants were simple, there would certainly be enough left over to pay ted's college expenses. but al couldn't even imagine the vast sum of money needed to start a resort. he had told the truth when he said crestwood cost thornton more than he'd earned in his whole life. al fell back on an idea that he himself had been mulling over. hunters and fishermen were a varied breed, with varying tastes. some preferred the comforts of crestwood, but every season numbers of them hauled trailers into the mahela or set up tents there and they did so because they liked that way of hunting or fishing. not all of them wanted the same things and not all cared to be crowded. driving back into his own yard, al got out of the pickup and faced his son serenely. but seeing ted's uncertain hand fall to tammie's head, he grinned inwardly. the boy turned to tammie whenever he was worried or at a loss. "did you see thornton?" ted's voice was too casual. "i saw him." "did--?" "no," al told him gently. "i didn't. he's still alive and, as far as i'm concerned, he can stay that way. ted, let's go up to beech bottom." "swell!" ted and tammie got into the pickup and al drove. he did not speak because he was thinking too busily to talk. a father, if he was worthy of being a father, showed his children the right path. but it was always better if he could guide them into doing their own thinking, instead of leading them along the path--and sometimes that called for subtle measures. two miles up the road, al came to a clearing. a little less than an acre, it was a jungle of yellow-topped golden rod. here and there a milkweed raised its spear-shaft stem and showed its silk-filled pods to all who passed. in the center was an old building with all the windows broken and part of the roof fallen in. sun, wind, rain and snow had exercised their own artistry on the unpainted boards and tinted them a delicate shade which no brush could possibly achieve. there was a little patch of summer apples and two small bucks, stretching their necks to get the wormy fruit, moved reluctantly away when the truck stopped. al got out of the truck and ted and tammie alighted beside him. al looked at the tumble-down building. "my gosh! it ain't possible!" "what isn't?" al grinned ruefully, "seems like yesterday i worked here." "you worked at the old hawley logging camp?" "yep. chore boy. got up at four every mornin' to feed and curry the horses so they'd be ready to go into the woods. you wouldn't think fifteen men, or fourteen men and a boy, ate and slept in that old house, would you?" "it's big enough." "by gosh! seems like a person gets born, takes six breaths and gets old. that old house is still good, though. those boards are really seasoned and i bet they last another hundred years." ted asked without much interest, "what happened?" "old man hawley sold everything 'cept that little patch when the state took over and made the mahela into state forest. jud, his son, was goin' to make a huntin' camp of it. but he never did and he never will. bet you could buy the works for a hundred and fifty dollars." ted almost yelled, "dad!" "what's the matter? bee sting you?" "no, but something else did! dad, i'm going to buy it!" "that?" al looked puzzled. "don't you see?" ted's eyes were shining and al knew his heart was singing. "with more and more people coming into the mahela every year, they must have more places to stay. i'm going to tear this house down and build a camp right here! bet it'll rent five months out of the year!" "well, i'll be jugged!" al hoped ted couldn't interpret his smile. "that _is_ an idea!" "we'll buy them all!" ted bubbled, "with the money you were going to use to send me to college! there're plenty of these small plots in the mahela and nobody else wants them! they can be had cheaply! dad, it can be done that way!" "by gosh, ted, it might! but it'll take a while." "i know but--what's tammie barking at?" "one way to find out is to go see." off in the goldenrod, tammie barked again. they made their way to him and found him peering into a shallow little stream, tumbling run, that wound out of the beeches, crossed the clearing and hurried back into the beeches, on its way to meet spinning creek. in the middle of the run, a small gray raccoon with a trap on its left front paw did not even glance up. it had fought the trap fiercely and now was too spent and too weary to fight anything. al's words were almost an explosion. "smoky delbert!" he jumped down into the creek, encircled the little raccoon's neck with an expert hand and used his free hand to depress the trap spring. free, but not quite believing it, the little animal went exactly as far as the trap chain had previously let him go and then ventured two inches farther. sure at last that the miracle had happened, he scuttled into the goldenrod. al jerked the trap loose from its anchor. "let's go, ted." "where?" "you want to buy this place. we'll go into lorton and see jud hawley. but on the way, we'll have a little palaver with smoky." a half hour later, al drove his pickup into the delbert yard, to find another truck there ahead of him. it belonged to loring blade, the warden, who was talking with smoky. he turned to nod at al and ted. "hi!" al said, "i won't be but a minute, lorin'." he held the steel trap out to smoky delbert. "this yours?" smoky looked at him through insolent, half-closed eyes. "nope." "you lie in your teeth! i've told you before not to set traps before furs are prime. i'm tellin' you again and this is the last time." "what goes on?" blade demanded. "nothin' you can help, lorin'. smoky, if i find you poachin' in the mahela once more, i'm goin' to beat you within an inch of your life!" "you got any ideas along that line," smoky remained insolent, "come shootin'." al said, "i can do that, too!" the camp sprawled on his favorite bearskin in the harkness living room, tammie dreamed a dog's good dreams and his paws twitched with excitement as he lived again some old adventure. al, sitting in front of the fireplace, studied the bed of glowing coals within it as though they were as fascinating as the first coals he had ever seen. sitting at the table with a pen in his hand, a pile of fresh paper on one side and a pile of crumpled sheets on the other, ted was busy writing. he laid the pen down, picked up what he had just written and frowned over it. making a motion to crumple this paper too, he thought better of it and called, "how's this, dad? 'for rent, furnished camp in the mahela. bunks for eight. forty-five dollars a week in small game season, sixty in deer season. available for season. ted harkness, r.d. , lorton.'" al shrugged. "says 'bout everythin' you got to say." "i don't know." ted's frown deepened. "'bunks for eight,' it says. if a bunch of deer hunters take the place, they may bring twelve or sixteen. do you think i should say, 'bring extra cots for more than eight?'" "mighty important point," al said gravely, "but do you figure you got to throw out that much sign? "if i was readin' that and wanted to rent a camp and saw 'bunks for eight,' i'd calc'late that there wasn't bunks for ten or sixteen. i'd figger that, if i brought more than eight, i'd best bring somethin' for 'em to sleep on." "if i say 'accommodations for eight,' and a bigger party wanted to take the camp, they might pass it up." "'bunks' is the word," al pronounced. "why it's pra'tically liter-choor. city people are always gettin' accommodations. might help rent your camp if they knew they was goin' to sleep on bunks." "that's a point," ted agreed. he continued to frown thoughtfully. "now this 'available for season,' do you think i should say at ten per cent discount?" "nope." "but doesn't everybody do that?" "everybody 'cept horse traders, and you can always do your horse tradin' when and if you have to. but i don't think you're goin' to rent for the season." "why not?" al shrugged. "figger it out by yourself. how many city people can take a whole season just to go huntin'? most they get is a couple of weeks or so." "that's right, too. do you think i should say, 'deer and small game abundant'?" "i wouldn't. nobody'd come into the mahela 'thout havin' some idea they could find game here and there's another point." "what's that?" "you're tryin' to build up a business, and the more repeat business you can get, the less it'll cost to get it. promise too much and you might drive business away. some people, readin' about over-plenty game, might expect a flock of grouse behind every tree and a ten-point buck in every swale and be mad if they didn't find it. let 'em do their own lookin'." "i was thinking of hiring out as a guide." "wouldn't put that in either. some people want guides and some don't. anybody who rents your camp and wants a guide will ask you where to find one. then you can dicker." "do you think i'm asking too much money?" "nope. chances are that you won't get less than six in any party. split the cost amongst 'em and it won't break any one. your prices are fair." ted lost himself in his literary effort. "it doesn't seem very forceful." "land o'goshen!" al's eyes glinted with amusement. "you're tryin' to get information across, not writin' a speech! how many papers you crumpled so far?" "well," ted looked at the pile of discarded papers beside him and grinned, "quite a few. you really think this is all right?" "a masterpiece," al answered solemnly. "mail it afore you change your mind again." ted folded his paper, wrote a short letter to the effect that he wanted his ad to run in the classified section, wrote a check, put all three in an envelope and addressed it to a leading daily newspaper in a city from which the mahela drew numerous hunters. tammie trotted beside him as he ran down to the mailbox, put his letter in and raised the red flag to let bill parker, their rural carrier, know there was mail to pick up. he ran back to the house. _"br-r!_ it's cold!" "the jackets in the closet," al observed drily, "are not there because they look pretty." ted said meekly, "yes, dad." he re-seated himself at the table and took up his pen. the first hunting season, for woodcock, opened next week. two weeks later, squirrels, cottontails and ruffed grouse became legal game and the season ran for a month. during the last week of small game season, black bears could be shot. then everything else was closed and hunting wound up with the three-week deer season. ted calculated carefully. there were six weeks of the small game season. if he rented his camp throughout at forty-five dollars a week, it would give him a net return of two hundred and seventy dollars. three weeks of deer season would add another hundred and eighty, or a total of four hundred and fifty. ted consulted his expense records. jud hawley had sold them the land with the old building on it for a hundred and fifty dollars and al and ted had torn down the old building and rebuilt it. just the same, expenses had mounted with incredible speed. al had all the tools, but it was necessary to buy nails. the window casings al had fashioned, but the glass that went into them cost money. they'd had to buy a secondhand cooking range and a heating stove and enough table and cooking ware to serve many people. bedding had been an expensive item, and composition shingles for both the roof and outer walls had cost a great deal. economizing as much as possible and hiring no labor, the camp had still cost six hundred and fifteen dollars. however, the old building had been a huge place and there was enough lumber left over to build another, smaller camp as soon as they acquired another building site. ted nibbled the end of his pen. "we'll be in the clear on this one before next hunting season; then everything it brings in will be pure gravy." "how do you figger it?" "there's six weeks of small game hunting and three of deer season. if the camp is rented continuously, it will bring in four hundred and fifty dollars. then, when fishing opens--" "if," al broke in, "is a right fancy word. might be a good idea to rent your camp 'fore you spend the rent money." "it might at that," ted said meekly, "and i forgot to charge against it the fifteen dollars the ad's costing." "charge it," al advised, "and get this one thing straight. there's no such thing as 'pure gravy.' what a body gets, he works for. what he don't work for, he don't get. you started the ball rollin', but it will stop if you don't keep it rollin'." "what do you suggest i do?" "just what you are doin', but don't get cocky about it. you've made a start, but it's a small start that stacks up against a big job. see how things work out. if they come 'round like i think they will, this camp will make money. but it won't be your money. it belongs to the job you've set yourself. build another camp--and another and another, until you've got as many as you can handle. go on from there." "go on?" "you started out," al reminded him, "to own a place like crestwood." "that will take years!" "did you expect to get it in a week?" "well--no." "good, on account you won't. you'll need years. then, after you finally get what you want, or somethin' close to it, all the people who set 'round on their hunkers while you worked will still be settin' 'round tellin' each other how lucky you are." ted grinned, then yawned and stretched. "gosh! all this heavy philosophy's making me tired!" "what do you think your bed's for?" "you get the best ideas!" "oh, i'm the smart one!" al smiled and filled his pipe. "catch yourself some shut-eye. there's work to be done come mornin'." * * * * * the next morning, with al driving and tammie on the floor in front of ted, they started back toward the camp they had built. the lazy sun, reluctant to get out of bed, made a splash of gold only on the very tip of hawkbill. the rest of the wilderness was a deep-shadowed green, with overtones of gray. a doe danced across the road in front of them and stopped to look back over her shoulder at the passing pickup. they saw two more does, then a buck--and al stepped suddenly on the gas. spurting ahead, the old truck still missed by a wide margin a lean coyote that was running a scant twenty feet behind the buck. tammie rose and bristled. ted held him down. the collie was fast, but nothing except a greyhound was fast enough to catch a coyote. visible for only fleeting seconds, this one disappeared in the forest. failing to run the coyote down, al stopped his truck. "doggone! of all times to be without a rifle!" "it looked to me as though he was chasing that buck," ted observed. al shook his head. "just followin' it; one coyote couldn't kill a grown buck. but he can and will do a lot of damage 'mongst the small game. i'll have to nail that critter's scalp to the wall soon's i can. let's have a look." they got out and examined the tracks in the dusty road. al made careful observations of his own. he went a little ways into the forest and came back to the truck. "looks like he's been crossin' here quite a few times. i'll fetch the rifle tomorrow mornin', on the chanst i'll nail him. if i don't, i'd best string some traps. can't have coyotes in the mahela." "we sure can't." without completely understanding his father's bitter lesson--seeing his beloved wilderness all but denuded of game by thoughtless or greedy hunters and built back through sound conversation--ted knew only that al had an almost ferocious hatred for destructive elements wherever they were found. therefore, the coyote could not be tolerated. ted's eyes roved up hawkbill, and the cool wind felt good on his face. when they mounted a hill, he strove for and caught a glimpse of the burned mountain behind hawkbill. al saw and interpreted his look. "they're there all right, and it's my bet they'll be there after deer season ends." "not both of 'em," ted asserted. "i'm going to nail one or the other." "which one you aim to get? damon? or pythias?" "either will satisfy. how do you tell 'em apart?" "i imagine there'd be some small differences if a man was close. but on a far look, i can't tell which is which. they're alike as two peas in a pod. all i'm sure of is that i never saw bigger bucks." ted said smugly, "either should be as much advertising for the harknesses as it could be for crestwood." "hadn't you ought to get it first?" al asked wryly. "well, here we are again." to the vast delight and relief of a colony of chipmunks that were snugly at home beneath it, the harknesses had built their new camp on the site of the old. however, they had done so to save hauling lumber and because the old foundation was so solid; any benefits accruing to the chipmunks were merely incidental. the new camp was a one-story structure, twenty-six feet long by eighteen wide. the exterior, if less than magnificent, did promise comfort. the windows were small, consisting of four panes each, and set well back in their casings. two tin chimneys, one for each stove, protruded well above the roof. the shingled walls and roof gave assurance that no cold winds could creep in and there was a covered porch. probably not so much as one hunter would ever sit on it, but it did provide a place for storing wood and keeping it dry. the surrounding goldenrod had been crushed and scattered and the truck had made its own path in. al drew up in front of the door and tammie leaped out to sniff at the various cracks and crevices the chipmunks used in their comings and goings. al and ted went inside. in the center of the one room, not too close to the heating stove, was a long wooden table, with benches on either side. convenient to it was a built-in cupboard, one end of which contained tableware and dishes. running along the wall, the other half of the cupboard held skillets, pans and kettles. nearby was the cooking stove, with cabinets for food storage and a sturdy table for the cook's use. at the other end of the building, as far as possible from both stoves, were the bunks. scattered along the walls were two secondhand davenports and five chairs that had seen their best days but would still offer comfort to anyone who'd been hiking the hills all day. al surveyed the place critically. "not much like crestwood." ted teased, "it is kind of ramshackle." "ramshackle!" al bristled. "why you young whipper-snapper! this is as good-built a camp as--" "there you are!" ted grinned. "if you had a choice, would you stay here or at crestwood?" "why here," al grumbled. "i never did go for that fancy stuff." "and neither do a lot of other hunters. when they go out, they'd as soon be in the woods. besides, the prices here aren't much like crestwood's, either. in deer season, thornton's cheapest room is fifteen dollars a day. we could rent twenty camps like this if we had 'em." "and we won't even rent this'n 'thout we finish it. now let's do some figgerin'." at the kitchen end of the camp, they had built a wooden stand and in it placed the tub from a large kitchen sink. there was an overflow pipe that led to a septic tank beneath the floor of the camp itself; thus it wouldn't freeze. al scratched his head. "my figgerin's all done." "it is?" "yup, and it figgers out the same's it always does. if we want water in here, we'll have to work to put it in. get your boots on." "yes, boss." ted donned rubber boots and they went out. tammie, who had been having an exciting time trying to catch a chipmunk that insisted on poking its nose out of a crevice, wagged his tail and ran to join them. a doe that had come to the apple trees stamped an apprehensive foot and drifted slowly into the forest. the two workers took a pick and shovel from the truck, and al led the way to a little knoll. on the very top of the knoll was a seepage of water that sent a tricklet into tumbling run. green grass, rather than goldenrod, lined its length and at no place was the runlet more than four inches wide or two deep. never in al's memory had it been more or less; the spring provided a constant flow. even in coldest weather, the runlet never froze, and its banks were always free of snow. it was a favorite drinking place for deer that found other water icebound. al asked, "can you think of any more excuses for deep thinkin'?" "not even one." "me neither," al said mournfully, "so i guess we can start the workin' part. do you want the pick or the shovel?" "is there a choice?" "could be, but here's the shovel and you might as well dig." ted sunk his shovel point deep into the wet earth and scooped out a chunk of soggy earth. ice-cold, muddy water at once filled the hole and ted scooped again. he made a wry face. "this is like shoveling glue!" "case you ever get a job in a glue factory, you'll know how to shovel it," al soothed. "we got to get down anyway three feet." "i'll persevere, but i know now why you wanted the pick. "who's the brains of this outfit?" "obviously you are." "there ain't any real need for a pick." al grinned. "wet ground don't have to be loosened. i'll go snake in some wood." al left and tammie frisked beside him. both got into the truck, and al drove across the clearing into the woods. then there came the sound of his ax ringing on dead wood.... an hour later he was back. the pickup's box was filled with wood and al dragged a log that he had chained to the truck. he left the wood beside the camp and, with tammie sitting proudly in ted's accustomed place, drove back for another load. ted continued to deepen the spring. it was cold, dirty work, but it was a good idea and certainly it would make the camp more comfortable. the spring must be made deep enough to form a pool. then its present overflow would be plugged, diverted into some secondhand pipe they'd already bought and led into the kitchen sink. al thought there was sufficient fall so no pump would be necessary and the water would force itself through the pipe. thus the cabin would be assured of a continuous flow of fresh, pure water. in winter, when the camp would have no occupants, it would be necessary only to pull the pipe or plug it and so send the overflow back into its original course. al returned with a second load of wood, dumped it and came up to see how ted was doing. tammie sniffed at the muddy pool, then promptly jumped into it. he climbed out, shook himself and sent a roily spray flying in all directions. ted ducked and sputtered, "for pete's sake, dog!" al grinned. "he thinks you need a bath." ted glanced down at his mud-spattered boots and clothing. "maybe i do. is this deep enough?" "let's have the shovel." ted stood aside while al took the implement. an old hand at this sort of thing, he probed expertly into corners that ted had missed and lifted out shovelfuls of mud without splashing his clothes at all. ten minutes later he leaned on the shovel and inspected the spring, which in its present stage of construction was a muddy pool, four feet square by a little more than three deep, with the overflow still going down its natural channel. "that'll do," al decided. "now for the plumbin'." he caught up a length of pipe, walked to the apple trees, inserted his pipe in a crotch and bent it into an 'l.' he bent it again, so that one end formed a gooseneck, and carried his pipe into the cabin. al maneuvered one end through an already drilled hole in the floor, hung the gooseneck over the sink and used a metal clamp to fasten his pipe to the wall. ted marveled. his father had measured nothing, but the bent pipe fitted perfectly and the straight half of the 'l' lay flat on the ground beneath the cabin. ted asked, "what now?" "let's eat." "most sensible idea i've heard all day." they ate the sandwiches and drank the coffee they'd brought along while tammie, sitting hopefully near, expertly caught and gobbled the crusts they tossed him. then the two went back to work. taking a bit of soap from his pocket, al soaped the threads on another length of pipe; filling the threads, the soap would prevent leaks. the two "plumbers" then fitted this section into the pipe that protruded beneath the cabin and continued with additional lengths until they were within five feet of the spring. al cut that five-foot length off with a hack saw. he plugged the cut end with a piece of wood, started at a point about a foot below the top of the knoll and used the flat of his ax to drive the plugged section of pipe through so that it emerged a foot below the surface of the spring. he screwed the short length into the already laid pipe and straightened. "now we're diggin' where there's taters!" he said cheerfully. catching up the shovel, he closed the spring's outlet with dirt and mud. then he rolled up his right sleeve, reached into the water and pulled the wooden plug out. a second time he straightened, grinning. "if it don't work, it's a sign we did it wrong. let's go see." they re-entered the cabin and stood expectantly near the sink. for a moment nothing happened. then a series of choking gurgles and a rush of air came through the gooseneck. this was followed by a muddy trickle that subsided to a few drops. then there was a violent surge of water that leveled off to a steady flow. al and ted looked triumphantly at each other. "it works!" al said. "running water yet!" ted exulted, "even if it is muddy!" "it'll clear itself in a few hours." "don't you think we should have a faucet on this gooseneck?" al shook his head. "not in cold weather. it don't freeze 'cause it runs fast. come spring, we may tie a faucet onto it." "what do we do now?" "go home. it's quittin' time." ted was surprised to find that long evening shadows were slanting across the valleys. they had worked hard, and perhaps that had made the day seem so short. only when they climbed back into the pickup for the ride home did he realize that he was very tired. he tickled tammie's silken ears. "tomorrow's another day," he murmured. "yep," al agreed somberly, "and another day brings more work. reckon i'll take after that coyote. he's got to be caught. you want to saw wood?" "sure thing." * * * * * early the next morning, al let ted and tammie off at the camp and turned back, with traps and rifle, to get on the trail of the marauding coyote. while the collie renewed his acquaintance with the chipmunks, ted laid a chunk of wood in the sawbuck and sawed off a twelve-inch length. he sawed another ... and worked until noon. after lunch, he started splitting the wood he had sawed. it was the right way to do things. if hunters cut their own wood, they might injure valuable trees. evening shadows were long again when al came to pick him up. "get your coyote?" ted greeted his father. "no, but i will. i found where he's runnin' and i put traps in the right places. see you got a sizable pile of wood." "i haven't been loafing." "not much anyhow." ted said tiredly, "what a refreshing sense of humor my old pappy's got." they turned into the driveway of their own house, to see loring blade's pickup truck already there and the game warden waiting. with him was jack callahan, sheriff of mahela county. al's voice was weighted with surprise as he welcomed them. "hi, lorin'. 'lo, jack. been waitin' long?" "not very long," loring blade said. "we figured you'd be in about now. we have to ask you some questions, al." "well, come in and ask." they entered the house and ted snapped on the lights in the living room. he started into the kitchen to prepare supper. al swung to face their guests. "ask away," he invited them. "we came to find out," said jack callahan, "what you can tell us about the shooting of smoky delbert." the fugitive the words brought ted to a shocked halt, just as he was entering the kitchen. he turned to stare in disbelief and tammie, sensing that something was wrong, searched his master's face as though this would show him what he must do. failing to find any guiding sign, the collie turned toward the two strangers. he did nothing and would do nothing until ted or al told him to. but he was ready for any part he must take. in his turn, ted looked to his father for a clue and found none. whatever al might feel, he was successfully hiding it, and his voice was neither raised nor lowered when he spoke. "somebody finally got him, huh?" jack callahan challenged, "what do you mean by that?" "where you been the past twenty or twenty-five years, jack? smoky's been askin' for it at least that long." callahan's voice was hard as ice and as brittle. "you didn't answer my question." "so i didn't, but i will. i know nothin' 'bout who might've shot smoky, but i can think of lots of reasons why." "is this yours?" callahan's hand dipped into his pocket and came up bearing al's distinctive tobacco pouch. ted gasped. his father was unmoved. "yep. but i haven't seen it for two weeks or more." "that's true!" ted asserted. "he hasn't had it for at least that long!" al said quietly, "stay out of this, boy." "you needn't stay out." callahan swung toward ted. "was your father with you today?" "well--no." "where was he?" "he was out hunting a coyote." a note of triumph in his voice, callahan turned again to al. "by any chance, a two-legged coyote?" al said disgustedly, "don't be a fool!" "did you have your rifle with you?" "what would you carry if you was huntin' a coyote? a pocketful of pebbles?" "can you account for your actions of today?" "yep. crossed the nose of hawkbill, went into coon valley, climbed that to its head, swung behind burned mountain, crossed the fordham road and come back by way of fiddlefoot crick." "can you prove all this?" "sure!" al snorted. "i'll get you an affy-davit from a couple of crows that saw me." "that is your tobacco pouch?" "i've already said it is." "that pouch," and again callahan's voice rose in triumph, "was found not six feet from where smoky fell!" "so?" "al, i'd hate to have to get tough with you." "don't think you'd better try it." "loring heard you threaten to shoot delbert." "and i also," loring blade broke in, "heard smoky threaten to shoot al. there's more than one side to this, jack, and suppose you simmer down?" "i'm in charge here!" "but you're getting nowhere. al, will you talk to me?" "i'll tell you what i can, lorin'." "if you had anything to do with this, tell your story now. i don't hold with shooting, but certainly i never held with smoky delbert. i, for one, am willing to believe that, no matter how it happened or who he met, smoky raised his rifle first. i've known him a long while." "but you never jailed him." "only because," the warden said, "i could never catch him. he was crafty as he was mean. but he's still a human being." "could be some argument 'bout that," al murmured. "lorin', where was smoky shot?" "coon valley," the warden answered reluctantly. "almost beside those three big sycamores near glory rock." "is he dead?" "no, but he probably would be if he hadn't dragged himself to the fordham road. bill layton, passing in his logging truck, found him and took him into the hospital at lorton." "is he goin' to die?" "he's in a bad way." "has he talked?" "not yet." "how about the bullet?" "it went right through him; we couldn't find it." "how do you know he was shot near them three sycamores in coon valley?" "bill told us where he picked him up. jack and i went up there to see what we could find and," the warden shrugged, "the back trail wasn't hard to follow. smoky was hit hard." "and you found my tobacco pouch?" "that's right, al. it was within a few feet of where smoky fell." "how do you know he fell there?" loring blade shrugged again. "he laid a while before he started to drag himself out. there was plenty of evidence." "now here's a point, lorin'. i've already said i was in coon valley today. suppose i had my pouch, couldn't i have lost it when i passed the sycamores?" "you could have." "what time did you go up coon valley?" jack callahan broke in. "'twas before eight. i started early." "then you crossed back to the fordham road?" "don't try to snarl my words up," al warned. "i've already said that i went up coon valley to its head and crossed back of burned mountain to the fordham road." "but you heard no shooting?" al seemed a little contemptuous. "you ever make that crossin'?" "i asked you a question." "and i asked you one. did you ever cross that way?" "no." put on the defensive, callahan sulked. "try it," al advised shortly. "it's a right smart hop. there's places back in there where you couldn't hear a cannon fired in coon valley." "look, al," loring blade pleaded, "i'll ask you again to tell your straight story. i'm sure there has to be more to it than this. i know you too well to think you'd shoot delbert or anyone else down in cold blood. won't you help me to help you?" al said doggedly, "i've told my story. seems like there's an easy way to settle this whole works." "what is it?" "delbert ain't dead. when he talks, he'll tell who shot him." "there's no guarantee that delbert will ever talk." jack callahan said, "i'm afraid i'll have to take you in, al." "on what grounds?" "suspicion. if delbert lives, the charge will be assault with a deadly weapon. if he dies--" callahan shrugged. al looked aside, and the fierce storms that could rage in his usually gentle eyes were raging now. ted shivered, and then al calmed. "all right, jack. if that's the way it must be." "you won't resist?" "i promise i won't raise a hand against you or lorin'." loring blade said relievedly, "that's a help, al. thanks." "is there any reason," al asked, "why a body can't eat first? ted and me've been out sinst early mornin' with only a snack in between." loring blade said agreeably, "no reason at all, al." callahan glared at the warden. al smiled faintly. "have a bite with us, lorin'?" "i'll be glad to." "how about you, jack?" "look here, al, if you try anything--" "i've give my word that i'll raise no hand to either of you." "see that you keep your word." "leave that to me. will you eat with us?" callahan answered reluctantly, "i'll stay." "then ted and me'll be rustlin' a bite." silent, but seething inwardly, al joined ted in the kitchen. knowing something was amiss, but not what he could do about it, tammie lay down woefully on his bearskin rug. wanting to speak, but not knowing what to say, ted looked dully at his father's face. it was unreadable. finally al said, "we'll all feel better when we've had a bite to eat, and i for one am hungry." he lighted a burner and stooped to take a kettle from beneath the sink. ted stared his astonishment. al had the huge kettle, the one they used when there were ten or more hunters staying with them. half-filling it with water, he put it over the burner to heat and took an unopened peck of potatoes from their storage place. industriously he began to peel them. ted said, "dad--" "we'll need plenty," al broke in. "s'pose you get about four more parcels of pork chops out and start 'em cookin?" "but, dad--" "let's not," al whirled almost savagely, "waste our time talkin'. let's just do it." sick with fear, ted did as directed. he and al froze pork chops six to a package, and three were all a hungry man wanted. four more packages meant that they would cook thirty pork chops, and what were any four men--even four ravenous men--to do with them? ted got four more packages out and began breaking them apart. he stole a sidewise glance at his father. had this sudden, terrible accusation unseated al's reason? ted put the still frozen pork chops into two of their biggest skillets and began thawing them over burners. loring blade came into the kitchen. "can i help?" al said, "reckon not, lorin'." "my gosh! you're making enough for an army!" "might's well have plenty. ted, give me another sack of biscuit mix." ted's head whirled. he licked dry lips and looked at the two pans of biscuits al had already prepared. loring blade turned away and in that instant when they were unobserved, al shook a warning head. ted took another sack of biscuit mix from the cupboard while cold fear gnawed at him as a dog gnaws a bone. if there was some idea behind this madness, what could it possibly be? al was preparing enough food for a dozen men. ted turned to his skillets full of sputtering pork chops while al tested the boiling potatoes with a fork. "most done," he commented. "how you comin'?" "another five minutes." "guess i can drain the spuds." he drained them into the sink, shook them, and added a generous hand full of salt and a bit of pepper. he shook the kettle of potatoes again to mix the seasoning thoroughly. then he put them on the table and pushed the hot coffee pot to a warming burner. while ted took their biggest platter from the cupboard and began forking pork chops onto it, al slipped in to set four places at the table. "ready?" "all ready." "guess we can eat, then." leaving the potatoes in their huge kettle, he carried it in and put it in the center of the table. ted brought the platter of pork chops and returned to the kitchen for coffee. al passed him with two plates of biscuits. "chow." jack callahan, who had been so grim and unrelenting and now seemed to regret it, smiled. "whew! are four of us going to eat that?" "if we can." "i'll do my darndest." "you're s'posed to." "doggonit, al," callahan said plaintively, "don't blame me for this. i have a job and i intend to do it!" "i know." "there's nothing personal." "i know that, too." "do you have to be so gloomy?" "what'd you do if you was on your way to jail? turn handsprings?" loring blade grinned mirthlessly, speared two pork chops and added a generous helping of potatoes. he broke a hot biscuit and lathered it with butter. the game warden began to eat. "seen damon and pythias lately?" he asked companionably. "nope." loring blade looked down at his plate. under ordinary circumstances they could have made easy conversation. but circumstances weren't ordinary; the shadow of one in trouble cast its pall over the other three. the game warden ate a pork chop and some of his potatoes. then, unable to refrain from talking about that which loomed so largely, he burst out, "al, for pete's sake! if you have anything to say, say it! if you shot in self-defense, i, for one, will buy the story. there's a way out if you'll take it!" "i've told my story, lorin'." "you refuse to admit you shot delbert?" "i didn't shoot him." callahan said, "there's evidence to the contrary." "so?" ted toyed with a single pork chop, one potato, and almost gagged. he took a drink of hot coffee and found it stimulating. tammie, lying on the bearskin, looked questioningly at his master. loring blade pushed his plate back. "i'm full. told you you cooked far too much." "no harm's done." "we'll help you clean up." "right nice of you." al put the uneaten pork chops, a great pile of them, in two covered dishes and placed them in the refrigerator. he covered the kettle of potatoes and left them on the table, and put the biscuits in the breadbox. ted washed the dishes and loring blade dried them. while he worked ted brought some order to his scattered thoughts. his father was in trouble, serious trouble, and nothing mattered now except getting him out. that meant the services of a skilled attorney and they had little money. but he could sell the camp for at least as much as it had cost and probably he could get a job in lorton. ted washed the last plate and loring blade dried it. there was an uneasy interval during which nobody did or said anything because nobody knew what to do or say. finally loring blade asked, "are you ready, al?" "yep." "shall we go?" "guess so." ted said firmly, "i'm following you in. i'm going to see john mclean tonight. he's a good lawyer." there was a ring of command in al's voice, "no, ted!" "but--" "don't come to lorton tonight! stay right here!" ted said reluctantly, "if that's what you want--" "that's what i do want. this thing's too harebrained already. no use makin' it more so by actin' without thinkin'." "i'll come in in the morning." "if you think best. so long for now." the door opened and closed and they were gone. ted heard loring blade start his pickup and watched the red taillight bobbing down their driveway. they reached the lorton road and loring blade gunned his motor. ted sank dully into a chair and tammie came to sit comfortingly beside him. the big dog shoved his slender muzzle into ted's cupped hand, and, getting no response, he laid his sleek head on his master's knee. the measured ticking of the clock on the mantel seemed like the measured ringing of tiny bells. ted fastened his gaze on it, and because he had to do something, he watched the clock's black hands creep slowly around. like everything else, he thought, time was a relative thing. fifteen minutes seemed no more than an eyewink when one was busy, but it was an age when you could do nothing except struggle with your own tortured thoughts. another fifteen minutes passed, and another, and an exact hour had elapsed when tammie sprang up and trotted to the door. he stood, head raised and tail wagging. ted opened the door. "dad!" "'fraid i got to move, ted. help me pack all thet grub we cooked for supper, will you? hills'll be full of posse men for the next few days and i can't be startin' any fires." "but--" "i kept my promise," al assured him, "and all i promised was that i wouldn't raise a hand 'gainst lorin' or jack. never did say i wouldn't jump out of the truck when it slowed for dead man's curve." "they'll be on your trail!" "not right away, they won't. i went into the woods when i took off and they're lookin' for me there." he grinned briefly. "callahan found me. 'come out or i'll shoot!' he said. i didn't come out and he shot. hope the beech tree he thought was me don't mind." "you could have run from here if you were going to run anyhow!" "when i run," al harkness said, "nobody 'cept me gets in the way of any bullets i might draw. think i want 'em shootin' up you or tammie?" al laid a canvas pack sack on the kitchen table. while ted wrapped the cooked pork chops in double thicknesses of waxed paper and the excess biscuits in single, his father spooned the potatoes into glass quart jars and mashed them down. he packed everything into the rucksack and added a package of coffee, one of tea, some salt and a few miscellaneous items. donning his hunting jacket, he shouldered the pack. filling two pockets with matches, he slid two unopened boxes of cartridges into another. finally he strung a belt ax and hunting knife on a leather belt, strapped it around his middle and took his rifle from its rack. "don't try to find me, ted." "what shall i say if they come?" ted whispered. "tell the truth and say i was here. they'll find it out anyhow." "what are you going to do?" "lay in the hills 'til somethin' turns up. can't do nothin' else now." "dad, don't go!" ted pleaded. "stay and face it out. it's the best way." "it might have been," al agreed, "and i was most tempted to go clear in. but it ain't any more." "why?" "lorin' had his radio on; listened on the way down. smoky delbert come to and talked. he named me as the man who shot him and said i shot from ambush! be seein' you, ted." coon valley tammie whined uneasily and ted woke with a start. he glanced at the clock on the mantel and saw that it read twenty minutes past five. the last time he had looked, he remembered, the clock had said half past two. obviously he'd fallen asleep in the chair where he'd been waiting for someone to come or something to happen. no one had come, but they were coming now. on the lorton road, ted heard the cars that tammie had detected twenty seconds earlier. he got to his feet and looked out into the thin, gray mistiness of early dawn. with its lights glowing like a ghost's eyes in the wan dimness, a car churned up the harkness drive and a second followed it. the boy shrank away. last night's events now seemed like some horrible nightmare, but the tread of steps outside and the knock on the door proved that they were not. ted opened the door to confront loring blade and corporal paul hausler, of the state police. he glanced beyond them at the men gathered beside the cars and saw that three of the nine were attired in state police uniforms. the six volunteer posse men were tom and bud delbert, smoky's brothers; enos, alfred and ernest brill, his cousins; and pete tooms, who would go anywhere and do anything as long as it promised excitement and no monotonous labor. loring blade greeted ted, "good morning, ted." the boy muttered, "good morning." "you seen your dad?" "yes." "i mean, since we took him away last night?" "yes." "did he come back here?" "that's right." "what time?" ted hesitated. he'd had his eyes fixed on the clock, but seconds and split seconds counted, too. "i don't know the _exact_ time." "better tell the truth," corporal hausler warned bluntly. "it can go hard with you if you don't. where's your father now?" "i don't know." "maybe a couple of slaps will jar your memory!" he took a step forward. tammie, rippling in, placed himself in front of ted. there was no growl in his throat or snarl on his lips, but his eyes were grim and his manner threatening. hausler stopped. "i don't think you'd better let him bite me." loring blade said quietly, "cut it out, paul. there's enough trouble in this family without adding unnecessarily to it. ted didn't do anything." "he can tell us where his father is." "i cannot!" ted flared. "when did he leave here?" "last night." "what time?" "i forgot to hold a stop watch on him." "why didn't you stop him? don't you know that failing to do so can make you liable to arrest as an accessory after the fact?" "a sheriff and a game warden couldn't stop him." "he's right," loring blade agreed. "we couldn't. why don't you start your men into the hills?" "if he left this house," hausler threatened, "we'll be on his track in two minutes." he turned and went out, and ted laughed. loring blade swung to face him. "you feel pretty bitter, don't you?" "how would you feel?" "not too happy," the warden admitted. "why did you laugh?" ted grinned faintly. "does that trooper really think he, or anyone else, can track dad?" "if he does have such ideas," loring blade conceded, "he'll soon have some different ones. nobody can track al harkness." "nor can they find him." "perhaps not immediately, but sooner or later they will." "yes?" ted questioned. "send a thousand men into the hills, send a thousand into any big thicket, and they wouldn't find him unless they happened to stumble right across him." "al can't stay in the hills forever." "maybe not, but he can stay there a long time. he knows every chipmunk den in the mahela." "he won't be easy to find," the warden conceded, "but he will be found. what time did he come back last night?" "just about an hour after you took him away." loring blade exclaimed, "wow!" ted looked quizzically at him and the warden continued, "we were on dead man's curve, and he was between jack and me, when suddenly he pushed the door open and just seemed to float out of it. we beat the brush around dead man's curve until one o'clock this morning. about then i tumbled to the idea that he must have come back here." "why didn't you come last night?" loring blade shrugged. "he slipped through our fingers once. it wasn't hard to figure that he wouldn't have done that only to let himself be picked up again. besides, it did seem sort of useless to hunt him at night. he headed into the woods, and because he didn't make a sound that either jack or i could hear, we thought he was holed up right close. ted, do you think he shot smoky?" "no!" "why not?" "he said he didn't." "delbert said he did." "just what did he say?" "that's all. he regained consciousness briefly. the officer with him asked who shot him and he said al did from ambush. i doubt if he's talked since." "do you believe dad shot smoky?" the warden frowned. "if he did, it wasn't from ambush. there's more to it than that. we could have brought it out, but it will be harder now. when al ran, he made things look pretty bad." "not to me." "but to a lot of other people. do you think you can get him to come back and give himself up?" "i asked him last night to stay and face it out." "why wouldn't he?" "dad's part of the mahela," ted said quietly, "and the mahela's code is the one he knows best. he would not go to jail for a crime he didn't commit, any more than a wild deer would voluntarily enter a cage." "doggone, that sure complicates things. do you have any bright ideas?" "what did you find in coon valley?" "just what i told you, smoky's back trail and your dad's tobacco pouch." "nothing else?" "smoky's rifle. we brought it in with us." "no sign of anything else?" loring blade answered wearily, "you know what it's like there. unless it's a trail like smoky's, and smoky was bleeding hard, there's little in the way of sign that a human eye can detect." "just the same, i think i'll go up there." "what do you expect to find?" "i don't know. anything would be a help." "guess it would at that. good luck." "are--are you going to join the hunt for dad?" loring blade grinned wryly. "i'm not that optimistic. i agree with you that, if al wants to lose himself in the mahela, he won't be found. but sooner or later he'll show up. he can't spend the winter there." "i wouldn't bet on that." "bet the way you please. now i'm not saying that you will, but if you should run across al up there in the hills, see if you can persuade him to give himself up. he still has a good case, in spite of smoky's testimony. too many people know al too well to believe he'd shoot anybody from ambush; he has a lot of friends. the only ones who'd join the posse were delberts and pete tooms, and i sure hope none of them stumble across al. if they come in fighting, he's apt to fight right back, and one stove-in delbert around here is enough. good luck again, ted." ted lost his belligerence; the warden was his father's friend. "stay and have breakfast with me." "thanks, but we breakfasted in lorton before we came here. i'll be seeing you around." "do that." the warden left and ted was alone except for tammie. he dropped a hand to the collie's silken head and tried to think a way out of the bewildering maze in which he was trapped. he was sure of two things; al had not shot smoky delbert and his father would stay in the hills until, as loring blade had said, winter forced him out. but it would have to be bitter, harsh winter. al could make his way in anything else. ted whispered, "what are we going to do, tammie?" tammie licked his fingers and ted furrowed his brow. the situation, as it existed, was almost pitifully vague. a man had been shot in coon valley, and the only signs left were the hurt man's trail and an accusing finger to point at who had hurt him. there had to be more than that, but what? loring blade had found nothing and loring was an expert woodsman. however, even though everything seemed hopeless, somebody had better do something to help al and, except for loring blade, ted was the only one who wanted to help him. even though it was a slim one, finding something that the game warden had not found seemed the only chance. ted decided to take it. "but we'll eat first," he promised tammie. ted prepared a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs and fed tammie. then he fixed a lunch and, with tammie beside him, got into al's old pickup. he gulped. the seat had always seemed small enough when he and his father occupied it together. with al gone, and despite the fact that tammie sat beside him, the seat was huge. ted gritted his teeth and started down the drive. he turned left on the lorton road, slowed for the dangerous, hairpin turn that was dead man's curve, speeded up to climb a gentle rise, descended back into the valley and turned again on the fordham road. a well graded and not at all a dangerous highway, somehow the fordham road had never seemed a place for cars. it was as though it had always been here, a part of the mahela, and had never been torn out of the beech forest with gargantuan bulldozers or ripped with blasting powder. for the most part, it was used by the trucks of a small logging outfit which, under state supervision, was cutting surplus timber and by hunters who wanted to drive their cars as close as possible to remote hunting country. ted slowed up for five deer that drifted across the road in front of him and stopped for a fawn that stood with braced legs and wide eyes and regarded the truck in amazement. only when ted tooted the horn did the fawn come alive, scramble up an embankment and disappear. the boy smiled wearily. had al been with him, both would have enjoyed the startled fawn and they would have talked about it. an hour after leaving his house, ted came to the mouth of coon valley. long and shallow, the upper parts of both slopes were covered with beech forest. but if any trees had ever found a rooting in the floor of the valley or for about seventy yards up either side, they had died or been cut so long ago that even the stumps had disappeared. the usual little stream trickled down the valley. ted pulled over to the side and stopped. he got out and put the truck's keys in his pocket. tammie jumped to the ground beside him. the big collie bristled and walked warily around a dark stain in the road. ted fought a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. there was no doubt that some hurt thing had lain here, but unless someone had told him so, he never would have known that it was a man. ted licked his lips, and tammie stayed close beside him as they started up the valley. smoky delbert's journey had indeed been a terrible one. had he not been hardened by a lifetime of outdoor living, probably he never could have made it. in a way, ted supposed, it was smoky's atonement for his many vicious practices. yet, the boy found it in his heart to admit that, whoever had shot the poacher and forced him to crawl, wounded and bleeding, to the fordham road, was even more vicious. ted stirred uneasily, then calmed himself. al had said it was no part of his doing. therefore it was not. who had done this dreadful thing? a spring trickling across the valley had left a soft spot. here ted stopped instantly. very plain in the soft earth were the tracks of a single, unshod horse that had walked down coon valley and back up it, or up it and back down. ted could not be sure, but his heart leaped. loring blade and jack callahan had said nothing about any horses. who had taken a horse up the valley, and why? his interest quickening, ted looked for more horse tracks. he found them farther on, where the trail became a stretch of sand from the little stream's overflow, but he still could not determine whether the horse had gone up or down the valley first. he knew definitely only that it had traveled both ways, and if he could find out why, he might also find a clue as to who had shot smoky delbert. ted kept downcast eyes on the trail. save for that unmistakable sign left by smoky delbert and an occasional path or little trail which anything at all might have used, for a long ways he found only scattered indications that coon valley was traveled at all. the lush grass, beginning to wither because of lack of rain, formed its own hard cushion. an indian or bushman tracker might have been able to read the story of what had come this way. ted could find little. trotting a little ways ahead, tammie stopped suddenly, pricked up his ears and looked interestedly at a small clearing that reached perhaps three hundred yards into the beech woods. following his gaze, ted saw two brown horses and a black one. their heads were up and ears pricked forward as they studied the two on the trail. ted sighed in resignation. the crawfords and the staceys, who lived in the mahela, each kept several horses. why they did, why they kept any at all, only they could explain, for neither had enough land to warrant keeping even one horse. still they had them. the horses were usually left to forage for themselves from the time the first spring grass appeared until hunting season opened. then sometimes they were pressed into service, to pack or pull the tents and gear of hunters who had a yen for some remote spot, or to pack out deer or bears that had been brought down a long ways from any road. at any rate, the horse tracks were explained. while it wasn't usual for one horse to break from its companions and go wandering, now and again one would do it. the black horse broke from the two browns, trotted down to ted, arched its neck and extended a friendly muzzle. ted petted him. "lonesome for a human being, fella?" ted went on and the black horse followed him a little ways before it turned back to join the other two. a half mile from the fordham road, ted came to the three sycamores near glory rock. the sides of coon valley pitched sharply upwards here, and the beech forest came closer to the valley's floor. the three sycamores, a giant tree and two near-giants, rustled their leaves in the little breeze and remained aloof from everything else, as though they were the royalty in this place. even glory rock, an elephant-backed, elephant-sized boulder whose ancient face wore a stubble of lichens, seemed demure in their presence. to the left, a raggle-taggle thicket of beech brush crawled to within twenty feet of the valley's floor. ted looked down at the place where smoky delbert had fallen, and there could be no mistaking it. the boy stood still, searching everything near the spot, and as he did hope faded. the bullet, loring blade had said, had gone clear through smoky. that, within itself, was unusual. with no exceptions of which ted knew, everybody who came into the mahela used soft-point hunting bullets that mushroomed on impact. but now and again, though very rarely, a faulty bullet didn't expand when it struck. probably that was another factor that had saved smoky's life. a mushrooming bullet did awful damage. in spite of the fact that some of it might escape the hunter, probably at least eighty per cent of anything hit with one died sooner or later. smoky, ted's experience told him, never would have moved from beside the sycamores if this bullet had mushroomed. ted furrowed his brows. the bullet might prove a lot, but finding it was as hopeless as locating a pebble in the ocean. there was nothing except the sycamores and grass right here, and none of the sycamore trunks were bullet marked. going through smoky without expanding, the bullet had snicked into the ground the same way. locating it might mean sifting tons, and perhaps dozens of tons, of earth. even then, unless one were lucky, the bullet might elude him. tammie, who was sitting beside ted and staring into the beech brush, whined suddenly. in turn he lifted both white front paws and put them down again. he drank deeply of some scent that only he could detect. ted looked keenly at him. "what have you got, tammie?" tammie ran a little ways toward the beech brush and turned to look back over his shoulder. ted frowned. loring blade had reported correctly and in full everything that could be found in the valley, but loring hadn't had a dog with him. obviously, tammie's nose had discovered something that any human being might well miss. ted ordered, "go ahead, tammie." the dog started up-slope toward the brush and ted followed. he ducked into the thicket, so dense that, once within it, visibility was limited to twenty feet or less and there were places where he had to crawl. in the center of the thicket, tammie halted to look down and ted came up beside him. in the center of the beech brush was a well-marked trail used by deer that knew perfectly well the advantages of staying in a thicket. tammie was looking down at a splash of drying blood, obviously a deer had been badly wounded here and had fallen. ted heaped lavish praise on his dog. "good boy! good boy, tammie!" he set his jaw and his eyes glinted. unless a hunter were within twenty feet of the trail, in which case it was highly improbable that any deer would have come down it, nobody within the beech brush could have wounded the deer. but how about the opposite slope? ted retraced his steps and climbed to the top of glory rock. from that vantage point, where he could look across at it instead of trying to look through it, the beech thicket became more open. he couldn't see everything, but he could see very plainly the place where the deer had fallen. moving to one side, ted had the same view. the deer could have been shot from any of a dozen places on this slope.... what had taken place assumed definite shape in ted's mind. smoky delbert, always the poacher, had known of the beech thicket and the trail through it. he had waited for a deer and shot one when it appeared. somebody else, somebody who knew and took violent exception to smoky and his antics--and there were at least thirty men who did--had either happened along or had witnessed the whole thing. probably there had been an argument, followed by the shooting. no nearer a solution than he had been before, ted nibbled his lip in frustration. he knew now why smoky had been shot, but he still hadn't the faintest idea as to who had shot him. all he had were widely scattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, with too many pieces missing. however, first things came first and he'd better get the hurt deer, for it was both practical and merciful to do so. badly wounded, it couldn't possibly travel far. if he found it still alive, the least he could do was put it out of its misery. if it was dead, he should save what could be salvaged of the venison. al would have done the same had he been here. ted said, "come on, tammie." they returned to the place where the deer had fallen and took up the trail. it was easy to follow, for the animal had been badly hurt. straight down the trail it had run, and sixty yards farther on ted found where it had fallen again and thrashed about. the beech brush blended back into beech forest and the trail ted followed swerved to within twenty feet of the valley floor. he found a great puddle of blood where the deer had fallen a third time. he marveled. the deer had been down three times in a little more than three hundred yards and it never should have been able to get up and go on. but it had gone on and it had also nearly stopped bleeding. from this point there was only a spot here and there to mark the leaves. ted shook his head. if he wasn't seeing this himself, he wouldn't have believed it. he remembered that a deer is an incredibly tough thing. it can still run after receiving wounds that would stop a man in his tracks. overrunning the trail, the boy had to stop and circle until he picked it up again. it was necessary to do this so many times that, by midafternoon, he was scarcely a mile from the three sycamores. a half hour later he lost the trail completely; the deer had stopped bleeding. ted made a wide circle in an effort to find the trail again, and when he failed, he made a wider circle. he stopped to think. he'd have sworn, knowing how hard the deer was hit, that it would never run five hundred yards. obviously he had guessed wrong, and what now? anything he did would be little better than a shot in the dark, but if he could help it, he would not leave an injured beast to a lingering, terrible death. wounded wild things were apt to seek a haven in thickets. perhaps, if he cast back and forth through brush tangles, tammie would scent the deer again. ted made his way to a grove of scrub hemlock, cut from there to a laurel thicket and pushed and crawled his way through half a dozen snarls of beech brush. he knew that he was not going to find the wounded deer and he sorrowed for the suffering animal. about to drop his hand to tammie's head, he found that the collie was no longer beside him. he was about twenty feet back, dancing excitedly in the trail. his ears were alert, his eyes happy, and there was a doggy smile on his jaws. he had a scent, but it was not the scent of a wounded deer. ted took his handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to the dog. "take it to al," he ordered quietly. "take it to al, tammie." carrying the handkerchief, tammie streaked into the forest and disappeared. ted walked down coon valley and waited at the truck. an hour and a quarter later, no longer carrying the handkerchief, tammie joined him. ted petted him and looked somberly at the forest. he didn't know where al was hiding and he didn't want to know. but tammie knew. messenger dog in the gathering gloom of the beech woods, a silver-throated thrush sang its evening song. then, starting where it had ended, the thrush repeated the same notes backwards. ted paused to listen and tammie halted beside him. the boy grinned faintly. because it first seemed to wind itself up and then to unwind, al had always insisted on calling this thrush the "winder bird." it was, ted supposed, as good a name as any. tammie sat down and turned a quizzical head to look at the harness he was wearing and, for excellent reasons, could wear only at night. ted himself had made the harness from a discarded pack sack. it had a chest strap to keep it from sliding backwards, a belly strap to prevent it from falling off, and on either side was a spacious pocket with a flap that could be fastened. right now, the pack was laden with thirty pounds of junk that ted had picked up around the house. tammie tried to scrape the harness off with his right hind paw. ted stooped to pet and coax him. "come on, tammie. come on. that's a good boy!" tammie sighed and got to his feet. he didn't know why he was thus burdened and he had no aspirations whatever to become a pack dog. but if ted wanted it, he would try to do it. he followed to the end of the drive and stood expectantly while ted opened the mailbox. the metropolitan daily in which ted had placed his ad, and that was always delivered to the harknesses a day late, lay on top. beneath were thirteen letters. ted's heart began to pound. he'd watched the mail every day, but except for the paper, the usual hopeful bulletins addressed to "occupant," and a few miscellaneous items, there had been nothing interesting. ted had almost despaired of getting anything, but he realized, as he stood with the letters in his hand, that he hadn't allowed hunters enough time to answer his ad. the thirteen letters represented more first-class mail than the harknesses usually received in three months, and ted held them as though they burned his fingers. they were important, perhaps the most important letters he had ever had or ever would have, for the future of the harknesses could depend on what was in them. ted ran back up the drive. running with him, tammie was too busy to pay attention to the obnoxious pack. ted burst into the house, slammed the door behind him, laid the letters and papers on the table and knelt to take the pack from tammie. he thrust it, still laden, into the darkest corner of a dark closet and turned excitedly back to the mail. sighing with relief, tammie curled up on his bearskin. ted looked at the sheaf of letters. except for two, they were addressed in longhand. he picked one up, made as though to open it then put it back down. if the news was good, it would be very good. if bad, it would be very bad. his eye fell on a box on the paper's front page. gunman still at large after a week's intensive manhunt, albert, "al" harkness is still at large in the wild mahela. harkness, named by clarence delbert as the man who shot him from ambush, escaped from two officers the same night he was apprehended. delbert, still in critical condition, has supplied no additional details. corporal paul hausler, of the state police, has expressed confidence that harkness will be captured. ted pushed the paper aside and stared across the table. for three days the hunt had been pressed with unflagging zeal. only pete tooms and the duly deputized delberts had gone out for two days after that and now, ted understood, even they were staying home. they had discovered for themselves what ted and loring blade had known from the start: if al chose to hide in the mahela, he couldn't be found. but the item in the paper cast a shadow of things to come. al could hide for a while, perhaps for a long while, but without proper equipment or a place to stay, even he couldn't live in the wilderness when winter struck with all its fury. sooner or later, he would have to come out, and what happened when he came was so terribly dependent on what was in the letters! ted slit the first one open and read, dear mr. harkness: i saw your letter in the _courier_ and we would like to rent your camp for the first two weeks of deer season. can you let me know at once if it is available? there will be ten of us. ted put the letter aside and picked up the next one. that likewise wanted the camp for the first two weeks of deer season. there would be eight in the party. but there was a very welcome, "i enclose an advance to hold our reservation," with a twenty-dollar check made out to ted. he folded the note over the check and took up the third letter. that also wanted the camp for the first two weeks of deer season. ted turned to tammie. "doesn't anybody hunt anything except deer?" but the fourth letter, containing a deposit of ten dollars, was from a party of grouse hunters who wanted the camp during the first two weeks of grouse season, and the fifth had been written by a man representing a group of hunters who obviously liked to do things the hard way. scorning anything as easy as deer, grouse, squirrels, or cottontails, they wanted the camp for bear season. there was no deposit enclosed, but if they could be persuaded to send one, the camp would be rented for another week. the next five letters, two of which contained deposits of twenty dollars each, were all from deer hunters who wanted to come the first two weeks of the season and the one after that was from a confirmed grouse hunter who wished to come the first week. ted picked up the last letter, one of two that were typewritten, and read: dear ted harkness: for lo, these many years, my silent feet have carried me into the haunts of big game and my unerring rifle has laid them low. i have moose, elk, grizzlies, caribou, sheep and goats to my credit. honesty compels me to admit that i also have several head of big game to my discredit, but that happened in the days of my callow youth, when i thought hunting and killing were synonymous. presently, in my mellow old age, i still love to hunt. but i have become--heaven help me!--a head hunter. in short, i want 'em big or i don't want 'em. i do not have a whitetail buck to which i can point with pride. living in the mahela, and i envy you your dwelling place!, you must know the whereabouts of such a beastie. the simplicity of your ad was most impressive and i always did admire people who sign themselves "ted" rather than "theodore." i do not want your camp, but do you want to guide a doddering old man? find me a room, any old room at all as long as it's warm and dry, and i'm yours for three weeks. find me a buck that satisfies me and, in addition to your guiding fee, i'll give you a bonus of twenty-five dollars for every inch in the longest tine on either antler. humbly yours, john l. wilson ted re-read the letter, so friendly and so obviously written by a hunter who had experience, time and--ted tried not to think it and couldn't help himself because his need was desperate--money. the harkness house was very large and, now that al was not in it, very empty. there was no reason whatsoever why john l. wilson, whoever he was, should not stay here. twelve dollars a day was not too much to ask for board, room and guide services. as for the twenty-five dollars an inch--there were some big bucks in the mahela! ted sat down to write, "dear mr. wilson: thanks very much for your letter--" he crumpled the sheet of paper and started over, "dear mr. wilson: there are some big bucks--" then he crumpled that sheet and did the only thing he could do. "dear mr. wilson: i am going to tell you about damon and pythias." ted told, and he was scrupulously honest. his father, born in the mahela almost fifty years ago, had never seen bigger bucks. certainly they were the biggest ted had ever seen. in their prime now, royal trophies, a couple of years would see them in their decline. ted gave it as his personal opinion that both were at their best this year. next season, they would not be quite as good and the year after, ted thought, both would bear the misshapen antlers that are so often the marks of old bucks. but just getting a shot at either would involve more than a routine hunt. the two bucks were very wise; many hunters had tried for them and nobody had come near to getting either. it might very well take three weeks just to hunt them, and ted could not guarantee success. however, though they were far and away the biggest, by no means were damon and pythias the only big bucks in the mahela. he concluded by writing that mr. wilson could stay with him, and that his fee for board, room and guide service would be twelve dollars a day. ted sealed the letter, addressed it, put two stamps on, marked it air mail and turned to the others. he shook a bewildered head. the way carl thornton ran crestwood, catering to guests had always seemed the essence of simplicity. obviously, it had its headaches. of the dozen applicants for his camp, eight wanted it in deer season only and all wanted the first two weeks. ted screened the letters again, then narrowed them down to the three who had sent advances. they'd offered earnest intent of coming, the rest might and might not appear. but which of the three should he accept? ted solved it by consulting the postmarks on the letters. all had been mailed the same day, but one had been stamped at ten a.m. and the other two at two p.m. ted wrote to the author of the letter with the earliest time mark, a mr. allen thomas, and told him that the camp was his for the first two weeks of deer season. the other two checks--if only he had three camps!--he put in envelopes with letters saying that, he was very sorry, but the camp had already been reserved for the time they wanted. then, in a flash of inspiration, he opened both letters and added a postscript, saying that the camp was still available for the last week of the season. he grinned ruefully as he did so and seemed to hear al saying, "'most missed a pelt there, ted." ted assured the other deer hunters that his camp was reserved for the first two weeks but open the third. he contemplated bringing his price down to forty-five dollars for that week. then he reconsidered. most hunters thought that hunting would be much better the first of the season than it ever could be the last, and, in part, they were right. unmolested for almost a year, during the first days of the season game was apt to be less wary. as compensation, during the latter part of any season there were seldom as many hunters afield. anyhow, deer hunters who really wanted a camp would not let an extra fifteen dollars stand in the way of getting one. writing to the bear hunters, ted accepted a tentative reservation that would be confirmed as soon as he received a deposit of ten dollars. too many people made reservations with no deposit; then, if something arose that prevented their honoring their reservations, they simply didn't come. anyone who paid money in advance would be there or cancel in plenty of time to get their money back. ted told the grouse hunters who'd sent a ten-dollar deposit that the camp was theirs for the first two weeks of the season and he pondered over the other grouse hunter's letter. nobody at all had applied for woodcock season because, ted decided, woodcock are so uncertain. one of the finest of game birds, they are also migratory. a few nested in the mahela, but they were too few to attract sportsmen. depending on conditions, flight birds might and might not be in the mahela during the season and some years they by-passed it completely. but when they came, they offered marvelous shooting. ted wrote the second grouse hunter, a mr. george beaulieu, that the only vacancy he had left was for the third week of grouse season. but was he interested in woodcock? if he was, and if he would advise ted to that effect, ted would be happy to call him long distance in the event of a worthwhile flight. tammie rose, yawned prodigiously and lay down to sleep on his other side for a while. ted shuffled the pile of letters, which he needn't put in the mailbox because he was definitely going into lorton in the morning, and pondered. it hadn't worked out quite as he'd hoped it would, with the camp rented continuously throughout six weeks of small game hunting and three of deer. he figured with his pen on a discarded piece of paper. the camp was definitely rented for two weeks of grouse and one of bear hunting at forty-five dollars a week. that added up to a hundred and thirty-five dollars. it was certainly rented for two weeks of deer hunting at sixty a week, thus he would have a hundred and twenty dollars more. ted sighed wistfully. two hundred and fifty-five dollars was by no means an insignificant return on their investment, even if they had put a price on their labor, and they could look forward to the next hunting and fishing seasons. if al were here, they'd be happy about it and eagerly planning more camps. but al wasn't here, and all that mattered now was that, by the end of deer season, ted could be certain of having at least two hundred and fifty-five dollars in cash. if john wilson came, stayed with ted for twenty-one days, and paid him twelve dollars a day, that would be two hundred and fifty-two dollars more. if mr. wilson got a buck that satisfied him, and the buck's antlers had one tine nine inches long-- "cut it out!" ted advised himself. "cut it out, harkness! count on what you know you'll have, and that's two hundred and fifty-five dollars." tammie, hearing ted's voice and thinking he was called, came over to sit beside his master. he raised a dainty paw to ted's hand and smiled with his eyes when the boy took it. ted glanced at the clock. "great guns! twenty past one! we'd better hit the hay!" he shucked off his clothes, put on his pajamas and crawled into bed. but even though he was tired, sleep would not come because he was thinking of al. how was his father spending this chilly night--and where? in some cave perhaps, or some thicket. ted tried to put such thoughts behind him. wherever al might be, that outdoorsman was warm, dry and even comfortable. but ted's mind insisted on seeking the gloomy side, and he was brought out of it only when tammie whined. instantly ted became alert. taught to whine but never to bark when a stranger came near the house, tammie was warning him now. the boy slipped out of bed, and, in the darkness, he felt for his shoes and pulled them on. he laced them so there would be no danger of tripping over the shoelaces and soft-footed across the floor to take a five-cell flashlight from its drawer and his twelve-gauge shotgun from its rack. out of the night came a sound that has been familiar since the first ancient man domesticated the first chickens. it was the sleepy squawk of a hen protesting removal from its warm roost. ted opened the door softly, stabbed the darkness with his light and trapped within its beam a figure that ran from the chicken coop toward the forest. "get him, tammie!" tammie rippled forward, and the light magnified his bobbing shadow twenty times over. he was not a dog but a monster, a nightmare from some antediluvian swamp, bearing down on the fleeing man. he rose into the air, struck the runner's back with his full weight, knocked him sprawling and snarled over him. it was what he'd been trained to do and it was all he'd do unless his captive tried too hard to get up. then a little fang-work might be necessary, but this prisoner wasn't even moving. ted shined his light into the terrified face of a young ne'er-do-well known to his parents as sammy allen stacey, to himself and a few of his intimates as s.a., and to too many others as silly ass. his captor asked sternly, "what are you doing here?" "uh--nothin'." "what's in the sack?" "i--i just borrowed three of your hens!" sammy started to sniffle. "i was goin' to bring 'em back tomorrow! honest!" "guess i'll go back to the house," ted said meaningfully. "when i hear you scream, i'll know tammie's working on you." "no! don't! please don't!" "think you can stay out of other people's chicken coops?" "yes! yes!" ted ordered, "all right, tammie." the collie moved back and ted addressed the prostrate youth. "get up and get out of here. if ever you come back again, i'll just turn you over to the dog." sammy rose and ran into the woods. ted returned the three indignant hens to their roost and addressed tammie, "i'll bet that, if ever he is found in another chicken coop, it won't be ours. you must have scared some sense into him." back in the house, tammie sought his bearskin. ted replaced the flashlight and shotgun, took his shoes off and went back to bed. tomorrow he must go to lorton but it needn't be bright and early because, by mahela standards, lorton just didn't get up bright and early. ted slept until a quarter to seven. an hour later, with tammie on the pickup's seat beside him, he started down the road. he drove slowly because the business and professional offices in lorton wouldn't open for another hour. coming opposite crestwood, he saw nels anderson, his former partner, working with a pick and shovel beside the driveway. ted eased his truck over and stopped. "hello, nels." "py golly, ted!" nels' face could never reflect anything he did not feel. "is goot to see you!" "it's good to see you, too. how are things?" "we must not holler. yah?" "guess it never does any good. how's the boss?" nels smiled sadly. "mad." "what's he mad at?" "me. i go to fix the freezer and he say, 'get out of there, you crazy scandahoovian! from now on you work only outside and joost three days a week!" "for pete's sake! why?" "he's mad." "why don't you get a different job, nels? one you can depend on?" "yah, i like to. i do not like mr. thornton no more." "why not?" "he gets mad. you hear from your pa, ted?" "no." "i'm awful sorry," nels said gravely. "i do not believe your pa, he shoot this man like they say he did. if i could help him, i would." "thanks, nels. be seeing you." "so long, ted." ted drove on, wondering. he'd had only two personal contacts with carl thornton--the day he was hired and the day he was fired. he couldn't really say that thornton was not an unpredictable individual, given to sudden rages, because he didn't know him that well. he had impressed ted as somewhat cold and carefully calculating. the boy shrugged. nels was a nice person. but an idea soaked into his head about as easily as sunbeams penetrate mud. probably he'd broken some rule which he had not understood and still didn't understand, and thornton was punishing him. but putting him on halftime, and nels with five children to support, seemed like extreme punishment. ted drove on to lorton, where, even though most of the town's residents were his friends, he could not help feeling self-conscious. smoky delbert's shooting had brought lorton more fame, or notoriety, than it had known since its founding. the story had been in most of the state's papers and gained wide distribution through a couple of news services. parking in front of the first national bank, ted left tammie in the truck, dropped his stamped letters in a mailbox and walked up the dimly lighted stairs that led to the law offices of john mclean. edith brewman, mclean's ageless secretary, had not yet come in but john mclean was rummaging through her desk. he looked up and said, "howdy, boy." "good morning, mr. mclean." ted stood awkwardly, a little embarrassed and a little lost. just how did one approach an attorney and what did one say to him? john mclean continued to paw through the desk and ted studied him covertly. a huge, gaunt man in an ill-fitting suit, with unkempt gray hair and a black tie askew on his collar, john mclean looked like anything save the successful attorney he was. his dress and person were part of a clever act. slouching into a courtroom, he was more apt to provoke snickers than admiration. but an opposing attorney who underrated him, and most did, literally fell into his clutches. there was a silver tongue behind john mclean's rather slack lips and a razor-sharp brain beneath his gray hair. he grinned loosely now. "edith's too darn' orderly. when she puts something away, i can never find it. what can i do for you?" "i'm ted harkness, mr. mclean." "i know." "i want to find out if you'll take care of my father." "judging from what i've read in the papers, your dad's taking pretty good care of himself." ted said hesitantly, "he can't stay in the mahela forever. sooner or later, they'll get him." "sooner or later," john mclean said, "they get everybody. wish people would stop making a joke out of that old saw, 'crime doesn't pay.' it doesn't." he resumed poking through the desk while ted stood uncomfortably, not knowing whether or not he'd been dismissed. two minutes later, john mclean whirled on him. "is your dad guilty?" "no!" "how do you know?" "he said he isn't!" john mclean chuckled. "simmer down. i don't want to fight you. just wanted to find out if you had a good reason for thinking your dad innocent." "is the reason good enough for you?" as though forgetting ted, the attorney opened another drawer and leafed through its contents.... he said suddenly, "i'll take the case." ted sighed relievedly, "oh, thank you!" "better save that until after the trial." "but--" "save your worries, too." "then you can help him?" "we'll figure out something. who did shoot this delbert?" "i wish i knew." "so do i." ted said uneasily, "i haven't any money right now, but i'll have at least two hundred and fifty-five dollars, and perhaps a great deal more, right after deer season." john mclean murmured, "it'll help. the price of justice is too often too blasted high." "do--do you want to talk with dad soon?" "where is he?" "laying out in the mahela." "the mahela's a big place." ted said honestly, "i don't know where he is. i haven't seen him since he left but--i could get a message to him." "i won't ask you how. does your dad mind laying out?" "no." "then leave him until the time's right. it would have been better if he'd given himself up right away; but staying out now will do more good than harm. people, even prosecuting attorneys, can forget quite a bit in a short time." "is there anything else?" "when he comes in, or when you bring him in, i want to be the first to talk with him. can you arrange that?" "i'm sure i can." * * * * * that night, back at the harkness house, ted took tammie's harness from the closet and emptied it of junk. he replaced the junk with an equal weight of food, added a handful of matches, thrust a pad of paper and a pencil into one of the pockets and strapped the harness on tammie. ted took his dog to the back door and let him into the darkness. "take it to al," he ordered. "go to al, tammie." tammie, who hadn't been able to see any sense in the pack but who saw it now, raised his drooping ears and wagged his tail. he raced away in the darkness. ted had scarcely closed the back door when there was an imperative knock at the front. he opened it to admit jack callahan. a flight of woodcock the sheriff stood tall in the doorway, his face unreadable, while at the same time he seemed to strain forward like an eager hound on a hot scent. disconcerted, showing it and aware that he showed it, ted fought for self-possession. he said, "well hello." "hello, ted." callahan was not unfriendly. "how are things?" ted tried to cover his confusion with a shrug. "not much change." "you seem," callahan was looking narrowly at him, "a bit nervous." "is that strange?" "guess not." callahan was too casual. "it's probably a nerve-wracking business. uh--thought i heard you talking?" "you might have. i was talking to tammie." "your dog, eh?" "that's right." "i don't see him around." "i just let him out the back door. he likes to go for a little run at night." "i'm darned," callahan said, "if i didn't think i caught a glimpse of you letting him out. tammie looked awful big." "he's a big dog." just how much had callahan seen? definitely, a pack-laden collie was not going camping and callahan would know where it was going. the sheriff dropped into a chair and crossed his right leg over his left knee. "i know he's big, i've seen him before. but he sure looked bigger than usual. that's a mighty good dog, ted." "yes, he is." "highly-trained, too, isn't he? that dog will do almost anything you want him to, won't he?" "oh, sure," ted said sarcastically. "every night he sets his own alarm for five o'clock. then he lays and lights a fire so the house will be warm when i get out of bed." "aw now, ted!" callahan said reproachfully. "you know darn' well what i mean! why only the other night i found silly ass stacey running down the road like a haunt was chasing him. 'don't go up there!' he told me. 'don't go up to harknesses! they have a man-eating dog and it just ate me!'" doubtless unintentionally, callahan had given something away. the harkness house was being closely watched or the sheriff wouldn't have been on the lorton road at the hour when sammy ran down it. in full control of himself now, ted did not let himself reveal what he had just learned. he said grimly, "sammy was in our chicken coop." "_hm-m._ want me to pick him up for it?" "i doubt if he'll be as fond of chicken stealing from now on. tammie knocked him down and did a little snarling over him. he didn't hurt him." callahan grinned. "figured that out all by myself; nobody who'd most been eaten could run as fast as silly ass was running. hope it does teach him a lesson; if he gets rid of his oversized notions, he won't be anything except a harmless sort of nut. jail might make him vicious. but that's what i mean about your dog. you've really got him trained." "i spend a lot of time training him." "you have to if you want results, but it's worth it. you have a dog you can really work." "there are limits." "of course. of course there are. a dog's a dog. but i'll bet," callahan looked squarely at ted, "that tammie would even go find your father if you told him to." "you're sure?" "well, who could be sure? but i admire trained dogs no end and yours is the best i ever saw. call him back, will you? i'd like to see him again." "i--" ted hesitated and hated himself because callahan noticed his hesitation. "i don't know if i can. tammie takes some pretty long rambles at night and he may be out of hearing." "you'll have loring on your tail if he bothers game." "tammie doesn't bother anything unless he's ordered to do it." callahan said admiringly, "that's where training comes in. this could even be a story!" "what could?" "why, your dad laying out in the mahela. he doesn't have any grub except the load he cooked the night loring and i were here--and wasn't i the dope not to see through that? he needs about everything. you can't take it to him because you could be followed. but you have a big, strong, well-trained dog. you, oh you might even make a pack for him. then you load the pack and send it to your dad. who's going to follow tammie? get it?" ted looked at the floor. coming at exactly the wrong second, callahan had seen enough to rouse suspicion but not enough to be sure of anything. the boy conceded, "it's a story all right." "could even be a _true_ story, huh?" "you're doing the guessing." "oh, well," callahan shrugged, "i didn't come here to bother you. but i sure would like to see that dog of yours again and i haven't much time. call him back, will you?" both hands in front of him, fingers tightly locked, ted walked to the back door. when tammie took anything to al, he usually ran. if he had run this time, and kept on running, he would be out of hearing. if he was not out of hearing, he would come back. ted hoped callahan didn't see him gulp. if tammie returned with the pack, it would be all the evidence callahan needed that the dog could find al. but not to call him would serve only to convince the sheriff, anyhow, that tammie was on his way to al. ted opened the back door and whistled. he waited a moment, whistled again and closed the door behind him. "he'll come if he heard." "and if he didn't," callahan commented, "he's a long way back in the mahela, huh?" "that's right." "now that's strange," the sheriff mused. "i know a little about dogs. you take an airedale, for example. he'll make long tracks, if he gets a chance. but i always thought a collie was pretty much the home type. i never figured they'd get very far from their doorsteps. unless, of course, maybe it's a trained collie that's sent away." "dogs vary." "of course, of course. there's no rule says two of any one breed have to be alike. couple of years ago, over beyond taylorville, we had to get a pack that was running wild and, believe it or not, there was a boston bull with them. now who'd think a boston bull--what's that?" "i--i didn't hear anything." "well, i did. ah! there it is again!" a second time, and unmistakably, tammie's distinctive whine sounded at the back door. ted's heart plummeted to his toes and his throat went dry. he was about to rise and let tammie in--the only thing he could do--but he was forestalled by jack callahan. "there he is. he heard you, all right. i'll let him in." he walked to the back door ... opened it. ted hoped his gasp was not as loud as it seemed. wearing no pack, tammie came sedately in, greeted callahan with a wag of his tail and tripped across the floor to sit down beside his master. the boy bent his head to conceal ecstatic eyes. poker-faced callahan showed nothing of what he must be feeling. "just as handsome as i remember him!" he said admiringly. "that dog's a real credit to you, ted!" "he has just one little flaw," ted said gravely. "sometimes he thinks he sees things he never saw at all." callahan grinned engagingly. "some people make that mistake, too. especially when there's deep shadow. how are you making out, ted?" "all right. my camp's rented for five weeks and i may rent it for woodcock season, if the flight comes in." "loring told me there's flight birds at taylorville. he said there's quite a few, and he thinks there'll be a big flight." "hope it comes here!" callahan said soberly, "if it'll help you, so do i. i'm sorry you're in trouble." "trouble comes." "i know, but being the sheriff who makes it isn't the snap job it's cracked up to be. i've had to hurt a lot of people i'd rather not bother, but when i swore to uphold the law, i didn't make any exceptions and i'm not going to make any. i hope you don't hold that against me." "i don't." "just so you understand. a lot of people who cuss peace officers would find out for themselves what a mess they'd be in if there weren't any." "i know that, too." "then you know why i must bring your dad in. when i do, and i will, he'll get every break i'm able to offer. by the same token, smoky delbert may have some breaks coming. so long for now, ted." "so long." callahan left and ted was alone with tammie. he tickled the big dog's soft ears. "the lord watches over idiots!" he murmured. "he sure enough does!" what had happened was obvious. disliking the pack anyway, tammie hadn't gone more than a couple of hundred feet before ridding himself of it. only he knew how he'd unclasped the buckles, but he'd managed. of course, when ordered to do so, he should have gone to al. but he could be forgiven this time. "i'd best get to bed," ted told him. "i don't know where you left that pack, but do know i'd better find it before mr. callahan comes back this way. that man has sixteen eyes, and don't ever let's think he's dumb! he came right close to tipping over our meat house tonight!" ted was up an hour before dawn and had breakfasted by the time the first pale light of day began to lift night's shroud from the great beech trees. with tammie at his side, he stepped out the back door and formed a plan of action. he didn't know exactly how much time had passed between his whistle and tammie's appearance at the door, but it couldn't have been more than fifteen or twenty seconds. certainly the collie had needed some little time to rid himself of the pack. it couldn't possibly be far from the cabin. ted petted the dog. "you lost it," he scolded gently. "why don't you find it?" tammie raced ahead twenty yards, whirled, came back to leap at and snap his jaws within a quarter inch of ted's right hand, then flew away again. he continued running around and around, stopping at intervals to snap. but though he never missed very much, he never hit either. ted walked slowly, on a course parallel to the cabin, and he turned his head from side to side as he walked. there were no thickets or windfalls here. there was nothing at all except the big beeches. wherever tammie had dropped it, the pack wouldn't be hard to see. descending into a little swale, ted flushed three woodcock out of it. their distinctive, twittering whistle, which ted had always thought was made by wind rushing through stiff flight feathers, sounded as they flew. the boy's eyes glowed with pleasure. the ruffed grouse was a marvelous game bird and nobody who knew him well, or even fairly well, would ever deny it. but there was a very special group--ted himself belonged to it--who held the woodcock in highest esteem. swift-winged and sporty, the woodcock had an air of mystery and romance possessed by few other wild things. measuring eleven inches, from the tip of his bill to the end of his tail, the woodcock's plumage varied from black to gray, with different shades of brown predominant. so perfectly did they blend with their surroundings that, even though a hunter might watch a flying woodcock alight on the ground, he was often not able to see it afterwards. their legs were short and their bills, with which they probed into soft earth for the various larvae and worms upon which they fed, were ridiculously long. but their eyes remained their outstanding characteristic. placed near the top of the head, they were luminous and expressive, as though, somehow, they mirrored all of nature. they were very large in proportion to the bird's size. whoever saw them would never forget them and who knew the woodcock knew one of the finest and most delightful of all wild creatures. ted marked the trio down, but he did not approach them again. the season was not open, and nobody could ever be sure of woodcock. perhaps these were stragglers. maybe they marked the vanguard of a big flight that would be in the mahela when the season opened and maybe they didn't. he'd have to wait and see and, even then, neither he nor anyone else could be sure. cover that might be alive with woodcock one day could be empty, or hold only a few birds, the next. during the night, every woodcock had often picked up and moved on. when he'd gone as far as he thought he should, ted moved twenty-five yards deeper into the woods and swung back on a course parallel to the one he'd followed. he began to worry. the pack couldn't possibly be far because tammie hadn't had time to go far. it was good sized, so it should be easy to see. ted made another swing about. two hours after he had started hunting, he stopped. he was a half mile from the house, definitely the extreme limit tammie might have reached. the boy went back to cover the same area more carefully.... he went through it a third time. by midday, he was wholly baffled. the pack was not here. where was it? had jack callahan, nobody's fool, seen more than he had admitted seeing? had he slipped back after leaving ted and found the pack himself? it seemed improbable. recovery of the pack, so obviously for a dog and not for a man to wear, would be proof within itself that ted had intended to send tammie to al. and if callahan had the least reason to suppose that tammie could really find al, he'd be in the house right now, insisting that he do it. ted petted the collie. "why can't you talk?" he murmured. "why can't you tell me what you did with it?" tammie licked his master's fingers and wagged his tail. ted sighed. he'd looked in all the places where the pack might be and hadn't found it. it stood to reason that nobody else was going to find it either, or at least, they wouldn't find it easily. still worried, ted went back to the house and fixed a lunch. he thought of looking for the pack some more and decided against it. there was no other place to look but there were things to do. he hadn't been at the camp since the night al was accused of shooting smoky. if he intended to rent it to hunters, he'd better go see how things were. ted chose to walk, for he had been doing a great deal of serious thinking and had changed many of his ideas. running a successful resort, or even a successful camp, involved a great deal more than just being a gracious host. in any city, or even any town, such a camp probably wouldn't rent at all because it was so radically different from what urban residents had come to expect in their dwellings. but it fitted the mahela, and for a short time each year, it would be appreciated because it offered a refreshing change from conventional living. but there was still more involved. few people wanted to get into the out-of-doors merely for the sake of being there. the place must offer something, and beyond any doubt the mahela's prime attraction was its deer herds. but nobody, regardless of whether he was running crestwood or renting camps, could hope to make a living just from the three-week deer season alone. he would also have to lure all the small game hunters and all the fishermen he could, and if he didn't lure them honestly, they'd never come back. it stood to reason that nobody who lived a couple of hundred miles from the mahela could know what was taking place there. they must be kept informed, and ted wished to walk now because he wanted to judge for himself whether or not there would be a worthwhile flight of woodcock. the birds might be anywhere at all. ted had flushed them from the very summit of hawkbill. but as a rule they avoided the thickest cover and haunted the streams, bogs and swamps because they found their food along stream beds and in swamps. with tammie trailing happily beside him. ted followed the course of spinning creek. he flushed two woodcock from a sparse growth of aspens and watched them wing away and settle on the other side of the creek. then he put up a single and, farther on, a little flock of five. in the clearing, almost at the camp's door, another single whistled away and dropped near tumbling run. that made nine woodcock between the harkness house and the camp. definitely it was not a substantial flight and no hunter should be advised to come to the mahela because of them. but there were more than there had been. a doe and two spring fawns were nosing about the apple trees. bears had been climbing the same trees, leaving scarred trunks and broken branches in their wake. black bears, of which there were a fair number in the mahela, would come almost as far for apples as they would for honey. but they came only at night and did a lot of damage when they climbed the trees. however, these tough apple trees had been broken by bears every year they'd borne a crop and they'd always recovered. they'd recover again, and ted supposed bears had as much right as anything else to the apples. he grinned. the fruit was gnarled and wormy, but it was a woodland delicacy and woodland dwellers competed for it as fiercely as a crowd of undisciplined children might compete for a rack of ice-cream cones. ted walked all around the camp, saw nothing amiss and unlocked the door. he pulled the hasp back, went in--and saw tammie's pack lying under the table. momentarily alarmed, he stopped. only one person could have left the pack! he picked it up and thrust his hand into a side pocket. he found and pulled out a page torn from the pad of paper he'd inserted in the pack and read the penciled note. dear ted; i was cuming to see you last nite. tammy met me a sniff from the dor and i snuck up and saw calhan. gess he wants to see me rite enuf but i don't want to see him! hope taking tammy's pak don't throw you off. i can get along a good spel with the stuf in the pak and wudcok seson cuming on. i've saw a mess of flite wudcok. don't send tammy agen without you know it's safe and send him after midnite. i won't be so far away he can't get to me and bak. watch calhan. he's sharp. your dad p.s. i got the kyote. ted heaved a mighty sigh of thanksgiving. al had the pack's contents and there were three blankets missing from the camp. for the first time, the dark clouds that surged around the boy revealed their silver lining. al was still a fugitive, but he had enough to eat and he was sleeping under blankets. it seemed a great deal. ted read the note again and smiled over it. a hunted outlaw, al was still abiding by the principles in which he believed. he might have been justified in killing game for food, but the reference to woodcock season indicated that he had done no such thing. possibly--ted remembered that he had his coyote traps--he had caught a bobcat or so. the season was never closed on bobcats and, if one could overcome natural squeamishness, they were really delicious eating. ted lifted the stove lid, put the note within, applied a lighted match, waited until the paper burned to ashes, then used the lid lifter to pound the ashes to dust. he looked fondly at tammie, who had been nowise derelict. ordered to go to al, he had done exactly that and it was none of tammie's doing if al had been within a "sniff" of his own back door. ted said cheerfully, "guess we'll go home, tammie. but we'll come back for the pack tonight, mr. callahan, or some of his friends, probably will be patroling here and there." that night there were three more letters, two from deer hunters who wanted the camp the usual first two weeks of the season and one from a grouse hunter who wanted the first week. ted advised them of the camp's present status, put his letters in the mailbox and lifted the red flag to let the carrier know there was mail to pick up. the next night there were five letters, two of which had been sent airmail. ted opened the first. dear mr. harkness: your letter intrigued us no end. we haven't seen a good flight of woodcock for ten years and didn't think there was any such thing any more. should they come in, by all means call me and reverse the charges. my business phone is tr - ; my home is la - . call either place and we'll start an hour afterwards. there'll be seven of us, and i enclose a ten-dollar check as deposit. cordially, george beaulieu the second airmail letter read: bless you, ted! you've started me dreaming of damon and/or pythias. one or the other will do, but nothing else, please! by your own invitation, you're stuck with me for the full twenty-one days. i'll see you the day before the season opens. gratefully, john l. wilson there was a check for a hundred dollars enclosed and almost grimly ted folded both checks in his wallet. he'd have to spend some money for food, but not a great deal. the freezer was almost full and much of the garden remained to be harvested. he stared at the far wall. he had not planned it this way. he had looked forward to a happy venture, to enjoying and helping his guests, and if he made money in so doing, that would be fine. had things turned out as he'd planned, there was already enough money in sight to build and equip another camp. but that was not to be. al had to come out of the mahela some time. when he did, they were in for a fight, and money would be a powerful weapon in that all-out battle. they must win, and anything else must be secondary. the other three letters were from deer hunters who wanted the camp the first two weeks of the season. ted devoted the next fortnight to harvesting the garden. he dug the potatoes, emptied them in the cellar bin and stacked squash and pumpkins beside them. bunches of carrots and turnips were stored in another bin, and shelled beans were put in sacks. almost every mail brought more letters, and two out of three were from deer hunters. ted rented his camp for the season's third week. maybe nobody could make a living from deer hunters alone, but anybody who had enough camps, perhaps ten or twelve, could certainly earn a decent sum of money from just deer hunters. the mahela changed its green summer dress for autumn's gaudy raiment and the frosts came. woodcock continued to drift in, and two days before the season opened, they arrived in force. where there had been one, there were thirty, and still they came. ted drove into lorton and called from the drugstore. "mr. beaulieu?" "yes?" "this is ted harkness, mr. beaulieu. the woodcock are in." "a big flight?" "the biggest in years." "we'll be there tomorrow," george beaulieu said happily. "hold the camp for us!" "i'll do that, and anybody in lorton can tell you where to find me." "thanks for calling. we'll be seeing you." trouble for nels in the beech forest, just beyond tumbling run, a buck so young that budding antlers did little more than part the coarse hair on its head stamped a front hoof and snorted. old enough to have a vast admiration for himself and his own powers, but too young to have any sense, the little buck snorted again and tried to sound as ferocious as possible. nosing about for any apples that might remain under the trees near ted's camp, he had stood his ground gallantly when ted and tammie approached. not ten minutes before their arrival, he'd chased a rabbit away from the trees and he was so impressed by that feat that he thought he could chase anything. but when ted and tammie refused to run, he'd trotted into the forest to do his threatening from a safer place. he snorted again, more hopefully than angrily, and when he did not regain possession of the apple trees, he looked sad. ted grinned at him. "junior's almost decided he can't bluff us, tammie. poor little guy! he'd just about convinced himself that he's a real ripsnorter of a buck. oh, well, it's a hard world for everybody." ted continued to string clotheslines between the apple trees. he pulled them tight, tested their tension with an experimental finger and turned thoughtfully back to the camp. it might be a hard world for adolescent bucks, but if it weren't for the fact that his father was still laying out in the mahela, right now it would be a pretty good one for ted. true to his promise, george beaulieu and his six companions had arrived the day before woodcock season opened. in his mid-fifties, beaulieu was branch manager for an insurance company. of the six men with him, only twenty-six-year-old george junior, an insurance salesman who thought his father was the greatest man in the world and who wanted nothing more than to follow in his footsteps, had been less than middle-aged. the other five were a filling station owner, a dentist, a toolmaker, an electrical appliance dealer and a printer. their party had been complemented by two dogs, an english setter and a springer spaniel. there had been nothing sensational about any of them, including the dogs. except for george beaulieu, his son and the printer, none of the men had been even fair hunters. the three, far and away the best of the seven gunners, had averaged three shots for every woodcock brought down. the worst gunner, the electrical appliance dealer, who appropriately enough was named joseph watt, had fired at least fifteen times for every woodcock he put in his pocket. yet ted felt that the happy man had lived through an uplifting and a near-sensational experience. although unpretentious, his guests had definitely not been meek or demure. whoever missed an easy shot, which practically all of them did at least twice a day, was needled mercilessly by the others. not one among them, under the best of conditions, could have made even a meager living as a professional hunter. yet they represented the best type of present-day game seekers. they had come to shoot woodcock and they would have been disappointed not to shoot some. but they did not pursue their quarry with the calculating coldness of a smoky delbert or, for that matter, with the intense concentration of an al harkness, when al was after a pelt he wanted. they were out for fun and they had fun, and although game mattered, meat did not. there were so many woodcock that everybody, even joseph watt, got some. but considering the shells they shot, the camp rental, food, transportation and licenses, their game probably cost them at least fifteen dollars a pound! after the first week ended and there seemed to be more woodcock than ever--the flight was still coming in--they had decided that another ten years might pass before they saw this again and stayed the second week. they'd left only this morning, promising to be back next year if there was another flight of woodcock, or for grouse if there was not. ted hummed as he started toward the camp. the beaulieu party had been wonderful guests and certainly they were welcome back. if the mahela was good for them, they were just as good for the mahela. ted gathered up as much bedding as he could carry. he'd been a little worried about it because he'd provided neither sheets nor pillowcases. but lack of them hadn't seemed to worry the beaulieu party in the slightest. most people who hunted all day were too tired by night to care whether their beds were formal, or anything except comfortable. next year--always supposing his father and he still had the camp, ted thought that they would have to provide linens, too. summer campers spent more time in camp than hunters did, and they were apt to be more particular. ted hung the blankets and quilts on the lines he had strung and pinned them securely. if they aired all day long, they'd be fresh by night. the grouse hunters--ted had corresponded with an arthur beamish--were due some time after supper and there would be ten in the party. the small buck, that had been lurking hopefully near and awaiting a chance to come back, snorted his astonishment when the bedding began to blow in the wind and ran away as fast as he could. the little fellow thought he was fully capable of dealing with anything natural, but wind-blown bedclothes smacked of the supernatural. ted lost himself in thought. the camp was completely rented, except for the third week of small game season, and it would return a little more than four hundred dollars in rent. added to that was the money he'd certainly get from john wilson, and the total was more than it had cost to build and furnish the camp. some of it would have to go for food and john wilson probably would expect good things to eat, but he'd get them. ted had six woodcock, a gourmet's delight, in the freezer, and he would add the legal two days' possession limit of six grouse. he'd need more than that, but even after buying whatever was necessary, he'd still have enough money to put up a hard legal battle for al when his father finally had to surrender. there would be at least twice as much money as ted had told john mclean he would have. if more was needed, and it probably would be, he'd sell the camp. ted gathered up the dirty towels and wash and dish cloths, put them in a bushel basket brought along for that purpose and replaced them with fresh, clean laundry. the beaulieu party, another proof of their sportsmanship, had left the camp in fine shape, with the dishes washed and stacked where they belonged and the floor clean. tammie came in the open door and ted grinned at him. "guess we can go, tammie, and you'd better rest a bit. you're going into the hills tonight." tammie wagged an agreeable tail and trotted out to the pickup with his master; ted eased the little truck onto the road. he'd sent tammie, with a load of food, the night before the beaulieu party arrived and everything had gone without a hitch. tammie had left shortly after midnight and returned two and a half hours later. the pack was empty save for the note al had thrust in it. dear ted: tammy cum al rite. this works good, huh? i got enuf to last me anyhow weeks mor. don't send tammy befor. the les you got to send him, the beter it is. good luk and thanks. your dad ted sighed wearily. he'd hoped that, with passing time, the situation would clear itself or be cleared. if anything, it was worse. definitely out of danger, but due for a long convalescence in the lorton hospital, smoky delbert had told everything. starting from the fordham road, he had gone up coon valley with the intention of finding good places to set fox traps. he'd carried his rifle because there was always a chance of seeing a fox or bobcat, predators upon which there was a bounty. he'd known al harkness was ahead of him, for al's distinctive boot marks had been left in the soft place where the spring overflowed the coon valley trail. nearing the three sycamores, and without any warning at all, al had risen from behind glory rock and shot. it was a simple, straightforward story and one that bore out other known facts. by his own admission, al had been in coon valley the same day. he did wear boots with soles of his own design, and therefore they were distinctive. smoky delbert, a woodsman of vast experience, might very well have seen these tracks, in spite of the fact that loring blade had missed them. ted sighed again. the papers had printed smoky's story and most were sympathetic. there had even been a couple of resounding editorials demanding that al be brought in--regardless of the cost and effort that might be expended to apprehend him--and face the justice he so richly deserved. but editors were not the only ones who had swung to smoky's side. time, john mclean had asserted, made people forget. only, in this instance, it had made too many of them forget that smoky delbert was a vicious poacher. he had, instead, become the wronged innocent, and when ted went into lorton now there were those who averted their faces when they passed him or even crossed to the other side of the street to avoid meeting him at all. carl thornton had become something of a local hero. nobody knew how the news had leaked out, but everyone knew that crestwood's owner was paying all of smoky's extensive hospital bills. that puzzled ted, for thornton had never seemed the type to care about anyone's welfare save his own. but he would do anything that worked to his own advantage, and perhaps he thought it worth his while, at the price of smoky's hospital expenses, to have lorton solidly behind him. there could be no doubt that lorton was there. "cut it out!" ted urged himself. "you don't like thornton, but give him credit, if credit's due." ted swung up the harkness drive and parked. while tammie went off on an inspection tour to assure himself that everything was as it should be, the boy took the basket of laundry inside. he grimaced. modern in some respects, al had by no means accepted the streamlined age as an unmixed blessing. he'd bought a freezer and refrigerator because their advantages were obvious. but he scorned washing machines and was sure that, though clothes emerging from one might look clean, they couldn't possibly be as pure as those that were washed on a scrub-board. ted put the washtub on its stand, filled it with hot water, added soap and went to scrubbing. he rinsed the laundry, ran it through a hand wringer and hung it on a line stretched behind the house. an hour before sundown, he went back to camp to replace the bedding and wind his clotheslines on a spool. he got his own supper, fed tammie, washed the dishes and had just finished putting them where they belonged when the collie whined a warning. a car, followed by a second, came up the drive and, a moment later, there was an unnecessarily loud knock on the door. ted opened it to confront a rather plump man, who was probably in his mid-thirties. he was dressed in a gaudy wool shirt, hunting pants, ten-inch lace boots, and around his middle was belted a hunting knife almost long enough to be a small sword. his black hair was a little wild and so were his eyes, but his smile was pleasant and his outstretched hand was quite steady. "ted?" "that's right." "i'm beamish," the other stated, a little thickly. "b'-gosh, we found you!" "you certainly did!" ted smiled faintly. hunters going into camp often did a little anticipatory celebrating and evidently arthur beamish had been overdoing it. "this the camp?" he asked. "no, the camp's farther up the road." "good!" arthur beamish said happily. "you go in the woods, you go in the woods! more woods, the better! that's what i always say! what do you always say?" "same thing." ted grinned. "if you want to follow me, i'll show you the way up there." "ride with ya," beamish declared. "tha's just what i'll do." "you're welcome." ordering tammie to stay in the house, ted guided his exuberant guest to the pickup and opened the door for him. arthur beamish bellowed, "follow us, men! ah, wilderness!" he sat companionably close and draped a friendly arm across ted's shoulder. "lots of grouse?" "plenty. you like grouse hunting, eh?" "best darn' game there is!" beamish exploded. "i rather get me one grouse than forty-nine deer! and i get 'em, too!" "you do?" "didn't you ever hear about me?" "i--" ted hesitated. obviously, he was supposed to know his guest. but he didn't, yet to say the wrong thing might mean to give offense, "uh--aren't you--?" "tha's right!" beamish said happily. "i'm beamish, the trapshooter! traps in summer, grouse in season! br-br-br! up they go! bang! down they come! every time!" ted twisted uneasily. three grouse was the daily bag limit. nobody should need, or take, more than that. he calmed himself. as yet, nobody had taken more. he pulled in to the camp and stopped. "fine camp!" enthused beamish, who could see only that part of it which was illuminated by the pickup's lights. "best i ever did see! great lil' camp!" the other two cars stopped and the rest of the hunters got out. even in the night, there was that about them which at once set them apart from the quiet beaulieu party. they were younger, more restless, and they fairly oozed that nervous sparkle which so often marks young executives. they were also sensible--only arthur beamish and one other had been over-indulging themselves. definitely, the drivers of the two cars were in full possession of all their faculties. the three beautiful setters that had ridden in a pen in one of the car's trunks were as smartly turned out as the men. obviously, they were hunting dogs, the best money could buy. but this crowd had money to spend. "come 'round!" arthur beamish bellowed. "wan'sha to meet ted!" one by one, ted was introduced to the rest of the party and as he met them, he liked them. if they were young and restless, they were also competent and talented and they had an air of belonging here in the wilderness. probably this was not the first camp they'd ever seen. "let's go in," ted suggested. arthur beamish bubbled, "you get the best ideas!" ted let the men into the camp, watched closely as they inspected it and knew definitely that they'd been in such places before. their glances were quick but all encompassing. one of them, and although ted did not remember all the names, he thought this one was tom strickland, turned with a smile. "this will do very well. do you know where we can get a wet nurse?" "a what?" strickland grinned, "a sort of combination cook, fire-builder, sweeper-upper, dishwasher; we'll want to spend our time hunting." "i think i can find somebody. is nine dollars a day all right?" "sure. can you send him up tomorrow?" "send him tonight!" somebody yelled. strickland said scathingly, "i wouldn't inflict you wild hyenas on anyone tonight. i'll cook breakfast." "oh, my aching ptomaine!" ted grinned. "i'm sure i can send somebody tomorrow. everything's o.k., eh?" "right as rain." ted got grimly back into the pickup and started down the road. nine dollars a day for fourteen days meant another hundred and twenty-six dollars that probably would be sorely needed when al had his inevitable day in court, but ted hadn't wanted to accept the job tonight because, somehow, doing so would have seemed grasping. but he'd swallow his pride and take it tomorrow. he must think of nothing except clearing his father's name. back at the house, ted loaded tammie's pack very carefully. laying out in the mahela, al would not expect and did not need luxuries. ted packed cornmeal and oatmeal, desiccated soup, a parcel of dried apricots, powdered milk, sugar, tea, flour. but when everything else was in, there was room for a parcel of frozen pork chops. ted added them and a note. dad: everything's fine. there are grouse hunters in camp now and there will be bear hunters next. take care of yourself and let me know what you need. love, ted at five minutes past midnight, he strapped the pack on tammie, took him to the back door and let him out. just as he did, there was an almost timid knock on the front door. he jumped nervously. "go to al!" he urged. "take it to al, tammie! and please run!" he shut the back door and perspiration broke on his brow as he stood anxiously near it. callahan, whose suspicions should have been effectively lulled, was not lulled at all. he'd merely bided his time, struck at the right hour and ted was trapped. he crossed the floor on shaky legs and opened the front door to come face to face with nels anderson. ted gasped. his one-time working partner was pale and looked ill. weariness had left its impression in great blue patches beneath both eyes, but it was not entirely physical weariness. nels had suffered some terrible shock--and in his extremity he had come to his friend. "nels! what's wrong?" "i," nels forced the shadow of his former smile, "am all right." "come on in!" "i--i do not want to bother you. but i saw your light and--" "what on earth have you been doing?" "walkin'. yoost walkin'." "all night?" "i--" nels looked at the floor. "i did not want to see hilda. i--i lose my yob." "how come?" nels smiled again, but it was a sickly smile. "mrs. martin, she's helpin' in the kitchen while huntin' season's on, she says, 'nels,' she says, 'the door on the walk-in cooler is stuck. i can't open it. can you?' i say i open it and thornton comes. 'told you to stay out of here!' he yells. he was awful mad. 'now get out and stay out!' so, no more yob." "you'll get another one." "oh sure. i get another one easy. you--you know where?" ted said recklessly, "i know where you can work for the next two weeks. there's a bunch of hunters in my camp and they're looking for somebody to do their cooking and odd jobs. get up there tomorrow morning and say i sent you. the pay is nine dollars a day." stars shone in nels' woebegone eyes. "you mean it?" "sure i mean it." "yah! i go tell hilda!" nels had shuffled in the door but he seemed to float out of it. ted stared grimly at the black window. he needed the money himself, but nels had a wife and five children and whether or not they ate regularly depended on whether nels worked steadily. ted paced back and forth, then sank into a chair. weariness overcame him and he dozed.... he awakened suddenly, sure he'd heard something. then tammie whined for admittance and ted got up to let him in. he took off the pack and looked for the note he knew he would find. dear ted: tammy cum agen, as you know. i'm set rite nise now. there is no need to send tammy agen for a cuple weeks. tel your bear hunters that a lot of bears hang out in carter valley. your dad a black bear charges ted had had an awakening. four days after he sent nels to work for the beamish party, nels had come back singing their praises in the loftiest tones. they were all gentlemen of the highest order. nobody cared what he cooked as long as there was plenty of whatever it was. driving nels into lorton, mr. strickland had asked him to order groceries and had paid the rather large bill without a murmur. that night they'd voted him the best camp cook they ever saw and given him a ten-dollar tip. of course, they were a little bit queer. he'd told them his name at least a dozen times, but everybody insisted on calling him hjalmar. they pronounced it exactly as it was spelled, too. nels didn't mind because hjalmar was certainly a fine old name. but it had taken him almost a day to get used to it. they were wonderful hunters, especially that mr. beamish. the first day he'd shot five grouse, the second seven, and on the two succeeding days he'd shot five and seven. that made twenty-three grouse in four days and he'd used just thirty-two shells. it must be some kind of record or something, nels didn't know. however, each day everyone else in the party had paid mr. beamish money. nels understood if mr. beamish scored too many misses, he'd have to pay all the others. still singing the praises of the beamish party, nels hurried off to resume his duties with them. ted was left to ponder a problem that he had hoped he would never have to face. too many people--who were too often intelligent people--took game laws far too lightly. they shot what they wished when they wished to, and few of them ever thought that they were doing any wrong. actually, in every sense of the word, they were thieves. bag and possession limits, insofar as it was humanly possible to apportion wild game justly, were provided so everyone might have a share and still leave some behind. who took more than his share, took from all the others. beyond the shadow of a doubt, it was the duty of anyone who knew of game law violations to report the violator to the nearest warden so the proper action could be taken. but how could ted report arthur beamish's when beamish was his guest? the boy still hadn't made a decision when, the next day, loring blade came in. the warden said quietly, "i've been watching the grouse hunters in your camp." "you have?" "yes, and i arrested one of them this morning, a man named beamish. he's killed nineteen grouse that i know of, seven over anything he should have had, in four days." ted said reluctantly, "he's killed twenty-three." "how do you know?" "nels told me." "wish i'd known that, but i think he'll toe the mark now." "what'd you do to him?" "took him before justice mcafee. mac fined him fifty dollars and a positive revocation of his license if he violates any more." "but--" "but what?" "there's a twenty-five dollar fine for every illegal grouse. as long as you were taking him in, you should have had him fined a hundred and seventy-five dollars." "not him," loring blade declared. "you can't hurt him too much by hitting him in the pocketbook. his hunting privileges are what he holds dear." it was, ted decided after the warden had left, a smart way to do things. the penalty for breaking game laws should be harsh, but fining arthur beamish a hundred and seventy-five dollars would bother him less than a ten-dollar fine might inconvenience a stacey or a crawford. however, beamish's hunting privileges really meant something to him. at any rate, the warden's method worked. nels, who lost none of his admiration for the grouse hunters, gave ted a complete report at intervals. nobody in the camp took more than the limit after beamish was fined--and there was still another angle. ted had always known that he and his father were in the minority--sometimes it seemed that nobody except he and al cared what happened to the mahela. but now the boy was assured that others worked for its best interests, too. the grouse hunters had gone home and for a whole week there would be nobody in the camp. there was nothing to worry about in the immediate future. al, as his last note indicated, was doing all right. the beamish party, who'd really liked nels, had expressed their satisfaction in more lavish tips and for the first time in three years, nels' family could get by for a while, even if he did not work. however, he could certainly work all through deer season. the andersons might face a bleak new year, but they would have a happy christmas. ted had decided to seize the week's interlude as a fine time to go over the camp from top to bottom, but there was little to do. nels would never write a learned dissertation about shakespeare, or come up with a startling new aspect of the nuclear fission theory, but whoever hired him got all they paid for, plus a substantial bonus. working by the day, in nels' opinion, meant working twenty-four hours, if that were necessary. the cabin was spotless. even the blankets had been aired. with time heavy on his hands, ted fretted. he collected the six grouse to which he was entitled and put them in the freezer. for lack of something else to do, he went twice more to the three sycamores near glory rock, the scene of smoky delbert's shooting. he didn't find anything, but he hadn't really expected to discover any new evidence or clues. looking for them had helped kill time while he waited anxiously for the bear hunters. deer were not especially hard to get, if all one wanted was venison; there were does and young deer that wouldn't even run from hunters. but the big old bucks with acceptable racks of antlers got big because they were wary and they were difficult to bring down. woodcock were sporting and who hunted grouse successfully had every right to call himself a hunter. squirrels were fun, providing one hunted them with a rifle instead of a shotgun. but unless one used dogs to bring them to bay--and it was against the law to use dogs on any big game in the mahela--black bears were far and away the most difficult game of all. keen-nosed and sharp-eared, they almost always knew when hunters were about. wise, they were well aware of the best ways to preserve their own hides. as circumstances prescribed, they could slink like ghosts or run like horses and they laid some heartbreaking trails. fifty miles was no unusual distance for a black bear to cover in a day and they were full of tricks. ted himself had followed black bears on snow and come to where the trail ended abruptly. the bears had walked backwards, stepping exactly in the tracks they had made running forward, and made a long sidewise jump that always delayed their pursuer and sometimes baffled him. some men who'd spent their lives in black bear country had yet to see their first one. it took hunters of the highest caliber to get them, and thus ted looked forward to those who would occupy his camp. but while he waited there was little else to do and he spent some of his time in lorton. just another sleepy little town for forty-nine weeks of the year, lorton was almost feverishly preparing for its moment of glory. if it was not exactly the center of all eyes, due to its geographical position as the town nearest the mahela, it was the center of deer hunting. every room in its two hotels and three motels had long since been reserved and any householder with a room to rent could have a choice of at least ten hunters. in the next few weeks, lorton would see at least twice as many deer hunters as it had permanent residents. its normally quiet streets would have bumper-to-bumper traffic. parking space would be at a premium; there'd be crowds waiting in every eating place; stores would sell more merchandise than they did at any other time of the year; and any lortonite who knew anything at all about the mahela, even if his knowledge was limited to how to get into it and out of it again, could have a job guiding deer hunters, if he wanted it. in addition, every camping ground in the mahela would have its quota of trailers, tents and hardy souls who either slept in cars or made their beds on the ground. sometimes, in the event of heavy storms, these venturesome ones got into trouble and were trapped until snowplows or rescue parties reached them. but this fall the weather had been mild, almost springlike, and there was every indication that it would continue to be so. twice, just after the grouse hunters left and again four days later, ted sent tammie to al. he would send him again just before deer season opened, for that was an uncertain time. there would be hunters everywhere and no assurance as to what they would do. horses, cattle, sheep, leaves fluttering in the wind and men had all been mistaken for bucks with nice racks of antlers and punctured accordingly with high-powered ammunition. if tammie should be delayed and have to come back in daylight, there was no guarantee whatever that some trigger-happy hunter would not consider him a choice black and white deer. stocking al with plenty of everything he needed meant that tammie would not have to go out again until deer season ended. ted spent the two days prior to the opening of bear season cutting more wood for the camp. on the afternoon before, he built and banked a fire in the heating stove so that the camp would be reasonably warm and dry when the hunters arrived. then he prepared his supper and tammie's and was ready for the knock on his door when it sounded. he opened the door and blinked in astonishment. the man who stood before him was young, not much older than ted himself, and very grave. he wore hunting clothes and hunting boots, but perhaps because they were new, they seemed somewhat ill-fitting. strapped around his middle were two belts, one containing a knife with a blade at least a foot long and the other supporting two enormous caliber revolvers. he was making every effort to appear nonchalant, but it was an effort so strained that the effect was a little ludicrous. his eyes brimmed with a lilting excitement and a vast anticipation. "mr. harkness?" "yes." "i'm alex jackson." "oh, yes." ted extended his hand. "glad to see you, mr. jackson." "as you can see," alex jackson indicated the two revolvers, "i'm ready for them." "uh--are you going bear hunting with revolvers?" "oh, no! definitely not. i have my rifle, too. it's just that one must be prepared when the beasts charge." "ah--what'd you say?" "i said--oh, before i overlook it." alex jackson took out his wallet and counted out the thirty-five dollars still due on the camp rental. ted tried to collect his spinning thoughts. expecting a seasoned, experienced hunter, he'd met instead a youngster who talked seriously about black bears charging. or hadn't ted heard correctly? he slipped the money into his pocket and looked sidewise at his guest. "if you'll follow me, i'll take you to the camp." "would you have a little time to talk?" "of course." "may i bring the fellows in?" "certainly." the man turned to beckon, and somebody shut off the car's idling motor and flicked off its lights. five more hunters came into the house, and ted was introduced as they came. none were older than alex jackson. two, alex's brother paul and a youngster named philip tarbox, looked as though they should be behind their high-school desks, rather than in a hunting camp. alex jackson turned with a smile. "now you know us. how do you like us?" "fine," ted murmured. "uh--how much bear hunting have any of you done?" alex jackson's eyes were full of dreams. "none of us have ever hunted any big game, but i've read all about it." "you've never hunted?" "not big game," alex jackson said modestly. "you see, i just came of age last month and thus was able to handle my own affairs. but i've always wanted to hunt big game, especially bears." "do--do your folks know you're here?" "paul and i haven't any, and i am now paul's guardian. but the other fellows' parents do. yes, of course, and they were glad to have them in my charge. i've been counsellor for three summers at camp monawami. you needn't worry about our ability to handle firearms. we've all hunted rabbits. but i would like to ask your advice." "sure." ted felt weak. "philip, steve, arnold and wilson are armed with nothing but shotguns. do you think i should return to the town through which we just passed and buy them rifles and revolvers?" "gosh no!" "i'm worried," alex jackson said seriously. "grimshaw, in his _bears of the north_, says that when the beasts charge--" "grimshaw was writing about grizzlies. these are black bears." "oh!" alex jackson elevated his brows. "you can say definitely that they will not charge?" "nobody can say that. they're wild animals." "i thought so!" alex jackson seemed vastly relieved. "will a shotgun halt them when they charge?" "oh, yes." ted wished he could sink through the floor. expecting hunters, he had his hands full of what, very literally, were babes in the woods. but they had a great dream and a great hope, and regardless of who told them that not once in times will even a wounded black bear charge a hunter, they wouldn't believe it because they did not care to believe it. they had come bear hunting to live dangerously! alex jackson nodded happily. "thank you very much. now will you please show us the camp?" "follow me." as he drove up the lorton road, ted gave himself over to his own grim thoughts. obviously, there was much more to building and renting camps than met the casual eye. one never knew who was coming or what they'd do. now he was certain only that this crew of naive hopefuls should not venture into the mahela alone. he wasn't even sure that they should be permitted to stay in camp without supervision, but he'd risk that much for at least one night. he parked in front of the camp, waited for his guests and admitted them. "just what i'd hoped for!" alex jackson exclaimed. "semi-primitive surroundings! delightful!" ted asked, "can you handle the stoves and everything?" "oh, yes! oh, indeed yes! but perhaps you will tell us where we have the best chance of encountering bears?" "i'll do better than that. i'll show you." "that's good of you. would you care to start at daylight?" "i'll be here." "we'll be ready." * * * * * on arriving at the camp a half hour before daylight the next morning, ted saw that it was not burned down and that his young guests had made no obvious blunders. rather, with breakfast eaten and the dishes stacked away, they seemed to be doing pretty well for themselves. but, even though they knew what to do around a camp, the fact remained that none of them had ever hunted big game. ted exchanged greetings and looked out of the window. renting hunting camps might be a nice way to earn a living, but there must be easier ones! the very fact that he'd rented his camp to them implied an obligation. six hunters who knew exactly what to do had little enough chance of getting a bear. these youngsters had one in a thousand. but if there was any way to do it, ted still had to offer them their money's worth and he considered himself responsible for them. sending them into the mahela alone probably, and at the least, meant that they would get lost. "ready?" he asked. "let's go!" alex jackson said happily. ted led the six into the lightening morning. since there was no snow, it was futile even to think of tracking a bear. without any experience, these youngsters had no hope whatever of staging a successful drive, or putting four of their number in favorable shooting positions while the rest beat through the forest and tried to drive a bear past them. only alex jackson and his brother were armed with rifles, therefore they were the only two who had even a slight chance of getting a bear, should one be sighted at long range. but the possibilities of even seeing a bear were so slim anyway that ted had not wanted alex to buy rifles for the other four. there was just one faint hope.... this was the season of the great harvest. frost had opened the pods on the beech trees and beech nuts had fallen like rain into the forest litter below. tiny things, they were in vast quantity. deer, bears, squirrels, rabbits, raccoons, foxes, practically every creature in the mahela was spending almost full time filling itself with beech nuts or storing them away. winter, that would bring hunger and lean bellies, was just ahead and well the wild things knew it. if ted posted his crew at favorable places among the beech trees and if they sat absolutely quiet, one or more of them might at least see a bear. very definitely there was not much of a chance, but there was none at all if they did anything else. al had told of a lot of bears in carter valley and ted took his hunters there. he left them in various strategic places where scraped and pawed leaves told their own story of being turned aside so that hungry creatures might partake of the beech nuts hidden beneath. lacking snow, there was no foolproof way to tell just what had been scraping or pawing, but something had and it might be bears. after the rest had been posted, ted took alex jackson out to the rim of carter valley. the slope pitched sharply downwards and rose just as sharply on the other side, but here the valley was shallow, with perhaps a hundred yards to its floor. it was possibly another hundred yards from rim to rim, and the opposite rim was almost treeless. about a half mile away across the treeless slope was a crumbling slag pile. years ago a vein of coal had been discovered here and mined as long as it paid off. but it had ceased to pay and had been abandoned long before ted was born. only the tunnel and the slag pile were left. the opposite slope was covered with beech brush that would be jungle thick to anyone within it. but from this vantage point, eyes could penetrate the brush. any bear going up or down the valley, and one might do just that, would certainly travel through the beech brush and any hunter posted here would surely have some good shooting. ted turned to alex jackson. "you stay here." "here?" "yes. move as little as possible and make no noise. watch the beech brush across there. sooner or later a bear's going through it. i'll pick you up tonight." "right-o." that night, the bear hunters were still reasonably happy. all had seen squirrels and feeding grouse. four had seen deer and three had watched turkeys feeding. paul jackson had thought he'd seen a bear, but it turned out to be a black squirrel running on the opposite side of a fallen tree, with only its bobbing back appearing now and then. for the next few days, the sextette stayed quite happy. then deer, squirrels and turkeys began to pall. they were proud bear hunters, and so far they hadn't seen even a bear's track. the last day, disappointment was in full reign. they'd not only told their friends they were going to get a bear but, ted suspected, alex jackson had done considerable talking about the way bears charged hunters. nevertheless, they all followed ted back into carter valley and the five younger hunters took the places assigned them. it was the best way. they'd occupied these same stands for six days without seeing any bears, but sooner or later the law of averages would send one along. with alex jackson in tow, ted started back toward the valley's rim. alex jackson touched his arm. "i say, would you mind if i just wandered about on my own?" "not if that's the way you want it." alex jackson had arrived so full of dreams and spirit and now he seemed so despondent. "i won't get lost--and i may find something," he said quietly. "good luck," ted replied gently. ted wandered gloomily out to the rim of the valley and sat down in the place alex jackson had been occupying. not every hunter can leave the woods with a full bag of game, but ted felt that, somehow, he had failed this eager young group. his guests might at least have _seen_ a bear. carrying no rifle--he was the guide--and with nothing special to do, ted basked in the warm sunshine. an hour later, his eye was caught by motion down the valley. coming out of the semi-doze into which he had fallen, he looked sharply at it and gasped. a bear, not a monstrous creature but no cub--it weighed perhaps pounds--was coming through the beech brush. it was about two hundred yards down the valley and halfway up the other slope, and it was not in the slightest hurry. it stopped to sniff at some interesting thing it discovered and turned to retrace its steps a few yards. then it came on. ted groaned inwardly. a rifleman posted here could have an easy shot--and alex jackson had sat here idly for six days! the bear came on for another sixty yards, lay down beside a huge boulder and prepared itself for a nap. ted crawled away. bears have a remarkable sense of scent and good hearing, but very weak eyes. this one couldn't see him. if it smelled him, it certainly would not be where it was. if he was very careful, it might not hear him. as soon as ted thought he was far enough from the valley's rim, he rose and ran back to where he'd left paul jackson. that alert youngster heard him coming and had his rifle ready, but its muzzle was pointed at the ground. paul jackson lacked experience, but not sense. he wasn't going to shoot at anything until he knew what was in front of his rifle. ted came close and whispered, "come on! i've got one spotted!" "you have?" "take it easy and quiet! he won't be there if you don't!" nearing the valley's rim, ted dropped back to a crawl. he peered at the boulder and breathed easily again; the bear had not moved. he put his mouth very close to paul jackson's ear. "there he is!" "where?" "just to the right of that big boulder!" "i see him!" paul jackson knelt, rested his right elbow on his right knee, raised his rifle--and ted groaned silently. the youngster's stance was perfect, but so was his buck fever. the rifle shook like an aspen leaf in a high wind. it blasted, and ted saw the bullet kick up leaves twenty feet to one side of the sleeping bear. the bear sprang up as though launched from a catapult and kept on springing. straight up the slope he went, and across the nearly treeless summit. ted shouted, "shoot!" "did you say shoot?" paul jackson was still in a daze, bewildered by this thing that could not be but was. the bear was four hundred yards away when he raised his rifle a second time, shot and succeeded only in speeding the running beast on its way. he lowered his rifle and muttered, "i guess i'm not a very good hunter." "nobody connects every time." the bear was running full speed toward the old mine tunnel. surprised, its first thought had been to put distance between the hunter and itself, but now it was planning very well. the old tunnel had one outlet that led into a dense thicket of laurel. certainly the bear knew all about this and he would go into the thicket. definitely, he was lost to the young hunter. then, within the mouth of the old tunnel itself, another rifle cracked spitefully. the running bear swapped ends, rolled over and lay still. alex jackson emerged from the tunnel. * * * * * twenty minutes later, when paul and ted reached him, he was sitting quietly beside his trophy and looking at it with unbelieving eyes. but they were wonderfully happy eyes. long ago he had dreamed his dream. now--and probably it never had been before and never would be again in hunting annals--he had seen it come true. he looked dreamily up at ted and paul and his voice was proof that, whether it's bringing down a bear, shooting a hole-in-one, or playing a perfect game of chess, any dream can be as bright as the dreamer makes it. "it charged," he said. damon in the parking lot beside lorton's little railway station, ted sprawled wearily in his pickup truck. it had taken much of the day to bring alex jackson's bear out of carter valley. the animal might have been skinned where it fell, cut up and brought out piece by piece, but not one of the young hunters would hear of such a thing. they had come a long way and worked hard for this trophy; they would take it with them intact. it had been necessary to do things the hard way. dragging it would have injured the fine pelt, so ted had lashed its feet to a long pole and put a man on each end. the start had been easy, but game carried in such a fashion has an astonishing way of adding weight. by the time they'd traveled a quarter of a mile, instead of a mere , the bear weighed at least pounds, and the panting carriers were relieving each other every fifty paces. finally, they'd reached an old tote road up which ted could drive with his pickup and the rest had been easy. they'd lashed the bear on alex jackson's car and six exhausted but happy youngsters had piled in to begin their long journey homewards. ted grinned to himself. he'd spent a week with the jackson party solely because he'd thought they would get into trouble if he did not. no guide's fee had been expected or asked, but, just the same, it might have been good business. the fathers of three of the youngsters were ardent hunters themselves. ted had been assured over and over again that they'd hear about the mahela and be directed to ted, far and away the world's best guide. the youngsters were certainly coming back for fishing season and to spend part of their summer in the mahela and they'd want the cabin. ted's grin faded. next year there might not be any cabin to rent. he stretched wearily in the darkness and yawned. he'd reached home just in time to pack tammie and send him on what must be his last visit to al until deer season ended. sending him so early might have been taking a chance, but when ted next returned home he'd have a guest with him, and letting anyone else see the packed tammie would surely be taking more of a chance. ted had fixed a meal for himself, taken two woodcock from the freezer and put them in cold water to thaw. then he had driven in to meet john wilson. the little station's windows looked as though they hadn't been washed for the past nine months and probably they hadn't. lights glowed dully behind them, and the clicking of the telegrapher's key sounded intermittently. ted looked about. the parking lot was full, and the night before deer season opened was the only time throughout the whole year when it ever was. though by far most of the deer hunters came by car, some traveled by train from wherever they lived to the city of dartsburg, sixty miles away. then they came to lorton on what some of the local wags described as the "tri-weekly"--it went down one week and tried to come back the next. actually, it was a daily train, and in spite of a superfluity of jokes and near-jokes about it, it kept a tight schedule. when ted's watch read ten past seven, he left the pickup and went to stand in the shadows on the waiting platform. the drivers of other cars joined him, and here and there a little group of men engaged in conversation. then the train's whistle announced its approach and every eye turned down the tracks. ordinarily, the train pulled a combined baggage and mail car and one coach, but on this eventful night a second coach had been resurrected from somewhere and every window gleamed. the train hissed to a halt and hunters started piling off. without exception, they were dressed in hunting gear; red coats, red caps and whatever they fancied in the way of trousers and footwear. they lugged everything from suitcases to rucksacks and, invariably, either strapped to the luggage or carried in a free hand, rifles were in evidence. the men waiting on the platform went forward to greet hunters they knew and bundled them off to cars. jimmy deeks, lorton's only taxi driver, called his "taxi!" just once and was stampeded by a dozen hunters who wanted to go to a hotel or motel. there was some little argument and, after promising to return for the rest, jimmy went off with as many hunters as his cab would hold. the arriving crowd thinned rapidly and ted looked with some bewilderment on those who were left. he'd never seen john wilson and hadn't the faintest idea as to the sort of man he must look for. certainly he'd be alone, and the only hunters left were in groups of three or more. then dan taylor, the station agent, passed and saw ted. "hi, ted." "hi, dan." "waitin' for somebody?" "yup." "well if he ain't on this train, he's sure walkin'!" the station agent guffawed at his own not very subtle humor and moved on. a second later, a man detached himself from one of the groups and approached ted. he was not tall, even in hunting boots he lacked five and a half inches of ted's six feet. he wore a red-plaid jacket, a red-checked cap and black wool trousers that tucked into his boots. in his right hand was a leather suitcase and in his left he carried a cased rifle. despite the gray hair that escaped from beneath his cap, he walked with a light and firm tread and humor glinted in his eyes. he asked, "are you ted harkness?" "that's right." the man put his suitcase down and thrust out his right hand. "i'm john wilson." ted shook the proffered hand. "i--i thought you'd be different." "don't let my grotesque appearance frighten you. i'm harmless." ted blurted out, "you said in your letter that you're a doddering _old_ man." "ten years older than methuselah." john wilson laughed and the sound was good to hear. "i'm glad to know you, ted." "and i you. shall we get out to the house?" "if you don't mind, i'd like to grab a bite to eat. the dining car on the limited was crowded and i couldn't get in." "the cafes will be crowded and we'll have to wait. i'll fix you something, if you want to come along now." "fine!" ted picked up the suitcase, escorted john wilson to the pickup and put the luggage in the rear. about to open the door for his guest, he was forestalled when john wilson opened it himself and climbed in. ted settled in the driver's seat. "mind if i smoke?" john wilson asked. "not at all." he lighted a pipe and sat puffing on it while ted steered expertly through lorton's hunting season traffic. a happy warmth enveloped him. he liked most people, but very few times in his life had he been drawn so close to one on such short acquaintance. john wilson was probably ten years older than al, but far from doddering. he was that rare person whom age has made mellow rather than caustic. then they were on the lorton road and started into the mahela. john wilson spoke for the first time since leaving the station. "they crowd in." "for deer season they do," ted agreed. "the day after it ends, you could shoot a cannon down main street and never hit a person." they passed a tent set up beside the road, and a gasoline lantern burning inside gave its walls a ghostly translucence. there was a neat pile of wood beside it and wood smoke drifted from a tin pipe that curled through the wall. the car in which the campers had come was backed off the road. it was a good camp and as they passed ted was aware that john wilson knew it was good. but he said nothing, and ted had the impression that he did not talk unless he had something worthwhile to say. a quarter mile beyond the camp, the truck's probing lights reflected from the startlingly bright eyes of a deer. ted slowed. deer were always running back and forth across the road and, since bright lights dazzled them, they would not always get out of the way. they came closer and the lights revealed very clearly a magnificent buck. so alert that every muscle was tense, he stood broadside. one rear leg was a bit ahead of the other, the animal was poised for instant flight. his antlers were big and branching, and in the car lights they looked perfectly symmetrical. it was a splendid creature, one that would command attention anywhere. after ten seconds, it leaped into the forest and disappeared. john wilson said, "a nice head." he spoke as though the buck had delighted and warmed him, but there was in his voice none of the babbling enthusiasm which some hunters, upon seeing such a buck, might express. obviously, he had seen big bucks before. ted commented, "he was a darn' big buck." "as big," and a smile lurked in john wilson's voice, "as your damon and pythias?" ted answered firmly, "no sir. he was not." "then i am in the right place?" "i hope so, mr. wilson." "it'd be just as simple to call me john." ted grinned. "all right, john." they passed more tents and trailers, swerved to miss a wild-eyed doe that almost jumped into the truck. finally, ted drove thankfully up the harkness driveway. the house was stocked with everything they needed, and as far as he was concerned, he was willing to stay there until deer season ended. at any rate, he hoped he'd have to do no more night driving. he escorted his guest in, snapped the light on and waited for what he thought was coming next. it came. john wilson glanced about and he needed no more than a glance. it was enough to tell him what was here and his voice said he liked it. "you do all right for yourself." "glad you like it. if you'll make yourself at home, i'll have something to eat rustled up in a little while." "let me help you." "it's a one-man job." john wilson reclined in an easy chair while ted went into the kitchen. he put a great slab of butter in a skillet, let it brown, seasoned the brace of woodcock, put them into the pan, covered it and turned the flame lower. he prepared a fresh pot of coffee, biscuits, potatoes and a vegetable. all the while, he waited nervously for tammie to whine at the door. there'd have to be some nice timing when the collie returned. ted must slip out, strip the harness off and let the dog in without letting john wilson know he'd worn a harness. when the meal was ready and tammie still had not come, ted's nervousness mounted. the dog was a half hour late already. what could have happened out in the mahela? ted put the dinner on the table and tried to sound casual as he announced, "chow's ready." "this is 'chow'?" john wilson chided him. "butter-browned woodcock is deserving of a better name. let me at it!" he cut a slice of the dark breast and began to eat it. "_mm-m!_ that's good! something wrong, ted?" "yes--uh--that is, no." "you're nervous as a wet cat." "my dog's out and i'm a little worried about--there he is now! go right ahead and eat." tammie's whine sounded again and ted slipped out the back door. hastily he knelt to strip the harness off and take al's note from the pocket. then he threw the harness aside--he'd get it in the early morning--tucked the note in his pocket and, with tammie beside him, went into the house. john wilson stopped eating to admire. "that's a beautiful collie. what's his name?" "tammie, and he's just as good as he looks." tammie sniffed delicately at their guest, received a pat on the head and went to stretch out on his bearskin. john wilson glanced at him again. "aren't you afraid to let him run?" "after tomorrow, poor tammie will be confined to quarters until deer season ends." john wilson nodded. "that's wise, some hunters will shoot at anything. what time do you plan to get out in the morning?" "whenever you care to leave." "isn't it traditional for hunters to be in the woods at dawn?" "that's right." "then let's not violate revered custom. where do these two big bucks hang out?" "they've been on burned mountain for a long while. hunters may put them off there and then again they may not." "where do they lurk during deer season?" "nobody knows exactly," ted admitted. "they've been seen in a dozen parts of the mahela. sometimes they've been 'seen' in a dozen different places at the same hour on the same day. we'll just have to plan as we go along." "that suits me. i'll help with the dishes." "i'll do them." "you'll spoil me!" "take it easy while you can. you're in for some rough days." john wilson resumed sitting in the easy chair. before ted washed the dishes, he stole a glance at al's note. ted; i got enuf. don't send tammy agen til deer seson ends. i wish your sport luk. i saw one of the big buks on burned mountin today. gess you'll find both. your dad ted nodded, satisfied. if damon and pythias were still on burned mountain, he knew exactly where to go. he touched the note to the flame, waited until it burned to ashes, swept them into a wastebasket and joined his guest. john wilson, looking at the dying embers in the fireplace, asked quietly, "got your campaign mapped, general?" "only the first skirmish. i know--that is, i'm pretty sure that damon and pythias are still on burned mountain." "then at least we'll know where to find them." "i believe so. do you mind if i carry a rifle?" "why, i hope you do." "i won't shoot either damon or pythias, even if i should get a shot," ted promised. "but i would like to get a buck. it helps a lot on the meat bills." "by all means get one. pretty warm for this time of year, isn't it?" "too warm. some snow would be a great help." they exchanged more hunting talk, then went to bed. an hour before dawn the next morning, after ordering tammie to stay in the house, ted closed the back door behind him and started up hawkbill with his guest. he walked slowly, for hawkbill was a hard climb for a young man, even in daylight. though john wilson was by no means doddering, neither was he young. ted stopped to rest at judicious intervals. the darkness lifted slowly, but it was still a thick curtain of gray when, in the distance, a fusillade of shots rang out. ted grimaced. some fool, who couldn't possibly see what he was shooting at, had shot anyhow. that was one way hunters managed to kill each other instead of game. as daylight became stronger, shots were more frequent. some quite near and some far-off, the sounds were a ragged discord, with now four or five hunters shooting at the same time, then a single shot or succession of shots, then a lull with no shooting. hunters were seeing deer and shooting, but definitely not all of them were connecting. as ted knew, many a deer, many a herd of deer, had emerged unhurt after a hundred or more shots were fired at them. ted mounted the crest of hawkbill and turned to offer a hand to his panting guest. john wilson wiped his moist brow. "whew! why didn't you tell me we were going to climb the matterhorn?" ted grinned sympathetically. "you're up it now, and we can see what there is to be seen." ted buttoned his jacket. the weather was unseasonably warm, but here on hawkbill's summit, little fingers of cold that probed at his exposed nose and throat told of chillier things to come. while the temperature made no difference, snow would increase their chances a hundred per cent. he studied burned mountain. spread out in a thin skirmish line, a party of red-clad hunters were about halfway up it. a deer fled before one of them and the man stopped to raise his rifle. there sounded the weapon's sharp bark, but the deer ran on and disappeared in some brush. john wilson said, "he should have had that one with a slingshot." "wonder if he could tell whether it was a buck or doe. i--there he is!" "there who is?" "one of those big bucks! see him?" "no." "a quarter of the way below the summit. look a hundred yards to the right of that light-colored patch of ground and thirty yards down slope." "i still don't--oh, my gosh!" he uncased his binoculars, put them to his eyes, focused and stared for a full three minutes. when he took the glasses down, there was a gleam of purest ecstasy in his eyes and at the same time a little awe. "there isn't a buck that big!" he murmured breathlessly. "look again," ted invited. "wonder where the dickens the other one is." he searched the briers, a little puzzled. damon and pythias were known as such because, except during the rutting season, they were never far apart. but definitely only one of the two huge deer was on burned mountain now. it was very unusual. ted shrugged. there was no unchangeable rule that said the two big bucks must always be together. maybe the sound of shooting or the hunters going into the woods had caused them to separate, or perhaps they had parted for reasons of their own. the shooting continued spasmodically, and not too far away came the outlandish cacophony of shrieks and shouts that meant a hunting party was staging a deer drive. a thin voice screamed, "he's coming your way, harvey!" as ted continued to watch the big buck, john wilson became restless. "let's go after him." "wait a bit," ted advised. "it isn't going to be that easy." the climbing hunters, about a hundred and fifty yards apart, broke out of the forest and into the briers. two of them were so placed that, unless he moved, they would pass the big buck at almost equal distances. but the buck let them pass without so much as flicking an ear. he knew very well exactly where both hunters were, but he was no fawn to panic because men were in the woods. the buck had a good hiding place, knew it, and he had eluded hunters this time merely by doing nothing. "he's smart, all right." john wilson had appreciated the strategy, too. "what do you suggest, ted?" "i'm going over to flush him out. you stay here and let me know what he does." "but--what good will that do?" "deer are pretty much creatures of habit. he's in that bed now because he likes it. if he doesn't become too frightened today, the chances are good, both that he'll go into the same bed tonight and that he'll do the same thing when he's flushed out of it tomorrow. only you'll be waiting for him." john wilson nodded. "that listens all right." "wave your red hat when he goes," ted directed. "i'll see that and wait for you, and we can figure our next move afterwards." unencumbered by an older companion, ted half-ran down the opposite slope of hawkbill and started swiftly up burned mountain. he had no hope of seeing the buck, but just going to the bed where it had been lying was within itself no easy task. viewed from the summit of hawkbill, various parts of burned mountain had various distinguishing characteristics. but once on the mountain itself, everything looked alike. ted emerged from the forest into the briers, crashed a way through them, and when he thought he was very near the place where the buck had bedded, he turned to see john wilson waving his hat. ted sat down for what he was sure would be a long wait. he had climbed to this place in twenty-five minutes, but he was eighteen years old. an hour later, he heard john wilson's, "hall-oo!" "here!" ted yelled. carrying his hat, streaming perspiration, but entirely happy, john wilson panted up to join him. "he went out," he said cheerfully, "and i'll swear he flushed no more than twenty yards ahead of you! thought sure you'd see him." "where'd he go?" "quartered up the mountain and crossed the summit just a little to the right of some white birches." ted nodded. the course described by john wilson had kept the big buck in thick cover all the way. it was the route he might have been expected to take, except that there were a dozen others with brush just as thick. however, there was every chance that he would go the same way a second time and tomorrow morning john wilson would be posted in the birches while ted tried to drive the buck through. "what's it like on top?" john wilson asked. "patches of laurel and rhododendron. we'll go see what we can do." * * * * * that night, tired and hungry, the pair made their way down burned mountain. they hadn't seen the monster buck again, but were in no wise disheartened. there were twenty days of the season left and john wilson had had, and failed to take, a chance at a very good eight-point buck. obviously, he'd meant it when he said he wanted only the biggest. ted prepared supper and washed the dishes afterwards.... the two hunters were sprawled in the living room when tammie whined to announce that someone was coming. a minute later there was a knock at the door and ted opened it to confront george stacey. "come on in, george." "cain't. gotta git home. thought i'd stop an' tell ya that thornton, down to crestwood, fetched in one of them big bucks today." "he did?" "sure did, an' hit's big enough for ary two bucks. go see hit. hit's a'hangin' on the game pole." "thanks, george." "yer welcome. go see hit." "want to go?" ted asked his guest. "sure thing!" the night air had a distinct bite, and a definite promise of freezing cold to be. ted turned the heater on, and after they'd gone a mile or so, the pickup's cab filled with welcome warmth. as soon as they came in sight of crestwood it was evident that something unusual had occurred at that resort. carl thornton provided parking space for his guests. now all the available area was filled and parked cars lined both sides of the driveway. ted backed into one of the few empty spaces. he and john wilson got out to join the crowd at the game rack. crestwood's hunters had brought in seven other bucks this opening day and three of them were big deer. but the biggest seemed puny beside the monster that the crowd was eyeing. its antlers were laced close to the game pole, but its outstretched hoofs nearly touched the ground. if this buck did not set a new record, it would come very close to so doing. john wilson murmured, "gad, what a buck! is the other as big?" "they're twins." ted went up for a closer look. he put his hand on the hanging buck and set it to swinging gently. he gasped. as unobtrusively as possible, hoping none had noticed his outburst, he drew back into the crowd. but several matters that had been very cloudy had become very clear. pythias ted lingered on the fringes of the crowd, and in his mind's eye he conjured up an image of nels anderson. nels always earned his pay plus a little bit more, and ted wondered why carl thornton had fired him. but he wondered no more. the great buck hung on crestwood's game rack and bore carl thornton's deer tag, but it had never been killed today. the weather, though colder, still had not dipped to the freezing point and the big buck was frozen solidly. the others hung limp and pliable. failing to persuade ted to hunt the big bucks for him, obviously thornton had hired someone else and ted's thoughts swung naturally to smoky delbert. smoky would do anything for money and he knew how to bargain. if he'd hired smoky, thornton must have paid a stiff price and the rest was simple. crestwood's walk-in refrigerator had a freezing compartment that would accommodate a side of beef. it had been necessary only to bring the buck to crestwood--no impossible or even difficult feat--hang it in the freezer, and on this, the first day of the season, bring it out again. nels, of course, had been fired solely to keep him from discovering what was in the freezer. it would hurt both thornton and crestwood if it were known that thornton had bought his buck. the favorable publicity for which he'd hoped, and which he'd certainly get unless ted exposed him, would turn to scathing condemnation. alan russell, crestwood's part-time bookkeeper, broke from the crowd and came to ted's side. "hello, ted." "hi, alan." "some buck, eh?" "sure is," ted said wryly. "i can imagine thornton telling his adoring guests just what a daniel boone he had to be to get it." "after this season he won't be telling 'em at crestwood." "why not?" "thornton's sold out." "sold out!" "that's right." "when did all this happen?" "it's been hanging fire for a couple of months, but the prospective buyers met thornton's price only three days ago. it was a stiff price." "are you sure?" "i'm handling the book work." ted said happily, "alan, i love you!" the other looked suspiciously at him. "do you feel all right?" "i never felt better!" ted's heart sang. game laws were game laws, and they applied to carl thornton as well as to everyone else. but crestwood was important to the economy of the mahela. one did not jeopardize the livelihood of those who worked there, or the sorely needed money crestwood's guests spent in the mahela, because of a single illegally killed buck or half a dozen of them. but now ted was free to act. he sought and found john wilson. "shall we go?" "guess we might as well. looking holes right through this buck won't bring the other one in range. wonder how the lucky cuss got it?" "i have an idea." "i expect you have. _br-r!_ it's getting cold." "it will be colder. we have to hurry." john wilson looked at him curiously. "what's up?" "i'll tell you in a minute." they got into the pickup. ted started the motor that had not yet had time to cool completely, and a trickle of warmth came from the heater. john wilson looked sharply at ted. "all right. give." "did you notice anything unusual about that buck?" "only that it's the biggest i ever saw." "it's also frozen solid." "i--i don't understand." "the weather hasn't been cold enough to freeze deer. thornton never killed that buck today." "then he--?" "that's it exactly." there was a short silence. john wilson broke it with a quiet, "is there a story behind it?" "there is." "want to tell me?" ted told of his love for the mahela, and of a heart-rooted desire to dedicate his life to helping people enjoy it. he spoke of his work at crestwood, and of his great dream to have a similar place, one day. he related as much as he knew, which was as much as anyone knew, of the story of damon and pythias. he told of carl thornton's commissioning him to get both bucks before the season opened, of his refusal to do so and the consequent loss of his job. he described the camp, and how and why it was built. then the bombshell; smoky delbert's shooting and al a fugitive in the mahela. he spoke of his father's near-passionate interest in true conservation, and of his near-hatred for those who violated the sportsman's code. however, aware of crestwood's importance to the mahela, knowing that this violation would hurt and perhaps ruin thornton, al himself would not have reported it. but now that thornton was leaving, was there any reason why he should be shielded? there was another brief silence before john wilson said quietly, "don't do it, ted." "you mean let him get away with it?" "under any other circumstances," john wilson said, "i'd say drive into lorton and report him to the game warden. as things are with you now, if you do, you'll hate yourself. how are you going to decide exactly whether you turned him in to settle a grudge or because you're a believer in conservation? i agree that he should be arrested and fined. but arresting him won't return the buck to burned mountain. it won't do anything at all except bring thornton a hundred-dollar fine, and he can spare the money. yes, i'd say let him go and good riddance." "but--" "you asked my advice and you got it. if you turn him in, you'll hurt yourself more than you will him. by all means report law violators, but never let even a suspicion of personal prejudice influence your report. it won't work." "i guess you're right." "i hope i am." that night the temperature fell to zero, and every buck on every game rack in the mahela froze solid. there was no longer any evidence whatever to prove that damon, as ted thought of the great buck on crestwood's game rack, had been taken by other than legal means. even if ted wanted to do something now, his chance was gone. * * * * * for twenty days, always leaving the harkness house before dawn and never getting back until after dark, ted and his guest had hunted pythias. they had seen deer, dozens of them, and ted had dropped a nice eight-point so close to his house that they had needed only fifteen minutes to dress it out, slide it in over the six inches of crisp snow that now lay in the mahela and hang it on the game rack. john wilson had had his choice of several bucks, and at least four of them had been fine trophies. but he had come to hunt the big buck that still lurked on burned mountain and he was determined to get that one or none. it looked as though it would be none, ted reflected as he sat in front of the blazing fire, tearing a bolt of red cloth into strips. pythias, who had sucked in his woodcraft with his mother's milk, had only contempt for any mere human who coveted his royal rack of antlers. the second day of the season, giving john wilson ample time to post himself in the white birches, ted had gone to the bed in which they'd seen pythias on the first day. a small buck and two does had gone through, but pythias had not. most deer have favorite runways, or paths, that are as familiar to them as sidewalks are to humans. pythias seldom used one, and he never took the same route twice in succession. hunted hard every day, he hadn't let himself be chased from the top of burned mountain. staying there, he knew what he was doing. sparsely forested, the top of the mountain was given over to a devil's tangle of twining laurel and snarled rhododendron. some of the stems from which the latter evergreen grew were thick as tree trunks, and some of the winding, snaking branches were thirty feet long. it was heartbreaking work just to go through one, and impossible for a man to do so without making as much noise as a running horse. once within the laurel or rhododendron, and some thickets were a combination of both, it was seldom possible to see seven yards in any direction. often, visibility was restricted to seven feet. pythias haunted those thickets that varied from an eighth of an acre to perhaps eighty acres. chased out of one, he entered another, flitting like a gray ghost through the scrub aspen that separated them. then he lingered until the hunters came and entered another thicket. only when going through the aspens, where he knew very well he could be seen, did he run. in the thickets he walked or slunk, and he never made a foolish move. * * * * * every day there'd been snow--and john wilson and ted had had tracking snow for seventeen of the twenty days--they'd found pythias' bed and his fresh tracks. his hoofmarks were big and round, and they indicated him as surely as a robe of ermine or a scepter marks a king. but except for the first day, when he'd been hopelessly out of range, the two hunters hadn't seen him even once. pythias could never conceal the fact that he had walked in the snow. but he could hide himself. methodically, ted continued to tear strips from his bolt of red cloth and lay them on the table. tammie, grown fat and lazy during the three weeks he'd been confined to the house--even though ted had let him out for a run every night--raised his head and blinked solemnly at the fireplace. bone tired, john wilson turned in his chair and grinned. "you have enough of those red ribbons so you could fasten one on half the deer in the mahela. think they'll work?" "i don't know of anything else. we've tried everything." "it's been a good hunt," john wilson said contentedly, "and a most instructive one. i don't have to have a buck." "but you'd like one?" "not unless it's pythias." "we have one more day and i have plans. here, let me show you." ted tore the last of his red cloth into strips, pulled his chair up to the table, took a sheet of paper and a pencil and drew a map. john wilson leaned over his shoulder. "this is the fordham road," ted explained, "the first left-hand fork leading from the lorton road. climb over the mountain and drop down the other side. the first valley you'll see, it's right here, is coon valley. you can't miss it, there's a turnout and hunters have been using it. park the truck and walk up coon valley. in about half a mile, or right here, you'll come to three sycamores near a big boulder. on this slope," ted indicated it with his pencil, "there's a thicket of beech scrub. you can see everything in it from the top of the boulder, glory rock. climb it and wait." "that's all? just wait?" "that's all. if i can put him out of the laurel, there's at least an even chance he'll cross the ridge and try to get back into the thickets at the head of coon valley. if he does, he'll come through the beech scrub." "and if you can't?" "he won't." "what time do you want me there, ted?" "there's no great hurry. he isn't going to leave his thickets easily. it will take you about an hour to reach the mouth of coon valley and maybe another half hour or forty-five minutes to get set on glory rock. if you leave the house by half-past six, you should be there soon after eight. that's time enough." "how long should i wait?" "until i pick you up, and i will pick you up there. i may not come before dark. if i can put him past you, i will." "as you say, general." the tinny clatter of ted's alarm clock awakened him at half-past three the next morning. he reached down to shut it off, reset it for half-past five and stole in to put it near the still sleeping john wilson. ted breakfasted, gave tammie his food and a pat, donned his hunting jacket, put the strips of red cloth into the game pocket and stepped into the black morning. he bent his head against the north wind and started climbing burned mountain. he knew as he climbed that he was pitting himself against a force as old as time. the woodcraft of pythias, or any deer, shamed that of the keenest human. deer could identify every tiny sound, every wind that blew and the many scents those winds carried. they knew everything there was to know about their wilderness and they were all masters of it. no human could hope to equal their senses. but pythias, the greatest and most cunning of all, was still a beast. he knew and could interpret the wilderness, but he couldn't possibly apply reason to that which was not of the wilderness. if his confidence could be shaken.... it was still black night when ted reached the summit of burned mountain, but he had crossed and re-crossed it so many times in the past twenty days that he could do so in the darkness. pythias was there, and possibly he already knew that ted was back on the mountain. but he'd feel secure in the thicket where he was bedded and he would not go out until he was flushed. ted sought the aspen grown aisles between the thickets. he hung a strip of red cloth on a wind whipped branch, walked fifty yards and hung another. the night lifted and daylight came, and an hour later ted tied his last strip of cloth to a twig. carrying no rifle--but pythias couldn't possibly know that--he put his hands in his pockets to warm them. now he had to flush the big buck. he and his guest had left the great animal in one of the larger thickets last night, but it was almost certain that he hadn't passed the whole night there. ted circled the thicket, found pythias' unmistakable tracks and followed to where the big buck had nibbled tender young aspen shoots and pawed the snow to get at the dried grass beneath it. thereafter pythias had done considerable wandering. ted worked out the trail and discovered where his quarry had gone to rest in another thicket. he tracked him in, and he'd done this so many times that he knew almost exactly what to expect. the big buck would wait until he was sure someone was again on his trail, then he'd get up and sneak away. there would be nothing except tracks in the snow to mark his going. a man could not travel silently through the thickets, but a deer could. deep within the thicket, ted found the bed, a depression melted in the snow, to which pythias had retired when his wandering was done. the tracks leading away were fresh and sharp, no more than a couple of minutes old, but they were not the widely spaced ones of a running buck. knowing very well what he was doing, aware of the fact that he could not be seen while there, pythias always walked in the thickets. however, when he decided to leave this thicket, he had leaped through the scrub aspen separating it from the next one. it could have taken him no more than a second or so. if a hunter had been watching, he would have had just a fleeting shot and only a lucky marksman would have connected. ted followed fast. there were no cloth strips in these aspens. but when he came to where pythias had intended to leave the next thicket, he discovered where the big buck had set himself for the first leap then wheeled to slip back into the laurel. ten feet to one side, the strip of cloth that had turned him still whipped in the wind. pythias had tried again to leave the thicket, been turned a second time by another fluttering cloth and leaped wildly out at a place where ted had hung no ribbons. the buck's pattern changed completely. he was safe in the thickets, knew it, and had never deigned to run while sheltered by friendly brush. now he was running, either in great leaps that placed his bunched feet six yards apart or at a nervous trot. ted began to have hopes. pythias had the acute senses of a wild thing plus the cunning of a wise creature that had eluded every danger for years. but the wilderness he knew changed only with the changing seasons. what did the fluttering cloths mean? where had they come from? what peril did they indicate? pythias' tracks showed that he was becoming more nervous. ted pushed him hard. the buck could not reason, but if he passed enough of them safely and discovered for himself that there was no danger in the red ribbons, he would pay no more attention to them. an hour and a half after taking the track ted knew that, at least in part, he had succeeded. unable to decide for himself what the fluttering cloths meant, pythias swung away from the thickets into beech forest. now he ran continuously. in the thickets, knowing very well that he could not be seen, he had walked until the fluttering cloths introduced an unknown and possibly dangerous element. this was beech forest, with visibility of anywhere from fifty up to as much as two hundred and fifty yards. a hunter might be anywhere and well the buck knew it. he was going to offer no one a standing shot. ted followed swiftly, for now the hunt had a definite pattern. a young buck, chased out of the thickets on burned mountain, might linger in the beeches. a wise old one would hurry as fast as possible into the thickets at the head of coon valley, and the nearest route lay through the scrub beech at glory rock. ted was still a quarter of a mile away when he heard the single, sharp crack of a rifle. he left the trail and cut directly toward glory rock. a volley was very picturesque and sounded inspiring, but whoever ripped off half a dozen shots in quick succession was merely shooting, without much regard to aiming. ted murmured an old hunter's adage as he ran, "one shot, one deer. two shots, maybe one deer. three shots, no deer." he ran down the slope into coon valley and found john wilson standing over pythias. the hunter's delighted eyes met ted's, but mingled with his delight was a little sadness, too. "i now," john wilson said, "have lived." "you got him!" "i got him, poor fellow!" "he'll never be a better trophy than he is right now." it was true. at the height of his powers, pythias faced a certain decline. soon he would be old, and the wilderness is not kind to the old and infirm that dwell within it. john wilson laughed. "i know it. look at him! just look at him! i'll bet his base tine is thirteen inches long!" ted said, "ten inches." "are you trying to beat yourself out of seventy-five dollars? i did promise you twenty-five dollars for every inch in its longest tine, if i got a head that satisfied me! this is surely the one!" ted grinned. "i'll dress it for you," he offered. he turned the buck over, made a slit with his hunting knife and pulled the viscera out. at once it became evident that john wilson was the second hunter of whom pythias had run afoul, for he had been wounded before. ted probed interestedly. entering the flank, the bullet had missed the spine by two inches and any vital organs by a half inch. it had lodged in the thick loin, and nature had built a healing scab of tissue around it. ted probed it out with his knife and almost dropped the missile. in his hand lay one of carl thornton's distinctive, unmistakable, hand-loaded bullets. john wilson asked, "he's been wounded before, eh?" "yes!" "ted, i swear that you're more excited than i am!" _ted scarcely heard. he was here, beside glory rock, the day after smoky delbert was shot. damon and pythias, always together, and a deer so badly wounded that it couldn't possibly go on. damon hadn't gone on. only pythias had. hurt but not mortally, he had left enough blood on the leaves to convince ted that there'd been only one deer._ "when do you suppose he picked that one up?" john wilson asked. "i don't know." _carl thornton, who got what he wanted, had decided to get damon and pythias himself._ "he's darn' near as big as a horse," wilson said. "sure is." _a horse, a friendly, easily caught horse, that had gone down coon valley that night with damon on its back, then been released to go back up it._ "you certainly know how to field-dress a buck." "i've done it before." _smoky delbert, happening to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. thornton couldn't afford to be found out. smoky would blackmail him._ _thornton paying delbert's hospital bills._ "did i hit him square?" "a good neck shot." _factory-loaded ammunition that almost never failed to mushroom. hand-loaded cartridges that might fail._ john wilson fumbled in his pocket. "doggone, i seem to have lost my pipe." _al, forever losing his tobacco pouch, had gone to see carl thornton the day thornton fired ted._ ted wiped his knife blade on the snow, stood up and sheathed his knife. he looped a length of rope around the great buck's antlers. "he'll be easy to get out of here," he said. al's betrayal deer season was ended and the village of lorton brooded moodily between the snowclad hills that flanked it. from now until arriving fishermen brought new excitement, lorton would know only that which arose from within itself. ted, who had put john wilson and his great buck on yesterday's outgoing train, steered his pickup down the street with its plow-thrown heaps of snow on either side and drew up in front of loring blade's house. he said, "stay here, tammie." the collie settled back into the seat. ted walked to the front door, knocked and was admitted by the game warden's attractive wife. "hello, ted." "hello, helen. is loring home?" "yes, he is. come on in." she escorted the boy into the living room, where, pajama-clad and with a pile of magazines beside him, loring blade lay on a davenport and sipped lazily from a cup of coffee. he looked up and grimaced. "whatever you want, i'm ag'in' it. i aim to stay here for the next nineteen years." ted grinned. "have they been pushing you pretty hard, loring?" "i've been on the go forty-seven hours a day and, at a conservative estimate, i've walked nine million miles since deer season opened." "was it bad?" "no worse than usual. most of the hunters who came in were a pretty decent lot. but there always is--and i suppose always will be--the wise guy who thinks he can get away with anything. i caught one joker with nine deer." "wow!" "he was fined," loring said happily, "a hundred dollars for each one and suspension of hunting privileges for five years." "smoky delbert give you any trouble?" "you know better than that. smoky can't walk a hundred yards from his house and won't be able to for a long while to come." "i feel kind of sorry for the poor cuss," ted murmured. loring blade looked at him sharply. "you didn't come here to ask me about smoky." "oh, yes i did. who talked with him after he was shot?" "i did, for one. why?" "what did he tell you?" the warden shrugged. "you know that as well as i do. smoky was walking up coon valley when your dad rose from behind glory rock and shot him." "can you tell me the exact story?" loring blade looked puzzled. "what do you want to know, ted?" "did smoky hear any shooting?" "come to think of it, a half minute or so before he got to glory rock he heard two shots." ted's heart pounded excitedly. the two shots had been for damon and pythias. smoky wouldn't have heard the one that got him. ted continued his questioning. "did smoky have any idea as to who was shooting at what?" "he thought your dad was banging away at a varmint." "then he did know dad had gone up coon valley ahead of him?" "why yes, he saw his boot track in the mud. but you knew that." "was smoky afraid to go on?" "why should he have been afraid? who expects to get shot?" "tell me exactly how he said he saw dad shoot him." "smoky was near the three sycamores when he thought he saw something move. a second later, your dad rose from behind glory rock and shot him." "smoky's very sure of that? it was dad that rose from behind the rock?" "he told the same story at least a dozen times that i know of. it never varied." "dad didn't step out from beside the rock, or anything like that?" "no, he rose from behind it." "loring, has it occurred to anybody, except me, that the back of glory rock is a sheer drop? anyone who could rise from _behind_ and shoot over it would have to be at least nine feet tall!" "i--by gosh, you're right! i knew al never bush-whacked him! he must have been standing in plain sight when smoky came up the valley!" "smoky never saw who shot him." "that's not the way he told it." "think!" ted urged. "think of the sort of man smoky is. there was bad blood between him and dad and had been for some time. you were there when dad dressed him down for setting traps before fur was prime. there was, as you'll remember, talk of shooting even then. smoky knew dad had gone up coon valley ahead of him; probably he even _thinks_ dad shot him. he said he saw him because he wanted to be sure of revenge. smoky would do that." "yes, he would. but it seems to me that you're doing a lot of guessing." "maybe. you brought smoky's rifle out?" "yes." "had it been fired?" "no, the bore was mirror slick." "what would you do if you ran across dad?" "i'd bring him in, if i had to do it at gun point." "loring, i am going to do something that neither you nor i thought i would ever do. i am going to betray my dad into your hands." "then you do know where he is?" "no, i haven't seen him since the night he left." "cut it out, ted. we all know you've been taking him supplies and we've tried a dozen times to catch you at it. you do know where he is?" "i don't, but tammie does." "so!" the warden exploded. "callahan was right! he thought he saw tammie leave your house that night with a pack on his back. but when you whistled him in, and he didn't have any pack, callahan figured he'd made a mistake. how'd you manage that?" "dad was coming to see me and he saw callahan, too. he met tammie within yards of the house and took his pack off. loring, if this is to be done, it's to be done my way." "what's your way?" "you do exactly as i say." "i'm listening." "meet me at my house two hours after midnight. we'll cross the hills to glory rock; we won't be able to walk up coon valley. then you're to hide behind or beside the rock, any place you can listen without being seen, until i say you can come out." "now look here, ted, i like you and i like your dad, but i'm not sticking my neck out for anybody." "i promise you won't, and i also promise that you will get a chance to bring dad in." the game warden pondered. finally he agreed, "all right, ted, it'll be your way. but if there are any tricks, somebody's going to get hurt." "o.k. meet me at two?" "at two." ted drove happily to nels anderson's modest house and found his friend chopping wood. nels greeted him with a broad smile. "hi, ted! come in an' have a cup of coffee?" "i can't stay, nels. how are you doing?" "goot, goot for now. them deer hunters what stayed in your camp, they paid me nice an' i get another yob soon." "crestwood's changing hands and the new owners are taking over next week. you might go ask them for your old job back." "yah! i do that." "if you don't get one there," ted said recklessly, "i myself will be able to offer you something that'll tide you over until you get another job. i'm going to build more camps." "py golly, ted, i yoost don't know how to thank you!" "will you do me a favor?" "for you i do anything!" "then listen carefully. at seven o'clock tomorrow morning i want you to go to crestwood and see thornton; he'll be out of bed. tell him that there's something near those three sycamores in coon valley that he'd better take care of." nels scratched his head and let the instructions sink in. "at seven tomorrow mornin' i see thornton. i tell him, 'there's somethin' near them three sycamores in coon valley you better take care of.'" "that's it." "yah, ted, i do it yoost that way." * * * * * ted's alarm awakened him at a quarter past one. he reached down in the darkness to shut it off, and as he lay there he knew a cold foreboding. until now, the day to put his plan into execution, he had been very sure he was right. but suppose he was wrong? al would be in loring blade's hands, delivered there by his own son! ted got up and almost grimly clothed himself. his father couldn't stay in the mahela much longer anyhow, and ted knew he was right. when he was dressed, he sat down and wrote a note: dad; meet me at the three sycamores near glory rock and bring tammie with you. it's very important. when you get there, hide in the beech scrub until you think it's time to come out. you'll know what it's about after you arrive. love, ted he put the note in a pliofilm bag and was just on the point of handing it to tammie when he hesitated. timing was very important, and certainly al harkness was never going to show himself at the three sycamores if he saw loring blade anywhere near them. ted put his doubts behind him. his note said plainly that something was stirring and his father wasn't going to show himself anyway until he knew what it was. ted opened the back door, gave the pliofilm bag to tammie and said, "take it to al. go find al." tammie streaked away in the darkness and ted turned back to the kitchen. he set coffee to perking, laid strips of bacon in a skillet and arranged half a dozen eggs nearby. at seven o'clock--and because he was who he was it would be exactly seven o'clock--nels would go to carl thornton and deliver ted's message. if thornton was innocent, he'd probably think nels had gone crazy. but if ted was right and he was guilty, thornton would come up coon valley as soon as possible, to find and destroy any incriminating evidence that lay there. he would get the message at seven. give him ten minutes to get ready, forty minutes--crestwood was nearer than the harkness house--to reach the mouth of coon valley and another twenty minutes to reach the sycamores. if he was not there by nine o'clock, he would not come. there was a knock on the door and ted opened it to admit loring blade. "hi!" "hi!" the warden grumped. "i've made all arrangements." "for taking dad to jail?" "for having my head examined!" the warden snapped. "who in his right mind would let himself in for this sort of thing?" "in about three minutes," ted promised, "i'll have hot coffee and bacon and eggs. you'll feel better then." they ate, the warden maintaining a sour silence and ted again filled with doubt. all he really knew was that carl thornton had killed damon and wounded pythias before the season opened. the wounded deer in the beech scrub could have been shot by anyone at all and-- no, they couldn't. al and smoky delbert, as far as anyone knew, had been the only two people in coon valley that day. al wouldn't shoot an illegal deer and ted had loring blade's word for it that smoky's rifle had never been fired. there had been a third party, and after ted chased him out of the thickets on burned mountain, pythias had cut through the beech scrub. obviously, he knew the route and he wouldn't have remembered that, a couple of months ago, he had almost come to disaster on it. a deer's memory isn't that long. when the two had finished eating, ted asked, "shall we go?" "i'm ready. but if we're going to glory rock, why can't we drive to the mouth of coon valley?" "you promised to do this my way." there must be nothing to warn carl thornton away--if he came--and fresh tracks leading up coon valley might do just that. loring blade said, "i suppose i might as well be a complete jackass as a partial one. we'll walk." they went out into the cold night, while the north wind fanned their cheeks and trees sighed around them. a deer snorted and bounded away, and there came an angry hiss from a weasel that, having all but cornered the rabbit it was hunting, expressed its hatred for humans before it fled from them. ted asked, "you tired?" "lead on." the wan, gray light of an overcast morning fell sadly on the wilderness when the pair came again to the three sycamores and glory rock. ted's watch read seven-thirty. carl thornton had his message and, if he was guilty, even now he was on his way. loring blade asked, "what now?" "you'd better hide." "oh, for pete's sake--" "dad isn't going to walk into your open arms." the warden said grimly, "all right. but if he doesn't come, there'll be one harkness hide tacked to the old barn door and it won't be your dad's." he slipped in behind glory rock and it was as though he'd never been. ted was left alone with the keening breeze, the murmuring trees and the mahela. he looked across at the beech scrub where al was supposed to hide, where he might even now be hiding, and saw nothing. he shivered slightly--and knew that he was lost if thornton didn't come. then he was sure that thornton was not coming ... but when he looked at his watch it was only five minutes to eight. there simply hadn't been time.... mentally ted ticked another hour off. however, his watch said that only seven minutes had passed and he stopped looking at it. forty-eight hours later, which his faulty watch said was only forty-eight minutes, he looked down the valley and saw motion. ted stood very still in front of glory rock, and a prayer went up from his heart.... when the approaching man was very near he said, "hello, thornton." carl thornton stopped, and for a moment shocked surprise ruled his face. but it was only for a moment. he replied coolly, "hello, harkness." "i see," ted observed, "that you got my message?" "message?" "the one nels anderson gave you at seven o'clock this morning. the one that sent you up here." "what are you talking about?" "this--and i found it within six feet of where you're standing. now do you think it could be the bullet that went through smoky delbert?" ted took from his pocket the bullet he had dug out of pythias and held it up between thumb and forefinger. again, but only for an almost imperceptible part of a second, carl thornton's composure deserted him. then, once more, he was the master of crestwood and as such he had no association with ordinary residents of the mahela. he said scornfully, "give me that bullet." "well now, i just don't think i will. the sheriff, the state police--and maybe others--will sure be interested as all get out. you'll have some explaining to do, thornton, and _can you explain_?" "i want that bullet!" "why do you want it, thornton?" "give me that bullet!" "not so fast. i might _sell_ it to you. what's it worth for you to have it?" carl thornton's laugh carried an audible sneer. "you slob! you hill monkey! you're even lower than i thought! sell the evidence that would clear your own father for money!" "then you _did_ shoot smoky!" "i want that bullet!" "come take it." "i'll do just that." ted balanced on the balls of his feet, a grin of sheerest delight on his face. thornton was bigger than he--and heavier--and he was moving like a trained boxer. but because his back was turned, he did not see tammie burst from the scrub beech and race him down. tammie went into the air. his flying body struck squarely and carl thornton took two involuntary forward steps. he fell face downwards and rolled over to shield his throat with his right arm. tammie's bared fangs gleamed an inch away and thornton's voice was muffled. "call him off! i'll give you a thousand dollars for the bullet!" "no, thanks," ted said evenly, "and i wouldn't move if i were you. anyway, i wouldn't move too far or fast. tammie might get nervous." he raised his voice. "all right, loring, i think he'll tell you the rest now." ted scarcely noticed when loring blade came out from behind glory rock because his whole attention was centered on the man who emerged from the beech scrub. al harkness was lean as a wolf. his ragged hair had been hacked as short as possible with a hunting knife and his beard was bushy. his tattered clothing was held together with strips of deerskin, fox pelt, wildcat fur and fishing line. but his step was lithe and his eyes were clear and happy. "hi, ted!" "hello, dad!" they came very close and looked at each other, saying with their eyes all that which, for the moment, they could find no words to express.... then al asked, "how you been, son?" "fine! had a swell season! as soon as you get squared around again--and used to living like a civilized man--we can start two more camps." "right glad to hear it. you'll have your lodge yet." "might at that. how have you been?" "not too bad." al grinned his old grin. "not too bad at all." "hey!" loring blade called plaintively. "call your dog, will you? i've told him six times to get away so i can start taking this guy to jail and all he does is growl louder!" ted turned and snapped his fingers. "come on, tammie. come on up here and join your family." jim kjelgaard was born in new york city. happily enough, he was still in the pre-school age when his father decided to move the family to the pennsylvania mountains. there young jim grew up among some of the best hunting and fishing in the united states. he says: "if i had pursued my scholastic duties as diligently as i did deer, trout, grouse, squirrels, etc., i might have had better report cards!" jim kjelgaard has worked at various jobs--trapper, teamster, guide, surveyor, factory worker and laborer. when he was in the late twenties he decided to become a full-time writer. he has succeeded in his wish. he has published several hundred short stories and articles and quite a few books for young people. his hobbies are hunting, fishing, dogs, and questing for new stories. he tells us: "story hunts have led me from the atlantic to the pacific and from the arctic circle to mexico city. stories, like gold, are where you find them. you may discover one three thousand miles from home or, as in _the spell of the white sturgeon_, right on your own doorstep." and he adds: "i am married to a very beautiful girl and have a teen-age daughter. both of them order me around in a shameful fashion, but i can still boss the dog! we live in phoenix, arizona." [illustration: cover art] [frontispiece: john norton] how john norton the trapper kept his christmas by w. h. h. murray boston: de wolfe, fiske & co. and washington street. copyright, , by de wolfe, fiske & co. how john norton the trapper kept his christmas. i. a cabin. a cabin in the woods. in the cabin a great fireplace piled high with logs, fiercely ablaze. on either side of the broad hearth-stone a hound sat on his haunches, looking gravely, as only a hound in a meditative mood can, into the glowing fire. in the centre of the cabin, whose every nook and corner was bright with the ruddy firelight, stood a wooden table, strongly built and solid. at the table sat john norton, poring over a book,--a book large of size, with wooden covers bound in leather, brown with age, and smooth as with the handling of many generations. the whitened head of the old man was bowed over the broad page, on which one hand rested, with the forefinger marking the sentence. a cabin in the woods filled with firelight, a table, a book, an old man studying the book. this was the scene on christmas eve. outside, the earth was white with snow, and in the blue sky above the snow was the white moon. "it says here," said the trapper, speaking to himself, "it says here, 'give to him that lacketh, and from him that hath not, withhold not thine hand.' it be a good sayin' fur sartin; and the world would be a good deal better off, as i conceit, ef the folks follered the sayin' a leetle more closely." and here the old man paused a moment, and, with his hand still resting on the page, and his forefinger still pointing at the sentence, seemed pondering what he had been reading. at last he broke the silence again, saying,-- "yis, the world would be a good deal better off, ef the folks in it follered the sayin';" and then he added, "there's another spot in the book i'd orter look at to-night; it's a good ways furder on, but i guess i can find it. henry says that the furder on you git in the book, the better it grows, and i conceit the boy may be right; for there be a good deal of murderin' and fightin' in the fore part of the book, that don't make pleasant readin', and what the lord wanted to put it in fur is a good deal more than a man without book-larnin' can understand. murderin' be murderin', whether it be in the bible or out of the bible; and puttin' it in the bible, and sayin' it was done by the lord's commandment, don't make it any better. and a good deal of the fightin' they did in the old time was sartinly without reason and ag'in jedgment, specially where they killed the women-folks and the leetle uns." and while the old man had thus been communicating with himself, touching the character of much of the old testament, he had been turning the leaves until he had reached the opening chapters of the new, and had come to the description of the saviour's birth, and the angelic announcement of it on the earth. here he paused, and began to read. he read as an old man unaccustomed to letters must read,--slowly and with a show of labor, but with perfect contentment as to his progress, and a brightening face. "this isn't a trail a man can hurry on onless he spends a good deal of his time on it, or is careless about notin' the signs, fur the words be weighty, and a man must stop at each word, and look around awhile, in order to git all the meanin' out of 'em--yis, a man orter travel this trail a leetle slow, ef he wants to see all there is to see on it." then the old man began to read:-- "'then there was with the angels a multitude of the heavenly host,'--the exact number isn't sot down here," he muttered; "but i conceit there may have been three or four hunderd,--'praisin' god and singin', glory to god in the highest, and on 'arth, peace to men of good will.' that's right," said the trapper. "yis, peace to men of good will. that be the sort that desarve peace; the other kind orter stand their chances." and here the old man closed the book,--closed it slowly, and with the care we take of a treasured thing; closed it, fastened the clasps, and carried it to the great chest whence he had taken it, putting it away in its place. having done this, he returned to his seat, and, moving the chair in front of the fire, he looked first at one hound, and then at the other, and said, "pups, this be christmas eve, and i sartinly trust ye be grateful fur the comforts ye have." he said this deliberately, as if addressing human companions. the two hounds turned their heads toward their master, looked placidly into his face, and wagged their tails. [illustration: the two hounds turned their heads toward their master.] "yis, yis, i understand ye," said the trapper, "ye both be comfortable, and, i dare say, that arter yer way ye both be grateful, fur, next to eatin', a dog loves the heat, and ye be nigh enough to the logs to be toastin'. yis, this be christmas eve," continued the old man, "and in the settlements the folks be gittin' ready their gifts. the young people be tyin' up the evergreens, and the leetle uns be onable to sleep because of their dreamin'. it's a pleasant pictur', and i sartinly wish i could see the merrymakin's, as henry has told me of them, some time, but i trust it may be in his own house, and with his own children." with this pleasant remark, in respect to the one he loved so well, the old man lapsed into silence. but the peaceful contentment of his face, as the firelight revealed it, showed plainly that, though his lips moved not, his mind was still active with pleasant thoughts of the one whose name he had mentioned, and whom he so fondly loved. at last a more sober look came to his countenance,--a look of regret, of self-reproach, the look of a man who remembers something he should not have forgotten,--and he said,-- "i ax the lord to pardin me, that in the midst of my plenty i have forgot them that may be in want. the shanty sartinly looked open enough the last time i fetched the trail past the clearin', and though with the help of the moss and the clay in the bank she might make it comfortable, yit, ef the vagabond that be her husband has forgot his own, and desarted them, as wild bill said he had, i doubt ef there be victuals enough in the shanty to keep them from starvin'. yis, pups," said the old man, rising, "it'll be a good tramp through the snow, but we'll go in the mornin', and see ef the woman be in want. the boy himself said, when he stopped at the shanty last summer, afore he went out, that he didn't see how they was to git through the winter, and i reckon he left the woman some money, by the way she follered him toward the boat; and he told me to bear them in mind when the snow came, and see to it they didn't suffer. i might as well git the pack-basket out, and begin to put the things in't, fur it be a goodly distance, and an early start will make the day pleasant to the woman and the leetle uns, ef vict'als be scant in the cupboard. yis, i'll git the pack-basket out, and look round a leetle, and see what i can find to take 'em. i don't conceit it'll make much of a show, fur what might be good fur a man, won't be of sarvice to a woman; and as fur the leetle uns, i don't know ef i've got a single thing but vict'als that'll fit 'em. lord! ef i was near the settlements, i might swap a dozen skins fur jest what i wanted to give 'em; but i'll git the basket out, and look round and see what i've got." in a moment the great pack-basket had been placed in the middle of the floor, and the trapper was busy overhauling his stores to see what he could find that would make a fitting christmas gift for those he was to visit on the morrow. a canister of tea was first deposited on the table, and, after he had smelled of it, and placed a few grains of it on his tongue, like a connoisseur, he proceeded to pour more than half of its contents into a little bark box, and, having carefully tied the cover, he placed it in the basket. "the yarb be of the best," said the old man, putting his nose to the mouth of the canister, and taking a long sniff before he inserted the stopple--"the yarb be of the best, fur the smell of it goes into the nose strong as mustard. that be good fur the woman fur sartin, and will cheer her sperits when she be downhearted; fur a woman takes as naterally to tea as an otter to his slide, and i warrant it'll be an amazin' comfort to her, arter the day's work be over, more specially ef the work had been heavy, and gone sorter crosswise. yis, the yarb be good fur a woman when things go crosswise, and the box'll be a great help to her many and many a night beyend doubt. the lord sartinly had women in mind when he made the yarb, and a kindly feelin' fur their infarmities, and, i dare say, they be grateful accordin' to their knowledge." a large cake of maple-sugar followed the tea into the basket, and a small chest of honey accompanied it. "that's honest sweetenin'," remarked the trapper with decided emphasis; "and that is more'n ye can say of the sugar of the settlements, leastwise ef a man can jedge by the stuff they peddle at the clearin'. the bees be no cheats; and a man who taps his own trees, and biles the runnin' into sugar under his own eye, knows what kind of sweetenin' he's gittin'. the woman won't find any sand in her teeth when she takes a bite from that loaf, or stirs a leetle of the honey in the cup she's steepin'." some salt and pepper were next added to the packages already in the basket. a sack of flour and another of indian-meal followed. a generous round of pork, and a bag of jerked venison, that would balance a twenty-pound weight, at least, went into the pack. on these, several large-sized salmon-trout, that had been smoked by the trapper's best skill, were laid. these offerings evidently exhausted the old man's resources, for, after looking round a while, and searching the cupboard from bottom to top, he returned to the basket, and contemplated it with satisfaction, indeed, yet with a face slightly shaded with disappointment. "the vict'als be all right," he said, "fur there be enough to last 'em a month, and they needn't scrimp themselves either. but eatin' isn't all, and the leetle uns was nigh on to naked the last time i seed 'em; and the woman's dress, in spite of the patchin', looked as ef it would desart her, ef she didn't keep a close eye on't. lord! lord! what shall i do? fur there's room enough in the basket, and the woman and the leetle uns need garments; that is, it's more'n likely they do, and i haven't a garment in the cabin to take 'em." "hillo! hillo! john norton! john norton! hillo!" the voice came sharp and clear, cutting keenly through the frosty air and the cabin walls. "john norton!" "wild bill!" exclaimed the trapper. "i sartinly hope the vagabond hasn't been a-drinkin'. his voice sounds as ef he was sober; but the chances be ag'in the signs, fur, ef he isn't drunk, the marcy of the lord or the scarcity of liquor has kept him from it. i'll go to the door, and see what he wants. it's sartinly too cold to let a man stand in the holler long, whether he be sober or drunk;" with which remark the trapper stepped to the door, and flung it open. "what is it, wild bill? what is it?" he called. "be ye drunk, or be ye sober, that ye stand there shoutin' in the cold with a log cabin within a dozen rods of ye?" "sober, john norton, sober. sober as a moravian preacher at a funeral." "yer trappin' must have been mighty poor, then, wild bill, for the last month, or the dutchman at the clearin' has watered his liquor by a wrong measure for once. but ef ye be sober, why do ye stand there whoopin' like an indian, when the ambushment is onkivered and the bushes be alive with the knaves? why don't ye come into the cabin, like a sensible man, ef ye be sober? the signs be ag'in ye, wild bill; yis, the signs be ag'in ye." "come into the cabin!" retorted bill. "an' so i would mighty lively, ef i could; but the load is heavy, and your path is as slippery as the plank over the creek at the dutchman's, when i've two horns aboard." "load! what load have ye been draggin' through the woods?" exclaimed the trapper. "ye talk as ef my cabin was the dutchman's, and ye was balancin' on the plank at this minit." "come and see for yourself," answered wild bill, "and give me a lift. once in your cabin, and in front of your fire, i'll answer all the questions you may ask. but i'll answer no more until i'm inside the door." "ye be sartinly sober to-night," answered the trapper, laughing, as he started down the hill, "fur ye talk sense, and that's more'n a man can do when he talks through the nozzle of a bottle. "lord-a-massy!" exclaimed the old man as he stood over the sled, and saw the huge box that was on it. "lord-a-massy, bill! what a tug ye must have had! and how ye come to be sober with sech a load behind ye is beyend the reckinin' of a man who has knowed ye nigh on to twenty year. i never knowed ye disappoint one arter this fashion afore." "it is strange, i confess," answered wild bill, appreciating the humor that lurked in the honesty of the old man's utterance. "it is strange, that's a fact, for it's christmas eve, and i ought to be roaring drunk at the dutchman's this very minit, according to custom; but i pledged him to get the box through jest as he wanted it done, and that i wouldn't touch a drop of liquor until i had done it. and here it is according to promise, for here i am sober, and here is his box." "h'ist along, bill, h'ist along!" exclaimed the trapper, who suddenly became alive with interest, for he surmised whence the box had come. "h'ist along, bill, i say, and have done with yer talkin', and let's see what ye have got on yer sled. it's strange that a man of your sense will stand jibberin' here in the snow with a roarin' fire within a dozen rods of ye." whatever retort wild bill may have contemplated, it was effectually prevented by the energy with which the trapper pushed the sled after him. indeed, it was all he could do to keep it off his heels, so earnestly did the old man propel it from behind; and so, with many a slip and scramble on the part of wild bill, and a continued muttering on the part of the trapper about the "nonsense of a man's jibberin' in the snow arter a twenty-mile drag, with a good fire within a dozen rods of him," the sled was shot through the doorway into the cabin, and stood fully revealed in the bright blaze of the firelight. "take off yer coat and yer moccasins, wild bill," exclaimed the trapper, as he closed the door, "and git in front of the fire; pull out the coals, and set the tea-pot a-steepin'. the yarb will take the chill out of ye better than the pizen of the dutchman. ye'll find a haunch of venison in the cupboard that i roasted to-day, and some johnny-cake; i doubt ef either be cold. help yerself, help yerself, bill, while i take a peep at the box." no one can appreciate the intensity of the old man's feelings in reference to the mysterious box, unless he calls to mind the strictness with which he was wont to interpret and fulfil the duties of hospitality. to him the coming of a guest was a welcome event, and the service which the latter might require of the host both a sacred and pleasant obligation. to serve a guest with his own hand, which he did with a natural courtesy peculiar to himself, was his delight. nor did it matter with him what the quality of the guest might be. the wandering trapper or the vagabond indian was served with as sincere attention as the richest visitor from the city. but now his feelings were so stirred by the sight of the box thus strangely brought to him, and by his surmise touching who the sender might be, that wild bill was left to help himself without the old man's attendance. it was evident that bill was equal to the occasion, and was not aware of the slightest neglect. at least, his actions were not, by the neglect of the trapper, rendered less decided, or the quality of his appetite affected, for the examination he made of the old man's cupboard, and the familiarity with which he handled the contents, made it evident that he was not in the least abashed, or uncertain how to proceed; for he attacked the provisions with the energy of a man who had fasted long, and who has at last not only come suddenly to an ample supply of food, but also feels that for a few moments, at least, he will be unobserved. the trapper turned toward the box, and approached it for a deliberate examination. "the boards be sawed," he said, "and they come from the mills of the settlement, for the smoothin'-plane has been over 'em." then he inspected the jointing, and noted how truly the edges were drawn. "the box has come a goodly distance," he said to himself, "fur there isn't a workman this side of the horicon that could j'int it in that fashion. there sartinly orter be some letterin', or a leetle bit of writin', somewhere about the chest, tellin' who the box belonged to, and to whom it was sent." saying this, the old man unlashed the box from the sled, and rolled it over, so that the side might come uppermost. as no direction appeared on the smoothly planed surface, he rolled it half over again. a little white card neatly tacked to the board was now revealed. the trapper stooped, and on the card read,-- john norton, to the care of wild bill. "yis, the 'j' be his'n," muttered the old man, as he spelled out the word j-o-h-n, "and the big 'n' be as plain as an otter-trail in the snow. the boy don't make his letters over-plain, as i conceit, but the 'j' and the 'n' be his'n." and then he paused for a full minute, his head bowed over the box. "the boy don't forgit," he murmured, and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "the boy don't forgit." and then he added, "no, he isn't one of the forgittin' kind. wild bill," said the trapper, as he turned toward that personage, whose attack on the venison haunch was as determined as ever, "wild bill, this box be from henry!" "i shouldn't wonder," answered that individual, speaking from a mass of edibles that filled his mouth. "and it be a christmas gift!" continued the old man. "it looks so," returned bill, as laconically as before. "and it be a mighty heavy box!" said the trapper. "you'd 'a' thought so, if you had dragged it over the mile-and-a-half carry. it was good sleddin' on the river, but the carry took the stuff out of me." "very like, very like," responded the trapper; "fur the gullies be deep on the carry, and it must have been slippery haulin'. didn't ye git a leetle 'arnest in yer feelin's, bill, afore ye got to the top of the last ridge?" "old man," answered bill as he wheeled his chair toward the trapper, with a pint cup of tea in the one hand, and wiping his mustache with the coat-sleeve of the other, "i got it to the top three times, or within a dozen feet from the top, and each time it got away from me and went to the bottom agin; for the roots was slippery, and i couldn't git a grip on the toe of my moccasins; but i held on the rope, and i got to the bottom neck and neck with the sled every time." "ye did well, ye did well," responded the trapper, laughing; "fur a loaded sled goes down-hill mighty fast when the slide is a steep un, and a man who gits to the bottom as quick as the sled must have a good grip, and be considerably in 'arnest. but ye got her up finally by the same path, didn't ye?" "yes, i got her up," returned bill. "the fourth time i went for that ridge, i fetched her to the top, for i was madder than a hornet." "and what did ye do, bill?" continued the trapper. "what did ye do when ye got to the top?" "i jest tied that sled to a sapling so it wouldn't git away agin, and i got on to the top of that box, and i talked to that gulch a minit or two in a way that satisfied my feelings." "i shouldn't wonder," answered the trapper, laughing, "fur ye must have been a good deal riled. but ye did well to git the box through, and ye got here in time, and ye've 'arnt yer wages; and now, ef ye'll tell me how much i am to pay ye, ye shall have yer money, and ye needn't scrimp yourself on the price, wild bill, for the drag has been a hard un; so tell me yer price, and i'll count ye out the money." "old man," answered bill, "i didn't bring that box through for money, and i won't take a"-- perhaps wild bill was about to emphasize his refusal by some verbal addition to the simple statement, but, if it was his intention, he checked himself, and said, "a cent." "it's well said," answered the trapper; "yis, it's well said, and does jestice to yer feelin's, i don't doubt; but an extra pair of breeches one of these days wouldn't hurt ye, and the money won't come amiss." "i tell ye, old man," returned wild bill earnestly, "i won't take a cent. i'll allow there's several colors in my trousers, for i've patched in a dozen different pieces off and on, and i doubt, as ye hint, if the patching holds together much longer; but i've eaten at your table and slept in your cabin more than once, john norton, and whether i've come to it sober or drunk, your door was never shut in my face, and i don't forget either that the man who sent you that box fished me from the creek one day, when i had walked into it with two bottles of the dutchman's whiskey in my pocket, and not one cent of your money or his will i take for bringing the box in to you." "have it yer own way, ef ye will," said the trapper; "but i won't forgit the deed ye have did, and the boy won't forgit it neither. come, let's clear away the vict'als, and we'll open the box. it's sartinly a big un, and i would like to see what he has put inside of it." the opening of the box was a spectacle such as gladdens the heart to see. at such moments the countenance of the trapper was as facile in the changefulness of its expression as that of a child. the passing feelings of his soul found an adequate mirror in his face, as the white clouds of a summer day find full reflection in the depth of a tranquil lake. he was not too old or too learned to be wise, for the wisdom of hearty happiness was his,--the wisdom of being glad, and gladly showing it. as for wild bill, the best of his nature was in the ascendant, and with the curiosity and pleasure of a child, and a happiness as sincere as if the box was his own, he assisted at the opening. "the man who made this box did the work in a workmanlike fashion," said the trapper, as he strove to insert the edge of his hatchet into the jointing of the cover, "fur he shet these boards together like the teeth of a bear-trap when the bars be well 'iled. it's a pity the boy didn't send him along with the box, wild bill, fur it sartinly looks as ef we should have to kindle a fire on it, and burn a hole in through the cover." at last, by dint of great exertion, and with the assistance of wild bill and the poker, the cover of the box was wrenched off, and the contents were partially revealed. "glory to god, wild bill!" exclaimed the trapper. "here be yer breeches!" and he held up a pair of pantaloons made of the stoutest scotch stuff. "yis, here be yer breeches, fur here on the waistband be pinned a bit of paper, and on it be written, 'fur wild bill.' and here be a vest to match; and here be a jacket; and here be two pairs of socks in the pockets of the jacket; and here be two woollen shirts, one packed away in each sleeve. and here!" shouted the old man, as he turned up the lapel of the coat, "wild bill, look here! here be a five-dollar note!" and the old man swung one of the socks over his head, and shouted, "hurrah for wild bill!" and the two hounds, catching the enthusiasm of their master, lifted their muzzles into the air, and bayed deep and long, till the cabin fairly shook with the joyful uproar of man and dogs. it is doubtful if any gift ever took the recipient more by surprise than this bestowed upon wild bill. it is true that, judged by the law of strict deserts, the poor fellow had not deserved much of the world, and certainly the world had not forgotten to be strictly just in his case, for it had not given him much. it is a question if he had ever received a gift before in all his life, certainly not one of any considerable value. his reception of this generous and thoughtful provision for his wants was characteristic both of his training and his nature. the old trapper, as he had ended his cheering, flung the pantaloons, the vest, the jacket, the socks, the shirts, and the money into his lap. for a moment the poor fellow sat looking at the warm and costly garments that he held in his hands, silent in an astonishment too profound for speech, and then, recovering the use of his organs, he gasped forth,-- "i swear!" and then broke down, and sobbed like a child. the trapper, kneeling beside the box, looked at the poor fellow with a face radiant with happiness, while his mouth was stretched with laughter, utterly unconscious that tears were brimming his own eyes. "old trapper," said wild bill, rising to his feet, and holding the garments forth in his hands, "this is the first present i ever received in my life. i have been kicked and cussed, sneered at and taunted, and i deserved it all. but no man ever gave me a lift, or showed he cared a cent whether i starved or froze, lived or died. you know, john norton, what a fool i've been, and what has ruined me, and that when sober i'm more of a man than many who hoot me. and here i swear, old man, that while a button is on this jacket, or two threads of these breeches hold together, i'll never touch a drop of liquor, sick or well, living or dying, so help me god! and there's my hand on it." "amen!" exclaimed the trapper, as he sprang to his feet, and clasped in his own strong palm the hand that the other had stretched out to him. "the lord in his marcy be nigh ye when tempted, bill, and keep ye true to yer pledge!" [illustration: clasped in his own strong palm] of all the pleasant sights that the angels of god, looking from their high homes, saw on earth that christmas eve, perhaps not one was dearer in their eyes than the spectacle here described,--the two sturdy men standing with their hands clasped in solemn pledge of the reformation of the one, and the helping sympathy of the other, above that christmas-box in the cabin in the woods. it is not necessary to follow in detail the trapper's further examination of the box. the reader's imagination, assisted by many a happy reminiscence, will enable him to realize the scene. there was a small keg of powder, a large plug of lead, a little chest of tea, a bag of sugar, and also one of coffee. there were nails, matches, thread, buttons, a woollen under-jacket, a pair of mittens, and a cap of choicest fur, made of an otter's skin that henry himself had trapped a year before. all these and other packages were taken out one by one, carefully examined, and characteristically commented on by the trapper, and passed to wild bill, who in turn inspected and commented on them, and then laid them carefully on the table. beneath these packages was a thin board, constituting a sort of division between its upper and lower half. "there seems to be a sort of cellar to this box," said the trapper, as he sat looking at the division. "i shouldn't be surprised ef the boy himself was in here somewhere, so be ready, bill, fur anything, fur the lord only knows what's underneath this board." saying which, the old man thrust his hand under one end of the division, and pulled out a bundle loosely tied with a string, which became unfastened as the trapper lifted the roll from its place in the box, and, as he shook it open, and held its contents at arm's length up to the light, the startled eyes of wild bill, and the earnest gaze of the trapper, beheld a woman's dress! "heavens and 'arth, bill!" exclaimed the trapper, "what's this?" and then a flash of light crossed his face, in the illumination of which the look of wonder vanished, and, dropping upon his knees, he flung the dividing board out of the box, and his companion and himself saw at a glance what was underneath. children's shoes, and dresses of warmest stuffs; tippets and mittens; a full suit for a little boy, boots and all; a jack-knife and whistle; two dolls dressed in brave finery, with flaxen hair and blue eyes; a little hatchet; a huge ball of yarn, and a hundred and one things needed in the household; and underneath all a bible; and under that a silver star on a blue field, and pinned to the silk a scrap of paper, on which was written,-- "hang this over the picture of the lad." "ay, ay," said the trapper in a tremulous voice, as he looked at the silver star, "it shall be done as ye say, boy; but the lad has got beyend the clouds, and is walkin' a trail that is lighted from eend to eend by a light clearer and brighter than ever come from the shinin' of any star. i hope we may be found worthy to walk it with him, boy, when we, too, have come to the edge of the great clearin'." to the trapper it was perfectly evident for whom the contents of the box were intended; but the sender had left nothing in doubt, for, when the old man had lifted from the floor the board that he had flung out, he discovered some writing traced with heavy pencilling on the wood, and which without much effort he spelled out to wild bill,-- "give these on christmas day to the woman at the dismal hut, and a merry christmas to you all." "ay, ay," said the trapper, "it shall be did, barrin' accident, as ye say; and a merry christmas it'll make fur us all. lord-a-massy! what will the poor woman say when she and her leetle uns git these warm garments on? there be no trouble about fillin' the basket now; no, i sartinly can't git half of the stuff in. wild bill, i guess ye'll have to do some more sleddin' to-morrow, fur these presents must go over the mountain in the mornin', ef we have to harness up the pups." and then he told his companion of the poor woman and the children, and his intended visit to them on the morrow. "i fear," he said, "that they be havin' a hard time of it, 'specially ef her husband has desarted her." "little good would he do her, if he was with her," answered wild bill, "for he's a lazy knave when he's sober, and a thief as well, as you and i know, john norton; for he's fingered our traps more than once, and swapped the skins for liquor at the dutchman's; but he's thieved once too many times, for the folks in the settlement has ketched him in the act, and they put him in the jail for six months, as i heard day before yesterday." "i'm glad on't; yis, i'm glad on't," answered the trapper; "and i hope they'll keep him there till they've larnt him how to work. i've had my eye on the knave fur a good while, and the last time i seed him i told him ef he fingered any more of my traps, i'd larn him the commandments in a way he wouldn't forgit; and, as i had him in hand, and felt a leetle like talkin' that mornin', i gin him a piece of my mind, techin' his treatment of his wife and leetle uns, that he didn't relish, i fancy, fur he winced and squirmed like a fox in a trap. yis, i'm glad they've got the knave, and i hope they'll keep him till he's answered fur his misdoin'; but i'm sartinly afeered the poor woman be havin' a hard time of it." "i fear so, too," answered wild bill; "and if i can do anything to help you in your plans, jest say the word, and i'm your man to back or haul, jest as you want me." and so it was arranged that they should go over the mountain together on the morrow, and take the provisions and the gifts that were in the box to the poor woman; and, after talking awhile of the happiness their visit would give, the two men, happy in their thoughts, and with their hearts full of that peace which passeth the understanding of the selfish, laid themselves down to sleep; and over the two,--the one drawing to the close of an honorable and well-spent life, the other standing at the middle of a hitherto useless existence, but facing the future with a noble resolution,--over the two, as they slept, the angels of christmas kept their watch. ii. on the other side of the mountain stood the dismal hut; and the stars of that blessed eve had shone down upon the lonely clearing in which it stood, and the smooth white surface of the frozen and snow-covered lake which lay in front of it, as brightly as they had shone on the cabin of the trapper; but no friendly step had made its trail in the surrounding snow, and no blessed gift had been brought to its solitary door. as the evening wore on, the great clearing round about it remained drearily void of sound or motion, and filled only with the white stillness of the frosty, snow-lighted night. once, indeed, a wolf stole from underneath the dark balsams into the white silence, and, running up a huge log that lay aslant a ledge of rocks, looked across and round the great opening in the woods, stood a moment, then gave a shivering sort of a yelp, and scuttled back under the shadows of the forest, as if its darkness was warmer than the frozen stillness of the open space. an owl, perched somewhere amid the pine-tops, snug and warm within the cover of its arctic plumage, engaged from time to time in solemn gossip with some neighbor that lived on the opposite shore of the lake. and once a raven, roosting on the dry bough of a lightning-blasted pine, dreamed that the white moonlight was the light of dawn, and began to stir his sable wings, and croak a harsh welcome; but awakened by his blunder, and ashamed of his mistake, he broke off in the very midst of his discordant call, and again settled gloomily down amid his black plumes to his interrupted repose, making by his sudden silence the surrounding silence more silent than before. it seemed as if the very angels, who, we are taught, fly abroad over all the earth that blessed night, carrying gifts to every household, had forgotten the cabin in the woods, and had left it to the cold hospitality of unsympathetic nature. [illustration: running up a huge log that lay aslant a ledge of rocks] within the lonely hut, which thus seemed forgotten of heaven itself, sat a woman huddling her young--two girls and a boy. the fireplace was of monstrous proportions, and the chimney yawned upward so widely that one looking up the sooty passage might see the stars shining overhead. a little fire burned feebly in the huge stone recess: scant warmth might such a fire yield, kindled in such a fireplace, to those around it. indeed, the little flame seemed conscious of its own inability, and burned with a wavering and mistrustful flicker, as if it was discouraged in view of the task set before it, and had more than half concluded to go out altogether. the cabin was of large size, and undivided into apartments. the little fire was only able to illuminate the central section, and more than half of the room was hidden in utter darkness. the woman's face, which the faint flame over which she was crouched revealed with painful clearness, showed pale and haggard. the induration of exposure and the tightening lines of hunger sharpened and marred a countenance which, a happier fortune would have kept even comely. it had that old look about it which comes from wretchedness rather than age, and the weariness of its expression was pitiful to see. was it work or vain waiting for happier fortunes that made her look so tired? alas! the weariness of waiting for what we long for, and long for purely, but which never comes! is it the work or the longing--the long longing--that has put the silver in your head, friend, and scarred the smooth bloom of your cheeks, my lady, with those ugly lines? "mother, i'm hungry," said the little boy, looking up into the woman's face. "can't i have just a little more to eat?" "be still," answered the woman sharply, speaking in the tones of vexed inability. "i've given you almost the last morsel in the house." the boy said nothing more, but nestled up more closely to his mother's knee, and stuck one little stockingless foot out until the cold toes were half hidden in the ashes. o warmth! blessed warmth! how pleasant art thou to old and young alike! thou art the emblem of life, as thy absence is the evidence and sign of life's cold opposite. would that all the cold toes in the world could get to my grate to-night, and all the shivering ones be gathered to this fireside! ay, and that the children of poverty, that lack for bread, might get their hungry hands into that well-filled cupboard there, too! in a moment the woman said, "you children had better go to bed. you'll be warmer in the rags than in this miserable fireplace." the words were harshly spoken, as if the very presence of the children, cold and hungry as they were, was a vexation to her; and they moved off in obedience to her command. o cursed poverty! i know thee to be of satan, for i myself have eaten at thy scant table, and slept in thy cold bed. and never yet have i seen thee bring one smile to human lips, or dry one tear as it fell from a human eye. but i have seen thee sharpen the tongue for biting speech, and harden the tender heart. ay, i've seen thee make even the presence of love a burden, and cause the mother to wish that the puny babe nursing her scant breast had never been born. and so the children went to their unsightly bed, and silence reigned in the hut. "mother," said one of the girls, speaking out of the darkness,--"mother, isn't this christmas eve?" "yes," answered the woman sharply. "go to sleep." and again there was silence. happy is childhood, that amid whatever deprivation and misery it can so weary itself in the day that when night comes on it can lose in the forgetfulness of slumber its sorrows and wants! thus, while the children lost the sense of their unhappy surroundings, including the keen pangs of hunger, for a time, and under the tattered blankets that covered them saw, perhaps, visions of enchanting lands, and in their dreams feasted at those wonderful tables which hungry children see only in sleep, to the poor woman sitting at the failing fire there came no surcease of sorrow, and no vision threw even an evanescent brightness over the hard, cold facts of her surroundings. and the reality of her condition was dire enough, god knows. alone in the wilderness, miles from any human habitation, the trails covered deep with snow, her provisions exhausted, actual suffering already upon them, and starvation staring them squarely in the face. no wonder that her soul sank within her; no wonder that her thoughts turned toward bitterness. "yes, it's christmas eve," she muttered, "and the rich will keep it gayly. god sends them presents enough; but you see if he remembers me! oh, they may talk about the angels of christmas eve flying abroad to-night, loaded with gifts, but they'll fly mighty high above this shanty, i reckon; no, they won't even drop a piece of meat as they soar past," and so she sat muttering and moaning over her woes, and they were heavy enough,--too heavy for her poor soul, unassisted, to lift,--while the flame on the hearth grew thinner and thinner, until it had no more warmth in it than the shadow of a ghost, and, like its resemblance, was about to flit and fade away. at last she said, in a softened tone, as if the remembrance of the christmas legend had softened her surly thoughts and sweetened the bitter mood,-- "perhaps i'm wrong to take on so. perhaps it isn't god's fault that i and my children are deserted and starving. but why should the innocent be punished for the guilty, and why should the wicked have enough and to spare, while those who do no evil go half naked and starved?" alas, poor woman! that puzzle has puzzled many besides thee, and many lips besides thine have asked that question, querulously or entreatingly, many a time; but whether they asked it in vexation and rebellion of spirit, or humbly besought heaven to answer, to neither murmur nor prayer did heaven vouchsafe a response. is it because we are so small, or, being small, are so inquisitive, that the great oracle of the blue remains so dumb when we cry? at this point the poor little flame, as if unable to abide the cold much longer, flared fitfully, and uneasily shifted itself from brand to brand, threatening with many a flicker to go out; but the woman, with her elbows on her knees, and her face settled firmly between her hands, still sat with eyes that saw not the feeble flame at which they so steadily gazed. "i will do it, _i will do it!_" she suddenly exclaimed. "i will make one more effort. they shall not starve while i have strength to try. perhaps god will aid me. they say he always does at the last pinch, and he certainly sees that i am there now. i wonder if he's been waiting for me to get just where i am before he helped me? there is one more chance left, and i'll make the trial. i'll go down to the shore where i saw the big tracks in the snow. it's a long way, but i shall get there somehow. if god is going to be good to me, he won't let me freeze or faint on the way. yes, i'll creep into bed now, and try and get a little sleep, for i must be strong in the morning." and with these words the poor woman crept off to her bed, and burrowed down, more like an animal than a human being, beside her little ones, as they lay huddled close together and asleep, down in the rags. what angel was it that followed her to her miserable couch, and stirred kindly feelings in her bosom? some sweet one, surely; for she shortly lifted herself to a sitting posture, and, gently drawing down the old blanket with which the children, for warmth's sake, had wrapped their heads, looked as only a mother might at the three little faces lying side by side, and, bending tenderly over them, she placed a gentle kiss upon the forehead of each; then she nestled down again in her own place, and said, "perhaps god will help me." and with this sentence, half a prayer and half a doubt, born on the one hand from that sweet faith which never quite deserts a woman's bosom, and on the other from that bitter experience which had made her seem in her own eyes deserted of god, she fell asleep. she, too, dreamed; but her dreaming was only the prolongation of her waking thoughts; for long after her eyes closed she moved uneasily on her hard couch, and muttered, "perhaps god will. perhaps"-- sad is it for us who are old enough to have tasted the bitterness of that cup which life sooner or later presents to all lips, and have borne the burden of its toil and fretting, that our vexations and disappointments pursue us even in our slumber, disturbing our sleep with reproachful visions and the sound of voices whose upbraiding robs us of our otherwise peaceful repose. perhaps somewhere in the years to come, after much wandering and weariness, guided of god, we may come to that fountain of which the ancients dreamed, and for which the noblest among them sought so long, and died seeking; plunging into which, we shall find our lost youth in its cool depths, and, rising refreshed and strengthened, shall go on our eternal journey re-clothed with the beauty, the innocence, and the happiness of our youth. the poor woman slept uneasily, and with much muttering to herself; but the rapid hours slid noiselessly down the icy grooves of night, and soon the cold morning put its white face against the frozen windows of the east, and peered shiveringly forth. who says the earth cannot look as cold and forbidding as the human countenance? the sky hung over the frozen world like a dome of gray steel, whose invisibly matched plates were riveted here and there by a few white, gleaming stars. the surface of the snow sparkled with crystals that flashed colorlessly cold. the air seemed armed, and full of sharp, eager points that pricked the skin painfully. the great tree-trunks cracked their sharp protests against the frosty entrances being made beneath their bark. the lake, from under the smothering ice, roared in dismay and pain, and sent the thunders of its wrath at its imprisonment around the resounding shores. a bitter morn, a bitter morn,--ah me! a bitter morn for the poor! the woman, wakened by the gray light, moved in the depths of the tattered blankets, sat upright, rubbed her eyes with her hands, looked about her as if to recall her scattered senses, and then, as thought returned, crept stealthily out of the hole in which she had lain, that she might not wake the children, who, coiled together, slumbered on, still closely clasped in the arms of blessed unconsciousness. "they had better sleep," she said to herself. "if i fail to bring them meat, i hope they will never wake!" ah! if the poor woman could only have foreseen the bitter disappointment, or that other something which the future was to bring her, would she have made that prayer? is it best for us, as some say, that we cannot see what is coming, but must weep on till the last tear is shed, uncheered by the sweet fortune so nigh, or laugh unchecked until the happy tones are mingled with, and smothered by, the rising moan? is it best, i wonder? she noiselessly gathered together what additions she could make to her garments, and then, taking down the rifle from its hangings, opened the door, and stepped forth into the outer cold. there was a look of brave determination in her eyes as she faced the chilly greeting the world gave her, and with more of hopefulness than had before appeared upon her countenance, she struck bravely off along the lake shore, which at this point receded toward the mountain. for an hour she kept steadily on, with her eyes constantly on the alert for the least sign of the wished and prayed-for game. suddenly she stopped, and crouched down in the snow, peering straight ahead. well might she seek concealment, for there, standing on a point of land that jutted sharply out into the lake, not forty rods away, unscreened and plain to view, stood a buck of such goodly proportions as one even in years of hunting might not see. the woman's eyes fairly gleamed as she saw the noble animal standing thus in full sight; but who may tell the agony of fear and hope that filled her bosom! the buck stood lordly erect, facing the east, as if he would do homage to, or receive homage from, the rising sun, whose yellow beams fell full upon his uplifted front. the thought of her mind, the fear of her heart, were plain. the buck would soon move; when he moved, which way would he move? would he go from or come toward her? would she get him, or would she lose him? oh, the agony of that thought! "god of the starving," burst from her quivering lips, "let not my children die!" many prayers more ornate rose that day to him whose ears are open to all cries. but of all that prayed on that christmas morn, whether with few words or many, surely, no heart rose with the seeking words more earnestly than the poor woman kneeling as she prayed, rifle in hand, amid the snow. "god of the starving, let not my children die!" that was her prayer; and, as if in answer to her agonizing petition, the buck turned and began to advance directly toward her, browsing as he came. once he stopped, looked around, and snuffed the air suspiciously. had he scented her presence, and would he bound away? should she fire now? no; her judgment told her she could not trust the gun or her aim at such a range. he must come nigher,--come even to the big maple, and stand there, not ten rods away; then she felt sure she should get him. so she waited. oh, how the cold ate into her! how her teeth chattered as the chills ran their torturing courses through her thin, shivering frame! but still she clutched the cold barrel, and still she watched and waited, and still she prayed,-- "god of the starving, let not my children die!" alas, poor woman! my own body shivers as i think of thine, and my pen falters to write what misery befell thee on that wretched morn. did the buck turn? did he, having come so tantalizingly near, retrace his steps? no. he continued to advance. had heaven heard her prayer? her soul answered it had; and with such feelings in it toward him to whom she had appealed as she had not felt in all her life before, she steadied herself for the shot. for even as she prayed, the deer came on,--came to the big maple, and lifted his muzzle to its highest reach to seize with his tongue a thin streamer of moss that lay against the smooth bark. there he stood, his blue-brown side full toward her, unconscious of her presence. noiselessly she cocked the piece. noiselessly she raised it to her face, and with every nerve drawn to its tightest tension, sighted the noble game, and--_fired_. [illustration: the deer came to the big maple] had the frosty air watered her eye? was it a tear of joy and gratitude that dimmed the clearness of its sight? or were the half-frozen fingers unable to steady the cold barrel at the instant of its explosion? we know not. we only know that in spite of prayer, in spite of noblest effort, she missed the game. for, as the rifle cracked, the buck gave a snort of fear, and with swift bounds flew up the mountain; while the poor woman, dropping the gun with a groan, fell fainting on the snow. iii. at the same moment the rifle sounded, two men, the trapper with his pack, and wild bill with his sled heavily loaded, were descending the western slope of the mountain, not a mile from the clearing in which stood the lonely cabin. the sound of the piece brought them to a halt as quickly as if the bullet had cut through the air in front of their faces. for several minutes both stood in the attitude of listening. "down into the snow with ye, pups!" exclaimed the trapper, in a hoarse whisper. "down into the snow with ye, i say! rover, ef ye lift yer muzzle agin, i'll warm yer back with the ramrod. by the lord, bill, the buck is comin' this way; ye can see his horns lift above the leetle balsams as he breaks through the thicket yender. ef he strikes the runway, he'll sartinly come within range;" and the old trapper slipped his arms from the pack, and, lowering it to the earth, sank on his knees beside it, where he waited as motionless as if the breath had departed his body. onward came the game. as the trapper had suggested, the buck, with mighty and far-reaching bounds, cleared the shrubby obstructions, and, entering the runway, tore up the familiar path with the violence of a tornado. onward he came, his head flung upward, his antlers laid well back, tongue lolling from his mouth, and his nostrils smoking with the hot breaths that burst in streaming columns from them. not until his swift career had brought him exactly in front of his position did the old man stir a muscle. but then, quick as the motion of the leaping game, his rifle jumped to his cheek, and even as the buck was at the central point of his leap, and suspended in the air, the piece cracked sharp and clear, and the deer, stricken to his death, fell with a crash to the ground. the quivering hounds rose to their feet, and bayed long and deep; wild bill swung his hat and yelled; and for a moment the woods rang with the wild cries of dogs and man. [illustration: the piece cracked sharp and clear] "lord-a-massy, bill, what a mouth ye have when ye open it!" exclaimed the trapper, as he leisurely poured the powder into the still smoking barrel. "atween ye and the pups, it's enough to drive a man crazy. i should sartinly think ye had never seed a deer shot afore, by the way ye be actin'." "i've seen a good many, as you know, john norton; but i never saw one tumbled over by a single bullet when at the very top of his jump, as that one was. i surely thought you had waited too long, and i wouldn't have given a cent for your chances when you pulled. it was a wonderful shot, john norton, and i would take just such another tramp as i have had, to see you do it again, old man." "it wasn't bad," returned the trapper; "no, it sartinly wasn't bad, fur he was goin' as ef the old harry was arter him. i shouldn't wonder ef he had felt the tech of lead down there in the holler, and the smart of his hurt kept him flyin'. let's go and look him over, and see ef we can't find the markin's of the bullit on him." in a moment the two stood above the dead deer. "it is as i thought," said the trapper, as he pointed with his ramrod to a stain of blood on one of the hams of the buck. "the bullit drove through his thigh here, but it didn't tech the bone, and was a sheer waste of lead, fur it only sot him goin' like an arrer. bill, i sartinly doubt," continued the old man, as he measured the noble animal with his eye, "i sartinly doubt ef i ever seed a bigger deer. there's seven prongs on his horns, and i'd bet a horn of powder agin a chargerful that he'd weigh three hundred pounds as he lies. lord, what a christmas gift he'll be fur the woman! the skin will make a blanket fit fur a queen to sleep under, and the meat, jediciously cared for, will last her all winter. we must manage to git it to the edge of the clearin', anyhow, or the wolves might make free with our venison, bill. yer sled is a strong un, and it'll bear the loadin', ef ye go keerful." the trapper and his companion set themselves to their task with the energy of men accustomed to surmount every obstacle, and in a short half-hour the sled, with its double loading, stopped at the door of the lonely cabin. "i don't understand this, wild bill," said the trapper. "here be a woman's tracks in the snow, and the door be left a leetle ajar, but there be no smoke in the chimney, and they sartinly ain't very noisy inside. i'll jest give a knock or two, and see ef they be stirrin';" and, suiting the action to the word, he knocked long and loud on the large door. but to his noisy summons there came no response, and without a moment of farther hesitation he shoved open the door, and entered. "god of marcy! wild bill," exclaimed the trapper, "look in here!" a huge room dimly lighted, holes in the roof, here and there a heap of snow on the floor, an immense fireplace with no fire in it, and a group of scared, wild-looking children huddled together in the farther corner, like young and timid animals that had fled in affright from the nest where they had slept, at some fearful intrusion. that is what the trapper saw. "i"--whatever wild bill was about to say, his astonishment, and we may add his pity, were too profound for him to complete his ejaculation. "don't ye be afeerd, leetle uns," said the trapper, as he advanced into the centre of the room to more fully survey the wretched place. "this be christmas morn, and me and wild bill and the pups have come over the mountain to wish ye all a merry christmas. but where be yer mother?" queried the old man, as he looked kindly at the startled group. "we don't know where she is," answered the older of the two girls; "we thought she was in bed with us, till you woke us. we don't know where she has gone." "i have it, i have it, wild bill!" exclaimed the trapper, whose eyes had been busy scanning the place while talking with the children. "the rifle be gone from the hangings, and the tracks in the snow be hern. yis, yis, i see it all. she went out in hope of gittin' the leetle uns here somethin' to eat, and that was her rifle we heerd, and her bullet made that hole in the ham of the buck. what a disappointment to the poor creetur when she seed she hadn't hit him! her heart eena'most broke, i dare say. but the lord was in it--leastwise, he didn't go ag'in the proper shapin' of things arterwards. come, bill, let's stir round lively, and get the shanty in shape a leetle, and some vict'als on the table afore she comes. yis, git out yer axe, and slash into that dead beech at the corner of the cabin, while i sorter clean up inside. a fire is the fust thing on sech a mornin' as this; so scurry round, bill, and bring in the wood as ef ye was a good deal in 'arnest, and do ye cut to the measure of the fireplace, and don't waste yer time in shortenin' it, fur the longer the fireplace, the longer the wood; that is, ef ye want to make it a heater." his companion obeyed with alacrity; and by the time the trapper had cleaned out the snow, and swept down the soot from the sides of the fireplace, and put things partially to rights, bill had stacked the dry logs into the huge opening, nearly to the upper jamb, and, with the help of some large sheets of birch-bark, kindled them to a flame. "come here, leetle uns," said the trapper, as he turned his good-natured face toward the children,--"come here, and put yer leetle feet on the h'arthstun, fur it's warmin', and i conceit yer toes be about freezin'." it was not in the power of children to withstand the attraction of such an invitation, extended with such a hearty voice and such benevolence of feature. the children came promptly forward, and stood in a row on the great stone, and warmed their little shivering bodies by the abundant flames. "now, leetle folks," said the trapper, "jest git yerselves well warmed, then git on what clothes ye've got, and we'll have some breakfast,--yis, we'll have breakfast ready by the time yer mother gits back, fur i know where she be gone, and she'll be hungry and cold when she gits in. i don't conceit that this little chap here can help much, but ye girls be big enough to help a good deal. so, when ye be warm, do ye put away the bed to the furderest corner, and shove out the table in front of the fire, and put on the dishes, sech as ye have, and be smart about it, too, fur yer mother will sartinly be comin' soon, and we must be ahead of her with the cookin'." what a change the next half-hour made in the appearance of the cabin! the huge fire sent its heat to the farthest corner of the great room. the miserable bed had been removed out of sight, and the table, drawn up in front of the fire, was set with the needed dishes. on the hearthstone a large platter of venison steak, broiled by the trapper's skill, simmered in the heat. a mighty pile of cakes, brown to a turn, flanked one side, while a stack of potatoes baked in the ashes supported the other. the teapot sent forth its refreshing odor through the room. the children, with their faces washed and hair partially, at least, combed, ran about with bare feet on the warm floor, comfortable and happy. to them it was as a beautiful dream. the breakfast was ready, and the visitors sat waiting for the coming of her to whose assistance the angel of christmas eve had sent them. "sh!" whispered the trapper, whose quick ear had caught the sound of a dragging step in the snow. "she's comin'!" too weary and faint, too sick at heart and exhausted in body to observe the unaccustomed signs of human presence around her dwelling, the poor woman dragged herself to the door, and opened it. the gun she still held in her hand fell rattling to the floor, and, with eyes wildly opened, she gazed bewildered at the spectacle. the blazing fire, the set table, the food on the hearthstone, the smiling children, the two men! she passed her hands across her eyes as one waking from sleep. was she dreaming? was this cabin the miserable hut she had left at daybreak? was that the same fireplace in front of whose cold and cheerless recess she had crouched the night before? and were those two strangers there men, or were they angels? was what she saw real, or was it only a fevered vision born of her weakness? her senses actually reeled to and fro, and she trembled for a moment on the verge of unconsciousness. indeed, the shock was so overwhelming that in another instant she would have swooned and fallen to the floor had not the growing faintness been checked by the sound of a human voice. "a merry christmas to ye, my good woman," said the trapper. "a merry christmas to ye and yourn!" the woman started as the hearty tones fell on her ear, and, steadying herself by the door, she said, speaking as one partially dazed,-- "are you john norton the trapper, or are you an ang--" "ye needn't sight agin," interrupted the old man. "yis, i'm old john norton himself, nothin' better and nothin' wuss; and the man in the chair here by my side is wild bill, and ye couldn't make an angel out of him, ef ye tried from now till next christmas. yis, my good woman, i'm john norton, and this is wild bill, and we've come over the mountain to wish ye a merry christmas, ye and yer leetle uns, and help ye keep the day; and, ye see, we've been stirrin' a leetle in yer absence, and breakfast be waitin'. wild bill and me will jest go out and cut a leetle more wood, while ye warm and wash yerself; and when ye be ready to eat, ye may call us, and we'll see which can git into the house fust." so saying, the trapper, followed by his companion, passed out of the door, while the poor woman, without a word, moved toward the fire, and, casting one look at her children, at the table, at the food on the hearthstone, dropped on her knees by a chair, and buried her face in her hands. "i say," said wild bill to the trapper, as he crept softly away from the door, to which he had returned to shut it more closely, "i say, john norton, the woman is on her knees by a chair." "very likely, very likely," returned the old man reverently; and then he began to chop vigorously at a huge log, with his back toward his comrade. perhaps some of you who read this tale will come some time, when weary and heart-sick, to something drearier than an empty house, some bleak, cold day, some lonely morn, and with a starving heart and benumbed soul,--ay, and empty-handed, too,--enter in only to find it swept and garnished, and what you most needed and longed for waiting for you. then will you, too, drop upon your knees, and cover your face with your hands, ashamed that you had murmured against the hardness of your lot, or forgotten the goodness of him who suffered you to be tried only that you might more fully appreciate the triumph. "my good woman," said the trapper, when the breakfast was eaten, "we've come, as we said, to spend the day with you; and accordin' to custom--and a pleasant un it be fur sartin--we've brought ye some presents. a good many of them come from him who called on ye as he and me passed through the lake last fall. i dare say ye remember him, and he sartinly has remembered ye. fur last evening when i was makin' up a leetle pack to bring ye myself,--fur i conceited i had better come over and spend the day with ye,--wild bill came to my door with a box on his sled that the boy had sent in from his home in the city; and in the box he had put a great many presents fur him and me; and in the lower half of the box he had put a good many presents fur ye and yer leetle uns, and we've brought them all over with us. some of the things be fur eatin' and some of them be fur wearin'; and that there may be no misunderstanding i would say that all the things that be in the pack-basket there, and all the things that be on the sled, too, belong to ye. and as i see the woodpile isn't a very big un fur this time of the year, bill and me be goin' out to settle our breakfast a leetle with the axes. and while we be gone, i conceit ye had better rummage the things over, and them that be good fur eatin' ye had better put in the cupboard, and them that be good fur wearin' ye had better put on yerself and yer leetle uns; and then we'll all be ready to make a fair start. fur this be christmas day, and we be goin' to keep it as it orter be kept. ef we've had sorrers, we'll forgit 'em; and we'll laugh, and eat, and be merry. fur this be christmas, my good woman! children, this be christmas! wild bill, my boy, this be christmas; and pups, this be christmas! and we'll all laugh, and eat, and be merry." the joyfulness of the old man was contagious. his happiness flowed over as waters flow over the rim of a fountain. wild bill laughed as he seized his axe, the woman rose from the table smiling, the girls giggled, the little boy stamped, and the hounds, catching the spirit of their merry master, swung their tails round, and bayed in canine gladness; and amid the joyful uproar the old trapper spun himself out of the door, and chased wild bill through the snow like a boy. the dinner was to be served at two o'clock; and what a dinner it was, and what preparations preceded! the snow had been shovelled from around the cabin, the holes in the roof roughly but effectually thatched. a good pile of wood was stacked in front of the doorway. the spring that bubbled from the bank had been cleared of ice, and a protection constructed over it. the huge buck had been dressed, and hung high above the reach of wolves. cedar and balsam branches had been placed in the corners and along the sides of the room. great sprays of the tasselled pine and the feathery tamarack were suspended from the ceiling. the table had been enlarged, and extra seats extemporized. the long-unused oven had been cleaned out, and under its vast dome the red flames flashed and rolled upward. what a change a few hours had brought to that lonely cabin and its wretched inmates! the woman, dressed in her new garments, her hair smoothly combed, her face lighted with smiles, looked positively comely. the girls, happy in their fine clothes and marvellous toys, danced round the room, wild with delight; while the little boy strutted about the floor in his new boots, proudly showing them to each person for the hundredth time. the hostess's attention was equally divided between the temperature of the oven and the adornment of the table. a snow-white sheet, one of a dozen she had found in the box, was drafted peremptorily into service, and did duty as a tablecloth. oh, the innocent and funny make-shifts of poverty, and the goodly distance it can make a little go! perhaps some of us, as we stand in our rich dining-rooms, and gaze with pride at the silver, the gold, the cut-glass, and the transparent china, can recall a little kitchen in a homely house far away, where our good mothers once set their tables for their guests, and what a brave show the few extra dishes made when they brought them out on the rare festive days! however it might strike you, fair reader, to the poor woman and her guests there was nothing incongruous in a sheet serving as a tablecloth. was it not white and clean and properly shaped, and would it not have been a tablecloth if it hadn't been a sheet? how very nice and particular some people can be over the trifling matter of a name! and this sheet had no right to be a sheet; for any one with half an eye could see at a glance that it was predestined from the first to be a tablecloth, for it sat as smoothly on the wooden surface as pious looks on a deacon's face, while the easy and nonchalant way it draped itself at the corners was perfectly jaunty. the edges of this square of white sheeting that had thus providentially found its true and predestined use were ornamented with the leaves of the wild myrtle, stitched on in the form of scallops. in the centre, with a brave show of artistic skill, were the words, "merry christmas," prettily worked with the small brown cones of the pines. this, the joint product of wild bill's industry and the woman's taste, commanded the enthusiastic admiration of all; and even the little boy, from the height of a chair into which he had climbed, was profoundly affected by the show it made. the trapper had charge of the meat department, and it is safe to say that no delmonico could undertake to serve venison in greater variety than did he. to him it was a grand occasion, and--in a culinary sense--he rose grandly to meet it. what bosom is without its little vanities? and shall we laugh at the dear old man because he looked upon the opportunity before him with feeling other than pure benevolence,--even of complacency that what he was doing was being done as no one else could do it? there was venison roasted, and venison broiled, and venison fried; there was hashed venison, and venison spitted; there was a side-dish of venison sausage, strong with the odor of sage, and slightly dashed with wild thyme; and a huge kettle of soup, on whose rich creamy surface pieces of bread and here and there a slice of potato floated. "i tell ye, bill," said the trapper to his companion, as he stirred the soup with a long ladle, "this pot isn't actilly runnin' over with taters, but ye can see a bit occasionally ef ye look sharp and keep the ladle goin' round pretty lively. no, the taters ain't over-plenty," continued the old man, peering into the pot, and sinking his voice to a whisper, "but there wasn't but fifteen in the bag, and the woman took twelve of 'em fur her kittle, and ye can't make three taters look actilly crowded in two gallons of soup, can ye, bill?" and the old man punched that personage in the ribs with the thumb of the hand that was free from service, while he kept the ladle going with the other. "lord!" exclaimed the trapper, speaking to bill, who, having taken a look into the old man's kettle, was digging his knuckles into his eyes to free them from the spray that was jetted into them from the fountains of mirth within that were now in full play,--"lord! ef there isn't another piece of tater gone all to pieces! bill, ef i make another circle with this ladle, there won't be a whole slice left, and ye'll swear there wasn't a tater in the soup." and the two men, with their faces within twenty inches, laughed and laughed like boys. how sweet it is to think that when the maker set up this strange instrument we call ourselves, and strung it for service, he selected of the heavy chords so few, and of the lighter ones so many! some muffled ones there are; some slow and solemn sounds swell sadly forth at intervals, but blessed be god that we are so easily tickled, and the world is so funny that within it, even when exiled from home and friends, we find, as the days come and go, the causes and occasions of hilarity! wild bill had been placed in charge of the liquids. what a satire there is in circumstances, and how those of to-day laugh at those of yesterday! yes, wild bill had charge of the liquids,--no mean charge, when the occasion is considered. nor was the position without its embarrassments, as few honorable positions are, for it brought him face to face with the problem of the day--dishes; for, between the two cooks of the occasion, every dish in the cabin had been brought into requisition, and poor bill was left in the predicament of having to make tea and coffee with no pots to make them in. but bill was not lacking in wit, if he was in pots, and he solved the conundrum how to make tea without a teapot in a manner that extorted the woman's laughter, and commanded the old trapper's admiration. in ransacking the lofts above the apartment, he had lighted on several large, stone jugs, which, with the courage--shall we call it the audacity?--of genius, he had seized upon; and, having thoroughly rinsed them, and freed them from certain odors,--which we are free to say bill was more or less familiar with,--he brought them forward as substitutes for kettle and pot. indeed, they worked admirably, for in them the berry and the leaves might not only be properly steeped, but the flavor could be retained beyond what it might in many of our famous and high-sounding patented articles. but bill, while ingenious and courageous to the last degree, was lacking in education, especially in scientific directions. he had never been made acquainted with that great promoter of modern civilization--the expansive properties of steam. the corks he had whittled out for his bravely extemporized tea and coffee pots were of the closest fit; and, as they had been inserted with the energy of a man who, having conquered a serious difficulty, is determined to reap the full benefit of his triumph, there was at least no danger that the flavor of the concoctions would escape through any leakage at the muzzle. having thus prepared them for steeping, he placed the jugs in his corner of the fireplace, and pushed them well up through the ashes to the live coals. "wild bill," said the trapper, who wished to give his companion the needed warning in as delicate and easy a manner as possible, "wild bill, ye have sartinly got the right idee techin' the makin' of tea and coffee, fur the yarb should be steeped, and the berry too,--leastwise, arter it's biled up once or twice,--and therefore it be only reasonable that the nozzles should be closed moderately tight; but a man wants considerable experience in the business, or he's likely to overdo it jest a leetle, and ef ye don't cut some slots in them wooden corks ye've driven into them nozzles, bill, there'll be a good deal of tea and coffee floatin' round in your corner of the fireplace afore many minutes, and i conceit there'll be a man about your size lookin' for a couple of corks and pieces of jugs out there in the clearin', too." "do you think so?" answered bill incredulously. "don't you be scared, old man, but keep on stirring your soup and turning the meat, and i'll keep my eye on the bottles." "that's right, bill," returned the trapper; "ye keep yer eye right on 'em, specially on that un that's furderest in toward the butt of the beech log there; fur ef there's any vartue in signs, that jug be gittin' oneasy. yis," continued the old man, after a minute's pause, during which his eye hadn't left the jug, "yis, that jug will want more room afore many minutes, ef i'm any jedge, and i conceit i had better give it the biggest part of the fireplace;" and the trapper hastily moved the soap and his half-dozen plates of cooked meats to the other end of the hearthstone, whither he retired himself, like one who, feeling that he is called upon to contend with unknown forces, wisely beats a retreat. he even put himself behind a stack of wood that lay piled up in his corner, like one who does not despise, in a sudden emergency, an artificial protection. "bill," called the trapper, "edge round a leetle,--edge round, and git in closer to the jamb. it's sheer foolishness standin' where ye be, fur the water will be wallopin' in a minit, and ef the corks be swelled in the nozzle, there'll be an explosion. git in toward the jamb, and watch the ambushment under kiver." "old man," answered bill, as he turned his back carelessly toward the fireplace, "i've got the bearin's of this trail, and know what i'm about. the jugs are as strong as iron kittles, and i ain't afraid of their bust"-- bill never finished the sentence, for the explosion predicted by the trapper occurred. it was a tremendous one, and the huge fireplace was filled with flying brands, ashes, and clouds of steam. the trapper ducked his head, the woman screamed, and the hounds rushed howling to the farthest end of the room; while bill, with half a somersault, disappeared under the table. "hurrah!" shouted the trapper, lifting his head from behind the wood, and critically surveying the scene. "hurrah, bill!" he shouted, as he swung the ladle over his head. "come out from under the table, and man yer battery agin. yer old mortars was loaded to the muzzle, and ef ye had depressed the pieces a leetle, ye'd 'a' blowed the cabin to splinters; as it was, the chimney got the biggest part of the chargin', and ye'll find yer rammers on the other side of the mountain." it was, in truth, a scene of uproarious hilarity; for once the explosion was over, and the woman and children saw there was no danger, and apprehended the character of the performance, they joined unrestrainedly in the trapper's laughter, in which they were assisted by wild bill, as if he were not the victim of his own over-confidence. "i say, old trapper," he called from under the table, "did both guns go off? i was gitting under cover when the battery opened, and didn't notice whether the firing was in sections or along the whole line. if there's a piece left, i think i will stay where i am; for i am in a good position to observe the range, and watch the effect of the shot. i say, hadn't you better get behind the wood-pile again?" "no, no," interrupted the trapper; "the whole battery went at the word, bill, and there isn't a gun or a gun-carriage left in the casement. ye've wasted a gill of the yarb, and a quarter of a pound of the berry; and ye must hurry up with another outfit of bottles, or we'll have nothin' but water to drink at the dinner." the dinner! that great event of the day, the crown and diadem to its royalty, and which became it so well, was ready promptly to the hour. the table, enlarged as it was to nearly double its original dimensions, could scarcely accommodate the abundance of the feast. ah, if some sweet power would only enlarge our hearts when, on festive days, we enlarge our tables, how many of the world's poor, that now go hungry while we feast, would then be fed! at one end of the table sat the trapper, wild bill at the other. the woman's chair was at the centre of one of the sides, so that she sat facing the fire, whose generous flames might well symbolize the abundance which amid cold and hunger had so suddenly come to her. on her right hand the two girls sat; on her left, the boy. a goodly table, a goodly fire, and a goodly company,--what more could the angel of christmas ask to see? thus were they seated, ready to begin the repast; but the plates remained untouched, and the happy noises which had to that moment filled the cabin ceased; for the angel of silence, with noiseless step, had suddenly entered the room. there's a silence of grief, there's a silence of hatred, there's a silence of dread; of these, men may speak, and these they can describe. but the silence of our happiness, who can describe that? when the heart is full, when the long longing is suddenly met, when love gives to love abundantly, when the soul lacketh nothing and is content,--then language is useless, and the angel of silence becomes our only adequate interpreter. a humble table, surely, and humble folk around it; but not in the houses of the rich or the palaces of kings does gratitude find her only home, but in more lowly abodes and with lowly folk--ay, and often at the scant table, too--she sitteth a perpetual guest. was it memory? did the trapper at that brief moment visit his absent friend? did wild bill recall his wayward past? were the thoughts of the woman busy with sweet scenes of earlier days? and did memory, by thus reminding them of the absent and the past, of the sweet things that had been and were, stir within their hearts thoughts of him from whom all gifts descend, and of his blessed son, in whose honor the day was named? o memory! thou tuneful bell that ringeth on forever, friend at our feasts, and friend, too, let us call thee, at our burial, what music can equal thine? for in thy mystic globe all tunes abide,--the birthday note for kings, the marriage peal, the funeral knell, the gleeful jingle of merry mirth, and those sweet chimes that float our thoughts, like fragrant ships upon a fragrant sea, toward heaven,--all are thine! ring on, thou tuneful bell; ring on, while these glad ears may drink thy melody; and when thy chimes are heard by me no more, ring loud and clear above my grave that peal which echoes to the heavens, and tells the world of immortality, that they who come to mourn may check their tears, and say, "_why do we weep? he liveth still!_" "the lord be praised fur his goodness!" said the trapper, whose thoughts unconsciously broke into speech. "the lord be praised fur his goodness, and make us grateful fur his past marcies, and the plenty that be here!" and looking down upon the viands spread before him, he added, "the lord be good to the boy, and make him as happy in his city home as be they who be wearin' and eatin' his gifts in the woods!" "amen!" said the woman softly, and a grateful tear fell on her plate. "a--hem!" said wild bill; and then looking down upon his warm suit, he lifted his voice, and bringing it out in a clear, strong tone, said, "_amen! hit or miss!_" at many a table that day more formal grace was said, by priest and layman alike, and at many a table, by lips of old and young, response was given to the benediction; but we doubt if over all the earth a more honest grace was said or assented to than the lord heard from the cabin in the woods. the feast and the merry-making now began. the old trapper was in his best mood, and fairly bubbled over with humor. the wit of wild bill was naturally keen, and it flashed at its best as he ate. the children stuffed and laughed as only children on such an elastic occasion can. and as for the poor woman, it was impossible for her, in the midst of such a scene, to be otherwise than happy, and she joined modestly in the conversation, and laughed heartily at the witty sallies. but why should we strive to put on paper the wise, the funny, and the pleasant things that were said, the exclamations, the laughter, the story, the joke, the verbal thrust and parry of such an occasion? these, springing from the centre of the circumstance, and flashed into being at the instant, cannot be preserved for after-rehearsal. like the effervescence of champagne, they jet and are gone; their force passes away with the noise that accompanied its out-coming. is it not enough to record that the dinner was a success, that the trapper's meats were put upon the table in a manner worthy of his reputation, that the woman's efforts at pastry-making were generously applauded, and that wild bill's tea and coffee were pronounced by the hostess the best she had ever tasted? perhaps no meal was ever more enjoyed, as certainly none was ever more heartily eaten. [illustration: perhaps no meal was ever more enjoyed] the wonder and pride of the table was the pudding,--a creation of indian-meal, flour, suet, and raisins, re-enforced and assisted by innumerable spicy elements supposed to be too mysterious to be grasped by the masculine mind. in the production of this wonderful centre-piece,--for it had been unanimously voted the place of honor,--the poor woman had summoned all the latent resources of her skill, and in reference to it her pride and fear contended, while the anxiety with which she rose to serve it was only too plainly depicted on her countenance. what if it should prove a failure? what if she had made a miscalculation as to the amount of suet required,--a point upon which she had been somewhat confused? what if the raisins were not sufficiently distributed? what if it wasn't done through, and should turn out pasty? great heavens! the last thought was of so overwhelming a character that no feminine courage could encounter it. who may describe the look with which she watched the trapper as he tasted it, or the expression of relief which brightened her anxious face when he pronounced warmly in its favor? "it's a wonderful bit of cookin'," he said, addressing himself to wild bill, "and i sartinly doubt ef there be anything in the settlements to-day that can equal it. there be jest enough of the suet, and there be a plum fur every mouthful; and it be solid enough to stay in the mouth ontil ye've had time to chew it, and git a taste of the corn,--and i wouldn't give a cent for a puddin' ef it gits away from yer teeth fast. yis, it be a wonderful bit of cookin'," and, turning to the woman, he added, "ye may well be proud of it." what higher praise could be bestowed? and as it was re-echoed by all present, and plate after plate was passed for a second filling, the dinner came to an end with the greatest good feeling and hilarity. iv. "now fur the sled!" exclaimed the trapper, as he rose from the table. "it be a good many years since i've straddled one, but nothin' settles a dinner quicker, or suits the leetle folks better. i conceit the crust be thick enough to bear us up, and, ef it is, we can fetch a course from the upper edge of the clearin' fifty rods into the lake. come, childun, git on yer mittens and yer tippets, and h'ist along to the big pine, and ye shall have some fun ye won't forgit ontil yer heads be whiter than mine." it is needless to record that the children hailed with delight the proposition of the trapper, or that they were at the appointed spot long before the speaker and his companion reached it with the sled. "wild bill," said the trapper, as they stood on the crest of the slope down which they were to glide, "the crust be smooth as glass, and the hill be a steep un. i sartinly doubt ef mortal man ever rode faster than this sled'll be goin' by the time it gits to where the bank pitches into the lake; and ef ye should git a leetle careless in yer steering bill, and hit a stump, i conceit that nothin' but the help of the lord or the rottenness of the stump would save ye from etarnity." now, wild bill was blessed with a sanguine temperament. to him no obstacle seemed serious if bravely faced. indeed, his natural confidence in himself bordered on recklessness, to which the drinking habits of his life had, perhaps, contributed. when the trapper had finished speaking, bill ran his eye carelessly down the steep hillside, smooth and shiny as polished steel, and said, "oh, this isn't anything extry for a hill. i've steered a good many steeper ones, and in nights when the moon was at the half, and the sled overloaded at that. it don't make any difference how fast you go," he added, "if you only keep in the path, and don't hit anything." "that's it, that's it," replied the trapper. "but the trouble here be to keep in the path, fur, in the fust place, there isn't any path, and the stumps be pretty thick, and i doubt ef ye can line a trail from here to the bank by the lake without one or more sudden twists in it, and a twist in the trail, goin' as fast as we'll be goin', has got to be taken jediciously, or somethin' will happen. i say, bill, what p'int will ye steer fur?" wild bill, thus addressed, proceeded to give his opinion touching the proper direction of the flight they were to make. indeed, he had been closely examining the ground while the trapper was speaking, and therefore gave his opinion promptly and with confidence. "ye have chosen the course with jedgment," said the old man approvingly, after he had studied the line his companion pointed out critically for a moment. "yis, bill, ye have a nateral eye for the business, and i sartinly have more confidence in ye than i had a minit ago, when ye was talkin' about a steeper hill than this; fur this hill drops mighty sudden in the pitches, and the crust be smooth as ice, and the sled'll go like a streak when it gits started. but the course ye've p'inted out be a good un, fur there be only one bad turn in it, and good steerin' orter put a sled round that. i say," continued the old man, turning toward his companion, and pointing out the crook in the course at the bottom of the second dip, "can ye swing around that big stump there without upsettin' when ye come to it?" "swing around? of course i can," retorted wild bill positively. "there's plenty room to the left, and"-- "ay, ay; there be plenty of room, as ye say, ef ye don't take too much of it," interrupted the trapper. "but"-- "i tell you," broke in the other, "i'll turn my back to no man in steering a sled; and i can put this sled, and you on it, around that stump a hundred times, and never lift a runner." "well, well," responded the trapper, "have it your own way. i dare say ye be good at steerin', and i sartinly know i'm good at ridin'; and i can ride as fast as ye can steer, ef ye hit every stump in the clearin'. now, childun," continued the old man, turning to the little group, "we be goin' to try the course; and ef the crust holds up, and wild bill keeps clear of the stumps, and nothin' onusual happens, ye shall have all the slidin' ye want afore ye go in. come, bill, git yer sled p'inted right, and i'll be gittin' on, and we'll see ef ye can steer an old man round a stump as handily as ye say ye can." the directions of the trapper were promptly obeyed, and in an instant the sled was in a right position, and the trapper proceeded to seat himself with the carefulness of one who feels he is embarking on a somewhat uncertain venture, and has grave misgivings as to what will be the upshot of the undertaking. the sled was large and strongly built; and it added not a little to his comfort to feel that he could put entire confidence in the structure beneath them. "the sled'll hold," he said to himself, "ef the loadin' goes to the jedgment." the trapper was no sooner seated than wild bill threw himself upon the sled, with one leg under him and the other stretched at full length behind. this was a method of steering that had come into vogue since the trapper's boyhood, for in his day the steersman sat astride the sled, with his feet thrust forward, and steered by the pressure of either heel upon the snow. [illustration: one leg under him and the other stretched at full length behind] "hold on, bill!" exclaimed the trapper, whose eye this novel method of steering had not escaped. "hold on, and hold up a minit. heavens and 'arth! ye don't mean to steer this sled with one toe, do ye, and that, too, the length of a rifle-barrel astarn? wheel round, and spread yer legs out as ye orter, and steer this sled in an honest fashion, or there'll be trouble aboard afore ye git to the bottom." "sit round!" retorted bill. "how could i see to steer if i was sitting right back of you? for you're nigh a foot taller than i be, and your shoulders are as broad as the sled." "yer p'ints be well taken, fur sartin," replied the trapper; "fur it be no more than reasonable that the man that steers should see where he be goin', and i am anxious as ye be that ye should. yis, i sartinly want ye to see where ye be goin' on this trip, anyhow, fur the crew be a fresh un, and the channel be a leetle crooked. but be ye sartin, bill, that ye can fetch round that stump there as it orter be did, with nothin' but yer toe out behind? it may be the best way, as ye say, but it don't look like honest steerin' to a man of my years." "i have used both ways," answered bill, "and i give you my word, old man, that this is the best one. you can git a big swing with your foot stretched out in this fashion, and the sled feels the least pressure of the toe. yes, it's all right. john norton, are you ready?" "yis, yis, as ready as i ever shall be," answered the trapper, in a voice in which doubt and resignation were equally mingled. "it may be as ye say," he continued; "but the rudder be too fur behind to suit me, and ef anything happens on this cruise, jest remember, wild bill, that my jedgment"-- the sentence the trapper was uttering was abruptly cut short at this point; for bill had started the sled with a sudden push, and leaped to his seat behind the trapper as it glided downward and away. in an instant the sled was under full headway, for the dip was a sharp one, and the crust smooth as ice. scarce had it gone ten rods from the point where it started before it was in full flight, and was gliding downward with what would have been, to any but a man of the steadiest nerve, a frightful velocity. but the trapper was of too cool and courageous temperament to be disturbed even by actual danger. indeed, the swiftness of their downward career, as the sled with a buzz and a roar swept along over the resounding crust, stirred the old man's blood with a tingle of excitement; while the splendid manner with which wild bill was keeping it to the course settled upon filled him with admiration, and was fast making him a convert to the new method of steering. downward they flashed. the trapper's cap had been blown from his head; and as the old man sat bolt-upright on his sled, his feet bravely planted on the round, his face flushed, and his white hair streaming, he looked the very picture of hearty enjoyment. above his head the face of wild bill looked actually sharpened by the pressure of the air on either cheek as it clove through it; but his lips were bravely set, and his eyes were fastened without winking on the big stump ahead, toward which they were rushing. it was at this point that wild bill vindicated his ability as a steersman, and at the same time barely escaped shipwreck. at the proper moment he swept his foot to the left, and the sled, in obedience to the pressure, swooped in that direction. but in his anxiety to give the stump a wide berth, bill overdid the pressure that was needed a trifle; for in calculating the curve required he had failed to allow for the sidewise motion of the sled, and, instead of hitting one stump, it looked for an instant as if he would be precipitated among a dozen. "heave her starn up, wild bill! up with her starn, i say," yelled the trapper, "or there won't be a stump left in the clearin'." with a quickness and courage that would have done credit to any steersman,--for the speed at which they were going was terrific,--bill swept his foot to the right, leaning his body well over at the same instant. the trapper instinctively seconded his endeavors, and with hands that gripped either side of the sled he hung over that side which was upon the point of going into the air. for several rods the sled glided along on a single runner, and then, righting itself with a lurch, jumped the summit of the last dip, and raced away, like a swallow in full flight, toward the lake. now, at the edge of the clearing that bounded the shore was a bank of considerable size. shrubs and stunted bushes fringed the crest of it. these had been buried beneath the snow, and the crust had formed smoothly over them; and as it was upheld by no stronger support than such as the hidden shrubbery furnished, it was incapable of sustaining any considerable pressure. certainly no sled was ever moving faster than was wild bill's, when it came to this point; and certainly no sled ever stopped quicker, for the treacherous crust dropped suddenly under it, and the sled was left with nothing but the hind part of one of the runners sticking up in sight. but though the sled was suddenly checked in its career, the trapper and wild bill continued their flight. the former slid from the sled without meeting any obstruction, and with the same velocity with which he had been moving. indeed, so little was his position changed, that one almost might fancy that no accident had happened, and that the old man was gliding forward to the end of the course with an adequate structure under him. but with the latter it "was far different; for, as the sled stopped, he was projected sharply upward into the air, and, after turning several somersaults, he actually landed in front of the trapper, and glided along on the slippery surface ahead of him. and so the two men shot onward, one after the other, while the children cackled from the hill-top, and the woman swung her bonnet over her head, and laughed from her position in the doorway. "bill," called the trapper, when by dint of much effort they had managed to check their motion somewhat, "bill, ef the cruise be about over, i conceit we'd better anchor hereabouts. but i shipped fur the voyage, and ye be capt'in, and as ye've finally got the right way to steer, i feel pretty safe techin' the futur." it was not until they had come to a full stop, and looked around them, that they realized the distance they had come; for they had in truth slid nearly across the bay. "i've boated a good many times on these waters, and under sarcumstances that called fur 'arnest motion, but i sartinly never went across this bay as fast as i've did it to-day. how do ye feel, bill, how do ye feel?" "a good deal shaken up," was the answer, "a good deal shaken up." "i conceit as much," answered the trapper, "i conceit as much, fur ye left the sled with mighty leetle deliberation; and when i saw yer legs comin' through the air, i sartinly doubted ef the ice would hold ye. but ye steered with jedgment; yis, ye steered with jedgment, bill; and i'd said it ef we'd gone to the bottom." the sun was already set when they returned to the cabin; for, selecting a safer course, they had given the children an hour's happy sliding. the woman had prepared some fresh tea and a lunch, which they ate with lessened appetites, but with humor that never flagged. when it was ended, the old trapper rose to depart, and with a dignity and tenderness peculiarly his own, thus spoke:-- "my good woman," he said, "the moon will soon be up, and the time has come fur me to be goin'. i've had a happy day with ye and the leetle uns; and the trail over the mountain will seem shorter, as the pups and me go home, thinkin' on't. wild bill will stay a few days, and put things a leetle more to rights, and git up a wood-pile that will keep ye from choppin' fur a good while. it's his own thought, and ye can thank him accordin'ly." then, having kissed each of the children, and spoken a few words to wild bill, he took the woman's hand, and said,-- "the sorrers of life be many, but the lord never forgits. i've lived ontil my head be whitenin', and i've noted that though he moves slowly, he fetches most things round about the time we need 'em; and the things that be late in comin', i conceit we shall git somewhere furder on. ye didn't kill the big buck this mornin', but the meat ye needed hangs at yer door, nevertheless." and, shaking the woman heartily by the hand, he whistled to the hounds, and passed out of the door. the inmates of the cabin stood and watched him, until, having climbed the slope of the clearing, he disappeared in the shadows of the forest; and then they closed the door. but more than once wild bill noted that as the woman stood wiping her dishes, she wiped her eyes as well; and more than once he heard her say softly to herself. "god bless the dear old man!" ay, ay, poor woman, we join thee in thy prayer. god bless the dear old man! and not only him, but all who do the deeds he did. god bless them one and all! over the crusted snow the trapper held his course, until he came, with a happy heart, to his cabin. soon a fire was burning on his own hearthstone, and the hounds were in their accustomed place. he drew the table in front, where the fire's fine light fell on his work, and, taking some green vines and branches from the basket, began to twine a wreath. one he twined, and then he began another; and often, as he twined the fadeless branches in, he paused, and long and lovingly looked at the two pictures hanging on the wall; and when the wreaths were twined, he hung them on the frames, and, standing in front of the dumb reminders of his absent ones, he said, "i miss them so!" [illustration: long and lovingly looked at the two pictures hanging on the wall] ah! friend, dear friend, when life's glad day with you and me is passed, when the sweet christmas chimes are rung for other ears than ours, when other hands set the green branches up, and other feet glide down the polished floor, may there be those still left behind to twine us wreaths, and say, "_we miss them so!_" and this is the way john norton the trapper kept his christmas. the romance _of the_ woods _by_ f. j. whishaw. author of "_out of doors in tsarland_." _london, longmans green & co. and new york._ _all rights reserved_ contents page i. on a russian moor ii. in ambush at the lake-side iii. a day after crawfish iv. a finland paradise v. after ducks on ladoga vi. about bears: by one of them vii. the folk-lore of the moujik viii. the bear that died of curses ix. among the wood-goblins x. an unbaptized spirit xi. a witch! a witch! the romance of the woods chapter i on a russian moor i once had a strange dream. i dreamed that i was dead, and that dying i suddenly discovered all my preconceived ideas as to the future state to have been entirely erroneous, at any rate in so far as concerned such persons as myself--the respectable middle class, so to call it, of mundane sinners. had i belonged to the aristocracy of piety and goodness, which, alas! i did not, or had i occupied a position at the lower end of the list, other things might have befallen me, better or worse, as the case deserved; but being, as i say, one of the decently respectable middle-class sinners, i was shown, in this foolish dream of mine, into a committee-room marked no. , and there informed that since i was neither very good nor very bad, my present destiny was to continue to inhabit this planet for a number of years--i forget how many--not, indeed, in my present corporeal form, but as a spiritual essence; and that i might select any place this side of the dark river, the styx, as my temporary abode, there to live in nature's bosom and to assimilate and be assimilated until the simplicity and beauty of nature, uncontaminated by man, should have purified me of all the harmful taints which i had acquired during my terrestrial existence among fellow-mortals. and i remember that, in my dream-foolishness, i clasped my hands and fell on my knees, and with streaming eyes assured the committee of mahatmas (for such, in the dream, they appeared to be) that i wished for no more beautiful heaven than this that they had offered me; and that i implored them to allow me to stay on for ever in the paradise they had prepared for me, and never to pass me onward and upward to attain further joys, however blessed! and then, in my dream, those mahatmas flashed their shining eyes at me (there was very little _but_ eye and flowing cloak about them, i remember), and said "silence!" and frightened me thereby out of my dream-dead wits. that, they added, was not my affair nor theirs. all i had to do at present was to make my choice of a place from among those i had best loved during life, and to do so as quickly as i conveniently could, because their hands were somewhat full of business this morning, and they could not spare me more than, at most, five minutes. i remember that i looked over my shoulder at this and perceived an innumerable host of persons, all, presumably, in a similar position to my own, and all ready to take their turns, in strict rotation, before the committee of mahatmas in room no. ; and i could not help reflecting that the middle-class sinner must indeed be a very large class, and that i should do wisely to select some rather unfrequented spot for my future home, lest my domain should be trespassed upon by other spiritual essences, and my peace marred by--to use a mundane expression--unseemly rows. and then i became conscious of a great difficulty in the matter of this choosing of a place to live in. picture after picture came up before my mind's eye, each more fascinatingly beautiful than the other. there was a lovely little bit of devonshire coast, and another shore in pembrokeshire; there were delicious spots in half the counties of england--woods, and hedgerows, and rivers, and waving fields wherein my spiritual being might disport itself in the contemplation of the teeming secret life of nature; there were kensington gardens, a certain central glade of which i had loved well enough, and which my spiritual essence might find a handy spot in case the longing for human fellowship were to assail me--when i could so easily perch myself unseen amid the branches of a tree overlooking bayswater road, and drink in, to my heart's content, the familiar sights and sounds of london, or even take a ride on the top of an acton 'bus; but at this point of my reflections one of the mahatmas wagged his head at me and said: "oh no! you can't do that, you know. no 'bus-driving. twenty miles from any town, if _you_ please!" it did not strike me as curious that this mahatma should have read my thoughts, neither did it occur to me to wonder how he knew that i was animadverting upon the delights of the twopenny 'bus. however, his remark narrowed my field of selection, and i thought on as intensely as i could. i crossed the seas and flew, in spirit, to finland, to a lovely island in the midst of a beautiful river--the voksa--teeming with trout, great and small, and with silver grayling; and then i thought of ostramanch, the home of the capercailzie, of the blackcock; the scene of a hundred and one superb days with the gun, and of as many nights spent in the perfect happiness of solitude and observation beneath the tall pines and the bright stars of the northern sky, in the hush and the solemn majesty of the darkness and silence. and i had almost cried, "give me ostramanch!" when i remembered that this dearly loved spot would not, after all, do. it had passed from english into russian hands, and my spiritual self could never be really happy there under such circumstances. what if my essence were suddenly to happen upon a russian sportsman taking a family shot at a young covey of blackgame or willow-grouse, huddled together upon a sand-dune, or hiding behind a tuft of purple-fruited bilberry? could my spiritual voice cry out upon such a deed, or my spiritual fingers close upon the throat of the delinquent, or my phantasmal toe perform a corporeal function? could i even spread bony arms before his eyes and play the common vulgar ghost upon him, to punish him withal? alas! i thought, no. ostramanch will not do. and then, at last, the picture of erinofka rose before my eyes, and i knew that i had found my fate. i pictured myself strolling year-long over the purple moors, through the dark belts of forest, by bog and morass and snipe-haunted waste. i remembered many trudges--days of delight--in those same woods, gun-laden, full of ardour, unwearied by day-long tramping, oblivious of hunger, impatient of oncoming darkness; and i imagined myself repeating such delightful experiences _ad infinitum_, and laughed aloud in the joy of my foolish dream-heart. the mahatmas immediately interfered; they flashed their great eyes and fluttered their long black mantles at me, and cried: "no guns, no guns!" "and no fishing-rods!" added one of them. "what! no guns and no rod?" i said, growing grave very suddenly. to be at erinofka and never to hear the popping of another cartridge seemed a dreadful prospect. "oh, you can carry a gun if you please," said the presiding mahatma, who was growing strangely like a london police magistrate, "but you must use smokeless and noiseless powder, and no shot." "and a rod without a reel," said another mahatma. "and a line without a hook," added a third. "and see that you have a license," put in a fourth. "but, sirs," i began, "what am i to do with myself, if i may not----" "take life?" interrupted the chairman. "silence, prisoner at the bar, and learn to be happy without killing! to erinofka with him, gaoler!" "how long, your worship?" said that functionary. four thousand five hundred years was, i think, the figure, but it may have been four hundred thousand. i was still puzzling over the matter when i awoke. afterwards, when i thought upon this dream of mine, it struck me that my sentence was, after all, a most enviable one. thousands of years at erinofka, with no terrestrial cares to weigh me down; face to face and heart to heart with nature, learning her secrets day long; a life-atom among myriads of others; a little part of an infinite whole; harmless, free, careless, contented, in fellowship with bird and beast and insect, and with every form of life that has a vested interest in wood and moor and wet morass. for such an existence i had chosen, i thought, the right place. at any rate my spiritual essence, if weary of wandering about armed with a gun that would not work, could amuse itself by recalling those dear, unregenerate days when guns, unprohibited by stern mahatmas, popped freely, and reels craked, and when the glad voice of the sportsman was heard upon these moors, and among them my own, together with the popping of many terrestrial cartridges. one day, especially, and that the day of my first acquaintance with the place, lingers more fondly than others in the memory, and would afford material for much spiritual contemplation, perhaps even unto forty-five thousand years, if there were nothing better to do! and it is of that particular day that i propose to tell, now that this somewhat extended preface has been got through. it was jemmie, of course, who introduced me to erinofka. any one in st. petersburg will tell you who jemmie is, for he is a popular character there, and is known and loved by all. well, it was jemmie who proposed a day at erinofka, a day among the juveniles; the younglings of the blackcock and of the willow-grouse, and perhaps a peep at the princelings of his majesty king capercailzie. it was early in the summer, perhaps too early; but shooting in the tsar's domains begins considerably earlier in the year than we, in this country, are accustomed to take gun in hand, and the sportsman may there sally forth on july , if it please him, and shoot young game without breaking any laws. it was not quite so early as this when jemmie carried me--a willing captive--to erinofka, but august was still very young, and so were some of the coveys; though, thanks to a fine warm season, many or most of these were marvellously well-grown; but of this anon. erinofka is blessed, or cursed, with a most marvellous little railway of its very own, a kind of toy track from town, laid down for the convenience of a peat-cutting establishment not very far from the shooting-box which was our objective point. the railway is very narrow, and the omnibus-like carriages, which the public are allowed to occupy for a consideration and at their own risk, are very top-heavy; and the driver of the little engine is generally very drunk, all of which circumstances combine to make this erinofka heaven quite as difficult of attainment as the very highest of mahomet's, and the journey a matter not to be undertaken without deep thought, much repentance, and a visit from the family lawyer. the line looks something like the toy track at chatham--that upon which youthful officers of the royal engineers are or were wont to disport themselves; a pastime devised, i believe, by the war office, for the twin purposes of teaching the british officer how to drive a locomotive, and how best to fall off it with dignity when the engine runs off the rails. jemmie tells me that before the peat-people built this line it had been necessary to bump along to erinofka as best one could, over the most awful roads that human bones ever creaked upon, a distance of forty or fifty miles; but that now, if only you can secure the sober, the _comparatively_ sober driver, the journey is a sweet boon. it appears that there are three drivers on this line--matvey, who is always very drunk indeed; ivan, who is always rather drunk and sometimes highly intoxicated; and yegor, who has been known to be sober. i have not seen the man who saw yegor sober; but it is confidently asserted that he has been observed in this unusual condition, and that he is rarely more than half drunk. well, i seldom have much luck, and when i went with jemmie to erinofka upon that little narrow railway, in a wide long carriage that might have served as a portion of the g.w.r. rolling stock in its unregenerate broad-gauge days, we had matvey to drive our engine. matvey had, to put it mildly, been drinking, and he desired to drink again. now, matvey knew very well that he could get no more vodka until he reached erinofka, and this is why we travelled at a pace which was bound to end, and did shortly end, in disaster. in a word, we ran off the line three miles or so from the start, and that we did not also run down a steep embankment into a river was certainly not matvey's fault; we could not have gone much nearer the edge than we did. however, erinofka was reached in safety at last, and--since our accident had delayed us at least two hours--right ravenously did we fall upon the good cheer set out for us by the head-keeper, hermann, and his wife. one item of this repast, at least, i remember vividly: an enormous dish piled to the height of nearly a foot with luscious wild strawberries. it would be unfair to give my friend away in the matter of those strawberries; but i will say that jemmie partook with freedom of the fruit, and that i myself tasted, well, a few berries. the armchairs in the erinofka sitting-room were remarkably comfortable, i remember, after that repast, and the conversation languished. but we were to be up and away at half-past three a.m.; for we must drive a matter of seven miles to the moor we intended to work on the morrow, and the courteous hermann--who had cleared away the large empty dish which had contained so many strawberries with but one convulsive movement of the facial muscles and a quick glance of polite consternation in the direction of the reposing james--this courteous hermann very gently reminded us that it was now eleven, and that between that hour and three was embraced the entire period devotable by us to sleeping off the effects of railway accidents and arctic strawberries, all of which was so very true that we sighed, and rose from those blest armchairs and went to bed. the baying and barking of four excited dogs (who knew as well as we did that the first shoot of the season was to come off on this day) rendered unnecessary hermann's polite knockings at the bedroom doors, and his gentlemanly intimation that the day was all that could be expected of it, and the hour--three. when shammie, and carlow, and kaplya, and bruce are performing a quartette at a.m., even jemmie cannot sleep, and we were both wide-awake and discussing matters when hermann came to hound us to breakfast. breakfast was somewhat of a failure, i remember. did i mention that we had taken a few strawberries at . p.m.? well, we had; and it was found that the circumstance militated against a hearty british appetite at a.m. however, this being so, the less time was wasted before starting for the moor. there is something, to me, peculiarly fascinating and exhilarating about this starting out on the first day of shooting; but oh! that seven mile drive to the moor. the roads were so absolutely and utterly vile, and the cart so unspeakably uncomfortable, that no reader would believe me were i to attempt to describe the misery of driving under such conditions. but jemmie, bless him! smiled on and smiled ever; and i--not to be outdone in exuberance of spirits this superb morning--pretended that i enjoyed being bumped about like a hailstone on a hard lawn. all four dogs were with us. they lay, at the start, quiescent enough at the bottom of the vehicle; but alas! not for long. in the first fifty yards shammie was on my lap, and bruce with his arms round jemmie's neck; in the second i found, to my surprise, that a cartridge-box had usurped shammie's place on my knee, and that shammie's head and my shin were exchanging civilities at the bottom of the cart. occasionally the driver was sprawling on the back of the shaft horse, and now and again he was shot violently upon the top of jemmie or me, or suddenly appeared, wrong way up, between us. occasionally also we found that the dogs and we had changed places, and that we lay struggling on the floor of the cart while they stood on their heads, or sat with surprised and pained expressions upon the seat. nothing mattered. jemmie smiled, and i tried to. what though our shins were black and blue with the misplaced attentions of cartridge cases and gun stocks? what though the dogs whined and grew absurdly angry with one another, showing signs of an imminent general engagement? what though jemmie bounded into air--bird-like--and nested upon the top of my head, or i on his? nothing matters on the first day of shooting; disasters are a joke, and battered heads and limbs are contributions to the hilarity of the proceedings. ah, well! the dogs limped ostentatiously when we arrived, and jemmie and i were very, very stiff, but oh! so happy, and i, at all events, grateful and amazed to find myself all in one piece, and we paced slowly through the first belt of thick, gameless pine-wood, thinking unutterable things, and with a decided tendency to quote poetry when the tongue would wag. half a mile of barren trudging and then the forest begins to lighten; the young day sends golden smiles to greet us through the trees; wherever there is room for a ray or two of his glory to pass, he stretches a hand to us. "come," he seems to say, "come out upon the moor and bathe yourselves in my full favour; my good, gigantic smile is over all this morning!" and here is the moor itself, a sight to set the heart a-beating on this first day of the season; stretching wide and rich before us; miles across; limitless, apparently, from end to end; and, as we believe and hope, teeming with game if only we can hit upon the coveys. what a lot of trouble it would save, i suggest foolishly, if one had a divining-rod that showed the whereabouts of the birds! "_proh pudor!_" says james, and rightly, "the dogs are our divining-rods." as to these dogs, shammie and carlow are setters--shammie a red irish, carlow a blue belton, and wild at that. the other two are russian-bred pointers of english parentage--good animals both, and well trained, according to his lights, by hermann. the setters both hail from a scottish moor, and are to-day on their trial in this unfamiliar country. their journey has lost them none of their keenness--look at them now! shammie, cool and collected, businesslike, making no false move, but ardent and determined; carlow, half a mile off, but back again in no time and hundreds of yards away on the opposite tack, the quickest and wildest dog, surely, that ever ranged. kaplya and bruce hunt close to their trainer--we are giving all four of them a breather just to settle their nerves; but presently two will be taken in while two do the work. suddenly shammie stops dead; so do, for an instant, my heart and pulses. kaplya and bruce back instantly, stiff as marble. carlow is coming in at racing speed, but sees the others when fifty yards away, and lies down automatically. shammie's tail wags slightly, and we feel that there may be a disappointment before us; but he turns and looks at us; and observing that we are taking him seriously, stiffens into a dead point. it must be business. "you take first shot," says generous jemmie; "if it's a covey, your birds are on the right and mine on the left." the first shot of the season! how absurdly my heart is beating. i wonder the birds do not hear it and get up wild. suddenly, twenty yards from us, there is a rustle and a flutter of strong wings, and a grey hen rises without clucking, and lifting herself gracefully over the young birch saplings, floats away over the moor. "_matka!_" (hen!) shouts hermann, and to the surprise and disgust of the dogs, no cartridge explodes. shammie smiles and pants, and looks round at us in a pained though kindly manner; he hopes it is all right, but reflects that they generally get their guns off in scotland when he shows them the game. jemmie declares that, if it were lawful, he would spare none of these old barren hens; he is convinced, he says, that they do great damage by bullying the younger hens and chasing them from the moor, in order themselves to monopolise the attentions of the gentlemen of the family. oh! the jealousy of the female sex. jemmie may be perfectly right; and i fancy that he is; but what do the old blackcock, or (for the matter of that) the young blackcock, think of such proceedings? what would the marrying men of our branch of life think or do, if the old maids should succeed in banishing all that was young and beautiful in order to promote their own chances of mating? but it is very hot, and jemmie suggests that the birds will be lying at the edge of the moor beneath the shade of the pines, and thither we trudge through the heavy moss and heather. the going is always terribly heavy until the first bird is grassed: after which event, i have observed, the tramping loses much of its weariness and the shooting-boots their weight, and when a dozen brace or so have been secured, the feet that bear the delighted trudger are winged feet. nevertheless, we walk for a full hour and are still--as to our game-bags--as empty as when we started. we see no beauty in the lovely moor, at this period. the dogs, we feel, are failures, all four of them. hermann, too, is a fraud, for did he not declare that there were eight fine coveys within a radius of a mile upon this very moor. where are those coveys, hermann? did we submit to be shuttlecocked over your ghastly parody of a road in order to be humbugged by you at the end of it? where are these coveys? i say. such, or to this effect, were the remarks of jemmie. i think during those first two hours of unremunerative trudging, he vowed to shoot all four of his dogs, sell his guns and his cartridges, give up shooting, and devote his entire energies to gardening and lawn tennis, with a little fishing and a trifle of archery; i rather think hermann and the other keepers were to share the fate of the dogs; i forget whether i was to die, i think i was; but at the end of two hours the luck changed and jemmie smiled, and dogs and keepers and i all breathed again. it was kaplya that stumbled upon the first covey. carlow was being led just then and so was bruce, and good shammie had by this time formed unflattering opinions as to the russian moors in comparison with those of scotland; consequently he was cantering about scientifically enough, but half-heartedly, ranging in an unconvinced and unconvincing manner, ready to oblige by doing his share of this foolish work, but feeling that in his case it was time and talent wasted. probably he was wondering when the next train started for scotland, and deciding to take it and go hence to places where the moors were not dummy moors, but the bonâ fide habitations of grouse and blackgame, when he suddenly caught sight of old kaplya at a dead point in front of his very nose, while perhaps that organ was at the same instant assailed by the unexpected evidence of the proximity of something better than heather and bilberry plants. at any rate, down went shammie as if shot, in as correct a pose as a "backing" setter can assume. instantly, also, carlow and bruce sat down, the former so suddenly that ivan, the under-keeper, who held him, tripped over him and measured his length, letting carlow go, chain and all, to join the party of stiffened doghood at our knees. this time there was no disappointment. after a moment or two of that intense waiting which every sportsman knows and loves--while the birds, hidden somewhere in the heather or greenery, are eyeing their human and canine disturbers, and wondering what is best to be done, whether to run or fly, or remain crouching--there came the usual pulse-fluttering rustle, and up and away went three superb young blackcock, nearly full grown, two to jemmie's side, one to my own. for all i know to the contrary, my blackcock may still be alive and entertaining his friends with the narrative of how a foolish and excitable englishman once drew a bead upon him in his youth, and drew it awry. in a word, my too agitated pulses blinded my eye and unnerved my hand, and i missed that lordly youngling handsomely and entirely. not so james and his brace of beauties. jemmie is a deadly shot, and i would as soon sit on a fizzing bomb as play the blackcock to his unerring barrel; he grassed both his birds; and i knew that the dogs and keepers were now safe, and that the guns of my friend would not, yet awhile, be put up for sale. but trusty kaplya and shammie still stood on; there were more of this interesting family to come. recaptured carlow pulled and strained at his leash; bruce softly whined and trembled spasmodically, sitting on stepan's foot. up started a fourth blackcock, accompanied by his mother; with bewildering suddenness they rose and hurtled away, the old lady dropping a last word of advice to the youngsters still remaining vacillating behind. i imagined her clucks to mean, "oh, you foolish little creatures! why do you not fly when your mamma gives the lead? fly always after a shot, when the guns are empty." this time black death darted from my right barrel, calling to his last account a very beautiful young blackcock, nearly as large as his mother, who of course escaped scot free, triumphing--as she supposed--by reason of her wisdom. but the dogs still stood on. this is the best, as it is the pitiful foolishness of the blackcock younglings. their fathers are birds of great wisdom and cunning; their mothers are sagacious and experienced; but the little ones are headstrong and foolish, and love to act independently of their elders. instead of flying altogether as grouse and partridges do, and thus enjoying each a chance of escape as well as participating in the common danger, they rise by ones and twos, and each bird becomes the sole objective for the charge of the sportsman, thereby immensely lessening his chance of flying between the pellets. the first covey of the season was a grand one indeed, thirteen birds, including the mother, and of these we slew, without leaving the original spot, no less than nine. jemmie beamed. he said sweet things to hermann, the lately abused and condemned; he patted the dogs and "praised them to their face;" he declared that i had slain a full half of the dead birds, whereas i knew well that three only had fallen to my fire and six to his; he discovered that the walking was easy enough when one grew used to it; he liked the sunshine; in a word, my friend james had donned those spectacles whose glasses are of the colour of the rose. it was now seven o'clock; the heather and bilberry plants were still "dew-pearled," and there were diamonds on every gossamer thread that ran from leaf to leaf and from plant to plant; but the sun was hot enough, by this, to dry up an ocean, and i knew these morn-gems would not last much longer. i was glad when jemmie proposed a short rest (nominally for the dogs' sake), for there was all the beauty of the morning to take in, and that is best done in a sitting or lying posture. the panting of the dogs is almost the only sound--that and the indescribable evidence of teeming life which you may hear in the dead of the silence. who makes that sound? what is it? where is it? i think it is nature in travail; it is growth and development, the never-resting activity of the spirit of life that moves upon the face of the land. our nine little victims lie upon the heather before us, and jemmie weighs each in his hand and tries, very unnecessarily, their beaks in order to be assured of their youth, and admires their growth, and beams upon men and dogs in high good humour. i, too, criticise the birds and am conscious of a stifling feeling of regret. here are nine beautiful little lives taken in as many minutes, taken so easily--alas! but who could ever give back to these feathered ruins the thing we have bereft them of? i know it is foolish to sentimentalise thus over the dead creatures i came to destroy, and will destroy again the very next time that i have an opportunity; but the triumph of the sportsman is always a little marred, i think, by this feeling of guilt--the guilt of having robbed mother nature of some of her beautiful children. she does very well without them, i dare say, and if we had not secured them doubtless the kites and hawks and foxes would have taken their share--probably as large a share as this of ours; nevertheless, here they were an hour ago upon this moor, alive and busy and beautiful; and now they are not, and _we_ did it. nevertheless, again, we are up and about and ready to "do it" once more after a quarter of an hour's repose; and the next thing we chance upon is a covey of chirping and twittering little willow-grouse, scarcely free of the egg-shells, a tiny, confiding flock that flit chattering and scolding after their brown and white mother, annoyed to be disturbed and made to use their lovely little mottled wings in flight, and anxious to settle again before twenty yards have been covered. we send a laugh after the little family, instead of a hailstorm of no. , and leave them to grow and fatten; they shall enjoy the delights of life on this moor for three good weeks, if not four, ere the leaden death shall make erinofka the poorer by their perfectly marked little persons. then an old blackcock, unaware that jemmie and his choked left barrel are about, foolishly lets us approach within fifty yards of his sanctuary, and rising with a crow of defiance, subsides instantly at the bidding of the unerring james, with a groan and a gasp--dead. presently a superb covey of willow-grouse (who are the parents of our own red variety of the family) rise with a whirr and a loud laugh from the old cock, leave their tribute of four upon the heather--and vanish. we see them flit like a white cloud over the open moorland, rise like one being to top the bushes, flash their wings in the sun as they wheel round in the traditional manner of their tribe before settling, and then we suddenly lose sight of them and see them no more. "they are down among the aspens," said jemmie. hermann dissented. "they wheeled right round the spinney," he says, "and settled well beyond it." ivan takes the side of jemmie, and stepan sides with his chief. i am neutral. i saw them up to a point but not beyond it; i saw the sun tip their white feathers with fire as they wheeled and then lost them; but i know how many there were--there were nineteen, no less, that journeyed over the heather and into the spinney--a gigantic covey indeed! "two coveys," says jemmie; "the willow-grouse have a passion for massing even in the chicken stage," which is perfectly true, while in the autumn you may find a community of a hundred of them living together. now were these birds little white ghosts, or real flesh and blood and feathers? if not spectres, then where are they? this was the question we asked of one another as, for a full hour, we paced and repaced, as we believed, every inch of a square half mile of ground within which the little wizards must inevitably be somewhere hidden. hermann explained the matter by declaring that they had settled altogether in a huddled mass, and had not moved a muscle since; knowing, perhaps instinctively, that by preserving absolute immobility they would give no scent. we may, and so may the dogs, have passed within a yard of the hole or tuft in which the beady-eyed little creatures lay crouched, watching us, scarcely breathing for terror, their poor hearts and pulses going very fast as we come near and pass by and see no sign of them. but carlow has the luck to stumble upon them. i am watching the dog, and i see him stop suddenly in his mad career (carlow's career is always mad!), and bend over in an extraordinary position. there is the covey, under his very nose. alarmed, indeed, they are now, and their necks are held straight and high; they attempt no further concealment; their only anxiety is how to take wing without falling into the jaws of this ogre--fox or whatever he may be. carlow would sooner perish than touch one of them; but they do not know this, poor things, and peer helplessly and timidly this way and that in the extremity of terror and uncertainty. i can examine them now at leisure for a moment or two, and oh! what beautiful creatures they are. where was ever so soft a brown as this of theirs, or so pure a white? what bird ever matched the graceful poise of their heads? what--there! they are off, and i have missed them with both barrels; this comes of moralising. jemmie did not moralise, and he has dropped two of the beauties; but there is a chance for me yet, for the covey has settled in the open, no doubt about the exact spot this time, and not more than one hundred and fifty yards away. so we take in all the dogs excepting old kaplya, who is as safe and steady as the rock of gibraltar, and head straight for the place in which we believe the birds to be lying. old kaplya raises her nose, half turns towards us, smiles and winks (she positively does both), as though she would say, "all right, keep your eye upon kaplya; i'm _on_ these birds already--follow me!" and away she goes straight as a line, first cantering easily, then trotting a few yards, then cautiously walking as many more, then slowly stopping, stiffening, turning her nose now slightly to this side, now to that, then finally fixing herself into the very perfect picture of a sure point. up they go, and off go my two barrels, rather too rapidly and excitedly; off go jemmie's also, but with more deliberation. to my first shot a bird falls in tatters; to my second two succumb. i have shot three of them, and jemmie his usual brace. but, alas! my first bird is but a mangled mass of feathers and broken bones, and there must be a burial. hide him deep beneath the moss and heather, hermann, and for pity's sake say no more about the circumstance; for in truth my heart is like wax within me by reason of this wasted life. it is pardonable and right, though perhaps regrettable, to take these lives when we intend to use the shot-riddled carcases for our food, but to blow a beautiful creature to pieces and to be obliged to bury its remains is unpardonable. we decide to leave the rest of this covey; we have levied sufficient tribute upon it. and now the day is growing into middle age, and jemmie says that we will find one more family of willow-grouse or blackgame and then take our mid-day meal and our siesta. we will diverge into the thick belt of forest on the right, he says, and see if we can find a covey of capercailzies. i long to see another capercailzie before i die. for many a year i have been absent from those moors whereon the great king of game-birds holds his high court. oh! if i could but come face to face--but once--with the royal family, i could return to far-off england content. but, alas! the king was not to be found. deep in the sanctuary of mid-forest, somewhere beyond those tall, dark pines--perhaps miles away--he had listened in proud disdain to the popping of our cartridges upon the moor, and had laughed at our impotent endeavours to outwit himself and his family of princelings. to-morrow, likely enough, he would stalk about the moor from end to end, he and the long-legged princes and princesses, his sons and daughters, and the haughty lady his queen; but to-day, no, thank you! not while james and his deadly holland were about! we stumbled, however, upon a covey of blackgame, and levied full tribute upon them in default of their big cousins; but now the splendid august sun had "clomb up to heaven and kissed the golden feet of noon," and jemmie declared that if we did not instantly settle down to our legitimate lunch, he would not answer for it if he suddenly fell upon me, or hermann, or shammie, or even perspiring stepan and devoured him. accordingly, therefore, we selected our camp in a shady spot by a moss-pool--for this bog-water was all that we should get to-day, and we must use it or none for tea-making--and hermann was instructed to unpack the luncheon basket. out came the good things, a profuse and welcome procession of luxury--spring chickens, tongue, well-iced butter, two bottles of claret, _alexander kuchen_ (oh! blessed alexander, whoever you may have been, to have invented so delicious a dainty; may the sweet maidens of valhalla feed you for ever with your own kuchen, oh alexander! and may you eat heartily of it without suffering or surfeiting), and arctic strawberries. for half an hour we toyed, did james and i, with the viands, after which for two hours we slept or rested; for during this time of high noon the birds mysteriously disappear, and nor man nor dog may find them; and i lay and dreamed dreams, a few sleeping and many waking ones; and the peace and silence and restfulness of that mid-day in the forest entered into my soul and abode there in a sense of infinite and lasting content, which may be recalled--as through a phonograph--and reproduced at will to this hour. and then again, after a cup of tea concocted of bog-water, but delicious notwithstanding, and after counting and recounting our twelve or thirteen brace of victims, we pulled ourselves together and trudged for four more hours, during which time we doubled our tale of slaughter, or nearly so, and when the moment came that we must head for the carts and return home to dine and catch the night train for town, it was with sadness that we wended our way homewards. we had spent twelve hours upon this pleasant moor indeed; but who would be content with twelve? twelve thousand were all too little of such delight. on mature reflection i am quite determined that if my friends the mahatmas give me another dream-chance i shall jump at the offer of erinofka as a place of abode, however long the sentence be. what if the spirit-gun will not go off? so long as i may tramp the heather and see the game and carry over my shoulder the semblance of a gun to point at it, even a dummy gun; so long as i may see the dew-pearled gossamer, and feel the broad smile of the august sun, and hear the hum and buzz and crackle and cluck of teeming life around me, i really do not think i care so very much about the killing. and this is why i declare that if the mahatmas again offer me the erinofka heaven i shall accept it, ay, even unto forty-five thousand years! nevertheless, if they allow me a breechloader and cartridges instead of that foolish spirit-gun of theirs, i shall certainly shoot. chapter ii in ambush at the lake-side it is spring--such spring as is vouchsafed to the high latitudes, and i am in my night ambush, prepared to welcome any living thing that is good enough to come forth from its sanctuary within reeds or forest, and to parade itself in the open for my inspection. my ambush is a pine-branch tent, or _shalashka_, the little edifice which has been my refuge and centre of observation for many a cold northern night--spring-time nights, indeed, but nights of more degrees of frost than the sportsman or naturalist of temperate britain has dreamed of in his coldest excursions into the realms of imagination. my tent on this occasion is not pitched upon one of those open spaces in mid-forest, whereon the blackcock love to hold their nocturnal or early-matutinal tournaments, where the laughing willow-grouse--that faithful lover--sports with his pretty white mate, and the dark forest trees form a romantic background to the proceedings of both. to-night i am placed in the midst of the marshy approach to a wide sheet of water--an annex, in fact, to the great lake ladoga. fifty yards or more in front of me the waters, but lately released from their entire subjection to the yoke of winter, may be heard softly lapping the shore in a series of gentle kisses, stolen in the darkness; for it is but three in the morning--if that, and i can see nothing but the broad wing of night still stretched over land and lake. on either side of the _shalashka_ there extends, i believe, a spur of moorland; behind is the forest: never far away in a russian landscape. i am still in the dreamy, semi-conscious condition superinduced by the long ride through gloom and silence which has intervened between supper last evening, twenty miles away, and my arrival here. the little ponies to whom we are indebted for our conveyance in perfect safety, through darkness which even the marvellous eyes of a finn pony could hardly have penetrated, are some little way off behind us, hidden among the pine trees, waiting with the philosophic content of their tribe until it shall have pleased us to accomplish the object of our nightly pilgrimage and return to them. the finn pony, good, faithful soul, accepts everything at his master's hands with unquestioning docility and good temper; he is never surprised or annoyed; never taken aback by an obstacle in his way, but rather sets himself to seek out the best means to circumvent such obstacle. if his master happens to be drunk or asleep, this is a matter of supreme indifference to the little animal between the shafts of the inebriate's cart or beneath his saddle, for he is perfectly able and ready to manage the whole business of getting himself and his master safely home, without the slightest interference from the latter. one of the canniest and best of animals, one of the handiest of the servants of mankind and the most faithful and reliable of his friends, is the finn pony; and i am glad indeed to be able to put this fact forward, and thus do a good turn for a little-known hero among those who are not personally acquainted with his claims to that title. asleep at my side is ivan, and ivan is--i am delighted to say--too tired or too considerate to snore; i do not care which it is so long as he does not play his usual nocturnal tunes and spoil this dreamy unreality in which i am steeped. i am here to take notes; but what notes can a man take when, not only is there nothing to be seen, and nothing to be heard--save the gentle plash of the lake, but when he is not even convinced of the fact that he is himself, or at all events that he is awake and not dreaming? such is my condition at present. everything seems far, far away. my old self, my own history, even the point of time, three hours ago by the things we used to call watches, when i left the lodge and started upon my long, dark, silent ride--seems to be separated from me by an eternity of space and tranquil, incidentless existence. what shall i do to pass away the next hour or two? sleep? heaven forbid--the stillness is too good for that! review my past? heaven forbid again--nothing half so unpleasant! whatever i do must be done in consciousness and must be connected with the immediate present or the future; no ghostly past shall be admitted into the sanctity of these hours. i shall recline and watch the dark plumage of night, and listen to her soft sounds of peace, and satisfaction, and maternity, as she broods over her nest and her little ones, until the hunter day shall come and chase her from it, and drive her far away over the sea to her sanctuary beyond the eastern gates of the world. and, first, what a marvellous thing is this darkness! far away at home, in bed in one's own room, the darkness is nothing; because the bearings of each object in the chamber are known to you whether in light or darkness. you can, if you please, sit up in bed and point with the hand and say: "there is the window, and there the door, and there the wardrobe," and so on. but here, where i lie and stare out into the blackness, i can determine nothing of the million animate or inanimate objects around me; i may people the darkness with what beings i please until the light arrives; it is an area in which imagination may disport itself freely and there is none can contradict its tales, for who knows what bantlings may not be concealed here beneath the shelter of mother night's extended wings? how do i know that a company of elves are not disporting themselves within a yard or two of my tent--as ignorant of my proximity as i am of theirs? how can i tell that some dreadful wild beast is not, at this instant, feeling his way down to the waters of the lake, in order to allay his thirst after having feasted upon our poor ponies, behind there in the wood? i can imagine an interview between a ferocious bear or two gaunt wolves and our faithful little quadrupeds, whose one idea in life is to do their duty and eat the breakfast, each day, that the gods provide. i can see the wolves arrive and find the ponies, and say: "good evening, my friends; we regret to say you are required for our supper." "that's impossible," the ponies reply; "we are needed to carry our masters home to dubrofka." "oh, _that's_ all right," say those wolves, to whom a lie is an unconsidered trifle; "your masters sent us on to tell you it was all arranged!" whereupon the ponies believe the tale and are ready to be eaten, because it is part of the day's work as ordained by their master, which is another way of spelling god in their language. i think i know pretty well, however, what i should see, or some of the things i should see, if an electric light were suddenly switched on and illuminated the ground around my tent. close at hand, here, on the shingly sand at the edge of the lake, there are seven or eight or more little grey and white sandpipers, fast asleep--perhaps standing on one leg apiece--among the stones, which are so like them in tint that it is difficult to distinguish the one from the other, even by daylight. then, somewhere within eye-shot, though maybe half a mile off, there is a flock of cranes standing, like a body of sentinels met to compare notes, or relieve guard, also probably employing but one leg each to balance themselves upon during the hours of repose. i wonder whether they use a different leg on alternate nights, or whether the same one is told off for night duty each time? if so, it is very hard indeed for the one limb thus employed to receive no share of the repose enjoyed by the rest of the body, but to be obliged to toil on night after night, and day after day, while its lazy fellow-limb gets all the rest and only half the work. but such is life. i am sure there are cranes near, for i heard their outposts give the alarm when we splashed through the marshy approach to this spot on our arrival here. luckily ivan knew the password, which was the grunt of an elk, as which animals--in search of a drink--we were permitted to come within the precincts of craneland without alarming the big grey birds to the departure point. in a very short time we shall hear them going through the business of waking up, and complaining of the hardship involved in keeping early hours. then again, there are ducks, numbers of them, i feel sure of it, though not one of them has yet uttered a sound, because this place is a paradise for ducks, and mother night covers many a fond couple of them--paired by this time, and tasting the sweets of love and the lovely anticipations of nest-time and prospective flappers. perhaps there is a pretty pair of tiny painted teal within a biscuit toss, little lovers nestling in a ridge of the coarse moorland, or amid the yellow grass which waves all around me, though i cannot see a blade. perhaps they woke up when we came tramping by, and peered with long glossy neck outstretched, and beady eyes straining to pierce the gloom, on the very point of rising and disappearing together into the sanctuary of the darkness, but quieted down when we entered our _shalashka_, and ceased to approach their nestling place. or a pair of snipe, or a ruff and a reeve, the former, at this season, a thing of exquisite beauty by reason of the elizabethan ruff which gives him his name. each male member of his family is furnished with one of these, and not one is like another in hue, though all are beautiful. they are of every conceivable tint and variety, and certainly metamorphose the bird completely, giving him the handsomest possible appearance so long as they last; but alas! when the courting days are over, and the fair one has capitulated to the beautiful besieging party,--presto!--his principal beauty exists no more, and he becomes without his noble collar, the dullest and least interesting of birds. hard on the hen bird, i call it, and savouring of unfairness. how would angelina like it were edwin--the luxuriance or rakishness of whose moustaches or beard had been instrumental in captivating her affections--were edwin, i say, to shave off those appendages so soon as her fond heart was fairly his own? if angelina threw him over, under the circumstances, i am sure no one could blame her. but if the darkness is mysterious and wonderful, and full of subtle, hidden potentialities, what shall we say of the marvellous silence? the repose of it is almost _too_ great. i feel at every instant as though something or somebody _must_ suddenly break out into sound. either the heavens themselves must--this moment or the next--burst forth into a great, grand chorus of divine music, or a bird must sing, or a beast roar. there is something in the air which _must_ out; any sound would do, but a loud hymn would be the most satisfying at this instant. what a silence it is! the tension is oppressive when you come to listen to it, yet, if you were in the humour, how you could lean your very soul against it, and rest--and rest! but to-night i must have sound soon--my nerves demand it--i cannot bear this hush much longer; if no wolf howls within the next few minutes or no crane gives tongue, if no sandpiper whistles or duck quacks, i must wake ivan and bid him talk. i am outside the beat of the willow-grouse, else he would have broken the oppressive spell an hour ago. oh, for a chord of music! oh, to hear on organ swell out, but for a moment, and then die away again; or to listen, close at hand, to the soul-deep song of the nightingale! something is going to sound forth in a moment; i feel it--now--now! there!... i knew it must come just then, i had a presentiment of it. it is a snipe high up in the air, tracing his embroidery upon the sky-line overhead, and swooping at intervals with a sound as of a sheep's "baa;" this is the male snipe's curious way of wooing his mate; the "baa" comes dropping upon the ear at intervals of a few seconds. if that snipe had not come to save my reason i believe i should have shouted like a lunatic the next minute, which would assuredly have given ivan a fit. there goes a night-hawk, flitting by in the darkness like a ghost. oh, what a voice! when he gives tongue i wish the silence back again. go hence, noisy spirit of night, and hunt your moths elsewhere. no wonder you can scream loudly with a mouth like that, for when you open it your head seems to split in two pieces. there will be no more silence now; the night-jar has murdered sleep. listen to the sentinel crane--or is it the boots or the chambermaid of the community awakening the family? he screams loudly to them, but they answer drowsily. "have you not made a mistake in the time?" they are saying. "it cannot, surely, be time to get up yet?" it is though, madame crane, and you must quickly let down that other leg and see about the breakfast. in a minute or two there will be such a clamour of conversation among the crane community that any person within a radius of five miles will be aware of their presence. i should say that the cry of the crane is a better traveller than any other sound i have heard. these birds require a good voice for communicating with one another during flight, for a large flock will often separate into many little bands of two or three while on the "march," and the straggling units must be picked up by nightfall. they must have strayed far away indeed if they cannot hear when their friends hail them at the full pitch of the crane-voice! now comes another sound. far away at first, but nearing at each repetition. a sad, melancholy note, falling at intervals of a second or two. i have heard it often before, and wondered what it could be. i have heard it as they who produced it--whoever they might be--passed at night far above the sleeping city, and have felt a great pity for the sad wandering spirits flying and wailing through the darkness--whither? perhaps they were the souls of the unbaptized, i have thought, which must wander, according to a slavonic tradition, over land and sea for seven years, seeking and entreating to be baptized. but ivan does not allow my thoughts to wander into folk-lore this night. the cranes have awakened him, and he has heard this last mysterious sound also. it has excited him. his finger is at his lip, and he is listening. "what is it, ivan? speak!" "hush!" says ivan. "this is what we came for!" (there _was_ a _raison d'être_ for our presence here; i forgot to mention this circumstance before.) "it is the geese!" so this is the wild geese arriving! then beat, heart, and strain, eyes, through the darkness, for this is an exciting moment. not that there is the remotest chance of a shot at them at present; but it is enough if they alight close at hand and tarry, breakfasting, until daylight doth appear. how close the sound seems in the still air, and yet the birds may be a mile away! i can hear the slow, measured beat of their great wings as they approach, a solid phalanx, conversing quietly at short intervals. surely they are very close indeed? they are all talking at once now. perhaps they have seen the water and are excited, knowing that their journey is at an end. the beating of their wings seems almost to brush now the topmost boughs of the _shalashka_. i fancy i can feel a movement in the air, fanned by their big pinions. thud! there goes the leader; he has alighted. thud again--and yet again! it is true--they are here; they have come! to judge from the noises which they are making, there must be a considerable number arrived--thirty or forty. they are chattering to one another happily and sociably, and uttering very different tones from those weird, melancholy cries of theirs while on the wing. they are no longer the lost spirits, the poor wandering unbaptized souls, but a party of merry travellers just arrived, so to speak, at the tavern where a comfortable breakfast is spread all ready for them. they are sure to do justice to it, for this is their favourite feeding-ground--all over this marsh, so ivan says. it is growing lighter. the conglomeration of sounds of life seems to have startled the night, and reminded her that she must hurry away and attend to her duties in another hemisphere. she is gradually withdrawing her soft wings--those dark and motherly wings which have guarded so well her little ones for many a long silent hour. go in peace, mother night, for the broad sun will take good care of your bantlings during your absence. he will open upon them his "good gigantic smile," and they shall laugh and sing and be merry. already i can catch a pale, sickly gleam of light, where the waters look up to the grey sky and cry, "how long, sun, how long the gloom and the cold?" be silent, lake, for soon the bridegroom will arrive, and you shall bedeck your waters with gems, and sparkle and glitter in leagues of dancing delight. the sandpipers are merry and active, and dart from place to place in pairs and companies, whistling and rejoicing; they pass, now and again, so close to me that i can see them, and their whistling seems to come from the very air within the _shalashka_. and the snipe overhead, he never tires of his lightning-flight and his wheeling; and his "baa" is one of the sounds which continues without ceasing. there is yet another voice--a croak and then a whistle, and the same repeated farther away, and yet again in the distance: a woodcock, i believe, but i cannot see him. he is taking his spring-flight, followed or preceded by his spouse. they will flit across a given space, then alight and dally awhile in pretty courtship, then return the way they came; and so again, _da capo_. what are those tall posts yonder, outlining themselves against the paling sky? they are motionless, apparently--no, they move, as i stare through the uncertain light; they shorten, and lengthen, and bend, and dip, and glide slowly forward and bend again: it is the cranes, i am sure of it, for the clamour seems to come from that very spot. but where are the geese? i can hear them but they are still invisible, for they are feeding head down, and show no outline against the sky. listen! another band of melancholy air-wanderers is approaching--how weird, how pathetic is the sound of their coming! do they then so hate the trouble of travelling? or is it merely that they have discovered which tone and note of the gamut carries furthest through the ether, and that this happens to be the most doleful of all notes? they are very close now--stay! what is this? are they not going to alight and join the happy breakfast-party below there? apparently not: they are overhead, they have passed, they have gone on--i can see them; they are travelling in wedge-like formation, a big triangle of beating wings that flog the air with measured sound and slow. how deliberate and yet how swift and powerful is their flight! why did they not stop here? their cry was answered from below, and yet they did not pause but continued on their course. why was the invitation to breakfast not accepted? who can say what is the etiquette of the wild goose? perhaps it was not an invitation, but rather an intimation that this place--this tavern--was already occupied by a rival community. one or two of my former friends take wing and join the other party; no doubt they have some reason for this step, but what that reason is no man may conjecture. perhaps they are scouts sent forward to find out who these new arrivals are; perhaps they have been badly treated here and have gone over to the enemy in order to "better themselves." luckily the bulk of the party remain behind, however; and now, in the strengthening light, i can plainly see a body of stout grey fellows waddling about among the yellow grasses and the soaked moss, and feeding in the well-known manner of geese in any field in far-off england. forty yards, i reckon, separates my _shalashka_ from the nearest goose: one of them may wander nearer--it is worth while to be patient and to allow the light to intensify before hazarding a shot which will disperse every living creature within hearing, and end the delight with which this spring morning is stored. slowly the sky, due east, yellows and then reddens; it seems to be shooting up pink cloudlets, and letting them fly over heaven in order to herald the uprising of the king of morning; for the sun is coming--there can be no doubt of it! redder and redder are the clouds that precede him; now the mists that veil his bed are growing golden and radiant, and fly right and left as he pushes his head through them and looks out upon the earth, and smiles in a broad pathway across the lake. as though by magic a thousand song birds instantly fill the air with hymns of praise; even the tall cranes cease their gabbling and gobbling, and look for a moment at the apparition ere they resume the business of the hour. they are splashing about in shallow water, and each step they make throws a shower of bright gems around them. the geese--hungry no doubt after a long journey, and being naturally rather of a practical than of a romantic turn of mind, take but little notice of the sun-god; he's all right, they think, and is sure to turn up at daybreak every morning, surely one need not interrupt one's breakfast to look up at him? the pace is too good! look at the ducks--here a pair and there a pair--swimming out into the shining water, dipping their heads as they go and sending diamond-baths over the sheen of their necks and shoulders. they pursue one another, and quack and court, and bathe, and are perfectly and entirely happy and content, as who would not be in their place? a curlew sails by, calling to its mate, who is circling over the lake further to the left. and all the while the busy little company of sandpipers flit and whistle, and alight and run, and are off again on the wing--life is all movement and 'go' for them; they cannot be still. there is an osprey! he is floating motionless in air, high over the lake. he, too, is thinking of breakfast. soon he will drop like a bolt from heaven, disappear entirely or partially in the wave, and in a moment reappear with his meal safely held in those business-like talons of his. there he goes--splash! he has missed his mark. a cry of rage, and a circle or two over the water, and he is aloft again--hanging like an impending doom over the bright lake. he will not miss again! but ivan is touching my arm: i know what he means: he means that i must blot out this picture of peace and life by sending a message of grim death and noisy ruin into the very midst of it. let me wait awhile, ivan, and watch. it is so little for you who live amid all this and can see it at any time; but it is so much to me--a dweller in towns, where there is no free, happy nature-life to watch and feast upon, and no daybreak save that of the london cat and the strident, brazen cock. give me another hour of it, ivan? no? well, half an hour? but ivan says "no;" the geese may depart at any moment, he whispers; shoot while you can! i have no doubt ivan made a mental addition, "and don't be a sentimental english idiot;" but the former words were all i was permitted to hear. so there is nothing for it: i must shoot; i must, with my own hand, blot out all this beauty, and smudge the picture which morning has painted for my delight--and all to see a grey goose flutter and die who is now so busy and happy! the game is not worth the candle; but it must be done! one shot as they stand, says pitiless ivan, and another as they rise--unless i prefer to hazard a cartridge after one of yonder cranes. crane me no cranes: it is goose or nothing; give me the gun, ivan! there! the deed is done, for good or for evil. the goose who stood to receive my shot lived on, and i trust still lives; his feathers are thick and tough, and i hope in mercy that if he is hit at all his plumage has turned aside or suffocated the shot, and that he is not much hurt. he is gone, anyhow, flying strongly. the goose which rose to receive fire will rise no more. he is dead; he will utter never more his sad pilgrim-notes; he will feed no more in these pleasant pastures. go and pick him up, ivan, and he shall be cooked and tentatively eaten, and perhaps pronounced very nice, and perhaps condemned as very nasty. now turn and see what we have done. the last crane has taken wing--running a few yards and jumping clumsily into the air, rather like a cyclist mounting his machine. he will fly a hundred yards before those long legs of his are comfortably stowed away! what a slow flight it seems, yet it carries him wonderfully far away from us in a short time! and the ducks? gone also; circling high in air, taking stock of us. when they have made up their minds that we are bad characters and not to be trusted, they will head for a distant point and disappear. the curlew is far away, so is the osprey; the sandpipers are still in the neighbourhood, they are too inquisitive to go far from us; they must needs watch us and find out all about us first. and away there in the bright distance floats, receding, the triangle of geese--one less than it came, and one, perhaps, in pain and suffering, though heaven forbid that this should be so. all this we have done, friend ivan, with our banging and bloodshed! see what a transformation scene the act of man works, in an instant, upon a lovely landscape? of life he makes death; of busy, happy places, full of colours and of sounds, and of song and of joy, he makes a barren waste, with himself the sole living creature remaining to look upon the face of it! let us go home, ivan, we shall see no more of bird-life this morning; take up your poor grey victim and come along--the place will be the better and the happier for our departure, and perhaps, after a while, all its evicted tenants, save one, may return again to their own. but ivan only remarks that i ought to have shot that first goose in the head, and then we should have had two instead of one. then he scratches his own head, gazes long and intently over the sparkling waters of the lake in the direction where the departed geese are now but a dark smudge in the distant sky, spits on the ground in contempt of muff-shots and lost opportunities, and strides away towards the ponies. as we disappear in the forest i look back and see some ducks returning, and hear the sandpipers whistle us a taunting farewell! amen! no one wants us here: they are all happier without us. chapter iii a day after crawfish there are certain days of one's boyhood which have made so deep an impression that they seem to stand out like mountain peaks in the misty plains of the memory, clear and distinct against the sky-line, when all else is dim and hazy and distorted by distance. one of these landmarks in the early life of the writer is a certain day, long years ago--though the recollection of every detail of it is as green as though it all happened but yesterday--when, in company with two or three kindred spirits, he made his first grand expedition after crawfish. it was summer--the summer holidays: holidays long looked forward to as to be among the most delightful that ever boy spent; for they were to be passed in mourino, the paradise of our youthful imaginations, where the long russian days were not half long enough for the multitude of delights to be crammed into each, there being "more to do" at mourino, as we always thought, than anywhere in england, seaside or otherwise. as a matter of fact, the northern haven of our schoolboy desires was the very place for boys home from an english public school, and fond of healthy outdoor pursuits and recreations. there was a river at the bottom of the garden in which fish of many kinds might be lured to their doom; there was shooting, in a mild way; there was riding _ad lib._, if galloping about the country on the spiky backs of the little finn ponies of the place can be dignified by that name; there was boating, of course, and canoeing, at our very doors, as well as the usual english games which the true briton takes with him however far afield he may roam. no wonder then that mourino was the place in which we preferred, _par excellence_, to pass our summer holidays; for, as i say, the days were not long enough to contain all the joys to be crammed into them. there were crawfish to be had at the bottom of the garden, but these were neither sufficiently large nor sufficiently numerous to tempt us to engage very frequently in their capture. when we wanted crawfish of a size to do their captors credit, we knew well enough where to go for them, just as well as the giant crawfish themselves knew which part of the river suited them best as their headquarters. it was, however, some little distance to the favourite haunt of the monsters, a matter of ten miles or so; a journey not to be undertaken lightly over the unspeakable roads of the neighbourhood, so that we did not very often disturb the scaly warriors in the cool depths of their chosen pleasure-grounds; when we did organise an excursion, therefore, in their honour we fully intended to "do the thing in style," and to create some considerable gaps among the ranks of their best and mightiest. when a day was to be devoted to the capture of big crawfish at sairki, preparations were made over-night in order that no time should be wasted on the morrow; the usual miscalculation was made as to the number of sandwiches required--food sufficient for an entire regiment was invariably provided for us, yet i cannot recall that we ever brought any back. the stock-in-trade of the complete crawfisher, a strong hand-net and a pound or two of slightly high meat, was in readiness for each of us; our pike rods and tackle were seen to; the most particular instructions were issued as to our awakening as soon as daylight should appear; the vehicles, or rather their peasant owners, were hunted up for the hundredth and last time and warned, with all solemnity, as to the awful consequences that unpunctuality would bring down upon their heads, and then we all four went to bed and wished for day. when morning came--the particular morning i am now recalling--things were propitious. two _telyegi_ stood awaiting our pleasure at the door, each with its pair of small finn ponies ready harnessed and impatiently whisking away the horseflies with their long tails. the _telyegi_, i may explain, are springless carts upon four wheels. they are provided with so-called "cushions," which consist of a square bag of sacking with a certain amount of hay inside it. the sensations of the traveller who has once been bumped about in a _telyega_ over russian roads are memorable--indeed, i have spent the rest of my days since my boyhood in wondering how in the world i managed to remain "all in one piece" throughout the awful joltings to which my body was submitted during those _telyega_ days. has the reader ever seen a russian country road? it is not a road at all, as we are accustomed to understand the term, but a mere succession of deep and wide holes worn in the natural sandy soil. the finn ponies think nothing of such trifling drawbacks, however, and pursue their headlong course without regard to the feelings of the evil-entreated passengers behind them. perhaps the good-natured creatures experience a mischievous delight in thus "taking it out" of those who weary their flesh by causing them to drag a heavy load at breakneck speed through all the heat and dust and breathlessness of a russian summer day. the pair are harnessed in an original manner; one, the better trotter of the two, is between shafts, while his companion canters alongside, attached, in a happy-go-lucky way, to the vehicle by means of a couple of loose ropes, but otherwise free to do pretty much as he pleases, consequently he is sometimes close enough to his comrade to make that animal, if irritably inclined, put back his ears and snap at him as a gentle reminder that he is taking liberties, and sometimes a yard or two away, frisking over puddles or shying all over the road on his own account. when a pit of more than the average depth is encountered, both horses will jump it in preference to running down to the bottom and up again, and at such a moment the fate of the passenger in the cart behind is melancholy. he is tossed up into the air for all the world like a spun coin, sharing also the uncertain destiny of that coin as to the manner of his descent--whether "heads or tails." it must not be for one moment supposed that we, in the exuberance of our happiness, and in the all-accepting, unquestioning, all-enjoying spirit of the british schoolboy, cared a farthing for the depth or width of the very vilest hole that time and horseshoes ever wore in a russian road; on the contrary, we loved the sensation of being sent flying up into the air every other minute, and if we came down upon the top of one another or of the luckless driver on his hard box-seat, or even into the six-inch dust of the road in the rear of the _telyega_, why, i believe we liked it all the better. as every one knows, a special providence watches over drunken men and school-boys, and i have often reflected that we must have caused our particular bodyguard a terrible amount of anxiety, and kept it very hard at work during these wild _telyega_ drives of ours at mourino, for we were racing, most of the time, with the wheels of the two carts interlaced, the horses--all four of them--galloping _ventre à terre_, and the demented russian drivers--quite as far gone in lunacy as our british selves--shouting at the top of their voices and bumping about half in air and half in cart, like a couple of demon jehus let loose for the occasion, and for our especial and particularly complete destruction; and yet i cannot remember that any one was ever hurt! truly that special providence of ours was well up to its arduous duties, and performed them admirably. sairki was reached at last, and the horses put up at the village. as for us, we unpacked the carts before a group of admiring finnish children; for sairki, like many a score of other villages within twenty miles of the tsar's capital, is inhabited exclusively by finns, who cannot speak a word of russian. hand-nets and rods were got out; the crawfish meat was produced (extremely unsavoury by this time, owing to the intense heat of the day, but all the better for that from the point of view of the crawfish, who likes his dinner to be attractive to his olfactory senses); huge fishing-baskets were strapped upon our shoulders, containing our food at present, but to be used for another purpose soon, and away we headed for the riverside. the ochta is a tributary of the neva, into which it flows close to st. petersburg--a pretty little river as one would wish to see, if he cares for the sort of scenery that ruysdael loved to depict. down by the river there grew countless clusters of leafy young birches and aspens, and to these our attention was first directed, for from them we must draw one of the essential items of our stock-in-trade. provided with large knives as we were, we soon possessed ourselves of the necessary number of long sticks, about a dozen each, and stripped the leaves off to the end. in order to explain the exact object of these sticks, i will now, with the reader's permission, make him acquainted with the _modus operandi_ of the scientific crawfisher. i have said already that a lump of meat is required. this is cut into small sections of about an inch and a half square, one of which is firmly tied to the end of each stick with a piece of string or "machalka," the birch-bark ribbon known to gardeners. this is the nastiest part of the proceedings, and it is better to get a friend to do it for you if you can. the preliminaries being thus completed, the next thing is to take the twelve baited sticks one by one and place them in the water, the meat downwards and resting on the bottom, while the top end of the stick is allowed to project a foot or so above the surface and to rest against the bank. the sticks must not be placed too close to one another. the proper distance is about ten yards between each. it will be remarked by the intelligent reader that the crawfisher thus requires a considerable portion of the stream to himself, for no two sportsmen can find scope for their energies within a hundred and fifty yards or so; while a party of four or five will occupy the best part of half-a-mile of bank. when the sticks are all placed scientifically, according to the fisher's knowledge of the spots likely to be favoured of crawfish, the sportsman must possess his soul in patience for a quarter of an hour at least, in order to give time to the gentlemen of the claws to realise the good fortune that has come their way in the shape of a lump of meat dropped apparently from the skies. after the interval indicated, the hand-net is taken and the sticks are visited one by one. now comes the moment when the skill and science of the performer is put to the test. the water is not very clear. it is not muddy, but the colour is dark--a brownish tint--caused, as we always believed, by the quantities of iron in it, so that we cannot see to the bottom or near it. hence, the first part of the proceedings must be done in faith and hope, and with an extremity of caution and lightness of hand not attainable without considerable practice in the art of crawfishing. the stick is taken firmly in the left hand, while the right grasps the handle of the net. then the stick is raised from the bottom, but so gradually and imperceptibly that the movement is, presumably, unnoticeable down below. the baited stick is thus slowly and carefully lifted inch by inch, until the lump of meat at the end of it is visible. if a crawfish is clinging on to the meat the stick is raised no higher, for the hand-net now comes into play. this latter instrument is brought cautiously up against the current, placed deftly underneath the clinging feaster, the stick and the net are raised together, and as the crawfish reaches the surface of the water, and at length realises that he had better quit this perambulating breakfast, he lets go, only to discover that he is too late and has been outwitted, and that his place henceforth is in the fishing-basket, or a watering-pot half full of water, until such time as he is taken out and boiled for the use of man. it is very simple, and were the crawfish not the most criminally greedy and careless creature in the world, he would never allow himself to be captured in so ridiculously elementary a way. but it is his nature to, and no amount of experience will teach him the foolishness of his conduct, for you may, if you please, catch and return to his element the self-same crawfish a dozen times in an afternoon. in a good place, the fisher may find two or three, or even more, of these hungry fellows clinging to the same piece of meat, and, if clever enough, may easily capture the lot at one swoop. such, in brief, is the _modus operandi_ of the crawfisher. we all knew the way to do it, we of the sairki party; and the tying on of the bait and the placing of the sticks were finished as quickly as these operations could be performed with a due regard to efficiency, lots having decided the portion of bank to be worked by each of us. then came the quarter of an hour during which it is the etiquette of the crawfisher to allow his prey to discover and to enjoy undisturbed the refreshments provided for him. i do not know whether schoolboys possess souls--presumably they are provided with a special schoolboy quality--but in any case we, at least, were entirely unable to possess those souls in patience, and that little quarter of an hour was spent by each of us upon his own portion of bank under a carking sense of grievance. we felt that we were conceding too much to the crawfish. personally i passed my fifteen minutes at full length in the long grass, within a yard or two of the water, and any one but a schoolboy would have been glad enough of the opportunity to lie thus beneath the brilliant northern august sky upon a bed of wild flowers, which, if one chose to sit still and pick one specimen of each, would have filled his hands with a hundred delicate stems without the necessity to stretch beyond an easy arm-reach. i have never seen any place that equalled the country about mourino for the wealth and variety of its wild flowers, or the luxuriance of the ground-berries in the woods--arctic strawberry, bilberry, cranberry, raspberry, and a berry which i remember as making the most delicious bitter-sweet jam, called brousnika. as for the flowers, the anemone is the only representative of our familiar spring visitors, but the summer months are gorgeous with every blossom that our own english fields can boast, with few exceptions, besides lilies of the valley, linnæa borealis, a lovely creeping plant with a tiny starry flower; "star of bethlehem," and other varieties not often seen in this country. but the longest and most vexatious wait must come to an end in its season, and at last the crawling minutes had sped by and we were at liberty to commence the business of the day. oh, the delightful excitement of the first visit to each stick! how my heart beat, i remember, as i grasped the first of them, and with somewhat trembling fingers raised it cautiously a few inches towards the surface, peering the while into the dark brown depths to catch the earliest possible glimpse of the desired visitor. the water seemed extra dark in colour to-day, to spite one, and the stick had to be slowly lifted to within a foot or so of the keen eyes watching above it before the meat could be distinguished at the end of it. there it is at last--now then! is that the claw of a crawfish sticking on to it, or not? it may be, but if so it is a tiny one. carefully the hand-net is drawn towards the bait, up the stream, for otherwise the current bulges the network inside out, and deftly the string-prison is placed underneath the end of the stick--there! if it is a crawfish i have got him safe. up comes stick, and up comes net with it to the surface--alas, no! it was but the split end of a piece of "machalka," and not the claw of a crawfish. down goes the stick again to its place at the bottom of the stream, and away go i to the next one. here a strong waggling at the end of it when it is raised from the bottom tells me that undoubtedly a guest is availing himself of my hospitality; caution must be observed--yea, caution must be doubly cautious. it is a big fellow by the feel, and he is still tugging away as i raise the stick with breathless care towards the surface. now i can see the bait, or rather i can see the place where the meat may be supposed to be; for there is nothing visible but a dark mass which hides the bait from view. now comes the tug of war. the current is rather strong, and the exertion of bringing the broom-handled net against it is considerable; but this is not a moment to think of difficulties. down comes fate upon the thoughtless reveller; a turn of the wrist with the right, and a swift upward motion of the left arm, and anything there may chance to be busying itself at the baited end of the stick is my own. what do i see? a big crawfish? it is indeed a big crawfish, and with it a second and yet a third, true sairki monsters, all three of them, seething and glistening in their dark brown armour at the bottom of the net, and laying hold angrily of each other wherever they can fasten a claw, as though each were chastising his companions for having brought him into this mess. they must be taken up carefully, one by one, and held by the back, else those cruel-looking claws will lay hold of one's fingers and inflict a pinch which will be a memorable circumstance for some little while. these three fellows, exactly like lobsters made in a smaller mould, so far as the unscientific eye can judge, are about six to seven inches in length from head to end of tail; one of them has one large claw and the other quite a miniature member, as though it had never emerged from its baby stage; the truth being that the warrior has lost one of his natural weapons, probably in a fight with a rival, and that a beneficent nature is providing him with a substitute as quickly as can be managed. if i place one of these creatures upon the ground, instead of in the watering-pot prepared for his reception, he will instantly set off backwards in the direction of the river. i have tried this at all distances from the water, placing a crawfish as far as several hundred yards from his native element, and pointing him in the wrong direction; yet in defiance of all obstacles, the poor fellow invariably and without hesitation made straight for that point of the compass in which instinct told him lay the stream which was his home. and so was made the round of the sticks; one producing nothing, another a single tiny victim, a third four at once, and so on to the twelfth and last; the net results of the first round being seventeen crawfish of a fair average size. then the proceedings began again, _da capo_. the sport generally improved up to about the fifth round, while the inhabitants of the stream were gradually becoming aware of the feast spread for them at easy distances all down the river. after the sixth round the numbers fell off again, until, eventually, a second portion of the bank had to be worked, the original lie having been exhausted. the largest haul that i ever made from one stick at one swoop was six crawfish, all good ones, and one of them a giant. we had agreed to put back the babies, the very tiniest, that is; though we invariably took a great number home with us which we did not intend to eat, in order to let them go at the bottom of the garden as stock for our own portion of the river, and to afford us sport when they should have grown to more respectable dimensions. they always accommodated themselves to circumstances, and remained contentedly where they had been put in. when we grew tired of capturing our crawfish in the orthodox manner we adopted another plan; this involved, first, the finding of a shallow place in which, when found, we waded about with a short stick in one hand and a net in the other. when we caught sight of a crawfish wandering along or trying to hide the too expansive volume of his tail beneath a stone designed to conceal a junior member of the family only, all we had to do was to suddenly place the stick in front of his nose, at the same instant holding the net immediately behind him, when the simple creature would promptly commit suicide by running backwards into prison. then there was trolling for pike in the quiet pools when we were weary of the crawfish. there were good pike to be had at sairki, and their favourite food was spoons--so, at least, one would suppose from the voracity with which they endeavoured to devour those we offered for their destruction. many an exciting half-hour was afforded us by the good-natured sairki pike; they generally got away in the end, but always thoroughly entered into the fun of the thing and obliged us, while the game lasted, by pretending to be doing their best to escape our unscientific attempts to bring them to book. probably they could have rid themselves of the bait and us at any moment if they had been so disposed, but they were too good-natured. now and then we caught one, but very rarely. and so the summer day would pass with its sport and its bathing and its incalculable sandwiches, until the brilliant sunshine began to wane and the time came to shoulder our nets and hoist our heavily loaded watering-pots and mount the hill to the village. as for our sticks, we hospitably left these in the water in order that the crawfish remaining in the neighbourhood might enjoy themselves to the full and learn to laugh at those of their fellows who were disposed to look with suspicion at bits of meat attached to the ends of sticks. they might now finish the food with absolute impunity, and would come to the feast at our next visit without a thought of danger. a memorable ceremony was the counting of the victims up at the village. this was performed in the midst of a gaping and ejaculating crowd of finnish children, a score or so of scantily dressed, fair-haired little maidens and their brothers, who expressed their delight with the outcome of our prowess in a ceaseless chatter of their own language, monosyllabic, but full of extremely expressive inflections. we put ourselves upon the best of terms with these little foreigners by letting loose a number of our scaly captives among their naked toes, a move which caused them to jump about and scream in the wildest delight. the distribution of a few copecks among them completed our popularity thus easily acquired. the finns are a good-natured, inoffensive race, when properly treated; but proud and stolid and somewhat lazy, and withal dignified and extremely jealous of their personal independence. the commonest finn peasant considers himself the equal of any other man. destiny may have put the tsar in a warmer corner than himself, perhaps, but that does not make the tsar the better man of the two. "the tsar has a pair of legs exactly like my own," a finn peasant once remarked to the writer, and the saying sums up very concisely the attitude of this quiet but dignified member of the human family towards his fellow-men. six hundred and thirty-seven was the sum total of our day's netting, besides many others caught and put back: not a bad tally! it was sufficient to supply the whole of the british colony in mourino, which is a good large one, with crawfish enough to last them for some time. these are most delicious eating, as highly flavoured as the lobster, but much more tender and less stringy. a certain soup made of crawfish is declared by gourmets to be simply unequalled by any other decoction known under the name of _potage_. and so, sped upon our way by the shouts of our admiring friends the little finnish maids and urchins, we set forth once more to brave the perils and discomforts of the return journey. i know not what the unfortunate creatures in the watering-pots and the fishing-baskets may have thought of the bumpings and jars that marked our progress along that terrible road, but i do know that the day's wading and netting had not damped our own spirits in any appreciable degree. the ponies, knowing that they were directed homewards, flew along like mad things; breakneck races were once again the order of the day, and once again did our special providence preserve us from the destruction we courted. swiftly, too swiftly for us, the miles were left behind, and the last rays of the setting sun had scarcely lighted up the green cupola of mourino church when, with whips cracking, drivers shouting, dust flying in clouds, and six human beings (counting schoolboys as coming under that category) and crawfish bumping about like peas on a drum-head, we raced up to the lodge gates--and the day was over. chapter iv a finland paradise finland, or fen-land: the land of fens, "the country of a thousand lakes"; in finnish suomen-maa: "the swampy region." the root _suom_, if not related to our own _swamp_--which is a matter upon which the present writer can give no opinion worth having--at all events appears to have the same meaning, and is quite similar enough in sound to please the ear of plain people with a neat, amateur appreciation for roots. it is indeed the country of a thousand lakes--ten thousand. glance at the map; it almost makes a man's eyes water to look at it! as represented there, the entire country appears to be more water than dry land; the inhabitants must surely be obliged to get about the place in boats--or goloshes, you will think--and, oh! what a place for the fishermen! not the people in smacks and trawlers, i mean; but for men with rods, and lines, and reels, and flies, and phantoms, and landing nets, and so on: think of it--all these fresh-water lakes--a network of ideal corners for the _salmonidæ_, communicating one with another and with ladoga and the gulfs of finland and bothnia by means of glorious fishing rivers! a place for fishermen indeed. look at the map, my dear reader, and consider the province from the point of view of the fish and their habits; it is the fishes' heaven, and being so it is certainly the paradise of anglers. a glance at the map will show that between uleaborg in the north and wiborg in the south there must be many spots which, to the keen fishing man, would in all probability present such piscatorial attractions as would entitle them to be called, as i have called one particular spot about to be described, "a finland paradise." i believe that the salmon fishing on the ulea at uleaborg, for instance, is so excellent that those who have deserted norway or scotland in favour of this remote finnish spot are inclined to go no more a-roving, but to cry "eureka," and spend the rest of their days by bothnia's placid waters. but of this i can only speak from hearsay and from the printed reports of others, and will only add that i have been informed that fishing rights are easily obtainable at uleaborg; that such rights are absurdly inexpensive; and that there is some one in that distant city who can speak english, and who can put the traveller in the way of getting an introduction into the best salmon society. but my finland paradise is not in far uleaborg, nor yet in any of the thousand or ten thousand other places which on the testimony of the map of finland must be equally worthy of the title. i must warn my readers that there is no admission to my paradise, excepting by favour of those happy ones who possess the right to inhabit it. in other words it is not, like uleaborg and hundreds of other places, accessible to the ordinary travelling man and the itinerant sportsman. its doors are closed to the public; the fishing is preserved, rightly and jealously preserved. there is a railway, the finnish railway, as it is called, which runs from st. petersburg to hango, at the mouth of the gulf of finland. on this railway, at a distance of four hours from st. petersburg, is wiborg, the very ancient capital and castle of the karelian finns, who were conquered by torkel c'nutson in . from wiborg there is a branch line to imatra, built for the accommodation of tourists anxious to visit the wonderful rapids or falls at the last-named place. imatra is on a river known variously as the vuoksen, or the voksa, which connects the great saima lake with the still greater ladoga; which, again, is connected with the open sea, as all the world knows, by the neva. the voksa is, i should think, one of the most beautiful rivers in the world. wide, and clear as crystal, we have nothing like it in england; it has no tide to yellow it, no navigation to stir and distress its calm depths; the fish--grayling and trout--love it, and so does every human creature who has ever set eyes upon it, and who knows how to appreciate a big, free, clean, noble river when he sees it. lake saima is a long sheet of water measuring from end to end one hundred and fifty miles or more, being quite as long as ladoga itself, though much narrower and studded all over with islands. saima is full of fish--great lake trout and others of the _salmonidæ_, together with numberless other finny creatures of less exalted birth and parentage. now all these fish occasionally pine, if not for actual sea travel, at least for such change of air and diet as a little wandering in running water can afford them. this they can only obtain by visiting the sole existing outlet (excepting the saima canal, leading to the gulf of finland, which cannot count as a river) to the entire hundred and fifty miles of lake, the voksa. now, just where the voksa takes its departure from the saima upon its journey of fifty-or-so miles to the ladoga, the saima lake narrows into a round basin of about one-third of a mile in diameter, which basin forms a kind of ante-room to the river, which starts out bravely from the western end thereof in a glorious rapid, the descent being considerable, and the consequent draw of current throughout the basin very strong, though not very perceptible at the surface. through this basin, or ante-room, known as harraka, every single fish which desires to visit the river from the lake, or _vice versâ_, must pass as through a turnpike gate; and many are the fish that have had to pay blood-toll for the privilege. the basin is at all times crammed with fish; it is their recognised rendezvous; it is harraka, the paradise _par excellence_ of the voksa; the place to which all good fishermen should go when they die, unless they know of a better. i don't. this paradise was, until a few years ago, in the hands of a few englishmen, residents in st. petersburg, who discovered it and acquired the rights of enjoying it as a fishing club. they built unto themselves a comfortable and most convenient lodge, just at the very spot where voksa, in froth and delicious chatter of bounding rapids, bids farewell of saima and starts exuberantly on his race to ladoga, little dreaming of the fearful gauntlet to be run, a few miles away, at imatra. these thrice happy britishers, i repeat, acquired paradise: they planted their feet in the garden of eden; they tasted of the delights of harraka for several seasons, and then by misfortune they lost it. by some most deplorable accident or misunderstanding the letting of the place went past them, and harraka, the paradise of anglers, became a beautiful memory and nothing more. the flaming sword of jealous proprietorship stood for ever between them and the lost eden of their happiness. then those men did the next best thing open to them. they secured a small island a few miles lower down the river, together with the fishing rights around it for a space of a mile or so, and upon that island, known as varpa-saari, they pitched their tent, building a charming house, engaging fishermen well acquainted with every inch of the newly acquired water, and, in a word, making the best of what was distinctly a "bad job." varpa-saari is not harraka. but since, according to some learned commentators, there are seven heavens, and since harraka is certainly the seventh or highest of these, varpa may surely lay claim to be called one of the remaining six. it is, in truth, a very delightful place. the river is here some three hundred yards in width, and is divided by the island into two channels, both of which show their teeth as they angrily pass the obstruction in a tumult of noisily chattering and scolding rapids on either side. around the island platforms have been built jutting out into the turbulent water for the convenience of those who wish to try for the favours of grayling or trout with fly, in preference to spinning for them with a minnow from a boat. it was the delightful privilege of the writer to spend a portion of the summer of in the land of the tsar; and to me, ready and anxious for every kind of exploit, whether with rod or gun, came my friend c. g., whilom a member of the paradise lost of harraka, now one of the proprietors of varpa-saari, with hospitable proposals, which ended in the speedy getting together of our respective gladstones, and the collection, on my part, of a great number of borrowed rods and reels and flies and minnows and other piscatorial paraphernalia, and our prompt departure upon a three days' sojourn in the delicious retreats of varpa island. it cannot, i should think, be much more than sixty miles from st. petersburg to wiborg, but the trains of the finnish line are imbued with all the dignity and deliberation which are inherent in the finnish character, and they do not hurry themselves. a good english express would do the journey in an hour; the wiborg express occupies the best part of four. but the carriages are certainly comfortable and run very smoothly. there is a custom-house somewhere between the two great cities named--i think it is at tereyoki--but we are not asked to disclose the secrets of our gladstones or to reveal the riches of our superbly appointed commissariat, for c. g. is the most hospitable of hosts as well as the most talented of caterers, and his arrangements for our three days' exile in the wilds of finland are such as to strangle in the birth any vague ideas of prospective "roughing it." so we glide slowly and smoothly through the south-eastern portion of the land of fens, which, so far, greatly resembles the russia we have just left; and if we look out for one of the thousand lakes we do not see it, and shall not until wiborg itself is reached; though, as it happens, i know of several further inland--old familiar places where in former days i have angled for many large perch and pike, killed many a duck, missed many a snipe, enjoyed many a happy hour. it is hot with all the closeness of the russian july; but, fortunately, this is the finnish and not a russian railway, and though we manufacture a delightful draught by opening the windows on both sides of the carriage, we are not threatened for this reason with the terrors and tortures to which those are subjected who infringe the bye-laws of the company. it was but a few days before that, travelling upon a russian line, and feeling asphyxiated by the heat of the carriage, i had, in my innocence, let down the windows on both sides. instantly a guard rushed up and closed one, that on the side from which the infinitesimal air that existed happened to be blowing. i protested. the guard expressed horror: there would be a draught, he explained. i hastened to assure him that that was exactly what i most wished to bring about, and made as though to reopen the window which he had closed. but this the guard would not permit. i should catch cold, he said, and the company could not dream of allowing their passengers to catch cold. i argued, i entreated, but in vain, and eventually i went to stand upon the balcony outside. but, alas! this also, it appeared, was not permissible just at present, and that for a peculiar reason: a train conveying some member of the imperial family was to meet us presently, and no man might stand outside until it had safely passed. in the end i was compelled to return to the stifling carriage, wherein i was cooked to a turn by the time i reached my destination. but if the train from st. petersburg to wiborg is slow, what shall be said of that from the latter place to imatra? yet why, after all, should anything be said? there was no hardship in travelling now, for it was evening and cooler, and the country had grown more characteristically finnish. here and there were small lakes, the outposts of the thousand, the ten thousand, that lay calm and majestic somewhere beyond. we were in finland now beyond a doubt. but c. g. has a surprise for me--for me who have never been in this part of the world before--have never even seen imatra. we shall be at a station called st. andrea soon, he tells me, and then i shall see something which will interest me. what? i am to wait; it shall burst upon my sight. it does. it bursts upon my sight in all the calm beauty of its wide, white, gleaming, rippling majesty--the voksa. at this distant spot, dedicated to the first englishman probably who ever set foot in finland, st. henry,[ ] my delighted english eyes catch their first glimpse of the ideal river--a river any englishman would love at first sight. and what a spot for the fisherman! as i live, there is one at it down there. i can see him from the train whipping merrily at the rapids beneath the railway bridge! instantly all the apathy of the long, slow journey is swallowed up in the enthusiasm of the angler; i feel inclined to wave my cap from the window and cry, like xenophon's men, "thalatta, thalatta!" happy bishop henry, friend of eric ix. of sweden, who, about , an englishman, though bishop of upsala, brought bible and sword and conquered and converted this pleasant land for his master, and became patron saint thereof. st. andrea is delightfully situated indeed. i wonder whether our canonised countryman who gave his name to it was ever here? st. andrea sounds and reads more like st. andrew than st. henry, but i may explain that henrys are always andrews in russia, just as william is changed to basil, edward to dmitry, bernard to boris, and so on, because where names do not exist in the saints' calendar, substitutes have had to be found. in the case of henry, the finns appear to have followed the example of their neighbours, and to have changed henry into andrea. st. andrew himself is connected with russia, but in no way, i believe, with finland. this saint is said to have travelled, preaching the gospel, from the holy land to byzantium, and thence along the black sea to the danube, crossing that river and reaching eventually the dnieper. here he went up country as far as the spot where kief was afterwards built, and in this place, before turning to retrace his steps to byzantium, he uttered a long prophecy as to the size and importance of the city which should one day stand in that site, and which should be dedicated to the faith which he had then come to preach. so much for the saints andrew and henry, either of whom may claim, as far as names go, the honour of affording one to the remote finnish village close to which the beautiful voksa is first seen by the tourist. [ ] finland has been a christian country since the early part of the twelfth century, when eric ix. of sweden, accompanied by henry, bishop of upsala, an englishman, planted christianity together with the swedish flag in the hitherto heathen province. in the thirteenth century another english divine, bishop thomas, did his best to teach the finns to shake off the swedish yoke and become subject to the pope alone, but in this he failed. the finns have been protestants since about . thence to imatra is not far, and from imatra to varpa-saari is a short drive of three miles or so, past the renowned "falls," about which i shall have more to say later. my friend and i accomplish this distance luxuriously in a spring cart, the commissariat following in a second vehicle. the roads in finland are not like the roads in russia. the finnish roads are civilised, and may be driven upon without fatal results. it was past eleven now, of a glorious july night, and in the white northern twilight, which is nearly daylight, we cantered up to the riverside and drew up at the spot where a landing stage has been made, communicating by means of an overhead wire over the voksa with the island in mid-stream. the house is upon the island, and from the wire, at the island end, depends a bell. a tug at our end sets this bell clanging and a dog barking, destroying the calm majesty of the night in an instant, and causing dogs in all directions, far and near, to respond to the canine voice from mid-river in sleepy, querulous accents, as though barking were a terrible bore, but must be done out of conscientious motives. while we wait for the boat which is to take us across we hear ourselves hailed in english from some point hidden in the midnight mystery of the river, and when our eyes have located the sound we discover two boats swimming silently side by side, looking all one piece with the water, mystic, wonderful! it is j. h. and e. h., who have driven over from their lovely summer home a few miles below imatra for a night's fishing in the varpa waters. slowly the two boats approach--it seems a sin to murder the marvel of the stillness by speaking--like two swans they swim towards us in the white twilight. are we awake, and is all this really happening, or are these the creatures of a sleep-picture, and the witchery of the midnight voksa a mere dream of unreal delight? the winding of two reels and c. g.'s hearty enquiry as to "what sport" has been enjoyed by these two midnight fishers put to flight all ideas of the unreality of things, and in a very few minutes we are each seated in a boat and crossing the gleaming, rippling, hurrying voksa towards the little island which is to be our home for the next three days. as we reach the landing-stage at the island we find a sleepy finn fisherman just preparing a boat, in response to our bell-summons, to take us across; but our friends have saved him this trouble. they land us, and away they float again, the two light craft moving noiselessly over the broad river propelled by the fisherman-finn in the bows, and in the dim and mysterious distance we can hear the soft _crake_, _crake_ of their reels as the lines are let out once more after having been wound in in compliment to ourselves. before we are out of hearing there is a _whirr_, and we know that the phantom of one of them has found a billet. then up through leafy paths to the house, with only the murmur of water audible, but that from every side; with here a gleam and there a gleam between the trees, and everything else silence and shady darkness and mystery, and one's very soul feeling half numbed with the wonder of being in such a place and at such a time. as for the house, it is the ideal of what a fishing lodge should be, with its racks for rods outside and in; its glorious roomy balcony dining-room, its large central sitting-room and its half-dozen or more of most excellent bedrooms, each commanding a more fascinating view over trees and river than its next neighbour, and each with the perpetual sing-song of the gentle mother voksa to sing the tired angler to sleep with her eternal lullaby. and now, as c. g. most appropriately observes, a little supper. the night and the place and the circumstances are about as full of poetry as such things can be; my very soul seems steeped in mysticism, and the witchery of the surroundings has made a poet of me to my very backbone; but--well, they did not give us time to eat at wiborg, nor at st. andrea, nor anywhere else, and the very word "supper" is sufficient to send poetry to the winds and to convert the poet into the ravening wolf until the leeway of the appetite has been made up. luckily there is plenty to eat and it is ready to hand. julia, the finn cook, a neat, clean-looking person who cannot speak or understand a single word of russian or anything else but finnish--julia has baked some quite delicious bread; and there is finnish butter--none of your "dosset" this!--and c. g.'s baskets contain town-bought dainties of the very best: it is pleasant to sit and enjoy such a supper with the white gleam of the midnight voksa visible to us wherever we choose to peep for it between the ghostly trees that would screen it from us; and with the soft babble of her waters for ever in our ears, as though they were constantly telling of the wonders in trout and silver grayling that lurk and hide from us in the secret depths beneath; as though each wavelet had such a secret to tell us and were murmuring to us as it passed, "down below--just here--oh, such a trout! oh, such a trout! quick, or he will be off and away!" there can be no question of sleeping this night. we must fix up our rods and choose our phantom minnows, and go out in boats that are phantoms also, like those ghostly fellows, j. and e. h., there, who can be seen occasionally passing slowly across the white water in the distance, silent, mysterious, intent upon their spinning, two phantoms, in phantom boats and with phantom boatmen, fishing with phantom minnows, rightly so-called--all phantoms together! what matter if we catch anything or nothing? we must go, if it be only to steep our souls in the wonderful silence and beauty of this july night on the water, and to drink in the intoxicating delight and novelty of the whole thing. and in an hour we are there, floating on voksa's white bosom, propelled softly hither and thither as our boatmen think best; for these men know where the huge silver voksa and saima trout most do congregate, and the charm and wonder of the river and of the night are nothing to them so long as some big ten or fifteen pounder can be induced to accept the invitation our cruel blue minnows hold out to them. these superb fish are, so far as i can make out, of three kinds. first, great silvery fellows with bright red spots, for all the world like overgrown brothers of the little river trout. then there are darker coloured fish, of a golden brown hue, with spots less brightly accentuated, and, i think, larger heads. of these two kinds the former is the handsomer fish, but both are splendid specimens, and are caught up to twenty-four pounds in weight, c. g. having taken the record in this respect. the third specimen i saw was a fish which i should have called a salmon, but, i believe, erroneously. the finns have a simple rule. to them all fish over five pounds in weight are "lochi," salmon (german, lachs; russian, lososino). now there are plenty of salmon in the neva, and therefore in lake ladoga also; and the reader might suppose that, since the voksa flows into the ladoga, there may be salmon in the voksa just as well as in ladoga itself. so there may, in the lower parts of the river, but between ladoga and saima lakes there is a barrier, known as the imatra falls, which must surely be an insurmountable obstacle to the most enterprising of salmon. the voksa is a broad, generous, full-flowing river, of three hundred yards in width, which is suddenly compelled at imatra to compress itself into a narrow gorge of scarcely twenty yards across, and to pass through this as best it can for a distance of a couple of hundred yards or so, after which it is free once more to open itself out to its former wealth of elbow-room. the reader may imagine with how much protest and clamour the surprised and tortured waters of the proud river perform this sudden act of self-compression. roaring and hissing with rage, they pile themselves mountain high in an instant, and sweep down the moderate incline in a furious phalanx of angry wave-warriors, dashing from one rocky side of the gorge to the other, diving, rearing, whirling, plunging, hurling angry hisses of spray to this side and that, and at the foot of the narrow torture-chamber standing up in mighty water-columns and twisting round to face the rock-walls that have confined them, as though they half thought of turning again and rending them ere they depart once more upon their course in unimpeded freedom and gradually regained calm and majesty. the very idea of any salmon mounting in safety such a whirling, battling, irresistible fury of waters as imatra is surely outrageous. there cannot be salmon above imatra. the salmon-like lochi must be a salmon trout, or a lake trout, or some one of the non-seagoing families of _salmonidæ_. full as the voksa is of fish, and hard as my friend c. g. and i worked, both from the platforms with fly and from boat with phantoms of every shape and size likely to attract the monsters down in the depths beneath us, it was all in vain--or nearly in vain. we did, indeed, catch a few fish, but nothing very large, and hardly more than enough to keep us well supplied with toothsome, dainty fare for our own table. we offered those fish the choicest delicacies that london makers could produce; we tempted them with phantoms so fascinating that one would suppose any fish of decently discriminative powers would rise from its moist bed and come out, at night, to feed upon them as they lay on the table within the very house. we dangled these tempting morsels over the very spots where they were known to lie; but for two days did these voksa monsters sulk and turn their faces steadfastly from us. there was thunder in the air; that, we concluded, was the mischief; perhaps during sunday the storm would break. we would try them again on monday, and meanwhile we would accept j. h.'s hospitable invitation and drive over to spend sunday with him at his lovely home at lappin-haru (the ridge, or the district, of the lapps). those lapps who chose this spot for their habitation showed a wise discrimination and a taste for natural beauty of scene and site which one would scarcely look for in that unromantic tribe. lappin-haru overlooks the voksa at one of its loveliest bends; a truly noble river, flowing through dense forests and by the side of tidy, cultivated fields; deep and majestic and silent at this corner, and bursting into rippling laughter at that; a river that bears up the swimmer as buoyantly and as securely as the sea, so strong and so full and ample is the beautiful, bright, clear flood of it. my friend j. h.--the representative in st. petersburg of a family as well known and as widely respected in russia as it is in england--has built him a house in this corner of the voksa paradise, and a splendid house it is. and though in the very wilds of finland, yet he is in communication with all centres of civilisation by means of the telephone; indeed, you can even speak to him from the island club at varpa-saari, a dozen miles away; while the imatra trains stop for passengers within a mile of his front door. so quickly do the enlightened finns avail themselves of the discoveries of science that the southern portion of their province is covered with a network of telephones, and no one in town or country dreams of being without this useful adjunct to civilised comfort. delightful indeed was it to come into a bit of england that sunday morning at lappin-haru; delightful to hear english voices and to see english ladies and english children so far away from the madding crowd. and so sunday passed very delightfully; and now monday, our last day, has come round. i think it is at lunch this monday afternoon that c. g. has an inspiration. "i am going," he says, "to drive to imatra and telephone over to harraka for leave to fish there to-night." at this i laugh the laugh of the scornful, for it is well known that harraka is the paradise lost of the english fishers, and that the present proprietors stand, figuratively, at the gate armed with the flaming sword of jealousy in order to keep out, with the utmost strictness, every would-be angler in their unique and incomparable waters. nevertheless, c. g. insists that he will try. "who knows?" he says. "a kind and indulgent spirit may be animating for this day only the heart of count arnoff!" (which is not the proprietor's real name); "and, after all, he can but refuse." this last proposition is so evidently true that i scoff no more, but allow my sanguine c. g. to proceed upon his way, though secretly remaining of the opinion that count arnoff would sooner perish than allow us upon his sacred waters. now, c. g. is undoubtedly personally fascinating, but how he contrived to exercise his fascination through the telephone i really cannot imagine; yet it is certain that he returned home in a very short time, and that, as i could see by the sunshine of his countenance long before the boat bore him to the landing stage on the island, where i awaited him, he had been successful. the count himself was away, but his steward had taken upon himself to grant c. g.'s request for an evening's fishing, and this very night was to see us afloat in the magic basin of harraka. paradise was to be regained, for one night only! oh! the care with which we dried and attended to our lines and reels; the loving discrimination with which we looked over phantom and totnes and whisky-bobbie, and selected the most fascinating that our tin reservoirs could supply. oh! the anxiety with which we watched the weather during the afternoon, and the deep satisfaction with which we noted that all things tended towards the development of a fine fishing evening. then we took boat, at about eight o'clock, and rowed across to a spot where a trap awaited us--and such a trap!--and drove away through the drooping day towards the count's wonderful water. the trap was a square iron cage on wheels, and the road--when it left the main track and branched off into the pine forest which jealously guards the upper reaches of the voksa--was not a road at all, but a series of terrible abysses with no bottom excepting the native rock, which is granite in those parts, and painful to jolt against. had the count so arranged matters in order to keep intruders from his sacred precincts? we, at all events, were not deterred from pressing forward, and oh! the sight that rewarded us--a sight i shall never forget, and such as i had never thought to see. try to picture it. when we reached harraka and the basin or ante-room between saima lake and voksa opened out before us, the entire surface of that basin of a third of a mile diameter was boiling and seething, and positively alive with leaping, gambolling monsters, so that it looked for all the world as though a shower of gigantic, long-shaped hailstones were falling over the entire surface of the water. there was not a square yard of the whole within which, if you watched it for a second or two, you would not see a mighty trout jump. had it been possible to suddenly intercept a huge net between air and water you would have caught a million. even c. g., who has fished this marvellous basin in olden days, before paradise was lost, has never seen anything like this. our fingers, as we put up our rods, tremble with the mere excitement of seeing such a sight; we can hardly frame words of wonder and admiration. the feeling is almost awe---- but the two finnish fishermen appointed to row us about shake their heads discouragingly. when the fish are playing in this way, they give us to understand, they will not take the bait. they are, it appears, not feeding at all, but merely enjoying life, and endeavouring to rid themselves of certain parasites which cling to them at this season. probably in an hour or two they will feed. this is discouraging, but we intend to try all the same. and for an hour we slowly float up and down and across the little lagoon, and the monster fish leap and play all round us, so that we might, if we pleased, touch them with our hands; they almost jump into the very boat at our feet, but neither minnow, nor fly, nor whisky-bobbie will tempt them. we must leave the place at midnight, alas! for the count's huge establishment--he has built a palace in this once beautiful place, beautiful in the fullest loveliness of prodigal nature--the count's many servants and officers and stewards and clerks will not retire until we depart, and we cannot decently keep them all up later than twelve. nevertheless, we will rest for half-an-hour, no more, and then try again for an hour or three-quarters of an hour; perhaps we may yet tempt at least one of these million monsters from his element. at present it is too tantalising to bear; we must turn our backs upon the seething basin and walk inland for the half-hour of enforced idleness--and then---- c. g. tells me that his fisherman has recognised him as an old friend, and declares that he, c. g., in the old club days, gave him, mikki, a pair of trousers. c. g. does not remember the circumstance, but feels that the trousers were garments well bestowed, for mikki will certainly take him to the best places by virtue of the gift. cast your bread, says c. g., upon the waters, or in other words, freely distribute old pairs of trousers, and you shall reap the benefit of your liberality after many days. then we returned and settled ourselves once more in our luxurious, red-velvet cushioned boats, selected our biggest and most fascinating phantoms, and started. it was now past eleven o'clock. the fish had nearly finished their tantalising antics at the surface and had disappeared into the secret depths; the swirling water was scarcely broken by a single leaping monster. night had fallen at last: it was as still, as silent, as mysterious, as bewitching as a dream-river. you could hear the roar and turmoil of the voksa breaking away in rapids at the far end of the basin, but here in the smooth water there was no sound--only a strong, silent draw of deep current towards the place where lake and river parted. where were the fish? what had become of the thousands of sportive giants of half-an-hour ago? i tried to imagine them at the bottom, each lying behind stone or snag--lying with moving gill and bright silver body waving in the current, on the look-out for prey. did they watch my blue phantom as it passed, and half rush out at it, but hold back at the last moment, noticing something which aroused suspicion in the cut of tail, or fin, or red marks on the white belly? there is something fearfully sacrilegious about all this. how dare i float with impunity out here, at night, above these millions of scaly beings, intent on their destruction and fearing nothing for myself? what about the water-spirits--the _vodyannui_ of sclavonic folklore? this is their own place: it is probably a sacred retreat of theirs. at any moment they might---- away go thoughts of water-folk and of everything else, for there is a great jerk. my heart goes off at a hand gallop; my rod instinctively stands upright. fifty yards away there is a rush and the sudden flash of a silver streak of light--i lower the point for an instant, an act of courtesy always to be paid to a leaping fish--then there is a whirr and a few moments of delirious, delicious agitation. yohann, my man, is making for the land where the count has built him a wonderful granite embankment for the convenient landing of fish; we reach it and i step out; but my captive has not the smallest intention of giving in yet; he is closer in now, but repeatedly he bolts away and increases the distance again. suddenly i perceive that c. g. is beside me: he, too, is playing a fish--a big one he tells me. it is a race who will requisition the huge landing-net first. up and down the embankment we go, and the fish are leaping and struggling close in now; but c. g. gets his home first, a beauty of nearly twenty pounds; and mine, tired out, is ready to be landed as soon as the net is free. a truly lovely fish, too, but smaller than his by several pounds--no time to weigh either of them now. back we go, and in three minutes both are on land once more, and each is busy in the deliriously fascinating occupation of battling with another giant. oh! this is life indeed. better half-an-hour of harraka than a cycle of cathay! quick, c. g.; land your fish and give me the net, and let us both start again; this is too splendid to waste a minute! and again we put forth our fatal phantoms, and two more beauties are presently transferred from the secret places of this wonder-tank to the hot granite of the count's quay--and then, alas! it is midnight, and we must go. seventy-five pounds, in six fish, in little more than half-an-hour; it is good enough, c. g. furthermore, we are the richer by more than these mere seventy-five pounds of trout-flesh, for we have seen a great sight to-night; we have been in paradise; we have burst, this day, into the secret places of the trout people, the very sanctuary and central rendezvous of the tribe. what should we have caught had we been able to continue our fishing on that marvellous night? who can tell? if the fish are on the feed, really on the feed, in that wonderful basin, i believe you might catch any number while the appetite of the community lasted; there is no lack of them. no possible amount of angling could produce the smallest visible effect upon the numbers of the thousands we saw that night, when the basin boiled and splashed again with the play of them. a paradise indeed for anglers is this finland paradise of the voksa, and, alas! a paradise lost. chapter v after ducks on ladoga once upon a time when autumn was holding sway, and winter was within hail, a russian friend, knowing my weakness for making acquaintance with every kind of creature to be seen in the land of the tsars, very kindly proposed to me to journey with him up the neva to schlüsselburg, or near it, where he owned a large house and much land; and there to embark in his steam-launch for a duck-shooting cruise on lake ladoga. duck-shooting from a steam-launch! this would be quite a novel experience to me, and i jumped gladly at the proposal. but how were we going to get within range of ducks in a puffing and smoking steam-launch? i asked. were they tame ducks? "tame ducks!" repeated my outraged host; "no, indeed; on the contrary, the ducks on ladoga are the very wildest things in creation." "then how are we going to get at them in the open?" i persisted, with true british pertinacity. but my host only said, "wait and see." his manner was full of conviction; it was impossible to doubt his good faith; clearly he was the proprietor of a secret, which, in time, i too should learn! delightful! i am for it; i shall see that there is something new under heaven! my friend prohoroff is a capital fellow and a good sportsman. i have shot with him over moor and forest more than once, and found him possessed of a chivalrous generosity and sportsmanlike nature rare among the so-called sportsmen of his country. prohoroff has a soul above family pot-shots at young coveys huddled beneath their mother's wing; he would scorn to break the egg of a grey hen in order to add its unfledged contents to that of his game-bag; that is not prohoroff's style, which is robust, and broad, and british. he lets his birds fly, does prohoroff, and misses them like a man; moreover, he does not encourage his dog to catch the young game. prohoroff has rubbed shoulders with britishers, and has eaten of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil in matters appertaining to fair dealing between man and the brute creation. i shall be quite safe in prohoroff's hands. from st. petersburg to schlüsselburg, up the neva, is a trip of some six or seven hours by the deliberate steamer in which the journey is made; it is, after all, the whole length of the neva, from source to sea. and a beautiful river it is, as far as the stream itself is concerned. but the banks are the reverse of interesting. flat and dull, with here a belt of pine forest, and there a tumble-down village--all russian villages present a tumble-down appearance--and stubble and potatoes and waste land: there is not much to look at, and no towns of any size and importance are passed. but the water is beautiful--clear and white, and, at this season--early october--well stocked with salmon on the wander between lake and sea. these may be caught, rarely, with a minnow, _one_ has been taken with a fly, i have heard, but only one in the memory of man. for the rest, the fishermen who ply for them with big nets worked by a windlass from wooden jetties, appear to make good hauls, and the quality of the fish is excellent. i should dearly love to stop and have a cast or two for one of them; but this is impossible. prohoroff tells me that one of the favourite pastimes of st. petersburgers, with a taste for gentle gambling, is to be conveyed out to one of these fishing stations, and to speculate in "hauls" before the event. the cost of a "haul" about to be made and of course absolutely fortuitous as to its results, is from three to five roubles--six to ten shillings. the speculator may find himself possessor of salmon enough, as the result of but one cast, to feed a regiment for a week, or--if not one of the favoured of fortune--may purchase a dozen "hauls" of the net and go away empty-handed. if so, he is sure to see, as he floats dejectedly away, a vast quantity of fish landed at the very next haul after his departure; he will see their silver sides gleaming in the sun from a distance, and he will give his opinion as to the reliability of the goddess who holds the scales. but here we are at schlüsselburg, and here is prohoroff's house--a huge, rambling structure with bedrooms like barracks, but unprovided with the commonest of comforts, excepting beds, and having no apparatus for washing. russians are quite free from that insular faddiness as to cold water which is a characteristic of us britishers; they see no necessity for, and no virtue in, a washing-stand. as for a cold bath--_proh pudor_! what a dirty race they must be, think the muscovites, who require a bath every morning! there was once a _savant_ who gave the following definition of water: "a colourless liquid which turns black when the human hands are placed in it." was this learned man a joker? i cannot think a _savant_ would so demean himself; he must have been of russian extraction and perfectly serious. however, i have lived long enough to learn the virtue of the saying, "_Ã� la guerre, comme à la guerre!_" therefore, in a foreign land, and in a strange house, when there are no facilities for washing, i philosophically go unwashed until an opportunity offers to repair the omission. so i went to bed and wished for day. in the morning a servant brought in a brown pudding dish and a tumbler of water. i sat down, in order to reflect calmly upon the possible uses of these articles. was i expected to seat myself in the dish and pour the contents of the tumbler over me? i rejected the idea. eventually i placed the pudding dish upon a chair, armed myself with the tumbler--and, by rigid economy, and the exercise of superhuman patience, succeeded in getting my face and neck wet and the palms of both hands damp. enough; i am washed--now for breakfast and the ducks of ladoga! when we sallied forth to embark upon the steam-launch and arrived at the water's edge, i did not see the vessel, and inquired of prohoroff where it was. this was my good host's moment of triumph. "why, there, just in front of your nose!" he said, laughing loudly and delightedly; "can't you see it?" he pointed to what i had imagined was a grove of young pine cover fringing a small island or promontory. then i understood the mystery, and was glad that good-natured prohoroff had succeeded so well in bringing off his great surprise. it was indeed the steam-launch; but so covered and hidden by pine boughs, and small pine trees fastened to the boat's side upright from the water's edge, that it really looked, as i have intimated, for all the world like a pine-grown island. undoubtedly it was well done, and the ducks might easily be deluded by it, even as i had been. the skipper and the engineer were both aboard, grinning with delight from behind the cover. my host's successful deception was regarded by them as a compliment to themselves, for they had built up the fir-grove; consequently their joy was unfeigned. these good fellows were armed with old muzzle-loading english guns, always capped and at full cock, and always held aimed, it seemed, at my head; prohoroff and i had our more modern weapons and lots of cartridges; the party meant business! steam was up, however, and we must lose no more time, but be off towards the lake. past the old swedish castle we glide and the english cotton mills, and now we are in ladoga, and hastening, a moving island, towards the middle of the great lake, to the waters wherein the big ducks most do congregate. very soon prohoroff sights the first duck community--a hundred of them--peacefully floating and diving a quarter of a mile away. "ease her!" is the word; then, "easy ahead;" and slowly and cautiously we glide forward towards our hitherto unsuspecting quarry. it is an exciting moment. i do not know the name of this duck now before us; but he is a huge black fellow, a diver, with white feathers in his wings. and now two hundred yards have been covered, and still we creep on unobserved. then a very old duck lifts her head and looks at us. "my dears," says she, "did you notice an island about here? i didn't." one or two younger members of the family glance casually at us, their mouths full of food. one says the island has been there all the time; the other rudely enquires who on earth cares whether the old lady noticed the island or not; the island is certainly there now! after this, the old lady settles down to her usual morning avocations, until the island is within a hundred yards, or less, of the party. then she gives us another and a longer look--her neck very straight and long, and her face at right angles to our advance--the one eye which is thus deputed to scan us looking concerned and agitated. "i'll tell you what it is, my dears," says she, "i don't like that island; the current is setting the other way, and yet we are nearer to it than we were. i'm off, for one!" and in the twinkling of an eye her black head has dipped beneath the surface; her white-flecked tail for an instant shows itself, then disappears, and grandmother duck is next seen fifty yards further away. fortunately for us, her example is followed by one or two very old stagers only--perhaps they have seen this game played before; but the youngsters are not going to listen to the fears and fancies of the old fogies. what youngster ever did? consequently, in another minute, judgment, swift and sure, has overtaken them. four barrelsful of flame and lead belch out upon them as they float, two more as they rise, and seven or eight young unbelievers are lying dead upon the water, or endeavouring madly, broken winged and in touch with grim death, to dive out of range. all are picked up, by degrees. meanwhile, the community is wheeling around over our heads high in air; they see us now, plainly enough, ensconced behind our pine-tree ambuscade, and are forming their own conclusions as to the morality of our proceedings. having settled this point, and, we trust, complimented the old lady, their grandmother, upon her sagacity, they fly away, and are no more seen. they will exercise a wise caution with regard to islands henceforth. and so the day passes; with each duck community it is the same tale. there are a few wise ducks and many unwise, and the deck of our launch is strewn with the bodies of these latter; great northern divers--who look as though no foolishness could possibly, under any circumstances, find napping that stern wisdom which sits for ever in the expression of their most serious countenances--and divers and ducks of every sort and kind, and to which my unlearned pen can give no certain names. some of these proved very delicious when they afterwards made their positively last appearance in public; some were very much the reverse, though that sporting skipper and the cannonading engineer (who once nearly blew my head off in the excitement of the chase!) liked them all equally well. and so ended what was, to me, a novel and delightful experience. it was one of many days to which my soul cries out "encore!" and cries in vain, for destiny says, "oh no! your cake is eaten! you must wait your chance at next baking day!" chapter vi about bears: by one of them i i come of what those conceited creatures, the humans, would probably call humble parentage. in other words, i belong to the great ursine family: i am a bear. i may as well say at once, in order that there may be no misunderstandings between the humans and myself, in case my life story should ever come into their hands, that i do not in the slightest degree share their opinion as to the relative position in the scale of existence occupied respectively by them and by me. indeed, if they will excuse my saying so, in my humble judgment i am at least as good as they are, and perhaps a little better. for instance, to compare us physically, i am taller than many, and broader, stronger, braver, fleeter, more majestic than the best of them. a human is a mere toy in my hands, as i have proved over and over again--why, there was old ivan the keeper, only last month, he--but i am digressing. ha ha! i can't help laughing, though, when i recall poor ivan's face as i hugged him--my! how his tongue did stick out! again, if we are compared intellectually, i very much doubt whether we bears are so inferior as my friends the humans suppose. we do not talk their language--true! but, do they talk ours? i think not. on the other hand, we _understand_ theirs--while they are ignorant altogether of ours! as for their sciences, their education, their 'ologies (which they think so much of), their arts, their wars, their politics, their freedom--freedom! ha ha! it is not _our_ notion of freedom!--do all these things render them the happier? what has all this "civilisation," so called, done for them? are they freer than i am? do they get more to eat and drink, and pay less for their victuals? well, well! i must not continue in this strain, airing my pet ideas instead of proceeding with what i intended to be a mere record of my own personal career; i could say much in support of the opinion expressed at the beginning of this chapter: namely, that we bears are just as good, if not a little better, than the human race; but then, after all, i shall never succeed in convincing the conceited--the _most_ conceited of all creatures--man, of his inferiority: as for my ursine readers;--well, we know what we know! my earliest recollections are among the most painful of all those scenes of my life which have impressed themselves upon my memory; for they are connected with the murder of my dear mother--the base and barbarous murder of as good and indulgent a mother as ever brought into the world and nourished a promising little bruin family, for such, i think, my small brothers and sisters and i may fairly be called. i will record the shocking circumstances of our great domestic tragedy exactly as they occurred. my earliest recollections are of life in a dark and confined space in which my two brothers and my two sisters and i had but little room for our juvenile recreations. i remember a dear old mother who divided her time in sleeping, and admonishing and educating us. we were born in this place, she told us; it was called a "_berloga_," and was the den she had prepared for herself as a shelter during the long months of a cold and cruel russian winter. it was not cold inside this den of ours, on the contrary it was very warm indeed. we had been born in december, and between that month and march we had had plenty of time to grow--we little ones--so that the _berloga_, which had been amply large enough for my mother alone, had become what i may describe as a tight fit for the six of us. it was lucky, mother used to say, that father was not with us at the time. he was away--she did not seem to know where, exactly, but she had arranged to meet him near a certain village, whose name she mentioned, some time in spring. i remember our mother used often to say, "_do_ let me go to sleep now, my dears; when you are older you will understand how difficult it is to keep awake in the winter time after the fatigues of a long season!" and, indeed, the good soul used frequently to fall fast asleep in the very midst of our lesson time--much to our joy, for we were always ready for a game of romps in that heyday time of childhood. mother would have slept the whole winter but for us brats, she used to tell us! well, one day about the end of march, when the other children and i were busily engaged in rolling over one another, and pretending to worry each other's ears, which was a favourite game of ours, we heard a terrible noise outside. up to this time we had never heard any sound at all excepting such as we made ourselves. there were shouts and barking of dogs, and a creature--whom i afterwards discovered to be a human--was knocking at the sides of our house with a long pole--we could see all this through a small peephole which we kept open. we also saw other human creatures standing near. these last held in their hands steel sticks clubbed at one end, and were looking straight into the mouth of the den. mother was fast asleep and we were obliged to awake her, for we felt alarmed at the aspect of these human creatures, puny beings though they seemed when compared with our beloved parent, who was so very much larger and stronger than they. mother started up and rubbed her eyes: "what is it, you tiresome children?" she asked. just at this moment she caught sight of the man who, with his pole, was pushing and striking at the snowed-up mouth of the _berloga_. immediately mother's face and form changed. i had never seen her look as she now did. her beautiful brown coat stood out and her ears went back. red blood came into her eyes, and her claws stretched out to their full length. she growled savagely, and for a moment or two glared at the human disturber of her peace as though she would every instant rush out and tear him limb from limb. at last she spoke to us: "children," she said, "we are in great danger, and i know not what best to do: you are so young to take care of yourselves!" "take care of ourselves, mother?" we said--"what do you mean! you are not going to leave us?" "not if i can help it, dears," said my mother, licking and caressing us each in turn, as she spoke: "but do you see the sticks which yonder men hold in their hands? those are called guns; they are terrible things, and spit fire and smoke at us bears. but for them, i should fall upon these human miscreants and we should sup upon their flesh--which is very good eating, and some bears prefer it to a vegetable diet. as it is, i shall spring first at this man with the pole--he cannot hurt me. then i shall attack the others; but, dear children, it is very dangerous, for the contest is unequal; those fire-sticks may kill me before i reach them. if they do, you must all stay as still as mice in here--perhaps they will not see you. should they see you, you must run for it; keep behind the trees, and don't run across the snow patches, of which there are still some about, for that will leaves traces of the direction you have taken, and you may be followed. if you escape, find some lair for yourselves and keep together for warmth. eat what you can find. and now, dear children, we must part: if i escape with my life i shall soon return and find you; if not, good-bye--don't forget your mother and all her advice!" with these words our dear mother suddenly sprang out of the _berloga_, and in an instant had knocked down the human who was the nearest to us--him with the pole. then without waiting a second she hurled herself upon the other two creatures, those which held the fire-sticks, or guns. instantly there was a terrific noise, like a clap of thunder, but shorter and louder; followed by a second and a third. but mother had reached the nearer of the two humans and had risen on her hind feet with such a roar that even we, her children, were startled and frightened. she seemed to reach and claw at him--oh! how majestic and grand she looked compared with her puny antagonist. then she and he fell over together, and i saw the second creature point his fire-stick at them as they rolled on the ground; it spat out its fire again, and mother rose and disappeared among the trees! dear, brave mother! what a glorious fight she made of it--and she had escaped after all, then! good, brave mother! very soon we saw the pole-man rise and rub his head, and he and the third man creature went together to look at the second, who was lying as mother had left him, upon the ground. they did not seem to be able to mend him, however, for he still lay on and took no notice of them. but all this time a horrid little white creature who was with them, a thing called a dog, had been poking around our den with its tail tucked tightly between its hind legs--an ugly and silly habit of these creatures when they feel alarmed. he was sniffing about the mouth of the lair, and suddenly--entering a foot or two further than he had ventured before--caught sight of one of my sisters. he instantly turned and ran out of the _berloga_ as fast as he could lay his wretched thin legs to the ground, barking and yelping, and my silly little sister, unable to resist the temptation, must needs run after him. immediately there was another explosion from the man with the fire-stick, and poor little katia, my sister, rolled over and over and then lay quite still--dead; murdered! "here! ivan!" cried the man, "go into the _berloga_ and see if there are more of the little brutes--try and catch one or two alive for the zoo!" it was all up! ivan came blundering into our house, groping about with his hands, for it was too dark to see anything. we all lay still, for we were too small to hurt him, and we hoped to escape. but his hand came in contact with little mishka's coat and ivan held on tight, in spite of poor mishka's struggles and snarls and bites. the rest of us, not wishing to lose our freedom, rushed out of the lair, leaving mishka in ivan's hands, a captive. as we darted out and made for the shelter of the trees, remembering mother's advice, the dreadful fire-stick spat out its fire and smoke at us, but none of us were hurt by it, and vainka, natasha, and i got safely away and huddled ourselves together inside the trunk of an old dead pine tree. here we stayed for hours, not daring to move for fear of being found by the cruel humans and their fire-sticks. when it began to grow dark we ventured out and crept back to the _berloga_. there was no sign of the humans; poor dead katia had been taken away and little prisoner mishka also; but where was mother? we wandered about calling for her in all directions; at last--just as we were giving up the search for the night--natasha heard a sound which she said she was sure was our dear mother crying. then we all listened and heard it, and proceeding in the direction from which it seemed to come, we found poor dear mother lying stretched upon the ground, bleeding and weak. she had three horrible wounds, all given by those detestable fire-spitting sticks called guns, and her life-blood was fast oozing from them. "i am dying, my children," she said--"are you all safe?" she looked around at us, with her poor glazing eyes, and noticed that some were missing. "where are katia and mishka?" she asked. we were obliged to tell the sad truth. again we saw that dreadful look of savage hatred come over mother's face. for a few moments she could say nothing; then at last she muttered: "promise me, children, that throughout your lives you will hate and fight mankind, wherever you meet his detested offspring! promise me this, and i shall die happy!" we all promised faithfully to do as she wished. these were dear mother's last words to us, and a few moments later she died and her soul flew away to those happy hunting-grounds where, as we bears are taught to believe, it is our part to handle the fire-sticks, and that of the human beings to be hunted! thus we lost our dear mother, together with a small sister and brother whom we could better spare. considering the circumstances of our deprivation, by means of the foulest murder, of a parent's care and authority, and of our last promise to a beloved and dying mother, is it to be wondered at that i can never cherish any other feeling towards that arch-enemy of my family--_man_, than hatred, and that of the deepest? my brother mishka, from whom i hear occasionally, in a manner utterly unsuspected by his "keepers" in the zoological gardens at st. petersburg, frequently does his best to persuade me to modify my opinion of and conduct towards mankind. he says the humans are not nearly so bad as one thinks, and that he has a very good time in his perpetual _berloga_ (from which the poor fellow cannot escape), and gets plenty of victuals of the best quality. he says he likes children the best--they are so very generous with their buns and cakes. ha ha! i agree with him about the youngsters! i like the children best, too! they are so deliciously tender and flaky. i have enjoyed several, and sincerely hope i have not tasted my last. but i must proceed with my narrative. this then was to be the pivot upon which my future career was to turn: hatred of and animosity towards the human race. if i could at any time injure their persons or damage their property it should be done; i had vowed it; that very night as we three children lay huddled and trembling, poor orphans of a murdered mother, within our desolate _berloga_, we all vowed it. man was henceforth our enemy. we were all reduced to great straits just at this time, for a living. poor little creatures that we were, it puzzles me now, when i think of it, how we managed to pull through that dreadful period. the fact of the matter is, we were obliged to eat all sorts of things which we should otherwise have left alone; it was now april, and we contrived to live upon the young leaves and grass blades and shoots of various trees and bushes, together with--i blush to record it--field-mice, squirrels, an occasional hare, and sometimes a partridge or grey hen, when one could be found obligingly sitting on a nestful of eggs and dreaming of the joys of maternity. we ate the eggs also. so we dragged along until july came. but each day life became easier and more enjoyable, for the rye and oats soon began to grow tall in the fields surrounding the villages; the bees were up and about, and furnished us with the perfectly delicious results of their labours; and the woods gradually filled themselves with berries and luxuries of all sorts. when the oats were ripe we fared magnificently. one day we met a splendid specimen of our family whom we soon discovered to be none other than our father--the consort of our dear mother, now deceased. he received us fairly well; but my veneration for the paternal relative suffered a rude shock when he informed my brother and sister and myself that, with every desire to be a good father to us, he could not permit us to trespass upon a certain oat-field which he declared did not contain any more than he absolutely required for his own subsistence. he made some sympathetic remarks as to mother's death, with his mouth full of delicious ripe oats, and then bade farewell of us (meaning _us_ to go--he evidently had no intention of leaving the field!), remarking, cordially enough, that he would always be glad to see us, and to hear of any favourable feeding-grounds we might come across, if large enough for all, "but never mind your old father if rations are scarce!" he added. i never saw my parent again. very shortly after the day upon which he warned us off that oat-field, which--by the way--_we_ had discovered, he actually permitted himself to be driven away from its precincts by a mere peasant-human armed with an axe. i fancy my father must be a very inferior person compared with my good brave mother. _she_ would have behaved very differently towards that peasant--we should undoubtedly have had him for supper: oats, peasant, and honey; a supper of three courses fit for the gods. but for a member of the family of ursidæ to be ignominiously chased away from an oat-field by a peasant--oh! dear me--disgraceful! disgraceful! ii well, it was a grand time for us, that first summer. how we grew and fattened! by the early part of the autumn, we were really quite respectable-sized members of the community. about this time we lost our brother vainka. it was an exciting thing, rather, and i will note down the story in full. it was like this. we were all three busily engaged in breakfasting among the tall stems of a rye-field, near a village, when we observed several human children playing about in an adjoining belt of pasture-land. there were no grown men present, so far as we were aware, and we determined to amuse ourselves, and at the same time to piously observe the injunctions of our dear mother deceased, by doing our best to frighten the brats out of their wits, and, if possible, injure them besides; we were too small, as yet, to do them any very serious harm; in fact, they were rather bigger, i think, than we. so we crept towards them, hidden from view by the beautiful thick rye-stalks, until we were close to the edge of the pasture-field. then, at a signal from natasha, we all three pounced out upon them, growling and open-mouthed. oh dear, oh dear! it was a funny sight to see those children! the silly creatures were too startled to move until we were upon them. they stood staring and shrieking, with eyes and mouth open, and turned to run only when it was too late. how we laughed as we rolled them over and over in the grass and scratched their faces, and tore their dresses off their backs! and how they screamed! the whole population of the village rushed out to see what all the noise was about, big men and women with axes and long things called scythes, and then we thought it was time to retire among our rye-stalks. there we hid ourselves and laughed, and ate the delicious cool, juicy grasses, and the luscious rye-grains, until we could eat and laugh no more, and determined to make a move into the woods, in order to have a good drink in a moss pool we knew of and then lie down a bit and sleep off the excitement. but to our horror we found that those mean wretches, the humans belonging to the village, were waiting for us outside the cover. they had sneaked up and surrounded us, and were sitting silently all along the edge of the field, armed with their axes and scythes and nets; luckily they had no fire-sticks! well, vainka was, as it happened, the first to step out from among the rye-stalks, and he was immediately confronted by two women and a man who ran after him--one getting in front and one on each side. while they were busy with him, however, natasha and i escaped unnoticed and were able to watch the pursuit of poor vainka from a position of safety. one of the women had a crawfish net with a long wooden handle. this creature kept calling to the others, "don't kill him, don't kill him! we'll take him alive!" the others seemed to agree, for they closed in upon poor little vainka and placed the crawfish net tightly over his head and face, so that, though he fought fiercely and bravely for liberty, he was quite powerless to hurt them. then they led him away to the village and we saw him no more. i have seen him often since, however, for his "master" (!) still lives in this village and brings him down from town at certain seasons. vainka goes to town (st. petersburg) in order to amuse the people by dancing on his hind legs, pretending to wrestle with his master, and other foolery, and with--i blush to record it--with a ring through his nostrils, to which a chain is attached. poor dear old vainka--his spirit is completely broken; he has actually learned to tolerate human-kind, and declares that they only require to be known in order to be appreciated, and that he does not think he could exist now without the applause which his performances call forth from the vulgar brutes of humans who have degraded him. ugh! it is shameful! he has twice escaped from the village and joined me--but i will, i think, relate these episodes in full, in their proper place in this narrative; for my ursine friends may learn much by a careful consideration of the events, and i should not like to deprive them of the advantage of considering this matter in the light of a thorough and intimate knowledge of the circumstances. meanwhile, i must relate the sad story of how natasha and i separated--after, alas! a quarrel. it was after our first winter alone--without mother and the rest, i mean. natasha and i spent that winter together, in one _berloga_, for warmth. it was a very uneventful time, for we were not disturbed from november to april, and slept steadily on through all those months. it was then that we realised how dreadfully we must have worried poor dear mother in the preceding year by keeping her awake during that long period when we bears feel as though it were impossible, whatever happened, to rouse ourselves, and would almost sooner die than move. but to continue: when spring came and we sallied forth from our winter quarters, we were both so hungry that positively we could almost have eaten one another. just outside a village close by, as we were prowling around, hoping to find some sort of food, natasha taking one side of the village and i the other, i had made my half round without success and was awaiting my sister with some degree of impatience, when i saw a dog issue from one of the huts and trot away across a field. the next instant i heard a yelping and observed natasha in full pursuit, and scarcely a yard away from the dog's tail. then they both disappeared behind a hedge, and for a moment the yelping was redoubled, and then ceased altogether. i hurried along to join and congratulate natasha, as well as to take my share in a dinner which i felt that i required very badly, when suddenly i met natasha returning. "well, where's the dog?" i said--feeling, i know not why, a strange sinking at the heart. "what dog?" said natasha, drooping her head a little and averting her face. "why, the dog you were hunting a moment ago!" i said. "oh, it escaped," said natasha, who had some whitish fur, which was not her own, sticking to the corner of her mouth. "oh--you _nearly_ caught it, i see!" said i. "yes, i very nearly caught it," said my sister, her voice dying away to nothing at the end of the sentence. well--i believed her, for we had never, as yet, deceived one another to any great extent. half an hour afterwards, as we were roaming the woods looking for something solid to eat, i suddenly missed natasha. i called for her and searched the wood, but all in vain. i therefore left the forest and retraced my steps towards the open fields close, to the village. there, after considerable hunting and much waste of time and temper, i at last came upon my sister, who was just polishing off the last remnants of the carcase of a dog. i fell upon her without a word, for she had deceived me and was unworthy of courtesy at my hands. up to this time i had always been polite and kind and--in its best sense--brotherly towards natasha; therefore she was astonished and indignant when i attacked her. i must confess i punished her savagely, for i was very angry and very hungry as well; indeed, i did not leave her alone until i had pretty nearly worried the breath out of her body. when she picked herself up from the grass she made off immediately, without making any remark either of abuse or excuse, and, as i have never set eyes on her since that morning, i conclude that she emigrated to a distant part of the country. i cannot say i was sorry, for i should never have regained that confidence in her which her deceitful conduct on this occasion entirely destroyed, and the relations between us would have been so strained as to render life unpleasant. so there was an end of family life for me--as a bachelor, of course. my father--well, the less said about my poor old selfish pater, the better. my mother, bless her, dead; my sister katia dead also; mishka and vainka both prisoners, one at the zoo, in st. petersburg, the other in a village not far away from my own domain; and natasha, as i have explained, an exile--a discredited fugitive from her native woods! soon after natasha's disappearance, however, at least in the autumn of the same year, just before i had chosen the spot in which i should winter, something happened which filled me with true joy and thankfulness: for i have a tender heart in spite of what i have just recorded of my conduct towards natasha. i was wandering about the forest feeling very weary, and longing for the first fall of snow to herald in the approaching winter and allow of my retiring for the season. hearing a noise behind me--a puffing, grunting noise which seemed to indicate the presence of one of my own species,--i turned quickly round to see who this could possibly be; and, if a stranger, to warn him that he was trespassing upon land which already belonged to me by the sacred rights summed up in the ancient roman law which all bears excepting extremely large ones still recognise as binding: "_beati possidentes_." what was my delight to see my dear old brother vainka puffing and blowing after me as fast as his poor old legs and lungs--both sadly out of condition,--could bring him. he had a ring through his nose, and from this there dangled a piece of chain, and from the end of the chain a torn portion of a halter. we rushed towards one another: "why, vainka!" i exclaimed: "where in fortune's name do _you_ come from, and how did you escape?" "it's a long story!" said vainka--"never mind the details--here i am! i bit through the rope, as you see, and escaped from the barn at night by breaking down the door: now let's have some food! when we are in the _berloga_, which i suppose will be to-morrow--i hope so, for i'm dead tired" (here he yawned twice and i followed suit)--"i'll tell you all about it." i gave him a capital dinner considering the time of year, including some honey--of which i knew of a good store, and showed him the spot i had chosen for the _berloga_, which he quite approved of. during the course of conversation, vainka informed me that he had grown quite fond of his "master," and would not care to do him an injury; but at the same time he wished to mention that there were six young sheep grazing in the field behind the house he (vainka) inhabited, and that he should imagine these sheep would make a delightful meal for any one liking mutton. personally, he said, he would rather not touch them, and he hoped, for his master's sake, that no one else would; but that they were in such and such a field, and the humans never left the house before a.m. a really good feed, he remarked, was considered by some people to be an advantage just before retiring for a sleep of several months. he was perfectly right. those young sheep were quite delicious; and while we gaily consumed them for dinner next day old vainka gave me many hints as to the exact disposal, by humans, of their time,--hints which have ever since been extremely useful to me in various ways. did i mention that vainka consumed his share of the two sheep which found their way to our larder? well, he did--anyhow; and enjoyed them very much, but was deeply put out (after he had dined) to remember that the mutton had belonged to his master. he would not, he said, for anything have touched it had he recalled that fact in time. that day the snow came, and, after performing those maze-like evolutions in which our family invariably indulge at this time of year, and which are designed to bewilder any human being who might wander our way and wish to track us, with sinister purpose, to our lair, we lay down, and overcome by fatigue and--well, mutton--fell asleep almost immediately. i had endeavoured, but in vain, to remove the badge of servitude and disgrace which poor vainka was condemned to wear in the shape of the ring and chain, but could do nothing with it--vainka had been obliged to settle down with the cruel, detestable thing still attached to his nose--bah! the next thing either of us was conscious of was a knocking at the sides of our snowy, or icy house. the noise immediately aroused us, for it recalled a similar sound which we had good cause to remember, and carried us back to that dreadful day when our poor mother had been done to death, together with little katia. on peeping through the hole we soon perceived that we were besieged by two men--both of whom were peasants. one of these held a fire-stick, and the sight of it put my heart all of a quake; for i confess, though i fear nothing else in the world, i am terribly frightened of that dreadful, death-spitting stick, called gun. but vainka touched my shoulder: "the one with the gun," he whispered, "is my master: what's to be done?" i didn't know. then vainka rose to the emergency and did that for which i shall always feel reverently and admiringly grateful to him. he undertook to see me safely out of the difficulty by giving himself up. "they'll never dream that _you_ are here as well as i," he said; "all you have to do is to stay snugly inside and let me go out: they won't shoot me; i am too valuable to them!" i protested that this sacrifice was too noble; that i could not permit such self-abnegation on my account! "self-abnegation?" said vainka; "nonsense! it's nothing of the sort. i declare to you that i would rather go back to the humans than earn my living in the woods; i came away because i pined for the winter sleep for which my nature yearns--i should have had to work, with them; _now_, i have had my rest and am as fresh as a daisy!" i really believe the good fellow meant it. at all events, since i should certainly be killed or wounded if i went out and he would as certainly only be captured, it was clearly better that he should go than i; for he might always escape again; while i, if once killed, should appear upon the scene no more. so i embraced my dear vainka, thanked him heartily for saving my life at the expense of his liberty (at which he smiled and said he didn't believe in liberty), and let him go--lying very close myself, and watching the development of circumstances through the peephole. i must say that, in spite of all my hatred for mankind, i was a little softened towards vainka's friends, on this occasion, by the events which now took place. vainka broke through the wall of our _berloga_ and deliberately stepped out. the man with the pole quickly got out of the way, while the other raised his gun. for an instant i was in dread lest he should not recognise my dear brother in time, and was on the point of rushing forth to strike him dead before he should have slaughtered poor confiding vainka, when, luckily for us all (for i should not have been in time), he dropped his arm, raised his hand to shade his eyes, stared, and broke into a roar of laughter: "why!" he cried, "strike me blind if it isn't dear old mishka himself!" (the humans, for reasons best known to themselves, call us all "mishka.") with these words, he rushed up to vainka, caught hold of the chain (the wrench to v.'s nose must have been exceedingly painful!) put both arms round my brother's neck, and commenced to kiss and to hug him in the most comical manner. he really appeared to be quite fond of vainka, and vainka himself seemed almost as glad to greet _him_. then the peasant took some lumps of the cooked rye, which my brother says is so delicious (and which, i may mention, i believe in my heart to be one of the chief causes of vainka's marvellous attachment to the debased life he leads!), and fed his new-found and long-lost friend. vainka dropped a large piece of it on the ground, and i imagine the good fellow meant it for me; but the frugal peasant picked it up and pocketed it, so that i was not able to taste the vaunted stuff--bah! i'm sure it isn't up to july oats or honey, or even baby--which is delicious when one happens to be of a carnivorous turn of mind, as one is sometimes. then they all went away and left me, never dreaming--as vainka rightly anticipated--that another bear lay concealed within the _berloga_, and that master mishka, as they called him, was but my guest. ha! ha! i should have liked to have dashed out and smashed them both--the men, i mean, when their backs were turned! i burned to do it--but discretion gained the day: there was that accursed fire-stick to be reckoned with: i have been told that guns can be made to spit their fire in an instant even when a man has been knocked down and is lying upon the ground. so i refrained and stayed where i was, and in a while fell asleep once more, sleeping safely and comfortably until april, when i left the den and went out once again upon my travels. i had one other visit from vainka, a few months later. i had been hunting near his village, when of a sudden i became aware of master v. approaching me through a thin birch spinney which lay between me and the fields around the hamlet. he looked very dejected--not at all as one would expect a bear to look who had just regained his liberty! he brightened up a little when he saw me. "is anything the matter, brother?" i inquired, as i went to meet him. "nothing whatever," he said, "excepting that, curiously enough, i do not feel inclined to escape, and yet here i am, in the act of escaping!" "but how can that be?" i said; "in the first place you _must_ be glad to escape--no bear of any self-respect could help feeling glad; and besides, how could you possibly escape against your will?" "well," he said, "perhaps i have no self-respect; anyhow i only came because they left the door of the stable wide open and my chain was off at the time. all i had to do was to walk out, and now i wish i hadn't! this is just the time when little masha brings me my lunch of delicious bread" (that's the cooked rye i mentioned), "and--and--upon my word i think i shall go back--what's the use of being free--i am no longer fitted for a wild life." and sure enough the poor-spirited creature, whose once keen, free spirit had been entirely deadened by contact with the humans and their debasing life, would have made off then and there! but i stopped him. "you shall do nothing of the kind, my friend!" i said firmly. "you shall come into the woods with me and have a good time, and when you've enjoyed a run and some fresh air and natural food, you shall do as you like! come on!" so i got him away, and for three days we had the grandest fun in the world. he cheered up and agreed to join me in a little hunting close to a neighbouring village--he would do nothing near his own. we killed two dogs, a young cow, and some sheep, old vainka thoroughly entering into the spirit of the fun, and even enjoying the wild fury of the humans, who could not find us--there being no snow. but after three days of freedom and real life vainka grew home-sick. he yawned frequently, and said how sad little masha would be without him, and wondered what she was doing now--and now, and whether his master--whom, in spite of his solemn vows to our mother, he had evidently learned to love--was quite well--and so on. he became so melancholy and maudlin, that i perceived it was no use fighting against destiny, and i recommended him to be off to his dancing and skipping and his masha and his confounded man-worship--and away he went--poor fellow! as clear a case of a good bear gone wrong as it has ever been my lot to come across. iii the foregoing episode is a narrative of my last visit from vainka. i have seen the poor old fellow now and again and communicated with him by signs, the nature of which my ursine readers will at once comprehend, but which--in case any artful human should happen to decipher these memoirs--i will not describe in detail. both vainka and mishka are--much as i deplore the fact--now quite gone over to the enemy; they are, both of them, more man than bear, and this in spite of the tragic and bloody reasons which they, in common with myself, should cherish in their deepest hearts for loathing the very creatures whom they have learned to love--bah! it is unnatural, it is unbear-like, it is sickening. i, for my part, have kept my vow as made to our murdered mother. i think i may fairly boast that this is so. perhaps if i relate one or two of my principal adventures with mankind, my readers will do me the justice to admit that i have done my best. i hope they will do _themselves_ the justice to follow my example. mankind should be suppressed, wherever found. the first human being i successfully attacked and killed was a grown man, a peasant; the second was a baby. the latter was delicious, and i can safely recommend such of my relatives as have adhered, hitherto, to vegetarian principles, to relax them in favour, at least, of this dish. babies are not always easily procured; but a little excitement adds, i consider, zest to the pursuit. i may say at once that babies, in spite of the terrible noise which they are undoubtedly capable of producing, are perfectly harmless. they may be found occasionally lying on the grass close to rye or oat fields in which human beings are busy cutting down the food which naturally belongs to us, not to them. this is an act of burglary, and is punishable with singular propriety; because while these thieving humans are intent upon depriving us of our property it is the easiest matter in the world to creep up and make oneself master of _theirs_, in the shape of the babies which they leave in the adjoining field, ostensibly to take care of the food and drink which is packed in baskets for their dinner--though i must say it is just like human stupidity to place a helpless thing like a baby in charge of valuable property. i have never yet seen one raise a hand to protect its mother's dinner. but, as usual, i am wandering from my immediate subject, which is--a description of my first man. it was towards evening one summer day, and i was wandering slowly through the wood. i was not in the best of humours, for a field of oats upon which i had been supporting myself for several days was this afternoon in the hands of the "reapers," as they call themselves: _thieves_, as i call them! i had come there for my dinner and found the gang of humans busy at the oats with scythe and reaping-hook. what could i do? there was nothing to be done, excepting to show my teeth and bristle up my coat at them--and since they did not see me that was not of much practical use! so i went away again, cross and revengeful, and as i roamed about the woods, fuming and hungry, whom should i meet of a sudden but a tall peasant, wearing an axe in his belt but otherwise unarmed. for an instant we both stopped, surprised and startled. then, full of the hatred for his kind which i always felt but which had received an additional stimulus in the oat-field this afternoon, i raised myself upon my hind feet and caught hold of him. he tried to reach his axe, but i had gripped his arm and he could not. his face was a study: he had become very pale and his eyes were protruding: froth came from his mouth together with spluttering words--bad language, of course; those disgusting peasant creatures never open their lips without using language such as a bear would be shocked to employ. i leant upon him, bending my whole weight forward, growling fiercely, and reaching for his throat with my teeth. i felt a strong lust for blood, and my rage increased with every second. i knew that i must kill this man, and that he could not escape me or injure me. my fury knew no bounds; i seemed to hate him all the more for being in my power, and i bore him pitilessly down to the earth--i was far heavier than he. then i seized his throat in my teeth and his head with my claws and enjoyed myself. how he kicked and struggled for a few seconds--only a few--i wish it had been more!--then he lay perfectly still, and i knew that i had slain my first man. i was not anxious to eat him: i had not as yet learned that human flesh is good, especially that of babies; therefore i mauled him savagely for several minutes in order to make sure there should be no mistake about his incapacity for future mischief and treachery, which is all that his kind live for--and then i left him to the crows. but as i raised myself from his body i muttered to myself, "there, mother! though thousands of executions could never avenge your assassination, here lies one, at least, of the hated family which murdered you!" i felt more or less appeased after the pious act of filial vengeance which i have just recorded, and ate my supper that night with a light heart--the supper consisting of some of the very oats which the peasants had thought to deprive me of! the silly creatures had cut the oats and tied them in bundles, which was extremely convenient for me, and saved me the trouble of picking the ears of grain for myself. as for my first baby meal, that was a very simple affair: the small creature was lying, rolling about, in the grass while her mother (i suppose they have mothers, such as they are) was reaping together with a host of other humans in the adjoining field. the forest was the common boundary of the two fields, and all i had to do was to creep a few yards from the wood, take the goods the gods provided, and retire to enjoy them. i did this with entire success, catching hold of the imp with one arm and hobbling along on three feet. but that baby made such a terrific caterwauling that positively i nearly dropped him out of pure anxiety for the drums of my ears. his mother rushed out from among the oat stalks and ran after me, though she did not see me, in the direction of the baby's cries, but she soon returned: i think one of her companions called to her that it was only the child, was gone and that her dinner was all right, wrapped up in a red pocket handkerchief. well, that baby was the most delightful thing i had ever tasted, and i then and there determined that this dainty should form an item of my diet whenever obtainable. it is in season all the year round; but difficult to obtain at any time except summer. i must just add to the above narrative, that as i lay enjoying my dinner within the pine forest, scarcely fifty yards from those peasants, i could distinctly overhear their remarks as to the disappearance of the young human at that moment forming the staple item of my dinner. it appeared that i was not suspected. the whole odium of the affair was laid upon certain people who, however disreputable and disagreeable they may be (and they certainly are _both_), were at all events innocent of this "crime." i mean those impostors and cads, the wolves. many of my most successful enterprises in and about villages have been laid to the charge of wolves: so be it! this cannot injure me. true, i should like to have the credit of certain of my exploits! those in which mankind have been destroyed, especially; but it is very amusing when you have successfully robbed an enemy, to hear some one else blamed and vengeance vowed upon persons who have had nothing whatever to do with the affair. so it was in the matter of my first baby. not a man, woman, or child present but endeavoured to console the weeping mother by vowing vengeance upon the thieving "wolf," for she really did weep, though, as i have already declared, i did not touch her dinner but only a useless, squealing baby. that she did not really regret the loss of the tiny creature was abundantly proved by her own assertions at the time; for she several times repeated that it was, after all, "better so;" that the baby would never be hungry again (that it certainly would not!), or feel pain or worry of any sort, with more to the same effect, and all, of course, perfectly true. for all that, she cried steadily on, as she worked, and many of the other women cried also, though they all agreed as to the fact that things were better as they were, and repeated this a hundred times. of course things were better as they were. what better or worthier thing could a human baby do than provide a dinner for one of the ursidæ? all i desired was that they should so thoroughly feel the force of the truism, as to bring me another tender morsel without delay. this, however, they did not do. on the contrary, they brought dogs instead of babies, and i felt that, though dog is tasty enough when nothing better is obtainable, i would transfer my custom, for the present, to another parish. and now i propose to dismiss for a while the disagreeable subject of the human race, and to give my readers a glimpse into some of the dangers and difficulties which i have at different times of my life encountered while living the free and, on the whole, happy life of the woods. i have incidentally referred to certain persons for whom i have the supremest contempt, as for animals of an altogether inferior rank in the scale of life: that is, inferior to our own; i would not go so far as to say that they are not superior to humans, for the latter, when without their detestable fire-sticks, are contemptibly weak and defenceless: their teeth are ridiculously inefficient, and as for their claws--well, they have none, so far as i can ascertain. the creatures i refer to are _wolves_, as they call themselves. these are the very plebeians of the forest. they are hated by every resident, great or small; for they are mean and cowardly creatures, hunting in companies of three or four--they dare not show themselves singly--and sometimes in packs of a dozen or more. a wolf, if unaccompanied by his friends, would probably run away from a hare, and hide himself from a little red fox. they are thieves of the first water, besides, and have no respect whatever for the rights of property. many a time have i left a portion of some choice repast which i was not capable of consuming at one sitting, expecting to find and enjoy the remains on the following night. what i actually found was a few white bones and the vision of two grey tails stuffed tightly between four hind legs just in the act of disappearing into the cover--ugh! they are cads--_cads_, that is just the word, the only word for them. well, one fine evening, about september a year or two ago, as i was strolling through the wood thinking of--well, i'll tell you all about that presently--enough that i was thinking of _someone_ and feeling rather love-sick and depressed--when i suddenly heard a cantering noise behind me, and turning round i beheld seven very large wolves coming up on my scent. the instant that i turned round the whole party stopped, sat down on their haunches, and stared at me. they looked hungry and wicked, but would not meet my eye. i darted at the nearest, but in a moment he and his companions had disappeared--in the marvellous way which these cowards understand so well. oh ho! i thought, if you are afraid to stand up to me you will certainly not dare to pursue me! so i made off towards that portion of the forest in which i generally took my night's rest. but i was mistaken in my conclusions, for no sooner was i well on my way, than the cantering sound recommenced, and the wolves were after me again. it was useless to stop and attack them, for they are too active to be caught in this way; i therefore decided to push along and take no notice. but before many minutes had elapsed, the leading wolf began to set up that loathsome howling of theirs, and was immediately imitated by the rest. i hate noise, so i hurried on, hoping to shake them off--for i had not as yet realised that these plebeians were actually organising a pursuit with the ultimate object of tiring me out and pulling me down. after all it takes some little while for the very idea of such an unexampled insult as this to take root in the patrician mind: _me_ to be pursued and pulled down by wolves! the thing was outrageous, impossible! but i confess i was somewhat disconcerted when i realised that the wolves were howling with a purpose; for in a very few minutes i was aware of new arrivals among my pursuers: grey forms with bright, hungry eyes, appeared in the moonlight to right and left of me; one or two cantered on ahead--it was really growing a little exciting. i stopped once more and turned to survey the pack and count the new arrivals. as if by magic each wolf stopped dead and sat down, some concealing themselves behind trees, others looking away; none ventured to assume a threatening aspect as far as i could ascertain there were now nearly twenty wolves present: the situation was not altogether a pleasant one. then i played a successful little ruse upon them. i turned as though to fly, taking a few rapid strides forward; then i suddenly stopped, and, as i had expected, the leader shot up to my side before he could control the impetus which he had already gained. well--i had him in a moment, and i have reason to believe his own mother would not have recognised him a minute or two afterwards, for i made a very complete wreck of him, and left him literally torn to pieces. during the operation, which did not occupy me very long, his companions had totally disappeared: there was neither sound nor sight of them. but, shall i be believed? no sooner did i leave him and continue my journey than the unnatural creatures, instantly reappearing from every side, fell upon their mangled brother and consumed his body, quarrelling and snarling and fighting over him like so many devils, which i believe they are under an assumed name! i thought, for awhile, that i had shaken off the thieving brutes, but this was not the case. i soon found that they were after me once more, howling and snarling, every devil's son of them! i own that at this point i suddenly lost heart and, to use a familiar expression, took to my heels. i make this confession in all humility and with shame. why i lost heart i cannot explain. i have mentioned the depression of spirits from which i was suffering this night, and i can only suppose that it was the pandemonium of noise made by my pursuers which, acting upon a state of mind already somewhat enfeebled by the depression referred to, had relaxed my nerve-power and caused me to disgrace myself in the manner indicated. so i fled, i own it with shame; i fled at the top of my speed, pursued by the howling pack of miserable plebs, which dared not come very close, but followed me some ten yards behind and at each side, trusting to my bulk and weight, which they hoped would prove so cumbrous that i should be unable to run far without collapsing into a defenceless condition of breathlessness and weakness, when they would, they imagined, pull me down. well, so far as the breathlessness was concerned they proved perfectly right. not being accustomed to much running, i was naturally out of condition; and consequently before i had run many miles i felt that this sort of thing could not continue: i must devise some scheme by which to put to flight or to evade the enemy. then this idea suddenly struck me: why not climb a tree? wolves are notoriously incapable of climbing (after all, what _can_ a wolf do?). i should thus at least gain time enough to recover my breath and consider my position. no sooner thought of than done. i had not enjoyed much climbing of late, so that i anticipated some little trouble and exertion in reaching the required altitude; therefore i pushed along until i saw a tree which looked easy to climb; then i ran to its foot, stopped, and turned round. as before, the wolves instantly, paused and sat down; while some, as usual, disappeared. i immediately commenced the ascent of my tree refuge. but no sooner did the wolves realise that this was my intention than they seemed to gather courage from the prospect of losing me, and with redoubled howls and noise they surrounded the tree and actually dared to grab at my hind legs as i swarmed up the trunk. i sustained one or two nasty bites during that degrading moment, but those bites did for me what perhaps nothing else would have done. they restored me to myself, and in addition inspired me with so terrible and righteous a fury (and when we bears _do_ lose our tempers we certainly are _properly_ angry!) that in an instant i was down and among my pursuers--tearing, hugging, crushing!--oh, when i remember that triumphant moment of crushing bones and ripping flesh my heart fills with the emotion of pride and thankfulness to reflect that i was born a bear and no other meaner creature! true, i have never seen a lion, or tiger--both of which animals, tradition says, are capable of slaying a bear; but with all deference to tradition i prefer to think otherwise. i am told that lions and tigers are both _cats_--cats!! i have seen, and i may add _eaten_, many cats, and howsoever large and fierce these traditional members of the family may be, i beg leave to state that, speaking for the ursidæ generally, we shall be delighted to see any number of lions, or tigers, or any other form of cats in these parts, and to try conclusions with them. my brother mishka has seen, in the distance, specimens of the creatures referred to in his home at the zoological gardens, and does not think much of them, though, he says, they are large. well, size is nothing; a cow is big enough, in all conscience, but i have never had the slightest difficulty in negotiating a cow, however large. but to continue: it was a real pleasure to me--though i have seldom been so angry--to rend and crush those too enterprising wolves who had presumed to attack my person. when i had done with them, three lay stiff and stark, while two others were limping and howling somewhere out of sight among the bushes. as for me, i had a scratch or two, but nothing to matter. i need hardly say that i was not molested again as i deliberately climbed that tree and settled myself for the rest of the night in a cosy corner among the branches. but no sooner was i out of their reach than a dozen wolves came howling around the trunk and leaping up in pretended anxiety to get at me. they were but playing a part in order to deceive one another, of course; but this is the way of wolves, who have no dignity and self-respect. had i shown so much as one tooth they would have instantly disappeared! iv so the night passed away, in perfect comfort for me and with quite as much actual repose as could be expected, having regard to the pandemonium going on below, where the wolves quarrelled and fought over the bodies of their relatives, entirely consuming them among themselves in a wonderfully short space of time. i was much amused to watch their dealings with the wounded heroes who turned up to claim a share in the feast. not being in a condition to fight for the disgusting food, they were themselves promptly set upon, slain by their unwounded brethren, and eaten with the greatest gusto. whether my besiegers were satiated with the feast i had thus provided for them, or whether--like all malefactors--they were afraid of the daylight, i know not; but it is certain that soon after the last bone had been picked, and just as the began to show signs in the east of his intentions with regard to another day, they all departed. had they remained i should have attacked them, presently; and they would have run like sheep! wolves, as i have already remarked, are dreadful cowards. i shall scarcely be believed, perhaps, but it is a positive fact, that i have seen three of them sitting in the snow around a dying man who was unarmed and perfectly helpless, waiting until he should have breathed his last breath before they dared pounce upon him. i came upon the party accidentally. the man had lost himself in the snow and was slowly dying of fatigue and cold and hunger. it was rather amusing, for it must have been a considerable trial to him to have those wolves sitting there, and to know that they did but await his death or stupor. now, i had no great desire to eat that man: i don't care much for tough, grown-up humans; but i gave him a touch sufficient to knock the breath out of his body, and ate him all the same. i always take the opportunity to pay off old scores; and here was a double one. however, taking one thing with another, i am really not quite sure that i do not dislike wolves even more than men: i certainly despise them more. a man will, as a rule, stand up to an enemy, even to a superior creature like myself; whereas a wolf will never fight until he is wounded so badly that he cannot run away. since my little adventure with the pack of wolves i have never felt the slightest vestige of respect for their class. i cannot forget the sickening spectacle of those cowardly humbugs jumping up around the tree in which i sat, as though they were anxious to get at me--bah! now i am going to tell of the most terrible adventure i ever met with, and one which very nearly proved the last experience for me this side of the grave. it was autumn--the autumn of the year before last. i had had a splendid season: the crops had been good all over my district, which is a pretty large one. oats, rye, wheat, and buckwheat were to be had in any quantity and no one to eat them excepting myself and of course, those thieves the humans who invariably dispute possession with me, and hasten to cut down any field of ripe grain which i have claimed as my own by virtue of having the first feed off it. well, i was as fat and strong as i had ever been, stronger; and i felt gloriously well--ready for anything. i had enjoyed my usual sumptuous breakfast, and was now indulging in a siesta within a dense portion of the forest which lay at a distance of about three miles from one of my villages. i was lying in a charming spot. pines rustled above my head, peopled with tree partridges and fieldfares. beautiful purple bilberries grew around me in profusion, and heather too; and close at hand was a small pool of water at the foot of a tree. there was always water in this spot in the driest season. if none appeared on the surface, all i had to do was to tread the moss for a minute or two and i soon had the cool liquid flowing about my feet. it was a hot day, one of the last we should see, for this was what, vainka says, the humans call "old woman's summer," which comes after the real summer and lasts but a few days. perhaps i was asleep: i may have been taking forty winks, for about this time we bears begin to do a trifle of yawning and napping at odd moments, in preparation for the winter function; but suddenly a truly awe-inspiring noise startled the delicious silence of the forest and brought me out of the land of dreams and upon my feet in a moment. the noise was produced by humans or devils, that much was certain. i could recognise human voices; but there were strange sounds besides, like rattles and gongs and bell-ringings, which seemed to come from all sides at once. i stood still, irresolute, for upon my word i did not know what to do. had the humans organised a chase after me? impossible, for they could not know my whereabouts without snow to show them my tracks. what could it all mean? i quickly concluded that whatever might be the object of these humans in making so barbarous a din, that object was at all events not my destruction, or capture; there was no thought of me in the matter. presently the dreaded sound of exploding fire-sticks reached my ears. i am not ashamed to confess that this particular noise always causes me to lose my head for awhile. before it rang out i had already determined to remain quietly hidden where i then was and allow the storm to go by; but at the banging of the guns my deliberate resolves--together with my good sense and my presence of mind--were, for the time, cast to the four winds. i jumped up and careered wildly from end to end of the wood. this gradually sobered me, and at the same time i discovered in which precise direction the real danger lay. there were shouts and din from three sides, while from the fourth side came no sound at all, excepting the occasional bang of a gun. it therefore became clear to me that this was a deliberate attempt to so frighten any animals which might be within the limits of the four sides which were lined by everybody's enemy, man, as to cause them to run towards the only side where safety appeared to lie, and which was in effect the only dangerous quarter. this plan must of a surety have been the invention of the devil, who is, of course, a man, for it is full of the most diabolical cunning. it was pitiful to see numbers of silly hares and even a red fox--who certainly ought to have known better!--rushing past me to their destruction. no sooner did a hare run by towards the corner whence no shoutings came, than, a moment later, i would hear the bang of a gun and i knew that the poor innocent creature had been done to death by a concealed human. birds flew over my head--i do not know their names, for we do not associate with birds excepting in so far as to pull one off its nest now and again, about luncheon time; but there were birds of all sizes; and each one, as it reached the concealed lane of armed humanity, was greeted with an explosion and fell dead: it was always the same story--blood, blood, blood; the arch-enemy man was there to kill anything he could lay hands upon. meanwhile, my position became uncomfortable; for i soon discovered that the shouting creatures were fast approaching me, closing in their circle; still, no one had any idea, as yet, that i was in the ring. i determined to convey the knowledge of my presence with some emphasis, but to keep out of reach of the accursed fire-sticks. so i crept through the thickest of the brushwood in the direction of the shouts. as i came nearer i perceived that the noise proceeded from a line of men--peasants, women, and even children, which last were furnished with rattles and drums and small trumpets. these were stationed about twenty paces apart one from another, and i saw at once that by rushing between two of these i should easily escape. i felt that such a proceeding was altogether beneath my dignity; but then i hate a scene and publicity of any sort, and i did not wish to become the centre of a shouting, swearing (for these humans occasionally demean themselves by using very disgraceful language), and perhaps hatchet-wielding mob, with the possibility of a fire ball into the bargain. so i waited until the peasants approached my ambush, and then selected the pair between which i should make my rush. i chose a quiet-looking old she-human and a small boy who was making the most terrible noise with a tin trumpet. now all these creatures had been making noise enough, in all conscience, before; but when i suddenly showed my somewhat bulky person in their midst the noise instantly became doubly, nay, ten times as loud as it was before, each creature shrieking out my name with imprecations and personalities of every kind, in execrable taste. well, the din and the abuse and all aggravated me to such an extent that i did a very foolish thing: i lost my temper, as we bears are rather too apt to do, and hurled myself at the boy nearest me. just as i caught and crunched him, the stupid old woman next to him, who turned out to be his mother, flung herself at me and, by beating me with a stick she carried, endeavoured to force me to drop the child, whom i suppose she required for some purpose of her own. her stupidity and the coarseness of her language enraged me still more, and--giving the cub a last scrunch (i heard his bones go!)--i rushed at his idiotic parent and mauled her nicely. but by this time half a hundred of the yelling creatures had surrounded me and were punching at me with every kind of stick, throwing tin cans and rattles at me, and doing everything they could to induce me to let go of the old woman--though what they could want with an old creature like that i cannot imagine! but my blood was up, and i preferred to have my will with her first; so i tore and crunched her until she ceased to scold and swear, and lay as still as the boy; then i looked around and paused, for i began to think i had better be making off into the thick cover: i had had enough of the din and publicity. but just at this moment something happened to me. i did not realise at first what it was, but i know now. in a word, i suddenly fell head over heels, my legs giving way under me for no apparent reason. but as i raised myself i became aware of a slight pain in the thick part of my hind leg, which increased and seemed to numb my limb. looking over my shoulder i saw the cause of this: a man stood near with a smoking fire-stick in his hand: i had been shot. oh! if i could have got at that human, how i should have crunched his bones and gripped his throat with my strong teeth till the life went out of him! i rose to my full height as i came near and threw myself upon him. at the same moment there was a crash from his fire-stick, i staggered forward towards him and fell again; my strength was failing--i must fly for the time, and hide myself while i had the power--quick!--was i wounded to death, like mother, i wondered, as i stepped blindly away. i knew not whither my steps were tending; i was but half conscious--still i rushed madly forwards--the pain was excruciating; there was another place that hurt me, one of my shoulders, besides my leg,--on and on i fled; the shouts were far away behind me now and the cover was thick--now the sounds had died away altogether; a little farther and i might lie down and rest--but oh! the pain--it was maddening. then, through my dimming eyes i perceived a pool of water in mid-forest, and staggering forward i fell prone into the midst of it, and for some little while remembered no more. when i became conscious i was still lying in the shallow pool, which was red with my blood. but my pain was less; in fact, beyond being exceedingly stiff i did not at this time feel my wounds to any great extent. what i did feel was the most bitter hatred towards human beings and their most accursed weapons, and a consuming desire for revenge upon the tribe. i had always hated man: i hated him tenfold now: i think it was this passion for vengeance which kept me alive through that dreadful time of suffering and privation. i could barely crawl for several weeks, and it was with the greatest difficulty that i managed to obtain sufficient food to support me. ah me! it was a trying time! but for the proximity of a village i know not how i should have lived. the wolves--who were not within a hundred miles--got all the credit, or abuse, for my depredations. i am glad to say that by the end of the autumn season that village was the poorer by two small children--who foolishly went mushroom hunting in the woods one sunday afternoon, and were prevented by "the wolves" from returning home to their tea (an exceedingly welcome contribution, these, to my impoverished larder)--besides sundry dogs and other comestibles which kindly wandered my way at meal times. i have already hinted that at one period of my life i--even i--have fallen, like weaker persons, beneath the spell of the tender passion. now that all this is long since over and done with i cannot help laughing to think how i can have been so foolish as to permit myself to indulge in such feeble frivolity as love. i declare, i hardly like to confess it, but it is nevertheless true that during the time of my bedazzlement, or whatever you like to call it, i was actually in the habit of hunting for the benefit of another and of watching while the object of my adoration consumed provisions which _i_ had found. how completely does one's nature change during the undignified process of befoolment which some member of the opposite and greatly inferior sex--goodness only knows how!--exercises over a creature infinitely her superior! how, at such a time, all that is excellent deteriorates into that which is weak and despicable and unworthy! here was i, perhaps the biggest and bravest of my grand race--ever independent and intolerant of interference--suddenly bewitched into the most slavish, inoffensive, insignificant person that ever disgraced the family of ursidæ. i am glad to say--indeed, it is a great comfort to me to be able to reflect--that the spell which was cast over me did not enslave me for any great length of time; and i like to think that but for my wounds and the condition of collapse into which they brought me, i might never have fallen so low. ha ha! what a despicable, mean-spirited creature i was, to be sure, at that time. let me explain how it all happened. the day, or two days after my dreadful experience at the hands of the doubly accursed human brute who twice wounded me with his fire-weapon, i lay dozing restlessly beneath a tall pine in the forest. as i reclined, dreaming uncomfortable dreams and conscious all the while of severe pain and of the worse than pain of fevered veins and parched throat, i suddenly became aware of a delicious sensation of relief in the region of one of my wounds. a feeling of soothing rest began to take the place of the racking pain of a few moments before; at the same time i was conscious of a sound close to my ear--a sort of crooning, inarticulate murmur of sympathy which fell very delightfully upon my suffering senses. i scarcely had sufficient energy to open my eyes, but with an effort i did so, and then i beheld a sight which--at that moment of weakness and consequent softness--filled me with an emotion to which i had hitherto been a stranger. stretched upon the earth beside me, softly licking my wound and crooning as she did so, was the most beautiful creature (she certainly was beautiful, i admit that much even now, though i must also admit that i was an abject fool to allow myself to be captivated by mere good looks) that ever eye beheld. her fur was the darkest of browns, and had not a spot or taint of mange to disfigure it. her claws and teeth were perfect--as good as my own, and that is saying not a little! she was large and strong, beyond the size and strength of most persons of her sex. her eyes looked languishing and gentle, but their expression was belied by the formation of her snout, which was slightly upturned--an unfailing indication of ferocity of disposition amongst us ursidæ. she was, as i have said, licking my wounds; i shall never forget the delicious sensation of peace and ease from pain that her action thus instilled into my being. i did not dare betray the fact that i was awake, lest she should cease to caress me. i felt that i could lie on thus for ever, contentedly, and let her soothe me, if she would, into a sleep that had no end. as a matter of fact she did lull me to sleep, a delicious, long restful sleep from which i awoke, after several hours, a different bear. she had disappeared, when i opened my eyes, and at the first instant i feared that i might have merely dreamed of the beautiful ministering creature; at which thought--so weak and ill was i--i declare i actually whined aloud! but she soon returned, and then, seeing that i was awake, rushed to my side once more, and licked and caressed me with a thousand blandishments.... ah me! well, well; perhaps i should never have recovered at all but for her! i must in justice confess that she helped me very much through the trying time of my illness, and i believe she was very fond of me. i allowed her to share in all the good things that she or i found or caught, and i am bound to say she made very free with the ripe oats in my fields, and enjoyed a good half of every dog and baby that fell to our lot. i am glad to say that i taught her to appreciate (internally) the human race: baby is now (if she is still alive) her favourite dish, and she will go miles to surprise and choke a human of any description; so that, if only for this reason, my period of fooling and softness was not altogether time wasted. we plighted our troth, of course, and were bear and wife for the time being--until nearly hibernating-time, in fact; but before november we had quarrelled and parted. as my health and strength returned i became increasingly conscious of the degradation of my present mode of life. that i should permit any one, even so beautiful a creature as she undoubtedly was, to feed in my pastures and treat me as an equal, was a standing disgrace to my bearhood, and i felt that this shocking condition of things must cease. i had hoped to bring about an understanding with my wife without the use of violence; but when she continued to assert her right to share with me that which was mine after i had pointed out to her that love had had his season and that there was now a distinction between the words _thine_ and _mine_ which during my infatuation i had been unable to discern, why--to my regret--i was obliged to despatch her about her business with, as the saying goes, a flea in her ear! she made a good fight of it--ha ha! i declare, i never loved her so well as that day! never shall i forget the ugly look in her eyes and the wicked curl of her turn-up snout as she limped away from the field of battle. she certainly looked about as deliciously ferocious as i ever saw a member of our somewhat quick-tempered family, and as for her language--oh! dear me--it was enough to cause a blight, and i was quite glad that it was not the season for such a disaster. thus ended my one and only experience of the inglorious delights of love: it was quite enough for me! well, my narrative is drawing to a close now. i have had many adventures, sufficient to keep my tongue employed for many a long day, if i were to tell them all; but i think i really must, before finishing my autobiography, relate one little incident which has kept me in merriment for months: indeed, however low my spirits may fall at any time, it is sufficient for me to recall this little episode and i feel at once that life is, after all, worth living in spite of its ups and downs, which would just about balance one another but for the occasional gleams of mirth which shine in upon our dreary existence and enable the balance, on the whole, to kick the beam on the up side. this is how it happened. i was wandering about the woods one night in april, shortly after my winter sleep. i was more than hungry, i was ravenous. consequently, when my nostrils were suddenly assailed by the delicious odour of what i quickly recognised as dead horse, i felt that i had wandered for once into luck's way. there is something very soothing about horse when one is famished, and i made such a meal that night as i have seldom eaten before or since. towards morning i left the banqueting-place resolved to revisit it on the following night. now comes the fun. sauntering merrily along next evening i had approached within a short distance of my feasting-ground, quite ready--in spite of yesterday's somewhat generous repast--to repeat the delightful experience, when my faithful nostrils apprised me of the presence of an enemy. besides the strong--very strong--smell of dead horse, there was another scent in the air, that of a human being. fifty yards or so from me lay the remains of the horse: i could just make out its outlines in the darkness; but peer about as i would i could not discern the presence of a man. however, i always prefer to trust to my nose rather than to my eyes, and therefore, convinced that a human being either had been, recently, on the spot or was even now present within a short distance of me, i decided to keep very quiet and listen and watch. i may explain that i was well concealed from the sight of any human, supposing that one of these creatures should be busy over my supper. i had not thought that raw horse was an article much valued by men as a delicacy--indeed, my dear brother once told me that his "master" never ate any flesh which had not been previously _burned_ (disgusting idea!)--but it was likely enough that the greedy and ill-natured creatures would be glad enough to eat anything whatever if by doing so they successfully deprived a fellow-creature of the food. how long i lay and waited thus i cannot say, but it was a weary time and i grew very tired of it, and, naturally enough, horribly hungry and proportionately wrathful. yet the longer i waited the more certain i became not only that a human had been about the place but that he was actually there now. my ursidine readers will perhaps wonder--knowing by this time something of my character and sentiments towards the human race--that i did not stake all upon an attack. to such i would reply that i am no fool even in my moments of blind but righteous ferocity, and this human might be armed with a fire-stick. besides, i could not detect the sound of eating: what then could he be about? men have no sense of smell, therefore he could not be aware that i was near at hand: he was, clearly, not on the look-out for me. if not on the look-out for me he might possibly be without his fire-stick--grand bruin! if so--well, to say "a man without his fire-stick" is another way of saying "a meal": i should have two courses for my supper to-night--man with horse to follow--glorious! the idea revived me and caused my hunger to grow so keen that i could no longer resist running the risk of approaching, cautiously, a little closer in order to have a good survey around. so i crept noiselessly towards the open space where lay my last night's repast and commenced to peer about; but strain my eyes as i would i could see nothing. suddenly a soft sound broke the silence. it was like a grunt, or a deep breath; i remembered that i had heard a young peasant whom i found asleep under a tree (and subsequently ate) make a similar sound. could the human be asleep? the noise appeared to proceed from among the pine boughs over my head, and i now peered about with redoubled diligence in the direction whence it came. after a while, i saw him--at least i saw a dark and motionless mass up in the branches of a tree some twenty paces away. now what in the name of all that is wonderful did the creature mean by choosing such a place to pass the night in? i had seen a man in a tree before this (i have chased many a one up--they always forget that i can follow!), but i never yet saw a human fast asleep among the branches. then, of a sudden, the true explanation of the mystery occurred to me. this creature had placed the dead horse where i had found it with the deliberate intention of using it as a bait to attract me. having thus, as it were, invited me to supper, he intended to lie in wait for me and basely slay me from his ambush up in the tree as i feasted below. oh! the vile, human, petty meanness of the device; the hideous perfidy to be enacted under the mask of hospitality--bah! it sickens me to think of it. however, it appeared that the tables were about to be turned upon my friend. i was not long making up my mind as to a plan of attack; he had his fire-stick with him, of course, so i must be careful. he was grunting away merrily, and as fast asleep as though it were mid-winter, and the tree his _berloga_! well, i crept cautiously along until i reached the foot of his pine tree: i could see him plainly now sitting up in the fork of the lowest branches; his head was sunk forward on his chest and he held his fire-weapon in one hand, one end of it resting against his foot--ha, ha! i can see him now, fool that he was--dreaming there in a fool's paradise: he little knew whom he had to deal with, or he would have remained wide enough awake, i warrant him! then i commenced to climb very carefully and silently. but, cautious as i was, i suppose i must have made some sound, for when i was within a foot or two of his perch, the human suddenly awoke with a start, and stared out into the open space where the dead horse lay. even then he did not see me. it was a critical moment. just then he lowered his foot--i suppose it was stiff and required stretching. luckily for me it came close to my paw and i clutched at it. in doing so i lost my hold of the tree trunk, without, however, letting go of the human creature's foot. never in all my life did i hear anything so piercing as the yell that human gave as he and i fell to the earth together. to make matters still more startling the fire-stick spat out its fire at the same moment, dropping out of his hand as it did so. the flame did not touch me, luckily, though for a moment i was deafened and scared, as well as blinded, by the discharge. i am proud to say, however, that i did not loose my grip, and as we touched the earth together, i was upon him, and squeezing his deceitful, perfidious life out of his body before he well knew what had happened. oh! it was glorious! to think that a crafty human being should have taken the trouble to cater for me, lie in wait for me--gun and all--actually beguile me within easy range of his fire-spitter, and then fall asleep as i lay absolutely at his mercy there--well, it was too rich for words! my supper that night was superlative--two courses--for even man tastes delicious when stolen, so to say, in this manner! upon my word i find it difficult to say which was the more delicious; the only drawback to it was that i could positively scarcely eat for laughing. well, well; i laid the rest of the sleepy individual beside the remains of the horse which he had provided for my entertainment, intending to finish him on the morrow; but, unfortunately, his friends found him, and carried him away--i cannot say what they wanted him for: i only hope he was not wasted; and so ended the very merriest adventure i ever experienced. it has proved an unfailing source of mirth to me from that day to this, and i am exceedingly grateful to the sportsman who so obligingly fell asleep and furnished me with an unexpected second course, instead of, as he had anticipated, procuring for himself a valuable bear-skin; for--shall i be believed?--these insolent creatures, if by perfidy or stratagem they manage to do one of us to death, actually presume to wear our fur over their own unworthy carcases, being entirely without any natural covering to protect them from the cold. but there! i must not allow my tongue to wag any longer; i am getting old, i suppose, and garrulous, but i do love to fight over again those countless battles with my enemies, which have made of me the far-renowned champion that i am. up to now my teeth are as sharp, my arms as powerful, and my heart as sound as in the days of my youth; but there will come a time, i suppose, when teeth and claws will become blunt, and sight dim; when a grouse rising suddenly from the thicket will startle me, and a hare crossing my path will make my heart to beat--ah, well! when that time arrives, may the end come soon, for i could never bear to support a feeble existence! when i feel that i am no longer a match for my enemies, i am determined what to do: i shall seek out a human who is armed. with his fire-stick he shall free my soul from my body; but with my last strength i shall grip his throat and tear his life from him, so that our two souls shall journey together to those happy hunting-grounds where _we_ are to handle the fire-weapon, and the men to do the running: i shall like to have a human soul handy to start upon as soon as i arrive in those blessed regions; and oh! if i happen to meet my dear mother, how she will enjoy taking a share in the hunt! however, i am all right here for the present, and life is pleasant enough while one's teeth are sharp! chapter vii the folk-lore of the moujik the russian peasant, or moujik, is an individual who has never received his fair share of respect and admiration from us in this country. we know all about his faults: his laziness, his drunkenness, his uncleanliness, his superstition, his persistent wanderings from the narrow ways of truth and honesty; but few of us are prepared to concede to him certain excellent qualities which he undoubtedly possesses: strong religious feeling, unquestioning obedience towards those in authority over him, filial love and reverence towards his father, the tsar, devotion to his country, reverence for age, the most pious veneration for the memory of his fathers; patience, docility, courage, strangely developed humour, hospitality, and a host of virtues and lovable qualities which only those who know him intimately are able to detect and appreciate. in the matter of their belief in and dealings with those beings with which they have peopled the spiritual world, the slavs are probably the most superstitious of all the european families, or at least they have clung with more pertinacity than any of their neighbours to the old-world traditions and beliefs which were the common property, centuries ago, of all. during these centuries the church, hand-in-hand with education and civilisation, has done its best to stamp out and destroy the innumerable relics of purely pagan and christianised pagan traditions which abound in the country; but neither priest nor schoolmaster, nor yet the common-sense of the community, have made much appreciable headway against the ineradicable superstition of the russian moujik:--and the air, the forests, the waters, the very houses are as full of their spiritual inhabitants to-day as they ever were in the days when men looked to the elements and the forces of nature for the gods whom they must worship, and before whose irresistible power they realised their own insignificance. when st. vladimir, in the zeal of his recent conversion to christianity, cast into the waters of the dnieper at kief the huge wooden, silver-headed, golden-bearded idol of perun the thunderer, and in baptizing his twelve sons set an example which was quickly followed by the rest of the population of his grand duchy, he was very far from convincing his people that thunderings in the future were to be regarded as merely impersonal manifestations of the forces of nature. it might not be perun who thundered, they argued--and since perun had gone to the bottom of the dnieper this was probably the case--but if it were not perun it clearly must be some one else, for the thunder could not roar by itself! elijah fitted into the gap very neatly. did not the church teach that elijah the prophet went up in a chariot to heaven? the thundering then was undoubtedly the rumbling of elijah's chariot-wheels, and that, to this day, is the explanation which any russian peasant will give if asked to account for the noise of the thunder. this is one of many examples of the manner in which pagan beliefs have survived in christianised forms. in certain parts of russia, however, even the name of perun or perkun is still preserved in connection with the roar of the thunder. when the familiar rumbling and crashing noise is heard overhead, the peasants in some of the baltic provinces still remark, "there is perun thundering again!" hand-in-hand with the worship, in russian pagan days, of the elements and the forces of nature, went the adoration of the dead; and while perun and his fellow deities of that age have practically become extinct, or have been christianised out of all recognition, the superstitious regard of the russian peasant for the spirits of his departed ancestors has withstood the attacks of time as well as the teachings of christianity, and is as marked now in some of the remoter districts of the empire as it ever was in the days of heathenism. sometimes it is actually the spirits of the _rodítyelui_, or forefathers, themselves, who are cherished and invoked by the peasants; sometimes the _rodítyelui_ have become merged in the personality of the _domovoy_, or house-spirit, of whom i shall presently have much to say. it is a comparatively common belief that the soul, after leaving the body, remains for a period of six weeks about the house, or at all events in the neighbourhood of its old home, watching the mourning of its relatives, and seeing that its memory is receiving at their hands fitting veneration. during the time that the body remains in the house the soul sits upon the upper portion of the coffin. as it has a long journey to perform before reaching its final home, money is frequently placed in the coffin in order that the departed spirit may be enabled to defray possible charges for being ferried across rivers and seas; food is also provided, to sustain the _rodítyel_ upon his way, together with small ladders made of dough, in seven rungs, for scaling the seven heavens. in case the steep should be slippery and difficult to climb, the parings from the nails of the dead man, if these should have been cut shortly before death, are placed close to the folded hands--the talons of some bird of prey being occasionally added, in order to render the business of climbing as easy as possible to the traveller. the coffin itself is sometimes made in the shape of a boat, in order that if charon or his representative should refuse to convey the traveller across the dark river, or should charge an exorbitant price for so doing, the latter may be independent of the services of the ferryman. all these ancient customs are observed in the letter in many of the remoter villages throughout the empire; but it is doubtful whether the significance of the observances is realised by the peasants who thus perpetuate the ancient traditional customs of their forefathers, as handed down to them, probably, without explanation. it is certain that the belief is very general that numbers of _rodítyelui_, _i.e._, the spirits of the fathers of the family, still reside in and watch over the establishments of their posterity not yet quit of the infirmities of the flesh. these spirits are supposed to have their abode in the wall behind the _ikon_, and food for their use is occasionally placed on certain days close to the holy picture. the spirits may, very rarely, be seen in the form of a fly, sipping sugar-water or honey from a plate; or in the guise of a sparrow or other small bird, gobbling up crumbs upon the window-sill. in the case of a witch, the soul may occasionally take an airing during the lifetime of the hag, choosing the time when the latter is asleep to assume the form of a moth, which issues from the mouth of the witch and flutters about the room. this offers an excellent opportunity to get rid of the _vyedma_ altogether. to this end all that has to be done is to conceal the mouth of the hag, so that the moth, when it returns to the body, cannot find its way home again. repulsed in this fashion, the moth-soul easily becomes discouraged, and giving up the idea of returning to its prison-house, flies out of the window and disappears, and the witch is no more. it should be mentioned with regard to the _rodítyelui_ who live behind the _ikon_, that when the time approaches for a member of the family to be gathered to his fathers the spirits gently tap-tap within the wall, as a signal to the living members of the household that it is necessary for one of them to come and join his friends behind the _ikon_. this is, of course, the "death-watch," as we know it: and the wonder is that the entire household does not succumb to the terror which must be caused to a family in which the little tapping creature responsible for these summonses to the next world may have taken up its abode. as for the _domovoy_, or house-spirit, it seems uncertain whether this strongly marked individuality is the embodiment, in one person, of the entire company of the _rodítyelui_, or a separate and distinct personality. he is named, together with the spirits of the air, water, and forests, as one of those who accompanied the evil one on the expulsion of the latter from heaven, and as such he would appear to be a distinct individual. but, on the other hand, there exist certain ceremonies in connection with the _domovoy_, and to which i shall refer again later on, which seem to associate him with the spirits of the departed. however this may be, it is quite certain that the _domovoy_ is a recognised and permanent inhabitant of every peasant household throughout russia, and it is doubtful whether there exists from end to end of the realm a single such household which would venture to express a doubt of his personal existence among them. nevertheless, he is rarely seen, though his appearance is accurately known according to the particular notions with regard to that appearance as held in the different portions of the empire. in these he is variously described as a tiny old man--he is always a man, not a woman, and always old--no larger than a five-year-old child; as very tall and large; as having long hair; as hairy all over, even to the palms of his hands and the soles of his feet; and as having the extremely disagreeable habit of passing his hands over the faces of sleepers. if his touch is soft and warm all will go well for some time with the establishment over which he presides; but if, on the contrary, his hand is cold, like ice, and rough to the touch, then woe will betide the sleeper or his household in the near future. the _domovoy_ lives within the _pechka_, or stove, and is, when properly treated, benignantly disposed towards the members of his own particular family, protecting these from all harm and from the evil machinations of the neighbours, with whose _domovoys_ he is always at enmity, quarrels between himself and these latter being of very frequent occurrence, and resulting in great damage to the crockery and other wreckable property of both establishments. the natural consequence of this rivalry between the guardian spirits of neighbouring families is that the reputation of the _domovoy_ outside his own family circle is always very bad; for only one's own _domovoy_ is admittedly a benevolent spirit, every one else's is a demon. thus the _domovoy_ presents the unusual spectacle of a being who is an angel at home and a devil out of doors, in direct contradistinction to members of the human race, who are, as i have been informed, frequently angelic in the presence of strangers, though quite "the other thing" at home. but in spite of this zeal on behalf of his own folks--zeal which so sadly often gets him into trouble with the neighbours--the _domovoy_ must be kept in good humour by the members of his own family, or he is liable to show in whose company he was obliged to hurriedly leave the realms of light, which are asserted to have been his original habitation--in other words, he may become mischievous and troublesome even at home. at such times he will take to throwing the furniture about during the night, breaking the crockery, ill-treating the domestic pets, and so on. under these circumstances it is best to be bold and upbraid the invisible offender loudly, when he will generally recognise the error of his ways, and desist, on the following night, from throwing the dog and the tea-cups about: he is generous enough to cherish no malice or ill-will against those who have thus been courageous enough to remonstrate with him, which proves that the _domovoy_, in spite of his antecedents, is more or less in a state of grace. the tastes and peculiarities of the _domovoy_ may with advantage be studied by those desirous of ingratiating themselves with him. especially in the matter of the colouring of his surroundings it is easy and well worth while to study his idiosyncrasies, and to carry out his ideas in this respect by adapting the hue of the feathered and furred animals about the establishment to his known tastes in that direction. the way to find out the favourite colour of the _domovoy_ is so very simple that it would be almost an insult to the guardian spirit to neglect to pay him this little compliment. all that need be done is to hang a small piece of meat by a string to a nail and to leave it (well out of range of the family nose, let us hope), for a month. at the expiration of that period it will be found to be covered with maggots, and the colour of these maggots is the favourite tint of the _domovoy_. if the cows and the horses, the cocks and the hens, are not of the particular colour indicated by the above test, they had better be sold at once, and others bought which correspond with the ideas of the _domovoy_ in this respect. the ceremony to be performed by a peasant family removing from one house to another is full of significance, and is, or was, universally recognised as a most important function. in this ceremony there seems to occur that confusion between the _domovoy_ and the spirits of the departed to which i have already made allusion in the course of this chapter. the whole function centres in the stove, or rather in the embers burning within it. when the family have packed up and are ready to go, the old grandmother, if there be one, or the oldest woman of the establishment, carefully rakes up the red-hot embers still glowing within the stove at the moment of departure, depositing these in a pan which is then quickly covered up. that these embers are supposed to be in some way connected with the spirits of the departed is evident, because the tradition specially enjoins that the greatest care must be observed lest any of them slip through the aperture and into the grate; for if this calamity should happen, it would signify that certain of the _rodítyelui_ had slipped through the barrier and fallen into the fires of hell. when the whole of the glowing coals have been raked out and collected, the old woman carries the pan across to the new house, chanting over and over again as she goes, the words, "welcome, little grandsire, to the new home." arrived at the house, the old woman knocks three times upon the wall, and is admitted. the whole family have assembled meanwhile and are ready to greet the old woman and her pan and embers. "welcome, little grandsire, to the new home" is the cry, repeated over and over again, while the embers are taken out one by one, and placed, still alight, within the new stove. thus the _rodítyelui_ perform their "flitting," after which they are as much at home in the new abode as they were in the old haunts. i should mention, before leaving the subject, that previously to the occupation of a new house, a cock and hen are let loose in the living room, which is not entered until after the cock has crowed. no evil spirit can bear to hear a cock crow, and the rite is doubtless performed with a view to ridding the house of any evil spirits which may have previously taken possession of the edifice. _domovoys_ do not object to the crowing of cocks--another proof that the _domovoy_ is in a state of grace. holy church has stepped in and substituted for the ceremonies which i have just described, special services for those about to occupy new premises, and these christian functions now largely take the place of the pagan rites; but the change of ceremony has not dethroned either the _domovoy_ or the _rodítyelui_, who still reign, and will doubtless reign for the next thousand years, over the imagination of ivan ivanovitch, as the personal and permanent and undoubted guests and guardians of his establishment. there is a special _domovoy_ in charge of the bath-house which forms a feature in every russian village. this _domovoy_ has a strong objection to the villagers bathing themselves late at night, specially if they do so without having first prayed aloud. it is not very clear what form his displeasure takes when his wishes in this connection are disregarded; but it is known that he dislikes the practice of late bathing. probably it keeps him up. however, if the moujik be impious enough to disregard his objections and to take a bath at an unseasonable hour of the night, when all good moujiks, and _banniks_ also, should be asleep, a can of warm water and a birch-rod-swisher should be left by the untimely "ablutioner" in propitiation of the _bannik_ (who is the _domovoy_ of the bath-house) thus kept from his rest by the thoughtless and unselfish conduct of the former. whether the _bannik_ ever utilises the opportunity thus offered him of enjoying a comfortable scrub, tradition does not say. if the bath _domovoy_ is a good russian, and has imbibed anything of the nature of the moujik during his long connection with that unsavoury member of society, probably he does _not_ use the warm water and the swish; for he will not wash himself unless he is forced to do so by circumstances over which he has no control, such as popular opinion, or the customs or the bye-laws of the village in which he has his habitation. i have already mentioned that when the prince of the spirits of evil descended from the abode of light and took up his dwelling in the realms of darkness, which are his habitation to this very hour, there accompanied him certain other spirits, inferiors and followers. among these, according to slavonic folk-lore, were the _vodyánnuie_, or water-spirits; the _vozdúshnuie_, or spirits of the air; and the _liéshuie_, or wood-demons. there were many others in his train--such as the _karliki_, or gnomes--beings of little or no interest in the everyday life of the peasant because they rarely interfere in human affairs, if they can avoid it, and have no special connection with humanity; whereas the _domovuie_, as i have shown, and the water and wood spirits, as i intend now to describe, are constantly in contact with members of our race, either for good or for evil. many of the followers of the chief demon accompanied their leader into his new home and there remain with him to this day; but it will be better to leave these bad characters where they are, and to concern ourselves solely with those whom common interests have brought into connection with our race. the spirits which i have named did indeed accompany their former leader as far as the portals of his new realm, the nether regions; but they did not actually enter its confines, or if they did do so, did not stay longer than just so much time as was required to arrive at the conclusion that the atmosphere of the place was not such as to suit their private ideas of comfort--which did not take them long--after which they quickly turned their backs upon the front gates and made off as rapidly as possible; the _liéshuie_ hiding themselves in the forests, the _karliki_ burying themselves in the earth, while the _vozdúshnuie_ remained in the cool air--finding it refreshing after the heated atmosphere to which they had been lately introduced; and the _vodyánnuie_, who had perhaps stayed a moment or two longer beside their chief, or who were possibly more sensitive to the discomfort of a warm temperature, plunged headlong into the water in order to cool their parched frames, and have remained in the pleasant depths ever since--taking over the management of all springs and rivers and pools upon the surface of the dry land. these same _vodyánnuie_ are a tricky race of beings and require much propitiation at the hands of millers, fishermen, and others who have dealings with them or with the waters within their jurisdiction. millers, especially, require to be careful to keep in touch with the _vodyánnuie_; for each mill-race possesses its own particular water-spirit, and the miller will have no luck, and deserve none, if he does not cast into the race at least one black pig per annum as a gift to the spirit which has its habitation in his waters. the ordinary annual offering to the water-spirits is, however, a horse, whose legs have been previously tied together with red ribbons, and who has been smeared for the sacrifice with honey. a heavy stone is attached to the unfortunate animal's neck and he is thrown into a deep pool. the _vodyánnuie_, who have in all probability shown their displeasure for some time before the sacrifice by causing the river to overflow its banks, or the ice to carry away the bridge, having now received their rights as by custom established, at once settle down in peace and quietness for a whole year. but they are, as i have said, a tricky lot, and they must not be depended upon by bathers, or by peasants who would fain cool their horses' heated flanks in the deep pool after a hard day of work in the fields. the _vodyánnui_ of the place may be of a malicious disposition, and though everything may have been done in order to secure his benevolent neutrality towards bathers, yet he is just as likely as not to pull down by the leg his very warmest admirer, or the horse of his most sincere follower. here, again, the church, anxious to substitute for the pagan observances which i have mentioned in connection with the _vodyánnuie_ her own orthodox functions, has ordained for the use of the faithful solemn services for the "blessing of the waters." these services are now performed twice each year all over russia, and have largely ousted the ancient rites and sacrifices which were considered necessary in honour, or in propitiation of the water-spirits; but though the sacrificial observances are discontinued, the belief in the existence of the _vodyánnuie_, as active and malevolent beings whose dwelling-place is in the pools and streams, still retains its hold upon the minds of the people with much of its ancient intensity. before quitting the subject of water-spirits, i should mention that the nymphs and mermaids of our own and universal folk-lore are represented in that of the slavs by beings known as _rusalki_, an entirely distinct species from the surly and malicious _vodyánnuie_. the latter are of the male sex, while the _rusalki_ are all females, and frequently very beautiful. they employ their good looks unfortunately to the ruin of our race, too frequently luring young men to their doom, by enticing them into the deep waters and there either tickling them to death or else drowning them; for the _rusalki_ are of a mischievous and frivolous nature and have very little good feeling about them. many of the _rusalki_ are supposed to be the spirits of stillborn or of unbaptized children, or of women who have committed suicide or who have been for some other reason deprived of the privilege of christian burial. when a child dies unbaptized, its spirit is said to wander through the world for seven years, longing and entreating to be baptized. if any person sufficiently pure in spirit to discern the pleading soul-voice has the presence of mind, on hearing it, to pronounce the words, "i baptize thee in the name of the father, the son, and the holy ghost," then the forlorn soul is satisfied and flits away to paradise; but if the seven years go by and the soul remains unbaptized, it becomes a _rusalka_. annual prayers are offered in russian churches for the unbaptized, and if the wandering spirit is fortunate enough to be close at hand and to overhear the words of the priest during one of these services, its object is attained: it is considered to have come within actual range of the working of the baptismal rite, and paradise is won for that soul. there are some who believe that the spirits of the unbaptized, in their wanderings through the world, assume the form of a cuckoo; and these make a point for this reason of baptizing every cuckoo they hear, or even of performing the rite in effigy if no living cuckoo should be available. the fishermen of the caspian have a pretty legend with regard to the _rusalki_. they declare that these water-maidens are frequently greatly troubled as to the nature of the future state and their own probable destiny therein. the mermaids, to give them a familiar name, are represented as occasionally appearing at the surface of the water to inquire whether the fishermen can tell them whether the end of the world is still far off? the _rusalki_ vary in size, as do all the spirit forms of russian folk-lore. sometimes they are spoken of as tiny beings floating in the cup of the water-lily; sometimes as huge female forms which haunt the cornfields and steal the grain of the peasants. when caught thus misbehaving themselves the _rusalki_ are punished in effigy, straw figures, representing the robbers, being tossed about by companies of girls, who eventually cast them into the water. when this has been done the cornfield is safe from further plunderings at the hands of the beautiful but dishonest water-maidens. the _vozdúshnuie_, or spirits of the air, have but little to do with man, their realm being outside his usual "beat." there are no doubt as many spirits dwelling in the air as inhabit the waters, woods, and houses, but until man shall have taken to journeying in balloons or shall have mastered the science of flying, it is probable that he will not be molested to any great extent by this branch of the spirit family. i will therefore pass on to consider the wood-goblins, whom i have left until the last, because, with the sole exception of the _domovoy_, the _liéshui_ is by far the most important of the spirits who engage in dealings with mankind, as well as the most picturesque. in a country whose woods and forests cover thousands of miles of territory, it is only natural that the spirits whose home is in the fastnesses of those pine-grown regions should play a great part in the imagination of a poetic and superstitious people living beneath the shadow of the pine trees. the _liéshuie_ are, without doubt, by nature evil spirits, or demons; but, like their brethren of the waters and of the air, they may be propitiated by the observance of certain rites and ceremonies, and by this means rendered friendly or at least neutral towards those who are desirous of living in their good graces--a most necessary condition of existence for those whose flocks and herds wander day-long in the wilds and moors and woodlands of the interior of russia. the _liéshui_ is, in the estimation of his friend ivan ivanovitch, a shocking bad character. he is generally an old man, very hairy and wild in appearance, as might be expected. he is a terrible drunkard, and is frequently quite incapacitated and helpless after his bacchanalian excesses; on such occasions he is watched over and protected from the assaults of his enemies by his chief friend and henchman, the bear. but not only is he a drunkard, he is equally a slave to another vice, the indulgence of which seems to strike one as unexpectedly sophisticated in a denizen of the forest: he is a gambler and a card-player, speculating to a tremendous extent, and staking all his possessions frequently enough at a single _coup_. when the village _ochotnik_, or sportsman, finds to his annoyance that the hares, the blackcock, or the tree partridges within his district have become so scarce that it is no longer worth his while to tramp the woods after them, the apparently unaccountable circumstance is plain enough to his enlightened intelligence: the _liéshui_ of the place has gambled them away to his next-door neighbour. the same explanation accounts for the migration of squirrels and birds from one part of the country to another--they are in the act of going over to swell the possessions of the fortunate _liéshui_ who has won them from their former owner. i should mention, however, that clubs are never used in the packs of cards with which the _liéshuie_ carry on their games of speculation, since these, to a certain extent, resemble the shape of a cross, an emblem which neither wood-goblins, nor any other evil spirit dares to look upon. but besides these gamblings with one another, and perhaps as the outcome of these very transactions and the ill-feeling and bad blood which operations of this kind so frequently engender, terrific encounters occasionally take place between the rival _liéshuie_ of a district, when the forest is devastated for hundreds of yards around, the pines lying prone and uprooted in every conceivable position and in every direction, just as though a hurricane of wind had passed by and torn them up, hurling them right and left as it went. many a time have i encountered such a scene of desolation in mid-forest, and have found the greatest difficulty in forcing a way through the chaos formed by this _lom_, as it is called. ignorant as i was in those days of the true origin of these patches of devastation, i used fondly to imagine that the ruin i saw had indeed been wrought by the agency of the tempest, though it was always a puzzle to me to account for the limited sphere in which the whirlwind had conducted its destructive operations; the theory of a wood-goblin duel, of course, satisfactorily accounts for the circumstance. when a _liéshui_ marries--for he does take to himself a wife in his own good time--his bridal feasts and processions create terrible disorder in the forest; birds and beasts rush frightened and screaming from the neighbourhood, trees are knocked down and strewn about the ground, and the place becomes a pandemonium. it is not very apparent whom this unprincipled goblin finds to marry him. perhaps the erl-king has an unlimited supply of those deceitful daughters of his! the peasants naturally have much to do with the spirits whose habitation is in the forests which surround their dwellings, for their flocks and herds must wander free over the outlying pasture-lands, and if the goblin of the district has not been propitiated, the position of such herds, entirely at the mercy of every marauding wolf or bear, is wretched indeed. when the favour of the _liéshui_ has been gained over, then neither bear nor wolf will be permitted by that all-powerful sylvan authority to injure cow or horse, let it wander where it will, even within the actual confines of the forest. in these days there is a special church function, known as the "blessing of the herd," for use on the first occasion, in each spring, on which the village cattle are allowed to go forth to pasture, this service being designed to take the place of more ancient ceremonies for the propitiation of the wood-goblins. occasionally a peasant, after a walk in the woods, feels himself indisposed without any apparent reason for his indisposition. when this is the case it may be assumed with practical certainty that he has crossed the path of a _liéshui_. the sick man must immediately return to the wood, bearing an offering of bread, salt, and a clean napkin. over these goods he must pronounce a prayer, afterwards leaving them behind him for the use of the goblin, and returning to his home, when the sickness will quickly pass from him. if any favour is to be asked of the _liéshui_, he may be invoked for this purpose by the following process: cut down a number of young birches and place them in a circle, taking care that the tops all converge towards the centre. then stand in the middle, take the cross from your neck--every russian wears this--and pocket it, and call out "grandpapa!" the spirit will instantly appear. there is "another way," as the cookery books would say: go into the wood on st. john's eve and fell a tree, taking care that it falls towards the west. stand on the stump, facing east, and look down at your toes; then invoke the _liéshui_ thus: "oh! grandfather, come, but not in the form of a grey wolf, nor of a black raven; but come in the shape i myself wear!" whereupon the spirit appears immediately in the form of a human being, and, like a man, prepared to make a bargain, if favours are asked. the _liéshui_ has quite a strong sense of the great modern principle of _quid pro quo_, and generally gets the best of it in his dealings with mankind. yet another peculiarity of the wood-goblin is his love for startling and frightening those whose business compels them to journey through his domain. he will take up a position among the boughs of a tree under which the traveller must pass, suddenly giving vent, on the approach of the latter, to all manner of terrifying sounds--loud frenzied laughter, barking, neighing, bellowing, howling as of a wolf, anything that will startle or alarm the intruder. undoubtedly the wood-goblin is the cause of a vast amount of trouble to poor ivan ivanovitch; and he is, therefore, far from occupying the snug place which his cousin, the _domovoy_, enjoys in the national imagination. on the other hand, he might be very much worse than he is, and he is undoubtedly, with all his faults and shocking vices, infinitely preferable to that mean and skulking and treacherous relative of his, the _vodyánnui_. chapter viii the bear that died of curses the village folk of spask were a good-natured lot, as most russian villagers are, and old tatiana danilovna was a popular character in the community for many sufficient reasons. in the first place she was a widow with several children, whom she did her best to support without begging, which is in itself a great distinction for any widow in a russian village; and tatiana, her special talents and qualifications apart, had but her late husband's little allotment of land, the portion of one soul (and oh, what a drunken soul was yashka shagin, while still under bondage to the flesh!), wherewith to feed the whole five of her brats. but then, as i have just hinted, tatiana had talents of her own, which enabled her to supplement the meagre income producible from her bit of the communal land, which, but for this fortunate provision of nature in her favour, would have been just about enough to starve upon handsomely. the fact of the matter is, old tatiana was a _znaharka_. if the reader were to look out this word in the dictionary he would probably find the english equivalent given as "a sorceress"; but this is not exactly the meaning of the name, which is derived from the root _zna_, and signifies rather "a woman who knows her way about." this much old tatiana certainly did know, as well as most people, although i am sorry to say that her education in the usual fields of even elementary learning had been entirely overlooked. as _znaharka_ she did a considerable business, however, in all of the following useful departments of that avocation. she gave her blessing to couples about to be married; and bold indeed would that couple have been who presumed to approach the hymeneal altar without having previously insured themselves against the onslaughts of the evil eye by undergoing the ceremony indicated. besides this she did a fairish bit of exorcising, for there were always plenty of evil spirits knocking about near spask, and the priest of the nearest church could not always be got at very conveniently; besides her fee was, naturally, lower than that of his reverence, who could not be expected to come all that distance and bring a large _ikon_ with him into the bargain, for nothing; also, the priest had to be refreshed, while tatiana was frugal to a fault in her habits, and was far too wise a woman to go near the village beer-shop at any time for drinking purposes. she would use the resort as a convenient place for haranguing the assembled souls, indeed, and visited it also occasionally in a benevolent way, to haul some boosing moujik out of the den before he should have drunk his soul out of his body. then, again, tatiana was the _sage femme_ of the district, and ushered into the world every little squalling moujik that was unfortunate enough to be born into this vale of tears and poverty. lastly, for even the tale of tatiana's accomplishments must end somewhere, she was the medico of the place. tatiana did not attempt surgery, but she knew a number of incantations and charms, which, of course, are the same thing without the vivisection. faith and tatiana together effected many a cure in spask; and it is marvellous, when one thinks of it, how very simple a matter will set right our suffering bodies if we only know how to "do the trick." tatiana knew how to do the trick, and had herbs and potent decoctions which were able to remove every disease, unless, indeed, it was god's will that the patient should die, in which case, of course, neither tatiana, nor professor virchow, nor any one else, would have kept the poor creature alive. when providence was willing that the sick person should enjoy a further lease of life, then tatiana and her herbs and her occasional blood-letting were safe things to resort to, as all spask well knew, and were as sure as anything could be to pull the patient through with flying colours. she also dealt in charms for the use of lovers, mothers (or would-be mothers), hunters, farmers, &c.; and could doctor horses and cows and dogs and poultry with wonderful success, always, of course, under the saving clause as to _force majeure_, in the way of interferences from providence. i will merely add that tatiana was dear to all children, whom she regaled with _prianniki_ (biscuits) after a good stroke of business, and that the whole village feared as well as respected the old woman. such being tatiana's position in the community, it is not surprising that the entire population of spask were ready and willing to lend a hand whenever the word went round that the _znaharka_ was about to mow her field of grass, or to dig up her potatoes, or whatever may have been the particular nature of the work to be done upon her bit of land. on the occasion which we have to consider to-day there was hay to be made, and as tatiana's allotment adjoined others upon which a similar work had to be performed, nearly all the "souls," or ratepayers, of the village were present and busy with their scythes, while there was assuredly no single child in the place absent; all were there, tossing tatiana's hay about ("tedding" is the word, i believe), and making themselves more or less useful and entirely happy over the job. the field was a large one, for it comprised the whole of the hay allotments of the souls of the community, about twenty-five in all; hence tatiana's strip, which was but one twenty-fifth of the whole, was soon mown by so large a body of workers, who then passed on to the next strip, and thence to a third and a fourth, until all was mown. the field lay close up to the very edge of the pine forest, tatiana's strip being actually the nearest to the wood, so that, as the work went on, the whole body of workers gradually drew further and further from the cover, until towards evening the busy, noisy crowd were at quite a considerable distance from the spot at the edge of the forest where work had commenced in early morning. on such occasions as mowing day at spask there is no question of returning to the village during working hours; for once in a way ivan ivanich sticks to business, and meals, as well as any little refreshers of a liquid nature, are partaken of upon the spot; hunks of black bread tied up in red handkerchiefs, salted herrings in grimy bits of newspaper, and _kvass_, in dirty-looking bottles, forming the principal items of the food and drink brought by the moujiks to be consumed upon the ground. _kvass_ is a drink to which i should recommend every reader to give a very wide berth, for it is without exception the nastiest decoction that ever the perverted ingenuity of mankind invented, and is calculated to nauseate the toughest british palate to such an extent that the said britisher will flee the country rather than taste the noxious stuff a second time. on this occasion there was quite an array of red handkerchiefs left at the edge of the field, together with sundry loose hunks of black bread and other comestibles, and half-a-dozen tiny children of a non-perambulating age, which latter had been brought to the field by their mothers for the excellent reason that there was no one left in the village to look after them, and were now peacefully sleeping, like so many little bundles of rags, each under the tree selected by its parent for the office of shade-giver. assuredly not one of the red-shirted souls so busily wielding their scythes, or of the gaily-kerchiefed women tossing and drying the grass, ever bethought herself of the possibility of danger to the little ones thus left a hundred or so of yards away: for who would hurt them? there were no gipsies to carry them away, or brigands--they had never heard of such gentry; it was perfectly safe, and nobody bothered his head about the babies. therefore it came as a terrible shock to every person present when of a sudden some one raised the cry: "medvyed, medvyed!" (a bear, a bear!) there was no mistake about it, it was indeed a bear, and a big one, too--"the tsar of the bears," as a moujik expressed it afterwards. the brute was apparently busy searching among the red handkerchiefs for something to eat, when first seen; but at the general shout or howl of fear and surprise which immediately arose from the whole body of peasants in the field, he raised his nose and deliberately scanned the assembled villagers, showing his teeth and growling unpleasantly. the villagers were too frightened, at first, to either move or utter a sound. the spectacle of a bear in their midst was too unusual in that portion of russia in which spask lay to be other than intensely horrifying. spask did not even boast of an _ochotnik_, or hunter, among its inhabitants; the population, one and all, were as ignorant of the best course to pursue under the circumstances as though the foul fiend himself had suddenly appeared among them, and their tongues, as well as their arms, were absolutely paralysed with amazement and terror. meanwhile the bear, seeing that none seemed anxious to dispute his presence, turned his attention to the red bundles which contained the food whose good smell had probably attracted him, visiting several of these in turn and rolling them about in his attempts to get at their contents. then he visited a bundle which contained a baby. the child was, fortunately, fast asleep; neither did it awake when bruin rolled it over to sniff at it; if it had moved the consequences might perhaps have been fatal. but, as matters turned out, the child slept on, and the bear, satisfied that it was dead, left it. then at length the spirit of the assembled population returned to them, and, as though with one accord, the entire crowd gave vent to a shriek of relief and rage; men began to finger their scythes and women their rakes, and the whole assembly moved a step or two towards the intruder. then bruin began to think that discretion was, perhaps, after all, the better part of valour, and, with a few savage snarls and grunts, he retired into the forest, stepping upon a sleeping baby as he withdrew, and causing the child to wake and scream with pain or fright. then he disappeared among the dark pines, moaning and grunting so as to be heard for a considerable distance. the villagers lost no time in rushing to the assistance of the screaming child, now that danger was over; when it was seen that the baby was quite uninjured, and, further, that the child was a relative and goddaughter of old tatiana, whose bundle of black bread the bear had also honoured with particular attention. these facts amounted, in the minds of the good people of spask, to a coincidence. why had the brute thus chosen out the _znaharka_ for special and deliberate insult? undoubtedly he was an evil spirit, and these acts of hostility on his part directed against the chief local enemy of evil spirits must be regarded as something in the nature of a challenge. tatiana's bread was all eaten or spoiled, and tatiana's godchild still lay screaming, though unhurt, in her mother's arms. there was more in this than appeared on the surface. all eyes were now upon the _znaharka_, for it was evident that something must be said or done under the circumstances; the reputation of the wise woman of the village was, in a way, at stake. tatiana did not disappoint her admirers. she first crossed herself, and then spat; then she fixed her eyes upon the spot where the bear's retreating form had last been seen, and commenced a speech, half a formula of exorcisation and half pure (or rather very impure) abuse, which certainly did the greatest credit both to her inventive faculties and to her knowledge of the intricacies of the russian language as arranged specially for the use of vituperative peasants. if one fractional portion of the old woman's curse had taken effect upon its object, the rest of the days of that bear upon this earth would indeed have been days of blighting and misery both for himself and for those who called him son or cousin or husband; his female relatives especially came under condemnation, and most of all she who had brought him into the world; her fate was to be shocking indeed, so much so that i shrink from entering into the matter in detail for fear of wounding the feelings of my readers, who are not perhaps accustomed to the beauties of the russian peasant's vocabulary, which is exceedingly rich in certain forms of speech. tatiana's curse, however, produced a great effect upon her fellow villagers, who felt that it was all that the occasion demanded, and that they had for the present obtained satisfaction for the insults heaped upon them by the uninvited stranger; the baby was also, presumably, of this opinion, for it now stopped crying, and began to look about it with eyes full of the last few unshed tears, as though it expected to find the corpse of the bear lying somewhere about as the immediate result of tatiana's heroics. after this, the souls, accompanied by their female relatives and the children, returned to the village, where the rest of the evening was spent by the majority of the gentlemen in the refinements of _vodka_-drinking and wrangling at the beer-shop. but, alas! shocking though the curse of tatiana had sounded, and dire as the results ought to have been in the way of utter confusion and annihilation in this world and the next for that bear and all his relations, it soon appeared that somehow or other the malediction had missed its mark. the very next day the creature was seen by a villager who chanced to penetrate somewhat deep into the forest in search of mushrooms; and so far from being any the worse for the liberal cursing it had had, the bear had appeared--so the moujik declared--to be all the better, or rather fiercer for it; it had actually chased him for some little distance, and would have caught him if he had not, most providentially, reached a wide expanse of open ground which the bear had hesitated to cross in daylight. this was serious news, and tatiana was observed that morning, after hearing it, to grow very thoughtful; she made her hay diligently, but silently, exchanging neither word nor salutation with man, woman, or child during the whole of the day. the peasant women eyed the old _znaharka_ with unquiet minds; was this evil spirit destined to prove more mighty than she, and to defy with impunity the very clearly expressed maledictions of their all-powerful _znaharka_? surely not. it would be a bad day for spask if the confidence which the village had so long reposed in the mystic powers of the sagacious tatiana were now to be shaken! this was the very reflection which was disturbing the mind of the _znaharka_ herself, with the corollary that it would be an uncommonly bad thing for her business also. things however, went from bad to worse. far from feeling any ill effects from the curses of tatiana, these seemed to have inspired the offending animal with greater courage and ferocity than had ever hitherto been the portion of mortal bruin. he chased the villagers at every opportunity: he entered the village at night and stole--alas! poor _znaharka_!--tatiana's own dog; he grew bolder day by day, and at last his daring culminated in the pursuit and capture of a poor little child. the unfortunate baby, for she was scarcely more, had strayed beyond the edge of the wood while her people were busy in the hayfield, had been caught, carried away, and eaten. this was the climax. tatiana's reputation was tottering. already several sick persons had presumed to get well without her assistance; another had done an even worse thing, he had ridden over to the neighbouring _selo_, which means the chief of a group of villages, in order to consult the local _feldscher_, an insult to the medical genius of tatiana which had never before been offered to that lady--who, to do her justice, little as she knew about medicine or human bodies and their ailments, nevertheless knew a great deal more than her professional rival upon these subjects, for he was as absolutely ignorant of one as he was of the other. and now tatiana began to feel her influence in the village, and therefore her very livelihood, slipping away, not gradually, but, if i may use the expression, with a run. if something did not happen to re-establish her reputation, and that very soon, both position and emoluments as wise-woman of the district would inevitably go by the board! folks began to eye her askance when they met her; some even openly mocked at her as she passed, delighting to tell her each new tale of the appearance of the demon bear, that thrived on curses; in a word, the position became insupportable. the discredited wise-woman now took to roaming the woods, armed with her sickle, in hopes of meeting and, by some fortunate combination of circumstances in which cursing and cunning and violence were all to play a part, compassing the death of her arch-enemy, the ruiner of her position and prospects, the hated, the accursed, the demoniac bear. strangely enough, tatiana still believed in herself though the rest of the village had learned to doubt her powers, and she was not without hope that a second curse, if personally applied, might yet prove efficacious. all tatiana's wanderings in the forest seemed, however, to be doomed to end in disappointment; the enemy would not show himself, and matters were growing extremely critical when at last one afternoon the unexpected happened. as the old woman was busily employed washing her children's clothes in the river, on chancing to raise her head she espied for the first time since the memorable evening of her first abortive cursing, the very identical object of that curse and of very many others since lavished upon him in the secret recesses of her being--bruin himself. the bear, unaware of her proximity, was standing at the edge of the steepish bank which at that spot overhung the water, endeavouring to reach the stream for a drink. unsuccessful in his efforts to effect this, the brute was softly whining and grunting, growing excited and passionate the while, as baulked bears will, over his failure to get at the water. seeing that his whole attention was absorbed in the interest of the moment, tatiana, who, brave as she was, had at first forgotten everything in the terror of this sudden _rencontre_ with the savage brute, determined to seize the opportunity to escape. but when she had crept a very few paces away, a thought struck her. she was discredited and disgraced at the village; her reputation, which meant her livelihood, had gone from her; what was life worth to her under the circumstances? why not make one bold stroke for reputation and fortune, and succeed or perish in the attempt? here was this bear busily engaged in balancing himself over the surface of the swift stream, endeavouring to get at the water which he could not possibly reach, but, bear-like, persisting in the attempt; now, why not creep quietly up, and--yes, she would do it! tatiana stole softly behind her enemy--it was a matter of life and death, she quite understood that, so she was careful enough to make no sound--approached within a yard or two of the monster's broad stern, then, as he bent himself further than ever over the water, gave one loud shout and one big rush, and in an instant had thrown the whole weight of her body against that of the already almost overbalanced animal at the brink. the next moment _znaharka_ and bear were both rising to the surface of the river neva, beneath whose cool waters they had plunged in company. old tatiana could swim like a duck and soon struck out for the best landing place; the bear, like a sensible creature, following her lead. but the old woman, trained to swim in these waters from childhood, quickly outstripped her companion, and was ready, with her sickle in her hand, when that half-drowned individual arrived. the river was deep to the very bank, so that tatiana had no great difficulty in beating off her enemy, who, placing two huge paws upon the edge of the bank, received a cut from the sickle upon each, which soon compelled him to snatch away those members with a roar of pain and rage. then commenced an unequal battle. the bear splashed about endeavouring to gain a footing; but whenever he came to the bank, there was tatiana awaiting him with her deadly sickle, and in addition to many cuts over paw and forearm the unfortunate brute had soon to bewail sundry gashes over face and head, which first enraged and then stupefied him, the old woman accompanying her blows with volleys of abuse and imprecations which, i am convinced, must have made that bear feel exceedingly ashamed of himself had he not had other matters to engage his attention at the moment! the result of all this was a foregone conclusion. the poor brute could not land; his efforts to gain a foothold waxed feeble; his roars of pain and rage grew weaker, thinned themselves into pitiful whines and bubbling moans, and then died away altogether. his head went under water, reappeared once and a second time, and sank again. he was drowned. then the old _znaharka_ crossed herself, spat towards her defunct enemy, and fainted. an hour afterwards, as the souls of spask were engaged, _more suo_, in wrangling over their midday _vodka_, at the beer-house, to them entered the pale and dishevelled figure of the discredited wise-woman. "well, little mother," said one, "what are you asking for curses this afternoon? i'm told they are a drug in the market!" rude laughter followed this sally. "curses have gone up since the morning," said the old woman. "i have seen a vision----" "if your visions are as nourishing as your maledictions," interrupted a second moujik, "you'd better feed the demon bear with them. he may thrive on them, and it will save our oats!" "the bear is dead," said tatiana "i have seen him in a vision. you will find his body at the shallow rapids near gouriefka. my curse has fallen upon him. he will eat no more oats!" with which solemn words tatiana made an effective exit before her hearers had decided what to make of them. when the dripping body of that ill-used bear was brought in triumph to the village and laid in the street in front of tatiana's cottage, it would be difficult to say which of two parties, all the members of which talked at once, were the loudest--those who applauded and extolled the marvellous triumph of the _znaharka_ over the powers of darkness, or those who raised their voices in denunciation upon the prostrate enemy of mankind. the two parties changed places continually, those who cursed the bear taking a turn at extolling the woman of the hour, and _vice versâ_. suffice it to say that never was bear better cursed, and never was praise more lavished upon human being. for several years after this, if there was a wise woman in all russia whose blessings and cursings were esteemed absolutely effective in all emergencies, and carried their own steady market value for miles around spask, that woman was tatiana. her cures were marvellous after this, for so great was the faith reposed in her powers that she might have saved her herbs and still the patients would have recovered. as for the death of the bear, st. sergius, on whose name-day the brute perished, got the credit of that, after deduction had been made for the glory fairly earned by tatiana, but for whose maledictions the good saint might never have been moved to interfere for the relief of the spask peasantry. tatiana knew exactly how much st. sergius had to do with the killing of the bear; but, in her opinion, it paid her far better to pose as the successful curser than as the intrepid hunter, and no doubt she knew best about that, as about most things, being a _znaharka_. moreover, the bear, whether he died of curses or of cold water, provided an excellent fur to clothe tatiana withal when winter frosts came on, for the widow's ancient mantle had worn out with her reputation. chapter ix among the wood-goblins summer was "a comin' in," and a certain serious matter began to weigh upon the mind of the peasants of kushlefka, which is a prosperous village in a grain-growing district of archangel; for its settlement could not much longer be delayed. the fact is, that early in the winter kushlefka had been so unfortunate as to lose the services of its _pastuch_, or cowherd, death having carried off the old man during the slack time--when the cows were all at home, that is, and needed no one to look after them. but now that summer was at hand, and the cows would soon be wanting to be up and about, wandering over communal pasture and moorland in search of the fresh young blades of grass, it was very awkward to feel that there was no pastuch to personally conduct them in their wanderings, and that no single candidate had been near the place to apply for the post. none of the villagers would so much as think of accepting the office, for it was but a poorly-paid billet, and was generally held by some one unconnected with the place--some outsider who had wandered into the village in search of a job and was appointed pastuch for as long as he would keep the situation. hence when, one sunday afternoon, as the assembly of the heads of families or souls composing the mir or commune of kushlefka were met to consider matters of local interest, and to settle certain business questions appertaining to their jurisdiction, it was considered rather a stroke of good luck for the community when a ragged moujik of middle age suddenly appeared at the door of the council-hall, doffed his cap and crossed himself towards the _ikon_ in the corner of the room, made a bow to those present, grinned, scratched his head, and said: "good day, brothers; don't leave me!" the reader must not suppose that the new-comer in thus addressing the souls of kushlefka was seized with a sudden misgiving that those gentlemen might all arise and depart just as he had arrived; the russian expression "don't leave me!" merely indicates a desire to be heard, and if possible assisted, and is a common mode for an inferior to commence a conversation with a superior. "what do you want?" asked the starost, or president. "why--work," said the man; "some job--bread to eat--any kind of work will do for me." this seemed most providential, and the starost looked meaningly around at his lieutenants. "what do you know--what can you do?" he asked. "better ask me what i _can't_ do!" replied the new man; "i can do a bit of anything and everything!" "you can drink _vodka_, _i_ warrant!" said one of the souls, "or you'd have pockets in your clothes and something inside them!" this was in rude allusion to the attire of the new-comer. "well, if you come to that, brother," said that ragged individual, "the moujik who doesn't take kindly to _vodka_ is like a fish who can't swim; i can drink _vodka_ as well as most--try me, if you don't believe it." "do you understand the duties of a pastuch?" the starost inquired. the man laughed scornfully. "you give me a pastuch's pipe, starost, and i'll show you what i can do! i can blow the pipe so that not only the cows of my own village follow me home, but the cattle from the next village as well! why, all the _liéshuie_ (wood-spirits) come flying up from miles around when i play, and settle on the trees like _riabchiks_ (tree partridges) to listen! wolves come and fawn at my feet! you won't find a pastuch like me in all russia!" the fact is, the stranger was exceedingly anxious to obtain the situation of pastuch; it was just the sort of loafing work to suit him; hence his eloquence. now, when the patron of a situation is no less anxious to give away the office at his disposal than the candidate is to obtain it, there is not much need to waste words over the appointment; accordingly, radion vasilitch was speedily engaged as the village pastuch, at a salary of four roubles per month, and entered at once upon his duties. the appointment was made none too soon; for the very next day was that on which the cattle were annually allowed to make their first excursion beyond their own yard gates. radion appeared in full pastuch costume at earliest morn, and blew his long horn or pipe in a manner which proved that he was no novice in the accomplishment. out came the cows into the street, a noisy, happy herd, lowing and gambolling in exuberant but ungainly joy, for they were very naturally delighted to learn that their long captivity was over. each house contributed its one or two or four cows to the herd as radion passed trumpeting down the street, and at last the starost's house was reached. "starost!" shouted radion, "aren't you going to do what is necessary for the safety of the herd before i take them into the woods?" "what do you mean?" asked the chief soul, who was standing in _déshabille_ at his own yard gate, watching the pastuch and his charge. "why, about the wood-goblins. it is better to propitiate them--we always did so on the first day of the season at kirilova!" "this is not kirilova, my brother," said the starost, "but kushlefka. we have no wood-spirits here. a good pastuch is better than charms and ceremonies." "very well; but don't blame me if anything happens!" said radion; and blowing a mighty blast upon his strident instrument, he accompanied his cows down the road. presently the whole party branched off to the left across the ditch--the cows jumping it, most of them, in the inimitable manner of their tribe--struck across a patch of sandy common, reached a stretch of green pasture-land beyond, distributed themselves over this natural banqueting-hall in picturesque blotches of whites and reds and blacks, and so gradually passed out of sight and went their happy way until the evening. the villagers meanwhile would see no more of them, but left them in perfect confidence to the care of the pastuch, who received, or was to receive, the sum of four roubles per month for thus taking the cows "off their minds." radion performed his work with perfect success, and brought his herd home safely, in spite of the danger to be apprehended from _liéshuie_ and their chosen agents for destruction, the wolves and bears. days passed, and still all went well. radion's playing of the blatant cowhorn was all that he had described it, and his success as pastuch was complete. he occasionally brought back with him a hare which he had managed, somehow, to capture; or a greyhen, whom he had discovered upon her nest with nine little cheeping blackcock beneath her. radion had none of the chivalry of the sportsman, and thought nothing of taking the "matka," or mother-bird, from her helpless fledglings, leaving them to starvation, or to the foxes and the grey-hooded crows. the game thus acquired he would distribute as gifts to those of the wives of the moujiks who had the most cows, for radion's aim in life, as is the aim and object of every true russian peasant, was "_na chaiok_," or tea money, so called because tea would be the very last thing upon which any moujik would think of laying out a gratuity. radion hoped, then, for substantial _na chaioks_ at the end of the season from those whose large property in cattle he had safeguarded successfully. but one fine evening, while the summer was yet young and radion still more or less of a novelty in the village, a terrible thing happened, of a sort to make those in the community who had laughed at the superstitious pastuch and his fears of the wood-goblins to look grave, and ask themselves whether there was not, after all, more in this question of old-time superstitions than appeared at first sight. true, the villagers had never hitherto had any reason to fear the _liéshuie_, or indeed to regard them as anything more than mere story-book beings, having no existence save in the pages of nursery literature and in the brains of loafers like radion; but now.... the facts of the matter were as follows. radion brought home the herd of cows on a certain evening _one short_. the pastuch arrived from the pasture looking pale and haggard, escorted the herd as far as the village street, and himself turned aside into the house of the starost, whom he found lying asleep upon the top of his stove. radion spent a considerable time bowing and crossing himself before the _ikon_, prostrating himself several times and touching with his forehead the bare boards of the floor. then he turned his wild eyes towards the chief peasant of the village. "starost," he said, "a fearful thing has happened. the _liéshuie_ are against us. we have offended the spirits of the forest, in whose service are the bears and the wolves. let us propitiate them before it is too late, or a worse thing may happen!" "worse than what?" asked the starost. "it appears to me, my brother, that you are drunk." "i may be a little drunk, brother ivan ivanich," replied radion, "but who would not take a little drop if he had been chased by two enormous wolves and laughed at by the king of the _liéshuie_ himself?" "are you sure it was not a _bielaya kooropatka_ (willow grouse)?" said the unbelieving starost. "even sober men have ere now mistaken the cry of the _kooropatka_ for the laugh of a wood-goblin." "and what of the wolves, your charitableness, and the cow that is eaten up together with her bones and skin?" retorted the offended pastuch. "what!" cried ivan ivanich, starting to his feet; "not one of _my_ cows, radion vasilitch?" the starost was serious enough now! "yes, ivan ivanich; and the best cow in the village, and the fattest. do you think the wolf-hunters of the _liéshuie_ do not know which is the pick of the herd? as for me, though i blew my horn--yes, and cracked my long whip at them and shouted--all i could do was to attract their attention to myself instead of to the cow. starost, i would not again go through that fearful chase for ten times four roubles a month. they pursued me to the foot of a tree, ivan ivanich--it is a true word" (here radion turned towards the _ikon_ and crossed himself); "and had i not remembered to call upon the holy saint and equal to the apostles, my patron, they would have eaten me as well as the cow masha! as it was, from the top of a tree i saw the furious beasts fall upon poor masha, tear her to pieces, and eat her entirely up, so that not a trace remained, while an invisible _liéshui_ spirit laughed aloud until every particle was consumed. then the wolves came licking their lips, to the foot of my tree, and, looking up at me, howled three times and vanished. it was with difficulty that i succeeded in reaching the village, for my knees have no strength, and my heart is as the heart of a lamb or of a sucking-pig after this terrible day." the starost looked grave and troubled. that these wolves should have appeared after radion's warning as to _liéshuie_ was curious. that they should have selected his cow would surely indicate a deliberate intention on the part of the spirits--if, indeed, the spirits were at the bottom of the trouble--to accentuate the significance of their action; for they had eaten masha, and that cow represented the starost; therefore the _liéshuie_ had struck their blow at the starost, who, again, was the representative man of the community. this surely would mean that the spirits desired to demonstrate their displeasure with the community through their representative, the starost. a meeting of the mir was held that very evening in order to discuss the situation, and a soul was sent on horseback to the priest of the district, five miles away, to ask for guidance in the emergency which had arisen. late at night the deputy returned to the village bearing a message from the priest. the message was extremely to the point, though very short, and ran thus: "tell the starost and his moujiks and the pastuch that they are a set of drivelling fools. the only spirits they have to keep clear of are _vodka_ and cognac." this was encouraging, if somewhat lacking in courtesy. but a difficulty arose. the pastuch professed to be so terrified with his experiences of the preceding day that he really could not bring himself to enter the woods again unless the usual ceremonies were first performed to protect the herd from the perils of the forest. however, a _na chaiok_ of a rouble from the public funds proved a strong argument, and radion was persuaded to convoy his cows as usual into their pastures. all went well on this occasion and the day after, but on the evening of the third day another catastrophe happened. radion returned _minus_ two more of the cattle placed under his care--a second cow and the only bull of the herd. radion himself was in a terrible state. he raved and laughed and cried and cursed like one demented. to the ordinary observer he would have appeared to be merely rather far gone in alcoholic poisoning; but this, of course, could not be the case: the _znaharka_, the wise woman of the village, said so. it was the simple and natural result of great terror, she explained. in all probability he had seen the _liéshuie_ or, at least, their wolf-slaves, and the terror of it had maddened him. this proved to be the case; for after a night's rest radion was so far recovered that he gave a history of the events of the preceding day. these were, it appeared, almost a repetition of those of last week, excepting that, in addition to the horrors before experienced, a huge bear had come out of the forest, as well as the two wolves, and had eaten an entire cow to itself. after the meal it had climbed the tree upon which the affrighted radion had taken refuge, seated itself beside him, growled and roared three times in his face, and climbed down again, tearing his trousers as it did so. radion showed a long slit in the leg of his nether garments, which, of course, proved the truth of his story. after this there could be no further shilly-shallying. the _znaharka_ called upon the starost, and spoke to that official very seriously upon the subject. she knew, she explained, the details of the proper function to be performed before a herd can be considered safe from interference by the _liéshuie_, and would be pleased to take the management of the affair into her hands. her fee was three roubles. the cattle could not possibly be sent to pasture again before this most necessary function had been performed. no one would send their cows out under the circumstances--how could they? it was tempting providence; or, at all events, insulting the wood-spirits, which came to the same thing. besides, the pastuch had declared he would not go out again, and who was to take his place? a meeting of the mir was convened without further delay, and it was determined to allow the wise woman to proceed with her preparations. on the morrow, early in the morning, the ceremony should be performed. on this particular day the cows remained at home. radion could not think of risking his life a third time, and as for the owners of the cows, there was hardly one who would have been foolhardy enough to allow his cattle to wander through the woods under present circumstances. when the morrow came the _znaharka_ was at hand as the herd moved down the street in order to watch which of the cows took the lead, for her first ceremony was dependent upon that circumstance. having fixed upon the leader she tied a bit of red wool round its neck. this was a symbol that thus henceforth were the throats of the wild beasts bound, lest they should swallow the cows. next the _znaharka_ walked solemnly three times round the entire herd, locking and unlocking a padlock the while, in token that thus were the jaws of the grey wolves locked, lest they should rend the cattle. after the third time the padlock was finally locked and buried. then came a sort of liturgy which the wise woman pronounced standing in front of the herd, the meek animals being much surprised at the proceedings, and at the unusual delay in allowing them to get away to their pasture. "deaf man, canst thou hear us? no. then pray god the grey wolf may not hear our cattle in the forest. "lame man, canst thou overtake us? nay, i cannot. then pray god that the grey wolves overtake not these cows. "blind man, canst thou see us? no. then pray god the grey wolf may not perceive our cattle in the woods." this was the end of the function, and the poor cows, who had been somewhat impatiently whisking away the mosquitoes and horseflies for the last half hour, were at length allowed to proceed. radion expressed himself satisfied and went after them; he was no longer afraid of the wood-spirits, he declared; they were now powerless to harm him. after this, matters went quietly enough at kushlefka. nothing happened to the herd or to the pastuch himself, for both were protected by the solemnities conducted as above by the _znaharka_. but the bull which had formed a meal for the two demon wolves on the occasion of their second attack upon the herd was still unreplaced, and it was necessary to buy one somewhere. the starost, therefore, allowed it to be known far and wide that kushlefka was in need of a bull and open to offers. in a few days bulls began to come in, bulls of every kind; but for some little while the right bull could not be found: one was too savage, another too big, a third too small. a week went by and still kushlefka remained without the head and ornament to its herd of cows. then a most curious and astonishing circumstance happened. one morning, not long after the pastuch had set out with his cattle for the day's wandering over moor and grass-land, a man arrived from a village distant some seven or eight miles through the forest, accompanied by a bull whose appearance filled the minds of those who witnessed its arrival with astonishment and some awe. if they had not already known that old vasilice, the late lord of the herd, was in his grave, or rather in the stomachs of two grey demon-wolves of the forest, they would have said that this new bull was vasilice _redivivus_. he was strangely like. from the brown stocking on his off hind-leg to the one black ear and browny-black patch on his nose--big white body and all--he was the very image of vasilice. what made it the more astonishing was that no sooner did the animal arrive in the village street than he walked straight to the lodgings of the late lamented vasilice, and would take no denial, but must needs be let into the yard, and thence to the cowshed, where he immediately sniffed about as one who knows the lie of the land, helping himself, presently, to hay and other delicacies which he found to hand, as though it were his own of right. in vain his owner tried to turn him out of shed and yard; he would not budge; indeed, he surveyed the man with a look of mild surprise, as who should say, "what on earth is the matter with _you_? go back to drevnik if you like, but as for me, i stay here!" deep was the astonishment of kushlefka. this thing was a mystery. could the bull be the spirit of the departed vasilice? some of the spectators spat on the ground, some crossed themselves; it depended upon how the thing suggested took them. but stay; the starost has an idea. vasilice used to have a faint mark of an old brand, a mere scar on the off hindquarter. ivan ivanich entered the shed and made a close inspection of the animal. when he came out his face was grave; but his glance was serene and high, as of one who has triumphed over mysteries, and has discerned light through the darkness. "it is vasilice," he said. "where did you buy him, brother?" "at drevnik, your mercifulness," replied the seller. "and from whom?" "from a stranger, a pastuch, who drove him, with a fine cow, into drevnik--oh--a fortnight ago nearly; he said he had been commissioned to sell the pair by a moujik in koltusha, which your mercifulness knows is twenty miles away, and that----" "should you know the man again?" interrupted the starost. "certainly, for we drank together for half an hour at the _kabak_, after the bargain for the bull and cow. a ragged pastuch--lantern-jawed, and red-hair--and with a scrag beard----" "good," said the starost. "you shall have back the money you paid for vasilice, and a three-rouble note for your trouble! now leave him here and come back to-morrow with the cow. brothers," he continued, "not a word to radion about the bull vasilice when he returns! i will settle with radion to-morrow." then the starost paid a long visit to yegor, the _ochotnik_ (sportsman) of the village, and made certain arrangements. yegor was a great hunter and had slain many bears and wolves, making a good living by the sale of their skins. * * * * * on the following day, while radion was loafing the morning away amid his cows, counting his ill-gotten gains and meditating as to how he should spend them as soon as he got safely out of kushlefka and back home again, he suddenly perceived something which sent his lazy blood, for once, coursing through his veins at a speed which made the beating of his heart a painful function. issuing from the dark fringe of the forest, which lay but a short fifty yards away, came a procession alarming enough to frighten, out of his very wits, a man with five times the courage of radion; first a bear--a big one--and at his heels two wolves. behind the wolves came a wild shape--half human, but with the head of a bear. the procession moved slowly in radion's direction, who, his limbs being fixed and rigid with terror, was entirely unable to move. not so the herd. snorting and bellowing, with tails up and heads down, every cow was instantly in motion, and galloping for dear life across the moor. radion would have shrieked in the anguish of his fright, but his tongue clave to his palate, and he could utter no sound but a hoarse rattle. he tried to pray and to cross himself, but could not raise his arm. by this time the awful procession had reached him and stood motionless around him. if radion had not been half dead with fear he must have noticed something strange about the style of locomotion of the terrible beasts, as well as a certain fixedness of expression about the eyes of all four. but he was too far gone to observe anything. at last the figure, half man and half beast, spoke: "radion--radion," it said sepulchrally, "liar! where are the bull vasilice and the cows masha and katia?" radion's dry lips moved, but he could utter never a word. "radion--liar!" the voice continued, "you have lied in the village to the dishonour of the liéshuie, of whom i am king. where is the money you received for vasilice and the two cows?" radion's hand made a movement towards his wallet, but had not strength to carry itself so far. "radion--liar and thief," continued the king of the _liéshuie_ "you are doomed--you must die! advance wolves, tear and destroy; rend, bear!" but before the terrific animals could obey the injunctions of their leader, radion's tongue had freed itself, and with a fearful yell the unfortunate pastuch fell senseless upon the heather. then that mercenary _liéshui_ king relieved radion of his wallet, after which he retired quickly into the forest followed by his three slaves, carrying their heads under their arms, the weather being hot. when radion returned to the village at night, his face was as the countenance of those who have been through great tribulation; and when the herd awaited the sound of his horn next morning, and wandered aimlessly about the village street, headed by vasilice _redivivus_ (whom they were very glad to see back again among them), they were doomed to a sad disappointment; for it was discovered that their faithful pastuch had departed, leaving no address. chapter x an unbaptized spirit i have already referred to a pretty tradition still existing among the peasantry of the slavonic families that the soul of a child who dies unbaptized must wander for seven years, beseeching, at the hands of each christian person it sees, that precious privilege of which it has been deprived. if the little soul should fail, during its term of seven years, to find a christian man or woman who will hear its cry and give it the baptism it craves, that soul must forfeit its soulship, and the being becomes a member of a lower race, assuming thenceforth the form and character of a river-spirit, and taking up its abode among the members of that frivolous and somewhat mischievous family. * * * * * there was grief in the house of pavel shirkof, a peasant of the village of chudyesin, near perm, beneath the shadow of the dark urals. pavel was unlike most of his kind, for his ideas of happiness were not as theirs, bounded by the narrow limits of the interior of the _kabak_ or drinking-shop. pavel was gifted with an earnestness of disposition rare enough among men of his standing; he took life seriously, and had been a good husband to his wife. he had married but a short year ago, and now, alas! the buxom girl of twelve months since lay, a young mother, sighing out the last moments of her stricken life. unattended by doctor or nurse, far from all skilled assistance, and watched only by her terrified and ignorant though loving husband, the poor wife tossed upon her so-called bed, while her tiny child lay helpless and neglected upon a nest of old potato-sacks and coats and rags in the corner by the stove--a thing of feeble, struggling existence as near to its end had pavel known it, as it was to its beginning, and this was but a matter of half-an-hour or so. the baby lay and wailed unnoticed, for her poor father had his dying wife to attend to, and the sick woman, but half conscious, had not as yet caught that sound so dear to every mother's ear--her own child's voice. but suddenly she paused in the restless side-to-side movements of her head upon the pillow, and appeared to listen. "pavel," she said, and her pale cheek flushed, "it is the child. let me see it before i die. hold it near me. let me take it in my arms!" pavel brought the little wailing thing and laid it in the mother's arms, which scarcely had strength to clasp themselves round their precious burden. a beautiful smile went, like a sunset, over poor dying doonya's face--the last gleam before nightfall; then she looked anxiously at the tiny bundle at her breast. "pavel, my poor man," she said, "the child has death in its face; it will accompany me into the unknown; we shall both leave you together, my soul. god comfort you at this time of tribulation! but now you shall do her the only service you can ever render her. fetch the good priest from volkova; take shoora, the best horse, and the lightest cart, and fetch him quickly, my pavel, for the child must be baptized." but pavel refused to leave his wife in her present condition. the child must wait, he said; and in case of emergency any one could pronounce the baptismal formula. he would do it himself. meanwhile, what was the child to him, body or soul, in comparison with his beloved doonya? a very few minutes after this the soul of doonya passed peacefully away, and poor pavel was a widower. in his anguish of mind during that saddest hour, he had no thought for the tiny bundle of sickly humanity lying neglected upon its bed of rags and sacking. no neighbours were at hand. all were at work in the fields. for none had known of poor doonya's sudden and immediate need of their services. when at length pavel remembered to look at the child, therefore, it was cold and dead, and might have been so for an hour for all he knew. pavel was not so ignorant as to be unaware that the fate of a child dying unbaptized is most melancholy. he knew, as every slavonic peasant knows, that the unbaptized soul, whether of child or grown person, is doomed to wander over earth and sea and air for seven long years, seeking for some one sufficiently pure of spirit to hear its spirit-voice appealing to be baptized. if such an one should hear it and pronounce the orthodox formula, all would be well with the soul, and it might depart in peace into those blessed realms where waiting souls, as christians believe, rest until the great day of their resurrection. if, however, none should hear the wanderer (and, alas! how few are those qualified to catch the tone of a spirit-voice!), and the seven years should expire, then that poor unbaptized soul must lose its soulship, and descend among the mortal _rusalki_, or water nymphs, to be a _rusalka_ for the remainder of her life, cut off for ever from the blessed privileges of christianity. then pavel was overcome with sudden remorse, and, in the hope that the soul of little liuba (for so the parents had agreed to call her) was still within hearing, he pronounced aloud the words, "liuba, i baptize thee in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy ghost." but, alas! it was too late. the little neglected soul had fled away in its distress and despair, and was already far from the place of its birth, wandering over sea and land, and crying aloud to every human being whom it saw: "have pity, christian brother (or sister). hear my cry and baptize me, or my soulship is lost, lost!" * * * * * when the spirit of little liuba first left the tiny body in which it had commenced its career, and fled away, it knew not whither to direct its flight. one central idea was all the consciousness it possessed as yet, and this was the knowledge--half hope and half despair--which is given to each infant unbaptized soul for its heritage, namely, that it has been deprived by misfortune of something which should have been its dearest possession, the sweet privilege of christian baptism, and that it must wander and weep and entreat until such time as it shall find a baptized christian into whose own pure soul the cry of the wandering spirit may enter; from him it may then receive the precious gift which is its own by right, but of which it had been unfortunately deprived. so liuba's infant soul fled wailing over valley and hill and sea, and was far away when her widowed father pronounced the baptismal formula over the poor little wasted body which had once been her earthly tenement. liuba knew nothing of the fate predestinated for those whose seven years expire and find them still without the pale of blessedness; all this she should learn in good time; at present she only knew that she must wander and chant her monotonous sorrowful prayer that she might be heard and baptized. red-shirted peasants were busy at work in the fields, together with gaily-clad women and a few children. it was the time of the cutting of the corn, and there was much laughter and merriness, while each peasant did as much work as he felt was good for him, which was not much; the women worked harder than the men and sang in a light-hearted manner as they laboured. the men were glad to allow the women to work as hard as they were willing to; it saved them much trouble. "brothers and sisters--christian people," wailed the child-spirit, "baptize me and save my soul alive!" but not one of all the chattering, toiling throng could hear the spirit-voice, for the sounds of the world were loud in their ears and no other voice could reach them by reason of the noises which deafened them. so liuba left them and fled away over hill and dale, wailing and weeping, for she had experienced her first taste of failure and disappointment; and by-and-by she came to the banks of a large river, and here she rested herself upon the shore, strange and lost and lonely. it was a beautiful sunny morning in august, and little liuba could not resist the charm of the sunshine and the sparkle of the clear water about her; she saw it with delight, and the rustle of the leaves and the songs and twittering of the happy birds amid the leaflets overhead filled her with wondrous joy and content. "how beautiful it all is," she cried; "if only it were to be always like this i should not so much mind my misfortune." to liuba's surprise, at the sound of her voice a very beautiful form suddenly appeared rising out of the water. the shape was that of a human girl, but indistinct, and with wavy outlines that quivered and shifted, instead of the fixed lines of a human body. masses of golden flowing hair fell over bosom and shoulders and lay floating upon the ripples of the water, of which it seemed to form a part; and though it had proceeded from the stream and still lay upon the surface of the river, yet the hair was not wet and draggled but wavy and dry and lovely to look upon. liuba looked at the new-comer with admiration and joy. "how beautiful you are!" she cried, "and you have heard my voice and will baptize me!" the beautiful creature laughed aloud, and the sound of her voice was like the flowing of shallow waters over the rapids. "oh, no!" she cried, "i cannot baptize you, and i would not if i could! you must be very young or you would know that i am a river-spirit, a _rusalka_, such as you yourself will be one day, unless you find some one to baptize you, which is very unlikely. i can hear your voice for i am a spirit, but mortal men cannot distinguish your speech, and if they hear anything they say, 'listen to the whispering of the wind in the tree-top!' or, 'do you hear how the breeze sighs this evening among the reeds in the stream?' do you not know that you have but seven years in which to perform your hopeless task, and that after that you are at liberty to come down among us here in the cool waters? it were far better to save yourself these years of disappointment and toiling and to become one of us at once." but the soul of liuba thirsted for baptism as the new-born plant longs for the touch of the sun-god, and she was not satisfied with the words of the _rusalka_. "but who _are_ you? and are you baptized? and what do you do down there in the cool waters?" she asked. the _rusalka_ looked grave for an instant, and then quickly laughed once more. "no," she said, "we are not baptized; we are spirits now, but when the world comes to an end and the rivers are poured out and dried up, we shall exist no longer. we are the water folk, and our ancestors fell with lucifer from heaven; at which time we took up our abode here, instead of following our captain to his home. as for what we do, we dance and sport amid the shining stones and caves, and chase the brilliant fishes, and scare the greedy otters; we fascinate silly humans, and when they follow us into the waves we strangle them or torture them to death because we hate them." "why do you hate them?" asked liuba. "because they have souls and we have none; you will know why in seven years. and now, good-bye till then, for my sisters await me yonder; they are ready for the dance, while i tarry chattering here." with these words the beautiful nymph seemed to fade from the sight, growing every instant more and more indistinct. liuba saw her wave her arms and heard her silvery laugh, and then she quite disappeared. from the spot where she had stood upon the bank a tiny stream of crystal water trickled through the grass and flowers and found its way back to the parent river. "how terrible!" said liuba. "oh, _how_ i hope i shall never be a _rusalka_!" and a great rush of longing came over the little bankrupt soul for that baptism of which it knew nothing save its own great need and desire for the gift, and away she floated once more over woods, meadows, and rivers, wailing and crying, "oh, who will baptize me, baptize me! christian men, have pity upon a soul that wanders and weeps, and baptize me!" but the merchant was too busy over his money-making, or too preoccupied with his money-losing to have a thought to spare for a lost soul. and the ships riding upon the bosom of the sea, many of which liuba passed in her flight, were filled with sailors who thought of their dear wives and children at home on shore, and of the loved cliffs of their native country, but not of the poor bereft spirit passing in distress and beseeching over the deck of their vessel. now and again one would say to his comrade, "what sound was that amid the rigging like the sighing of wind and the whirring of the wings of a bird that flies from land to land?" and the other would reply: "i heard no sound, and it is too dark to follow the flight of a bird to-night." even the worshippers in the churches were unable to hear the spirit-voice; they were busy praying for themselves or for their dear ones; some thought of worldly matters in spite of themselves, some were sad for their sins, some were full of petty jealousies because of the grand clothes of their fellow-worshippers, or of pride for their own; none heard the wailing spirit-voice, and liuba, the saddest soul in all that churchful of souls, went weeping upon her journey, ever weeping and ever beseeching, but never obtaining that sweet gift for which she longed with a longing that increased with each day and with every disappointment. once, when she had wandered thus for months enough to make two whole years, liuba met with an adventure. passing over the streets of a large city she was surprised to hear a voice, which at first she took for an echo of hers, for it spoke the same words, and the tone was that of distress and entreaty, as sorrowful as her own. then she saw that the sound proceeded from a little form like hers, which slowly and sadly winged its way through the dusky air, close above the roofs of the human habitations below, and ever as it went it chanted its melancholy refrain: "christian men and women, hear my voice, and baptize me ere it is too late, and my soulship is lost, lost!" liuba accosted the little wandering soul, which was, she found, sadder even than herself because it had less of hope. this soul was that of a little human boy who had died unbaptized nearly seven years ago. for six long years and as many months it had wandered, entreating for baptism and finding none that could hear its voice; now there remained but a few months wherein to gain the blessed privilege, and hope had grown faint and weak. liuba's companion had been over the world, he said, and over it a second time; but all in vain--none would hear him. he had met many lost souls like himself, and all were sad and disappointed; and for some, he knew, the term had expired and they had fallen to the status of water-spirits. some had taken the form of cuckoos, and in the shape of that bird had wandered over the world crying "cuckoo" instead of the usual entreaty for baptism, because there are many, he said, upon the earth, who believe that each unbaptized soul assumes the form and voice of this bird in order to be seen and heard by christian men. those who believe thus are in the habit of pronouncing the formula of baptism over each cuckoo whose voice they hear, in the hope of thus saving some lost human soul.[ ] [ ] this belief is far from uncommon. "and are some saved in this way," asked liuba. "i have heard so from others," said the newcomer, "but i know not whether it is true. for myself, i have been content to preserve my own likeness and voice, for surely, surely some day, though the time is now short, i shall yet be heard and saved!" so liuba and her companion journeyed together henceforth, and together they chanted their monotonous song, which none of all the christian men and women they saw might hear: "brothers, christians, hear us and baptize us, or our soulship is lost!" then there came a sad day when the elder wanderer knew that his time for hoping was past, and that his soulship was indeed lost for ever. by the bank of a lovely river he and liuba parted, and liuba wept bitterly, and said: "farewell, poor lost brother, in pity and love i greet you a last time, and even as your lot is so shall mine be; for, alas, there remain but a few more years!" but the other said, "nay, hope on, liuba, for, perhaps, by the mercy of the highest, you may yet be saved." then he drooped his wings and plunged beneath the waters, and when the cool element touched him he forgot for ever that he had belonged to a higher race of beings, and went among the river-spirits, and was with them and of them, and knew of nothing better. but liuba wandered on and on, and wearied not of wrestling with christian men and women for that which they alone could give her if they would. once--a year from the end of her term--she passed through a church in which prayers were continually offered for those who die unbaptized, and in which the form of baptism is gone through annually once for the benefit of these, in case one should be within hearing; but the service was just finished as liuba passed over the church, and she was too late to hear those longed-for words which should give her the priceless boon she desired. in another place she came where a certain good man pronounced every morning and every evening the baptismal formula, in case some poor wandering soul should be passing within hearing and should hear and live. but though she saw him, she knew not of his benevolent daily action, and passed on unaware; neither did he hear her spirit-voice, for his soul was full of many worldly matters, and when at evening he performed the pious rite which was his daily custom, liuba was far away. and it happened that a few months before the expiration of her time, liuba passed once again by that stream where, on her first day of wandering, she had seen the river-spirit; and now again, as she rested upon the bank of the stream, that beautiful nymph-form rose, glistening and undulating, from the waters, and waved her arms and laughed and beckoned to liuba, and said, "aha! little lost soul, a few more days or weeks and you are ours. we shall be kind to you, never fear, and you shall dance and sport your time away instead of wandering and whining over land and sea, and all for the sake of something which may not be worth the finding! and you shall learn to captivate the hated human beings who would not listen to your voice, and you shall entice them down and strangle them--strangle them!" but liuba fled away in horror and dread, and would not listen to what the _rusalka_ had to say. but her last few months were at hand, and the poor wanderer toiled on, beseeching and entreating wherever she went, and weeping and wailing more pitifully as hope receded further and further. * * * * * far away in the east of europe there is a great city which is full of large shops, and immense houses, and busy streets, and of rich and poor, and of good and evil, as is every other large city everywhere. it was christmas eve, and the last hour of work had come for bank and shop and factory. after this there should be holiday-time for all. the factory hands poured in a great stream from the open doors of a cotton-mill--pale men and women, happy enough in the prospect of a day or two to be spent far away from the stuffiness and the heat and the toil of the mill. all chatted and laughed and made plans, and told one another of what they would do at christmas and on boxing day. and many went away to dance and to sing and enjoy themselves; and some went to the inns and public-houses, and were rowdily happy in their own way; and many went to the brilliant shops and bought materials for their christmas dinner or presents for their friends. and one man of all the crowd did not join those who were bent on merrymaking. yet he, too, was full of plans of happiness for the season. he was not rich, this man, but he spent little, and the wages of the factory were good; and each year he contrived to save a sum of money in preparation for that which he had in his mind for christmas time. he had brought his savings with him this evening--a fair sum for a man in his position--and with the money he proceeded from shop to shop, buying here a pot of sweet flowers, there a book, here a doll, and there a toy, until his large basket was full and as heavy as he could carry. then he went to the children's hospital, where for seven years his kind face had been well known; and here he was received with acclamation by the little suffering inmates, for they knew well the meaning of his appearance in company with the basket; and there were some who had been in that building, alas! for years, and had learned to consider the visit of this man and his basket as an established thing, as certain and as regular as christmas itself. many little hearts beat higher with joy when paul shirkof's round was finished and the basket was empty, and paul's own heart was joyful and happy indeed as he returned to his home that night and knelt to say his christmas prayer. his was no conventional prayer, nor did he pray in the words of any formula; but he thought of the christ-child born as on this night in its helplessness and innocence, and he prayed for simplicity and for innocence, that his heart might be as the heart of a child, and his spirit pure, so that he might discern god in all his works. and even as he prayed there was borne in upon him--though he could see nothing--as the sound of the voice of a tiny child, and it said--entreating and wailing--"oh, christian man, pity me; hear my voice--and baptize me, or my soulship is lost!" and a great fear fell upon the man, so that he could scarcely frame words to ask: "who are you that address me?" then the answer came: "an unbaptized soul--liuba; baptize me before it is too late, and save me!" and the man delayed no longer, but made the sign of the cross and said, "i baptize thee in the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy ghost, amen." then at the words the soul of liuba rejoiced with a great joy, and departed, whither i know not; but this is certain, that it wandered no longer wailing over land and sea, for it was henceforth at rest for ever, and, by divine mercy, in possession of that sweet privilege which for a while had been lost to it. and the father knew not that he had baptized his own child's soul; but he shall know it one day, perhaps, when those who are pure in spirit shall see god. chapter xi a witch! a witch! in this year of grace, close to the end of the nineteenth century, many of the villages in the tsar's dominions are almost up to date in the science of cholera-fighting, thanks to the energy of the zemstvo, which is a species of county council. they set apart, some of them, a hut or house as a hospital for suspicious cases; the villagers occasionally boil their drinking water; they drink their _vodka_--well, perhaps the merest trifle more discreetly, in times of scare, than in the piping days of health and security. i would not go so far as to say that they waste much water in personal ablutions, because i wish my readers to take me seriously; and as for the drainage and sanitation of the villages, there is none from end to end of the realm. nevertheless, matters are very much more satisfactory now than was the case forty or fifty years ago; when, at the appearance of the terrible scourge of cholera, most of the inhabitants at once gave themselves up for lost, and, resolving to make the most of the short time remaining to them for indulgence in the pleasures of terrestrial existence, drank themselves into alcoholic coma every day, until the disease fastened itself upon their _vodka_-sodden bodies, and carried them away where no _vodka_ is to be had for love or money. tirnova, in the government of vologda, was one of the villages most sorely attacked by the cholera-fiend during the outbreak of . the peasants of this village had many and many a time received good advice from the priest of the nearest parish village, shishkina, who, being a man of sense, had recommended them, before the outbreak (having driven over on purpose to warn them), to do their best to stave off the threatened attack of "the plague," as they called it, by prayer and personal cleanliness. but since the cholera had not as yet made its appearance in the place it was clearly unnecessary, the peasants decided, to put themselves out, and no notice was taken of the priest's warning. now, however, that the plague had come, a deputation headed by the starost, or head-peasant, waited upon the priest in order to receive further counsel, for, as a matter of fact, they had forgotten all he told them. "fools that you are and sons of dogs," said the good man, who well knew how the moujik must be addressed if it is desired that he should listen, "did i not tell you long ago to pray to the almighty, first; and secondly, to clean your filthy houses and your own bodies with soap and hot water? go home, and pray and wash!" at this, all present removed their caps and scratched their heads, implying thereby that there was a difficulty still unexplained. "if," said the starost, stepping out to speak, "if it be the will of the almighty that cholera should visit our village, then surely it would be impious to do anything, such as the cleansing of our houses, to keep it off? we can pray, of course, that it may please the almighty to modify his will in this matter, and, no doubt, your reverence would come over with the large and holy _ikon_ of st. luke the physician, with whom for intercessor we might hold a solemn procession; but----" "did not i tell you you were a set of brainless idiots?" said the priest; "the saints only help those who help themselves. pray, by all means; but when you have done praying, go out and wash yourselves, and your clothes, and your houses; and don't afterwards drink yourselves into the likeness of swine at the beer-house--oh, it's no use wagging your head at me, matvéi stepanitch; i know you well enough! there, that's my advice; now go!" "and the _ikon_?" said the moujiks, giving their matted locks a final scratching before departure. "you shall have the _ikon_, and a special litany, as soon as you have cleaned up the village, and washed yourselves, but not before," said the firm ecclesiastic, and with this ultimatum he slammed the door in their faces. the deputation felt that this was business-like and savoured of authority, which is a thing the russian peasant invariably respects, especially if the authority is abusive and has a loud voice, and does not mince matters. they greatly approved of the strong language of their spiritual adviser, and of his vigorous way of presenting his views; but the advice as to cleanliness was extremely unpopular, while, as for his allusion to the beer-shop--well, the "little father" might have known better; he must be well aware that life without _vodka_ is an impossibility, cholera or no cholera. therefore the deputation proceeded straight to the village drinking-shop and there drank the priest's health times enough to secure _his_ immunity from cholera anyhow, unless the fates persistently disregarded the vows of the pious intoxicated. afterwards some of them took a bath in the streamlet which ran like a silver ribbon through the village; being but eighteen inches deep or so, this rivulet could scarcely afford scope for the malice of a _vodyannui_, or water-demon, so they were safe enough; but they did not like the feel of the water, it was unfamiliar and uncanny, and gave them the shivers. others patronised the bath-house and employed hot steam to take off as much of the outer coating of griminess as each considered safe or desirable; for there is nothing so certain to give one cold as the sudden leaving off of clothes or other coverings to which the body has become accustomed. as for prayers in church, the "little father's" remark was surely uncalled for; did not the women attend to this department, and was not the priest aware of the fact? they had, indeed, been specially devout during the cholera scare, and the stands before the _ikons_ in church were simply overburdened with candles devoted to the favourite saints. was all this not enough to satisfy him? he could hardly expect the moujiks themselves to attend on ordinary sundays! after the toil of the week (toil of which the women took _more_ than their full share, though no mention of the circumstance was made by their lords in council), surely the men were entitled to a day of undisturbed rest! it was a long walk to the church, five miles at least, while the beer-shop was so very handy. so far as cleansing the houses was concerned, since the priest seemed to desire it, the _babui_ (women) should be told to use their brooms a bit, for it was just as well that the "little father" should come over and bring his _ikon_ with him, the big one; and the moujiks knew him well enough to be quite sure that he would keep his word and come so soon as they had made a fair show of performing their part of the agreement. the starost's house, where the priest would put up for the afternoon, accordingly received such a cleaning as it had not enjoyed for years; but portions of the village which he would not visit, or would see only when the procession was half-way round its course, remained untouched by broom or scrubbing-brush. thus did the moujiks of tirnova observe the counsels of their priest; their obedience went as far as their convenience, and no further. they succeeded, however, in making so good a show as to justify the pastor in coming over with the big _ikon_ and holding the religious function proper to the occasion, namely, that designed to stay the ravages of the demon of cholera. but, alas! the plague seemed to ignore all attempts to quash or turn it aside. in spite of processions and _ikons_ and the chanting of priest and deacons, in spite of everything, the cholera raged on just as furiously as ever, if not more furiously. it was at this critical stage of affairs that marfa kapústina came to the fore. marfa was the _znaharka_, or "wise woman," of the place. learned to a degree was marfa in all manner of spells and incantations, and in the virtues of herbs and of charms; moreover, she was a firm believer in her own wisdom, and in the potency of the spells and mummeries of which she held the secret, though no whit the less an excellent churchwoman according to the orthodox faith of the country, in spite of her dealings with matters upon which holy church would certainly look with suspicion and dislike. the fact is, marfa, like the great majority of her countrymen and women throughout rural russia, was a little mixed as to what constituted religion and what was meant by "superstition," and where one ended and the other began. if she had been informed that some of those rites and ceremonies, the minutest details of which she carried in her memory for use in all emergencies, were nothing more nor less than mere survivals of the paganism which had flourished in russia but a few centuries ago, she would have been immensely surprised, but not in the least convinced. up to the present time, however, marfa had enjoyed but little opportunity of demonstrating her talents and knowledge in all kinds of exorcisms and spells; indeed, she was far better known as one eminently skilful in the more mundane art of escorting little christians into this world of trouble, and of looking after their mothers in the time of tribulation and sickness. but now at last marfa felt that the great opportunity of her life had arrived. shortly after the painful fact became apparent to all in the village that the orthodox ceremonies for the "laying" of the cholera ghost had entirely failed in their object, the starost received a visit from the _znaharka_, who looked preoccupied and feverish. "matvéi ivanich," she began abruptly, "the cholera is very bad--worse than ever. only last night avdotia timofeyevna and her child were carried away, and this morning feodor zaitzoff has followed them. old vainka, the _ooriadnik_ (sub-policeman) is very bad too!" "it is god's will!" said the starost. "that is certain," the _znaharka_ assented; "but what, matvéi ivanich, if it is also god's will that we should at least do our best to rid ourselves of the scourge he has permitted to fall upon our backs, or rather of the devils which have come among us? our _rodityelui_ (forefathers) were accustomed to fight the plague-demon by means of certain ceremonies--simple ceremonies and very effectual. it is at least possible that the almighty is angry that we neglect to employ those simple weapons which a little knowledge places in our hands." the wise woman paused. "well," said the starost, "go on. what are you referring to? were they christian ceremonies that the _rodityelui_ employed?" "assuredly!" said the _znaharka_; "there were prayers, and an _ikon_ was carried about." "but the priest has already been amongst us with his _ikon_, and you see how much we have gained by it," observed the starost impatiently. "the function was incomplete, matvéi ivanich," the wise woman hastened to explain. "the prayers were good and the _ikon_ was good, but there were other things, good also, omitted. there is but one individual within a thirty-mile ride who knows of the true ceremony, and that is myself. pay me ten roubles from the funds and the ceremony shall be performed, and the plague, perhaps, shall be stayed--who knows?" the _znaharka_ glanced at the sacred picture in the corner and crossed herself. the starost, feeling unable to decide the question single-handed, resolved to convoke a special meeting of the souls of the village in order to give full consideration to the proposal of the wise woman. the gaps among the ranks of the souls were already distressingly numerous; and the souls being the heads of houses, this fact told a sad tale of families deprived of the bread-winner, stricken down and lost to the community by the terrible ravages of the cholera-demon. it was in itself a silent but sufficient _primâ facie_ argument in favour of adopting the proposal of the _znaharka_. of the moujiks still remaining alive, however, some few were found presumptuous enough to laugh to scorn the very idea of holding a pagan function in order to complete that which the christian ceremony had omitted or failed to perform! better to keep the ten roubles, they said, for the relief of the widows and children of those who had already fallen victims to the plague. but the great majority were strongly in favour of adopting the _znaharka's_ suggestion; it was at least a straw to grasp at, and certainly nothing could be more desperate than the situation of affairs in the village at the present moment. as for the ten roubles, it was pointed out by some that if "this sort of thing" were to continue much longer, there would be no one left alive to enjoy "the funds;" far wiser were it to spend the money in an endeavour to strike a blow at the insidious enemy, who threatened to depopulate the village within a measurable period of time! accordingly the _znaharka_ was informed that her proposal was to be adopted, and marfa was instructed to make her arrangements as quickly as possible, and to proceed with the function exactly as the _rodityelui_ had been accustomed in former ages to perform it. marfa showed herself to be not only perfectly at home in the minutest details of the ceremony about to be gone through, but also determined to lose not a single moment in pushing forward the necessary preparations. the very next morning an order went out from the starost, at marfa's request, that all the mankind of the village, young and old, should remain within doors until after the conclusion of the proceedings. they might lie on their stoves and sleep out the morning hours, if they chose; but--for certain good reasons--they must not look out of the windows or watch the ceremony about to be performed. the girls and women of the community, on the other hand, as the actors and participants in the function, were instructed to assemble at an appointed place at an early hour. each was to be clad in the scanty costume enjoined by tradition for the occasion--that is, in a short, thin shirt or chemise, and that only. attired in this airy costume, all the females of the village, from the oldest to the youngest, assembled at the rendezvous at the appointed hour, when a procession was formed in the following order:--in front went the oldest woman in tirnova carrying an _ikon_. next to her walked the _znaharka_ herself, astride of a broom-handle, and bearing under her arm a cock of a black or dark colour. behind the _znaharka_ followed the rest of the girls and women, ranged in pairs. a huge bonfire had previously been built up and lighted at one end of the village street, while a similar one blazed at the opposite extremity of the village. the procession having marched towards the first of these bonfires, all solemnly walked three times round it, chanting and praying, taking the words from the _znaharka_, who knew the correct liturgy by heart. after the completion of the third circle, marfa suddenly--as though struck with an idea--clasped the cock in her two hands and with it rushed down the street shrieking loudly, followed and imitated by the rest of the women. as soon as the second bonfire was reached the unfortunate cock was thrown into the flames, while the procession marched three times round, singing and praying as before. lastly, the procession was reformed and an entire circuit of the village was made, the line of march passing outside of each and every house; for no cholera-devil could afterwards cross the line thus determined. as the army of wailing and chanting females passed close to an outlying cottage a black cat was unfortunate enough to select that moment for rushing out of the yard and crossing the path of the procession. instantly the _znaharka_ caught it, and seizing it by the hind legs dashed its head against a stone, killing it on the spot. this incident delighted beyond measure the _znaharka_, and through her the rest of the women, for, as she quickly explained, within the mangy person of the black cat, now deceased, had undoubtedly been located the demon of cholera, which was now, consequently, "done for" in so far as concerned the village of tirnova, and no fresh case of the plague would occur in the place from this hour forward. then the entire company returned to their homes and dressed themselves, and proudly informed their male relatives of the wonderful success which had attended the mysteries in which they had been engaged. it was certainly a remarkable circumstance that, from that day on, the cholera actually ceased its ravages among the inhabitants of the village. whether the black cat deceased had really been the desperate character which it was accused of being, or whether faith in the methods of the _znaharka_ had cast out fear, and with it the principal element of danger in a cholera epidemic, when, as every one knows, it is scare that carries off half the victims who succumb to the disease, or whether, again, the epidemic had already worn itself out and had taken all the victims it meant to claim, i know not; but, as a matter of fact, there perished no more moujiks on this occasion with the exception of one man, who, as it happened, had scoffed and derided the _znaharka_ and her procession, and had even made rude remarks about the ladies in their airy costumes as they had passed his house full of their solemn undertaking. probably this man was afterwards seized with doubt as to the wisdom of his conduct, then with panic, and lastly--as so frequently happens--took the plague out of sheer nervousness. however this may have been, all these things immensely added to the prestige of the _znaharka_, who now found herself famous, and in possession of a reputation which placed her upon a pinnacle far higher than that of any wise woman or wise man for miles around. it must not be supposed that by the marvellous success of the pagan ceremony just described any sort of a blow was dealt to the orthodox beliefs of the villagers--nothing of the kind. the prestige of the priest may have suffered, but not the cause of religion. it was merely concluded by these simple-minded people that their _znaharka_ knew the priest's business better than the _bátuishka_ did himself, that was all! for many a long day after these events belief in the _znaharka_ was the supreme motive-power of the peasants of the district. if any cursing had to be done, marfa was invited to do it. had the evil eye fallen upon a moujik or woman of the place? marfa defeated the sinister effects of that deplorable circumstance. her benedictions were equally effective and in request; so were her spells, her charms, her incantations and mummeries of every kind. as the faith of the people in her powers was absolute, so her success was naturally marvellous in proportion, and for many a long year marfa's reputation was unquestioned and her position assured. nevertheless, a great reputation carries great responsibilities and great risks, and once a hole is found or picked in that flimsy material prestige, a rent is inevitable, and the fabric will easily and quickly go to rags and ruin! even marfa's glory was destined to end at last, and the beginning of the end came in the miscarriage of a certain benediction. young vainka shahgin, a peasant of the village, had wooed and won the attractive masha sotsky; or, perhaps, the friends of vainka had wooed the friends of masha and won _them_. anyhow, the pair were married and had been duly blessed by the _znaharka_, now an old woman; for without her benediction no married couple in the district would have dreamed of going forth to battle with the world and its tribulations. but ever since the _znaharka's_ blessing had been accorded to this particular union the pair had led a cat-and-dog life. vainka had taken to drinking immediately, while masha had proved herself a slovenly slattern at home and the worst of housekeepers. no children came to cement the union; the marriage was a failure all round. it was rather hard on marfa that all this should be laid to her account; but such is life! it was; and this was the first of her serious misfires. shortly after this there came troubles with wolves. during the coldest period of a certain very severe winter, those famished animals became so tamed by starvation as to lose some of their natural aversion to the near presence of mankind. they took to making daring raids upon the village of tirnova during the gloom of night, carrying away dogs and other domestic creatures. soon they waxed bolder still, and, arriving in force, succeeded in killing and getting safe away with a cow and two horses. the _znaharka_, after this climax, was requested to solemnly curse the offenders, which she promptly did, using the _ikon_ and the prayers of the church as well as certain traditional incantations of a pagan character. but the wolves were none the worse for this mixed dose--on the contrary, they seemed to be all the better for it; the treatment did them good and improved their appetite. where, up to this time, they had been content to steal a cat, they now carried off a grown pig; the horses and cows were invaded in their very stables and outhouses; things went from bad to worse. all the world recognised that the curses of the _znaharka_ agreed with the wolves, they grew fat upon her maledictions and the tirnova cattle: marfa had made another lamentable failure! thus, gradually, the immense prestige of the old woman waned and drooped and disappeared. one thing after another failed with her. now that faith had gone, success went also. those who, but yesterday, had believed in and honoured her, scoffed to-day as she passed them; nor was this all. as failures multiplied, ill-feeling towards her increased. where she had been feared and loved, she was now ridiculed and hated. men no longer accorded to her her former honourable appellation of "the wise woman"; they took to calling her _vyedma_ and _bába yagá_, both of which terms mean witch, or sorceress, and carry a weight of abusive meaning, for a witch is always malignant, while a _znaharka_ is invariably a useful and benevolent member of society. the idea once started that poor marfa was a _vyedma_, the unfortunate woman was--like the proverbial dog to whom a bad name has been given--practically already hanged. she rapidly grew in the ill-favour of the inconstant villagers, by whom she was accused of all manner of monstrosities of which she was entirely innocent. there was no misfortune or calamity that happened at this time within the district but it was quickly laid to the charge of marfa. in a short while she was cursed and hated by the entire population. at last matters culminated in an accusation brought against the poor woman by the pastuch, or cowherd, of the community. the _znaharka_, this man declared, had taken to milking the cows of the villagers by means of witchcraft, while the animals were away at the pasture. there were two circumstances which lent colour to this statement. in the first place, the milking of cows by magical means was known to be a favourite accomplishment of _vyedmui_, who, from all times, have been addicted to this dishonest and wicked practice--a practice exercised by them not out of mere mischief, but for profit--for witches must live as well as any one else. in the second place, many of the cows had, of late, been unaccountably short of milk; good milkers, too, who had never hitherto disappointed their owners. day after day these animals were found, at milking time, to be absolutely without their frothy produce. at a hastily convened meeting of the heads of houses the pastuch was instructed to watch the herd while at pasture, to watch carefully from a convenient spot, he himself remaining, if possible, unseen; and then to return and report. this the cowherd did, and with so much success that on the third day after he had received his instructions he returned from the pasture lands with full particulars as to how the _vyedma_ marfa had proceeded in order to effect the robbery of which she was accused. her method proved to be an old and favourite device among witches. the herd described his experience thus: he had taken up a position, he said, in the topmost branches of a birch tree, whence he could see for miles around, while the herd browsed peacefully about the foot. at about midday he observed the _vyedma_ (at whose name--for it had come to this--the pastuch and all his audience spat upon the ground in token of their disgust!), he observed, he said, the _vyedma_ approaching from the direction of the village, bearing a basket which was full of empty bottles, each bottle having a separate compartment in the basket. she stopped in the middle of the communal grass-field, at a spot where lay the old plough which ivan tussoff had left there since last autumn to save himself the trouble of throwing it away. then she raised her arms and waved her hands, and pronounced some incantations, the nature of which, being so far away, he could not hear, but which, he said, must have been very potent, for the entire herd, as with one accord, began to show signs of great restlessness and to low softly and mournfully. he himself also felt the effects, which were such as to give him a sensation of nervousness and great depression, and a creepy feeling all down his back, while he distinctly recognised a strong smell of sulphur filling the air. then the _vyedma_, after more incantations, stuck what appeared to be a penknife into the woodwork of the old plough, when immediately drops of milk began to, first, drip from the knife, then to slowly trickle, and lastly to flow. marfa placed her bottles one after the other beneath this singular milk-tap until all these were filled, then she departed, carrying the basket, as though it were a thing of no weight at all. when she had disappeared, the pastuch descended from his perch and tested some of the best of the cows. they proved to be as dry as bones; not a single drop of milk did their udders afford! the herdsman concluded his tale amid exclamations of horror and dismay. the peasants crossed themselves and spat. what need of further evidence? undoubtedly there was a _vyedma_ among them; suspicion must give place to certainty. undoubtedly also it was the duty of those in authority in the village to rid themselves of the shame and horror of harbouring such a creature in their midst. russian peasants, when they have made up their minds in times of excitement to any outrageous proceeding, rarely delay long before putting their ideas into execution. within an hour of the conclusion of the meeting the unfortunate marfa had been arrested, accused, found guilty, sentenced, and executed. the manner of her execution was in accordance with the traditional end of convicted witches: she was placed in a large wheat sack, together with a dog, a cat, and a cock--all as innocent of conscious offence as she was herself--and thrown into the village pond, where the whole company went down to the bottom together, as a warning to other witches and evildoers, of which poor marfa was neither the one nor the other. two days after this tragedy a strange moujik sauntered into the village of tirnova and called to see the starost, who, as it happened, was at home and received him. "starost, brother," said the stranger, going straight to business, "why do you send your pastuch with milk to sell in our district? have you no market of your own that you must needs spoil ours by overstocking it, and sending prices down for us?" "ah, my brother, forgive us this time," said the starost; "it can never occur again. it was our misfortune to harbour among us a _vyedma_, who stole the milk from us and no doubt sold it in your district. she is now at the bottom of the village pond, and will steal no more milk. may her purchasers escape poisoning if they have drunk the milk of the witch." "was your _vyedma_, then, in the likeness of a pastuch?" inquired the stranger. "she must have assumed his likeness," said the starost, who felt, nevertheless, a spasm of uncomfortable surmise dart through his brain. "what was this pastuch like?" the stranger described the tirnova herdsman to the life. the starost, in spite of himself, now grew very grave with unpleasant reflections. when the strange moujik had departed he confided the story to a friend, who was, like the starost, immediately assailed by similar uncomfortable thoughts, which played havoc with the repose of his inmost soul. the pair decided to speak with the pastuch on this matter so soon as that functionary should have returned from the pasture. but that wily herdsman never did return to tirnova. when the herd trooped into the village street at night, its meekly lowing members were without the guidance of their authorised protector. moreover, the herd was short of a good horse which had belonged to the starost himself. furthermore, when the proprietors of each cow came forward to make the usual demand upon the udders of the patient creatures, it was found that not one of them had a single pint of milk to present to its lawful and indignant owner. then those villagers realised that poor marfa had been a victim to the guile of the herdsman, and they fished her up from the bottom of the pond. but, alas! she was quite dead--both she and her companions; and this it was agreed was conclusive evidence that poor marfa had been all the while an innocent _znaharka_ and not a witch. had she been a _vyedma_ she might still have been alive, for--the starost declared--she had only been under water eight-and-forty hours, and a _vyedma_ must soak for fully ten days or a fortnight before she can be got to drown. as for the herdsman, the direct cause of the flagrant miscarriage of justice which ended in the drowning of poor old marfa, he escaped scot free. the souls of tirnova did, indeed, hold a specially convened meeting in order to decide what steps could or should be taken to find and bring the rascal to justice, but it was unanimously decided that it would save trouble to take no steps at all. this decision was arrived at partly as the result of the starost's eloquence, and partly because it was in perfect agreement with the disposition of the councillors, who, being russian peasants, were naturally unwilling to take any unnecessary trouble or to do anything that could with equal ease be left undone. as for the starost's speech, it was short but very much to the point. here it is: "brothers," he said, "god is in heaven and the tsar is far away; also russia is very large and the pastuch is very small. how should we set about to find one little herdsman?" clearly the thing was ridiculous. the end _printed by_ ballantyne, hanson & co. _edinburgh and london_ transcriber's note: minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed. words printed in italics are marked with underlines: _italics_. phantom of the forest by lee francis [transcriber note: this etext was produced from amazing stories november . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] [sidenote: every year men slaughter deer by the thousands; it seems only fitting that the tables be turned once in a while....] the automobile reached the crest of the hill, skidded and started toward the ditch. earl robinson twisted the wheel savagely, got the feel of the ice hidden under the snow, and deftly straightened the car. roy starr awakened at his side and sat up. his eyes were narrowed with sleep. "lord," he groaned, "how much farther?" robinson spoke through gritted teeth. "about three miles. might as well be a million." the car was moving forward about twenty miles per hour. three people slept in the rear seat. they were packed under pieces of equipment. there were half a dozen guns stacked across their feet. the snow came down thickly, endlessly. it drifted across the road. almost eight inches had fallen since sundown. tomorrow, there won't be any traffic moving, robinson thought, not without a plow to break the trail. the valley will be a lost world. "shangrila," he said softly. "huh?" roy starr was almost asleep once more. robinson said, "skip it." he was thinking about the war, and the deep, lost valleys he flew into when he flew the "hump." he tried to concentrate on the road once more. they had come six miles from indian river. the road was just a white line, leading up and down long rows of dark evergreens. the snow filled the air, tangling his thoughts, filling the world with stinging, blinding particles of white. the snow actually seemed to hurt his eyes. it seemed to be hitting his eyeballs. he shook his head angrily. _sleep_ was stinging his eyes. he watched the trackless road with an intensity of a man hovering between life and death. sleep--and death. trying desperately to avoid both. one more long hill. taking a long chance, he pressed the gas pedal down as far as it would go. the motor roared, protested and the car leaped ahead like a monster alive. the speedometer said fifty--then fifty-five. sixty. at sixty they hit the sharp incline. roy starr was wide awake now, holding tightly to the door-handle, as though it insured him against an accident. someone stirred in the back seat. "almost there?" it was a girl's voice, sleepy and disinterested. "almost," earl robinson said, and twisted the wheel again. the car went crosswise with the road. it slid forward, up the hill, careened wildly and straightened its course once more. robinson sighed. "close," he said. "_earl, for god's sake, stop!!_" roy starr's voice welled out of him, filled with stark horror. robinson saw the weird, shadowy form on the road just in time. he pressed hard on the brake and the car jerked into the ditch, and stopped with a sickening jolt. the girl in the rear seat clawed her way forward, clutching starr's shoulder. "a man on the road," she cried. "earl, you hit him." she started sobbing as though her heart were breaking. "shut up," robinson snapped. his nerves had reached the breaking point. then, in a gentler voice. "there's a man there all right, marge. i didn't hit him. get hold of yourself. glenn, glenn, take care of her, will you?" * * * * * all three people in the rear seat were wide awake now. glenn starr, dark, serious, in full control of his wits, drew the sobbing girl back beside him. "take it easy, kid," he said. "earl will take care of everything. we haven't done anything wrong." the other man, sitting on the far side of the car, pushed the door open and climbed out. "man, this is a storm, and i don't mean perhaps. nice little ditch we got ourselves into." robinson and roy starr got out. roy pulled his collar up tightly around his neck. he walked back a few paces and kneeled beside the snow buried corpse. earl robinson, tall, solid, stood over him as he pushed away the snow. "nobody i know," roy said, and turned away so he wouldn't have to stare at the dead, frozen face. robinson bent over and pushed more snow away. "i'll be damned." the chest was badly crushed. blood had frozen in the snow next to the wound. "hit sometime before the snow came," robinson said. roy starr was brushing snow away from the corpse. "maybe," he said softly. "a car never hit him, though. there aren't any blood tracks. the hole is in the direct center of his chest. the ribs aren't crushed on either side." robinson's voice was a little hushed. "that's what i was thinking. looks like a bear might have mauled him." roy starr came slowly to his feet. "look," he said, "we aren't kidding ourselves. something hit him, hard, in the chest. it wasn't a car because it didn't break in the whole bone structure. it wasn't a bear, because a bear would have done a more thorough job of it. shooting is out. that isn't a bullet wound." robinson shrugged. "what's left?" "the same thing that's been killing hunters for the past five years," starr said grimly. "for lack of a better name, the phantom buck." robinson turned away, looking toward the car. "you're crazy," he said. "let's say we're both crazy. our imaginations are running riot. i think the rest of the party ought to know about the _automobile accident_. we can't do any good here. we'll go on to rosewood if we can get the buggy out of the ditch. we can call the sheriff from there. this is the sheriff's job, not ours." the three people who had ridden in the rear seat were in the ditch, pushing snow away from the wheels. glenn starr was saying quietly: "we ought to get him out of the road." robinson went to work with the shovel, digging the right rear wheel out of the snow and the thick, half-frozen mud. "forget all about it," he said. "no one will be driving through here tonight. we'll call the sheriff from rosewood. outside of that, it's none of our business. automobile accident. wasn't our fault. we've done all we can." they worked hard, all of them trying to forget the body on the road and concentrate on the task of freeing the car from the ditch. in twenty minutes they were on their way, crawling slowly down the opposite side of the hill into the cup-like valley where a country store, church and schoolhouse had been flatteringly named "village of rosewood!" marjorie wrenn was still crying softly. glenn tried to comfort her, but the girl was exhausted mentally and physically. the snow still blotted out everything but a few yards of the road. once in the valley, robinson released his grip on the wheel and relaxed. "roy," he said softly. "yea?" "about that phantom buck story. i wouldn't talk too much. on the square, though i'm inclined to wonder." roy starr's voice sank to a whisper. "you think--maybe...?" "yea," robinson answered, "i think--maybe...." * * * * * the electric light flashed on, making the world of swirling snow friendly once more. the car was parked beside the house, close to the barn. the place was a huge country store with the living quarters attached like a toad-stool to the side of it. there was a wood-pile in the yard, hidden under a foot of snow, looking like a crouching, white monster. a single pole had been buried in the ground, and from it hung a six-point buck. the deer had been gutted, and blood made little red blobs on the snow. glenn starr climbed out and helped marjorie wrenn to the ground. he saw the overcoated figure emerging from the woodshed. "norm, you old horse. got any snake bite medicine?" norm boody, a well fed duplicate of slim summerville, was clad in a heavy overcoat drawn over a flannel night-shirt. his feet were hidden in vast, felt slippers. "thought you people weren't gonna get here. it's almost three in the morning. about those snake bites. what's the matter? snow snakes biting tonight?" the others were getting stiffly out of the car. earl robinson said solemnly: "those snow snakes bite before you can go ten feet. we had a little trouble, norm." boody found a half filled bottle in his coat and passed it around. "bad country to drive in a storm," he said. "worse than usual," robinson said. "there is a dead man laying down the road a mile or two." norm boody gulped from the bottle, choked and spewed the whiskey on the snow. "it--wasn't bill, was it?" robinson shook his head. "no one i know. dressed in hunter's outfit. didn't find his gun. probably buried under the snow." boody sighed. he looked uncertain. "bill went into indian river for some stuff. he didn't come back." "look," glenn said suddenly. "marge is freezing and we're all tired out. we better get inside." norm boody sprang toward the door and held it open. "sure, sure," he said. "the wife's got both coffee pots steaming by now. i oughta be shot for not getting this poor girl inside the minute she came. it ain't fit weather...." robinson smiled. "let's get to that coffee." inside, they all greeted mrs. boody. while she poured coffee into the cups on the kitchen table, robinson cornered norm boody and led him into the living room. it was a low-ceilinged, warm, homey place. a telephone hung on the far wall. robinson dialed the sheriff's number at indian river, put the receiver back in place, lifted it and tried again. he shook his head. "trouble?" boody asked. "the line must be down. phone won't work. guess we'll sleep tonight and make that call in the morning." the two men sat down in the darkness of the living room. mrs. boody, a grey headed, smiling woman who looked as though she might be anyone's mother, came in with two steaming cups. "you better drink before you freeze," she said. "that darned stove takes so long to heat up." she turned to her husband. "norm, what's wrong?" norm boody grimaced. "man dead down the road. something mauled him. killed before the snow came this evening. earl most ran over him." * * * * * the room was deathly silent for a moment. then the woman's voice came, almost in a sob. "norm, norm, it wasn't bill, was it?" robinson said quickly: "it wasn't bill. i saw the face. no one i've ever seen before." "thank god for that," mrs. boody said. "you called the sheriff?" "can't," norm boody said. "line's out of order. we'll get in touch with town in the morning." "i don't think we'll sleep much tonight," a soft voice said from the door. earl robinson chuckled. it was an attempt to put the whole thing off lightly. it didn't sound very sincere. "you'll sleep all right, marjorie. after that trip, we'll all sleep." the girl smiled wanly. "i hope so. it's hard--thinking of that--that...." daylight brought a peaceful, untroubled look to the valley. for ten miles, without a track save for the animals who had moved during the night, the valley stretched upward on all sides to the wooded hills. the big general store, schoolhouse and country church nestled in the center of the snow cup, with trackless roads leading away to the four points of the compass. blue-gray smoke lifted straight upward from the house, drifted two hundred feet into the sky and wafted away into nothingness. robinson came out of the woodshed with his black and red plaid coat wrapped tightly around him. it was a grand hunting morning, and he didn't intend to let last night's incident spoil it. the country was beautiful but there was nothing gentle about it. you had to face violence and forget it--quickly. death wasn't easy to look at, but here, people learned that when it came, there was no point in letting it interfere with their life. bill boody hadn't come in last night. his car wasn't to be seen. robinson went back into the woodshed. he climbed the steps to the kitchen and walked in quietly behind mrs. boody, who was bent over the kitchen stove. "where's norm?" he asked. mrs. boody looked worn and tired, as though she hadn't slept. "milking the cows. bill didn't come home last night." he knew that she was still suspicious of him. she wasn't sure that he told the truth about the body on the road. "bill will be okay," he said. "are any of the others up?" mrs. boody smiled. "roy came out a few minutes ago. he took one look at the thermometer outside the kitchen window, groaned and went back to bed." robinson started for the bedroom. "you better let marge sleep," mrs. boody said. "she was all worn out. she needs the rest." "earl," the woman at the stove said. there was a quality of urgency in her voice that stopped him short. he pivoted. "yes?" "you think the phantom buck might have done the killing?" here it was again, he thought. they weren't satisfied to let the whole thing pass as an accident. they had to bring up dead dogs, fall back on superstition. everything was perfect for hunting, and they had to spoil the spirit of the thing. "that phantom buck business is a damned fairy tale," he said. "_but you think it was the phantom buck, all the same._" robinson said nothing. the woman pushed the coffee pot back on the stove and went to the window. she stared out at the snowy world. "bill _saw_ the phantom buck once." "i know," robinson said. he wished she wouldn't talk about it. she was getting herself all excited. "probably bill had been drinking some of that snake bite medicine." mrs. boody shook her head. "bill don't touch a drop." her face was very red, maybe from the stove. "bill said the buck was the biggest deer he'd ever seen. he went right by bill, and disappeared, right in broad daylight. bill looked for tracks after he was gone, and there weren't any." she wet her lips and went back to the stove. "i wouldn't worry, mrs. boody," robinson said. she looked up then with frantic eyes. "_it isn't bill, out there on the road, dead?_" he went swiftly to her and put one hand on her shoulder. "i wouldn't lie to you. it wasn't him." she seemed to relax for the first time since last night. "i guess you're telling the truth. i wish bill would come home, though. they used to say that anyone who saw the phantom buck was getting ready for an early death." * * * * * norm boody came up from the barn with two steaming pails of milk. roy starr was getting dressed in the kitchen, close to the stove. he was muttering threats against his brother, glenn. "never let a guy sleep," he groaned. "always the first guy up and the only man on earth who can't let other people stay in bed when they want to." glenn starr and marjorie were already at the breakfast table. the others drifted in and sat down. a girl and a husky, sleepy-eyed man came down from upstairs. roy starr greeted the girl by chasing her around the stove and left her alone only after she picked up the poker and threatened to use it on him. robinson introduced the fifth member of the hunting party at the breakfast table. "pete larson hasn't hunted before," he said. "pete, you know our own bunch. you know norm and mrs. boody now. the tall, fair damsel holding the coffee pot is norma, mrs. boody's best assistant housekeeper and daughter. the sleepy eyed creature at her side is her husband, floyd." larson himself was heavy set, and a slightly ponderous man who wore light rimmed glasses and a rather awed look on his face. "i guess i've let myself in for some rugged country and some heavy eating," he said. "anyhow, i always did like a fifth cup of coffee and the supply looks adequate." "it _was_ rugged last night, all right," roy starr said. instantly there was silence. norma, the tall, slim girl, looked at her mother questioningly. robinson broke in before she had time to speak. "we found a dead man on the road last night. nobody we knew." he heard norma and her husband catch their breaths quickly. then the telephone rang and he was on his feet. norm boody was closer to the phone and answered it. the remainder of the group went on eating, but every ear was tuned to the conversation. "yes?" he listened for a time, then said: "i got a party of hunters who came in last night. they saw him on the road. we tried to call you but the wires were dead." then: "oh? so that was it. okay, we'll keep an eye open. haven't seen bill, have you? he's coming in behind the plough? good. we were worried about him." "telephone linemen came through this morning," he explained. "they picked up the body. that was sheriff walt beardsly calling. he ain't blaming you boys. says your tracks went right around the body. says a bear must have mauled the guy. they found his gun in the ditch." earl robinson said: "yea, that's what happened all right. bill's okay, isn't he?" boody nodded. "spent the night at the sheriff's house. couldn't drive in. he's coming in a couple of hours." mrs. boody went out for some more coffee. larson, managing a smile, said: "guess we can go hunting without worrying about anything--except bear." norma tickled her husband between well padded ribs. "take floyd along. he'll chase all the bears to the other side of the mountain." floyd grinned. "guess you boys can take care of yourselves." roy starr hadn't taken an active part in the conversation for some time. he brought his fist down on the table with a bang. "to hell with the phantom," he stood up. "ten minutes ago you were all tied up inside with a damned silly superstition. now you're kidding yourselves that everything is okay. you're _still_ ready to believe in ghosts and goblins at a moment's notice. what's the matter? we all too scared to think clearly for ourselves?" robinson got up. "come on, roy," he said. "let's go out and get chains on the car. we'll need them to make that south hill." roy starr was trembling. something had slipped inside him. something that made him angry at all of them. who did they think he was? could they handle him like a ten year old kid? "you want to lead junior outside and give him a lecture," he snapped. "please don't scare these good people. well, you can all go to hell. i'm going after a deer. if it turns out to be the phantom buck, i'll get _him_. i'm going alone and i don't need you or the car or anything else. i still got two good feet." they sat there and watched him go. robinson sat down a little weakly. they heard roy pick up his rifle in the kitchen and waited until his footsteps faded beyond the woodshed. "well," robinson said at last, "i guess junior is on the warpath." * * * * * glenn starr looked at his watch. he halted in the protection of the evergreen grove and turned his back to the wind. marjorie wrenn caught up with him. "better rest," glenn said. "it's after noon." he found some sandwiches in his pocket and passed her one. the girl's face was very pale. "the tracks didn't come out of the swamp," she said. "forget the tracks," glenn said gently. "it's been snowing since ten o'clock. they were roy's tracks all right. the snow drifted in and covered them up. he probably headed for home hours ago." "i--can't eat, glenn. let's go back. let's try to find the tracks again. i'm scared, glenn. i'm so scared my teeth are chattering." glenn took her rifle. "follow me," he said abruptly. "you're all done in. i'll take the shortest route." the girl took half a dozen faltering steps and sank down into the snow. when he reached her side, she was out cold. he rubbed her wrists and cheeks until her eyes, full of tears, opened slowly. "you're gonna be all right," he said, and picked her up in his arms. slowly, for he knew it was going to be a rough trail, he headed across the valley toward home. earl robinson moved more slowly now. he and larson had swung down from the north and crossed the three sets of tracks. larson, puffing from his first day of marching, came behind him. robinson stopped finally. he waited for larson to catch up. he pointed at the almost covered tracks. "here's where they missed his trail," he said. "i think we can still follow it if we take our time." "look," larson said abruptly, "you don't believe that phantom buck business, do you?" robinson didn't answer. he started away through the swamp, watching for a broken twig here, an almost buried footprint there. it took him two long hours to find the end of the trail. it had started to snow again. the boy was half covered with the drift. a thick growth of cedars had protected him from the full force of the storm. his eyes were wide open and he showed signs of recognizing robinson as the big man bent over him. he tried to smile, but he couldn't. there was blood around his lips and his jacket was torn open to reveal a deep, bloody gash in his chest. robinson built a fire hurriedly and larson kept the blaze alive with dry logs. robinson swore softly as he found bandages in his kit and administered first aid. he swore at the cold, and the snow, and the thing that had done this to the kid. they carried roy starr out that night, and it was close to midnight before they met norm boody and the party who had come in search of them. mrs. boody had coffee on the stove when they got in. robinson, once roy starr was warm and fairly safe once more, fell into a chair and slept like a child. an hour later, he was on his feet again, staggering, half dead from exhaustion, giving orders to the doctor who had come from indian river. * * * * * roy spoke in a whisper. "earl?" he was in pain. bad pain. earl took his hand. "it's okay, kid. i'm with you. it's all over." "earl," the voice was a sob. "earl, it's true about the phantom. i saw him." "i know," robinson said softly. "keep quiet. we found you in the swamp. larson and i brought you in. the doc says you're okay. few days rest." roy felt all choked up and hot inside. he squeezed earl's hand. "tell larson he's okay. you're okay. earl, we got to get out'a here." his fever was rising. "listen, junior," robinson said sternly, "i said everything's okay, and it is. lay still and sleep." roy wasn't hearing him now. he tried to force himself up on one elbow. his eyes were filled with memories--of terror. "i was a sap, earl. i tell you i saw him. he was big and beautiful, big as a nightmare. he snorted right close to me and there was fire shooting out of his nostrils. he hit me like lightning, earl. i--don't remember--after--that." he sank back, breathing hard. glenn starr came in from the bedroom. "how's roy?" "he's going to sleep now, aren't you roy?" earl asked. "yea--i'm gonna sleep." "_i_ can't sleep," glenn starr said. "if we'd kept him here this morning, he'd have been all right." "is bill up?" earl asked. "yea! he's talking with the doc in the kitchen. doctor hasn't left yet." "send in bill and tell doc to wait a little while," robinson said grimly. bill boody came into the darkened room and sat down quietly by the couch. "how's roy?" "okay, bill," robinson said. "i been doing some thinking." "about what?" bill boody was tall, slim, and well put together. his face, burned dark from sun and rain, was sensitive and mirrored friendliness and intelligence. "about the phantom buck," robinson said. "we all have," boody said. "norm told you i saw the phantom once, didn't he?" robinson nodded. "why didn't the phantom attack you, bill?" boody shook his head. "i don't know. it was the phantom all right. he was big--and grand, like sort of a god." neither of them said anything for a while. roy was sleeping. his breathing came easier now. "i guess i sound a little corny," boody said. "i don't mean to." "no," robinson answered. "no, i wasn't thinking of that. roy says it was the phantom that attacked him. he felt kinda like you do about it." robinson stood up and walked to the window. he stared upward toward the dark, moonlit forest. "when did you see the phantom?" bill looked thoughtful. "it was just before dusk...." "i guess i'm not making my question clear," robinson interrupted. "i mean, was it during hunting season?" "it was last spring. we were plowing the north field." "were you carrying a gun?" "no," boody said, puzzled. "that's what i thought." doctor peterson was a frosty looking old chap with black rimmed specs and a grey beard. "you about ready to go back to town, doc?" robinson asked. peterson grinned. "after i drink all the coffee in sight," he said. "and it looks like i have." mrs. boody was with them in the kitchen. the house was quiet. "i've got to get gas and oil. guess i'll follow you in," robinson said. "good. the boy's all right. i'll be out again tomorrow. ready to go?" outside the snow had finally stopped falling. the early morning was clear, with a promise of a bright day to come. robinson started his car and warmed it up. the doctor said good night to mrs. boody and came out to climb into his model t. robinson backed out slowly and followed the car down the road toward indian river. * * * * * it was just daylight. robinson left the car a mile from rosewood and entered the woods. he had taken his time in town, found an all-night gas station to refuel his car and parked it here just as the sun came up, coloring the frosty, blue-gray hills above him. half a mile from the road he turned and entered the swamp where he had found roy the day before. he started walking swiftly. he was weaponless, having left the rifle in his car. two hours passed and he had penetrated deeply into the swamp. he was cold. he had seen no fresh trails. a black squirrel chattered at him, and hid itself on the far side of a cedar tree. a fox hurried across his trail, a red blurr against the snow. far away, he heard the sudden dry "snap" of a twig. he found a stump and seated himself. he was very quiet. suddenly an icy coldness penetrated his entire body. it wasn't the wind or the natural cold that troubled him now. it was the feeling of death--sudden death--poised only seconds away. death--behind him, and he dared not look around. he waited perhaps sixty seconds, and they seemed like hours. he stood up very slowly and started to move his arms rhythmatically in a back and forth motion as though to restore circulation. at the same time, he made it evident to anyone--_anything_, looking at him, that he carried no weapon. then, without betraying fear, he turned. not ten feet away, poised with every splendid muscle tense and alert, was the biggest buck he had ever seen. the great animal stared at him without fear. its antlers were held high. the eyes frightened robinson. they weren't soft, brown deer eyes. they were, instead, black and beady, like twin windows to hell. [illustration: there was the baleful glint of hell in the monster eyes] the head swung back. the hooves pawed at the snow. with a snort, the creature sprang into the air. robinson ducked quickly to one side, but there was no reason for him to flee. the phantom buck, for he was sure the animal _was_ a phantom, moved past him with incredible speed and was gone in the forest. he was aware of a terrific burst of speed--of a perfectly proportioned body, and that was all. [illustration: with a burst of speed, the magnificent buck rushed past him] for a long time, robinson stood there by the stump. all the education that goes into a man, to bring him culture, was reviewing itself in his mind. all the hunter instinct drained out of him. there was only humbleness left, and respect for wild things. he knew he would find no tracks, even though he forced himself to look for them. six inches of untouched snow covered the spot where the phantom had stood. robinson shrugged and started back along the lengthy, circular trail to his car. norm boody came out of the house with roy starr's rifle. they were all gathered beside the car. roy, a trifle pale, was wrapped snugly, and resting on the rear seat. glenn starr sat beside roy, his arm about marjorie. norma smiled at glenn. "i know a secret," she said. "better not tell it," glenn made a pass at her with his open palm. norma stepped back and laughed loudly. "glenn's a hero. he carried marge out of the cruel woods. he carried her three miles, and now she's consented to marry him." glenn gave a war-whoop and started after her. norma ran into the house and slammed the door. "you may as well face it," robinson said. "roy isn't so weak that he can't kid the daylights out of you all the way home." pete larson spoke from the far corner of the front seat. * * * * * "how about the little secret _you're_ keeping, earl. that was quite a little research trip you took into the woods this morning." robinson looked startled. "you didn't..." larson chuckled. "when you and the doctor left last night, i was suspicious. i went down the road this morning and located your car. _i_ took along a gun for protection. spent an hour in the swamp. got tired of tracking you after that." norm boody had been studying them curiously. "bill said you were asking a lot of questions last night, earl." larson spoke again before robinson could answer. "of course we all go at things a little differently," he admitted. "however, i got an idea that the phantom wouldn't attack a man who didn't carry a gun. earl left his in the car when he went into the swamp." robinson nodded. "i went into the swamp," he admitted. "i had an idea the phantom might be sort of a ghostly protector of the herd. we have quite a slaughter of deer up here every fall. it must be hard on them if they have any feeling at all. what's so damn much different between men killing deer, or a deer killing a man? if the phantom exists, he's sort of a protecting angel--or a god. if i had met him ..." "you didn't?" norm boody asked sharply. earl grinned. "if i _had_ met him," he went on, "i guess i'd do something about it. i guess i'd think he was a pretty grand old guy, standing up to fight for his kind. i'd probably look him over and pray for mercy, and get the hell out of his domain. if i hunted again next year, i'd either find new territory, or prepare to get myself killed." norm boody looked solemn. "well, i ain't much for hunting myself," he admitted. "but if i _did_ like to hunt, and i _believed_ a story like that, i'd leave my gun at home when i went into the woods. ain't that the general idea?" roy starr said weakly: "gosh, i'm getting awfully weak already. how about a shot of snakebite medicine." glenn found a half bottle and passed it around. "might as well finish it. my wife-to-be says i gotta stop drinking as soon as we're married." "and where are _you_ hunting next year, larson," robinson asked. larson grinned. "how about a good week hunting jack-rabbits? i don't think i'd be very scared if i met the god of the jack-rabbits, even if he did shoot fire out of the corner of his nostrils." hunt the hunter by kris neville illustrated by elizabeth macintyre [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from galaxy science fiction june . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] of course using live bait is the best way to lure dangerous alien animals ... unless it turns out that you are the bait! "we're somewhat to the south, i think," ri said, bending over the crude field map. "that ridge," he pointed, "on our left, is right here." he drew a finger down the map. "it was over here," he moved the finger, "over the ridge, north of here, that we sighted them." extrone asked, "is there a pass?" ri looked up, studying the terrain. he moved his shoulders. "i don't know, but maybe they range this far. maybe they're on this side of the ridge, too." delicately, extrone raised a hand to his beard. "i'd hate to lose a day crossing the ridge," he said. "yes, sir," ri said. suddenly he threw back his head. "listen!" "eh?" extrone said. "hear it? that cough? i think that's one, from over there. right up ahead of us." extrone raised his eyebrows. this time, the coughing roar was more distant, but distinct. "it is!" ri said. "it's a farn beast, all right!" extrone smiled, almost pointed teeth showing through the beard. "i'm glad we won't have to cross the ridge." ri wiped his forehead on the back of his sleeve. "yes, sir." "we'll pitch camp right here, then," extrone said. "we'll go after it tomorrow." he looked at the sky. "have the bearers hurry." "yes, sir." ri moved away, his pulse gradually slowing. "you, there!" he called. "pitch camp, here!" he crossed to mia, who, along with him, had been pressed into extrone's party as guides. once more, ri addressed the bearers, "be quick, now!" and to mia, "god almighty, he was getting mad." he ran a hand under his collar. "it's a good thing that farn beast sounded off when it did. i'd hate to think of making him climb that ridge." mia glanced nervously over his shoulder. "it's that damned pilot's fault for setting us down on this side. i told him it was the other side. i told him so." ri shrugged hopelessly. mia said, "i don't think he even saw a blast area over here. i think he wanted to get us in trouble." "there shouldn't be one. there shouldn't be a blast area on this side of the ridge, too." "that's what i mean. the pilot don't like businessmen. he had it in for us." ri cleared his throat nervously. "maybe you're right." "it's the hunting club he don't like." "i wish to god i'd never heard of a farn beast," ri said. "at least, then, i wouldn't be one of his guides. why didn't he hire somebody else?" * * * * * mia looked at his companion. he spat. "what hurts most, he pays us for it. i could buy half this planet, and he makes me his guide--at less than i pay my secretary." "well, anyway, we won't have to cross that ridge." "hey, you!" extrone called. the two of them turned immediately. "you two scout ahead," extrone said. "see if you can pick up some tracks." "yes, sir," ri said, and instantly the two of them readjusted their shoulder straps and started off. shortly they were inside of the scrub forest, safe from sight. "let's wait here," mia said. "no, we better go on. he may have sent a spy in." they pushed on, being careful to blaze the trees, because they were not professional guides. "we don't want to get too near," ri said after toiling through the forest for many minutes. "without guns, we don't want to get near enough for the farn beast to charge us." they stopped. the forest was dense, the vines clinging. "he'll want the bearers to hack a path for him," mia said. "but we go it alone. damn him." ri twisted his mouth into a sour frown. he wiped at his forehead. "hot. by god, it's hot. i didn't think it was this hot, the first time we were here." mia said, "the first time, _we_ weren't guides. we didn't notice it so much then." they fought a few yards more into the forest. then it ended. or, rather, there was a wide gap. before them lay a blast area, unmistakable. the grass was beginning to grow again, but the tree stumps were roasted from the rocket breath. "this isn't ours!" ri said. "this looks like it was made nearly a year ago!" mia's eyes narrowed. "the military from xnile?" "no," ri said. "they don't have any rockets this small. and i don't think there's another cargo rocket on this planet outside of the one we leased from the club. except the one _he_ brought." "the ones who discovered the farn beasts in the first place?" mia asked. "you think it's their blast?" "so?" ri said. "but who are they?" * * * * * it was mia's turn to shrug. "whoever they were, they couldn't have been hunters. they'd have kept the secret better." "we didn't do so damned well." "we didn't have a chance," mia objected. "everybody and his brother had heard the rumor that farn beasts were somewhere around here. it wasn't our fault extrone found out." "i wish we hadn't shot our guide, then. i wish he was here instead of us." mia shook perspiration out of his eyes. "we should have shot our pilot, too. that was our mistake. the pilot must have been the one who told extrone we'd hunted this area." "i didn't think a club pilot would do that." "after extrone said he'd hunt farn beasts, even if it meant going to the alien system? listen, you don't know.... wait a minute." there was perspiration on ri's upper lip. "_i_ didn't tell extrone, if that's what you're thinking," mia said. ri's mouth twisted. "i didn't say you did." "listen," mia said in a hoarse whisper. "i just thought. listen. to hell with how he found out. here's the point. maybe he'll shoot us, too, when the hunt's over." ri licked his lips. "no. he wouldn't do that. we're not--not just anybody. he couldn't kill us like that. not even _him_. and besides, why would he want to do that? it wouldn't do any good to shoot us. too many people already know about the farn beasts. you said that yourself." mia said, "i hope you're right." they stood side by side, studying the blast area in silence. finally, mia said, "we better be getting back." "what'll we tell him?" "that we saw tracks. what else can we tell him?" they turned back along their trail, stumbling over vines. "it gets hotter at sunset," ri said nervously. "the breeze dies down." "it's screwy. i didn't think farn beasts had this wide a range. there must be a lot of them, to be on both sides of the ridge like this." "there may be a pass," mia said, pushing a vine away. ri wrinkled his brow, panting. "i guess that's it. if there were a lot of them, we'd have heard something before we did. but even so, it's damned funny, when you think about it." mia looked up at the darkening sky. "we better hurry," he said. * * * * * when it came over the hastily established camp, the rocket was low, obviously looking for a landing site. it was a military craft, from the outpost on the near moon, and forward, near the nose, there was the blazoned emblem of the ninth fleet. the rocket roared directly over extrone's tent, turned slowly, spouting fuel expensively, and settled into the scrub forest, turning the vegetation beneath it sere by its blasts. extrone sat on an upholstered stool before his tent and spat disgustedly and combed his beard with his blunt fingers. shortly, from the direction of the rocket, a group of four high-ranking officers came out of the forest, heading toward him. they were spruce, the officers, with military discipline holding their waists in and knees almost stiff. "what in hell do you want?" extrone asked. they stopped a respectful distance away. "sir...." one began. "haven't i told you gentlemen that rockets frighten the game?" extrone demanded, ominously not raising his voice. "sir," the lead officer said, "it's another alien ship. it was sighted a few hours ago, off this very planet, sir." extrone's face looked much too innocent. "how did it get there, gentlemen? why wasn't it destroyed?" "we lost it again, sir. temporarily, sir." "so?" extrone mocked. "we thought you ought to return to a safer planet, sir. until we could locate and destroy it." extrone stared at them for a space. then, indifferently, he turned away, in the direction of a resting bearer. "you!" he said. "hey! bring me a drink!" he faced the officers again. he smiled maliciously. "i'm staying here." the lead officer licked his firm lower lip. "but, sir...." extrone toyed with his beard. "about a year ago, gentlemen, there was an alien ship around here then, wasn't there? and you destroyed it, didn't you?" "yes, sir. when we located it, sir." "you'll destroy this one, too," extrone said. "we have a tight patrol, sir. it can't slip through. but it might try a long range bombardment, sir." * * * * * extrone said, "to begin with, they probably don't even know i'm here. and they probably couldn't hit this area if they did know. and you can't afford to let them get a shot at me, anyway." "that's why we'd like you to return to an inner planet, sir." extrone plucked at his right ear lobe, half closing his eyes. "you'll lose a fleet before you'll dare let anything happen to me, gentlemen. i'm quite safe here, i think." the bearer brought extrone his drink. "get off," extrone said quietly to the four officers. again they turned reluctantly. this time, he did not call them back. instead, with amusement, he watched until they disappeared into the tangle of forest. dusk was falling. the takeoff blast of the rocket illuminated the area, casting weird shadows on the gently swaying grasses; there was a hot breath of dry air and the rocket dwindled toward the stars. extrone stood up lazily, stretching. he tossed the empty glass away, listened for it to shatter. he reached out, parted the heavy flap to his tent. "sir?" ri said, hurrying toward him in the gathering darkness. "eh?" extrone said, turning, startled. "oh, you. well?" "we ... located signs of the farn beast, sir. to the east." extrone nodded. after a moment he said, "you killed one, i believe, on _your_ trip?" ri shifted. "yes, sir." extrone held back the flap of the tent. "won't you come in?" he asked without any politeness whatever. ri obeyed the order. the inside of the tent was luxurious. the bed was of bulky feathers, costly of transport space, the sleep curtains of silken gauze. the floor, heavy, portable tile blocks, not the hollow kind, were neatly and smoothly inset into the ground. hanging from the center, to the left of the slender, hand-carved center pole, was a chain of crystals. they tinkled lightly when extrone dropped the flap. the light was electric from a portable dynamo. extrone flipped it on. he crossed to the bed, sat down. "you were, i believe, the first ever to kill a farn beast?" he said. "i.... no, sir. there must have been previous hunters, sir." * * * * * extrone narrowed his eyes. "i see by your eyes that you are envious--that is the word, isn't it?--of my tent." ri looked away from his face. "perhaps i'm envious of your reputation as a hunter. you see, i have never killed a farn beast. in fact, i haven't _seen_ a farn beast." ri glanced nervously around the tent, his sharp eyes avoiding extrone's glittering ones. "few people have seen them, sir." "oh?" extrone questioned mildly. "i wouldn't say that. i understand that the aliens hunt them quite extensively ... on some of their planets." "i meant in our system, sir." "of course you did," extrone said, lazily tracing the crease of his sleeve with his forefinger. "i imagine these are the only farn beasts in our system." ri waited uneasily, not answering. "yes," extrone said, "i imagine they are. it would have been a shame if you had killed the last one. don't you think so?" ri's hands worried the sides of his outer garment. "yes, sir. it would have been." extrone pursed his lips. "it wouldn't have been very considerate of you to--but, still, you gained valuable experience. i'm glad you agreed to come along as my guide." "it was an honor, sir." extrone's lip twisted in wry amusement. "if i had waited until it was safe for me to hunt on an alien planet, i would not have been able to find such an illustrious guide." "... i'm flattered, sir." "of course," extrone said. "but you should have spoken to me about it, when you discovered the farn beast in our own system." "i realize that, sir. that is, i had intended at the first opportunity, sir...." "of course," extrone said dryly. "like all of my subjects," he waved his hand in a broad gesture, "the highest as well as the lowest slave, know me and love me. i know your intentions were the best." ri squirmed, his face pale. "we do indeed love you, sir." extrone bent forward. "_know_ me and love me." "yes, sir. _know_ you and love you, sir," ri said. "get out!" extrone said. * * * * * "it's frightening," ri said, "to be that close to him." mia nodded. the two of them, beneath the leaf-swollen branches of the gnarled tree, were seated on their sleeping bags. the moon was clear and cold and bright in a cloudless sky; a small moon, smooth-surfaced, except for a central mountain ridge that bisected it into almost twin hemispheres. "to think of him. as flesh and blood. not like the--well; that--what we've read about." mia glanced suspiciously around him at the shadows. "you begin to understand a lot of things, after seeing him." ri picked nervously at the cover of his sleeping bag. "it makes you think," mia added. he twitched. "i'm afraid. i'm afraid he'll.... listen, we'll talk. when we get back to civilization. you, me, the bearers. about him. he can't let that happen. he'll kill us first." ri looked up at the moon, shivering. "no. we have friends. we have influence. he couldn't just like that--" "he could say it was an accident." "no," ri said stubbornly. "he can say anything," mia insisted. "he can make people believe anything. whatever he says. there's no way to check on it." "it's getting cold," ri said. "listen," mia pleaded. "no," ri said. "even if we tried to tell them, they wouldn't listen. everybody would _know_ we were lying. everything they've come to believe would tell them we were lying. everything they've read, every picture they've seen. they wouldn't believe us. _he_ knows that." "listen," mia repeated intently. "this is important. right now he couldn't afford to let us talk. not right now. because the army is not against him. some officers were here, just before we came back. a bearer overheard them talking. they don't _want_ to overthrow him!" ri's teeth, suddenly, were chattering. "that's another lie," mia continued. "that he protects the people from the army. that's a lie. i don't believe they were _ever_ plotting against him. not even at first. i think they _helped_ him, don't you see?" ri whined nervously. "it's like this," mia said. "i see it like this. the army _put_ him in power when the people were in rebellion against military rule." * * * * * ri swallowed. "we couldn't make the people believe that." "no?" mia challenged. "couldn't we? not today, but what about tomorrow? you'll see. because i think the army is getting ready to invade the alien system!" "the people won't support them," ri answered woodenly. "_think._ if he tells them to, they will. they trust him." ri looked around at the shadows. "that explains a lot of things," mia said. "i think the army's been preparing for this for a long time. from the first, maybe. that's why extrone cut off our trade with the aliens. partly to keep them from learning that he was getting ready to invade them, but more to keep them from exposing _him_ to the people. the aliens wouldn't be fooled like we were, so easy." "no!" ri snapped. "it was to keep the natural economic balance." "you know that's not right." ri lay down on his bed roll. "don't talk about it. it's not good to talk like this. i don't even want to listen." "when the invasion starts, he'll have to command _all_ their loyalties. to keep them from revolt again. they'd be ready to believe us, then. he'll have a hard enough time without people running around trying to tell the truth." "you're wrong. he's not like that. i know you're wrong." mia smiled twistedly. "how many has he already killed? how can we even guess?" ri swallowed sickly. "remember our guide? to keep our hunting territory a secret?" ri shuddered. "that's different. don't you see? this is not at all like that." * * * * * with morning came birds' songs, came dew, came breakfast smells. the air was sweet with cooking and it was nostalgic, childhoodlike, uncontaminated. and extrone stepped out of the tent, fully dressed, surly, letting the flap slap loudly behind him. he stretched hungrily and stared around the camp, his eyes still vacant-mean with sleep. "breakfast!" he shouted, and two bearers came running with a folding table and chair. behind them, a third bearer, carrying a tray of various foods; and yet behind him, a fourth, with a steaming pitcher and a drinking mug. extrone ate hugely, with none of the delicacy sometimes affected in his conversational gestures. when he had finished, he washed his mouth with water and spat on the ground. "lin!" he said. his personal bearer came loping toward him. "have you read that manual i gave you?" lin nodded. "yes." extrone pushed the table away. he smacked his lips wetly. "very ludicrous, lin. have you noticed that i have two businessmen for guides? it occurred to me when i got up. they would have spat on me, twenty years ago, damn them." lin waited. "now i can spit on them, which pleases me." "the farn beasts are dangerous, sir," lin said. "eh? oh, yes. those. what did the manual say about them?" "i believe they're carnivorous, sir." "an alien manual. that's ludicrous, too. that we have the only information on our newly discovered fauna from an alien manual--and, of course, two businessmen." "they have very long, sharp fangs, and, when enraged, are capable of tearing a man--" "an alien?" extrone corrected. "there's not enough difference between us to matter, sir. of tearing an alien to pieces, sir." extrone laughed harshly. "it's 'sir' whenever you contradict me?" lin's face remained impassive. "i guess it seems that way. sir." "damned few people would dare go as far as you do," extrone said. "but you're afraid of me, too, in your own way, aren't you?" lin shrugged. "maybe." "i can see you are. even my wives are. i wonder if anyone can know how wonderful it feels to have people _all_ afraid of you." "the farn beasts, according to the manual...." "you are very insistent on one subject." "... it's the only thing i know anything about. the farn beast, as i was saying, sir, is the particular enemy of men. or if you like, of aliens. sir." "all right," extrone said, annoyed. "i'll be careful." in the distance, a farn beast coughed. instantly alert, extrone said, "get the bearers! have some of them cut a path through that damn thicket! and tell those two businessmen to get the hell over here!" lin smiled, his eyes suddenly afire with the excitement of the hunt. * * * * * four hours later, they were well into the scrub forest. extrone walked leisurely, well back of the cutters, who hacked away, methodically, at the vines and branches which might impede his forward progress. their sharp, awkward knives snickered rhythmically to the rasp of their heavy breathing. occasionally, extrone halted, motioned for his water carrier, and drank deeply of the icy water to allay the heat of the forest, a heat made oppressive by the press of foliage against the outside air. ranging out, on both sides of the central body, the two businessmen fought independently against the wild growth, each scouting the flanks for farn beasts, and ahead, beyond the cutters, lin flittered among the tree trunks, sometimes far, sometimes near. extrone carried the only weapon, slung easily over his shoulder, a powerful blast rifle, capable of piercing medium armor in sustained fire. to his rear, the water carrier was trailed by a man bearing a folding stool, and behind him, a man carrying the heavy, high-powered two-way communication set. once extrone unslung his blast rifle and triggered a burst at a tiny, arboreal mammal, which, upon the impact, shattered asunder, to extrone's satisfied chuckle, in a burst of blood and fur. when the sun stood high and heat exhaustion made the near-naked bearers slump, extrone permitted a rest. while waiting for the march to resume, he sat on the stool with his back against an ancient tree and patted, reflectively, the blast rifle, lying across his legs. "for you, sir," the communications man said, interrupting his reverie. "damn," extrone muttered. his face twisted in anger. "it better be important." he took the head-set and mike and nodded to the bearer. the bearer twiddled the dials. "extrone. eh?... oh, you got their ship. well, why in hell bother me?... all right, so they found out i was here. you got them, didn't you?" "blasted them right out of space," the voice crackled excitedly. "right in the middle of a radio broadcast, sir." "i don't want to listen to your gabbling when i'm hunting!" extrone tore off the head-set and handed it to the bearer. "if they call back, find out what they want, first. i don't want to be bothered unless it's important." "yes, sir." extrone squinted up at the sun; his eyes crinkled under the glare, and perspiration stood in little droplets on the back of his hands. lin, returning to the column, threaded his way among reclining bearers. he stopped before extrone and tossed his hair out of his eyes. "i located a spoor," he said, suppressed eagerness in his voice. "about a quarter ahead. it looks fresh." extrone's eyes lit with passion. lin's face was red with heat and grimy with sweat. "there were two, i think." "two?" extrone grinned, petting the rifle. "you and i better go forward and look at the spoor." lin said, "we ought to take protection, if you're going, too." extrone laughed. "this is enough." he gestured with the rifle and stood up. "i wish you had let me bring a gun along, sir," lin said. "one is enough in _my_ camp." * * * * * the two of them went forward, alone, into the forest. extrone moved agilely through the tangle, following lin closely. when they came to the tracks, heavily pressed into drying mud around a small watering hole, extrone nodded his head in satisfaction. "this way," lin said, pointing, and once more the two of them started off. they went a good distance through the forest, extrone becoming more alert with each additional foot. finally, lin stopped him with a restraining hand. "they may be quite a way ahead. hadn't we ought to bring up the column?" the farn beast, somewhere beyond a ragged clump of bushes, coughed. extrone clenched the blast rifle convulsively. the farn beast coughed again, more distant this time. "they're moving away," lin said. "damn!" extrone said. "it's a good thing the wind's right, or they'd be coming back, and fast, too." "eh?" extrone said. "they charge on scent, sight, or sound. i understand they will track down a man for as long as a day." "wait," extrone said, combing his beard. "wait a minute." "yes?" "look," extrone said. "if that's the case, why do we bother tracking them? why not make them come to us?" "they're too unpredictable. it wouldn't be safe. i'd rather have surprise on our side." "you don't seem to see what i mean," extrone said. "_we_ won't be the--ah--the bait." "oh?" "let's get back to the column." * * * * * "extrone wants to see you," lin said. ri twisted at the grass shoot, broke it off, worried and unhappy. "what's he want to see _me_ for?" "i don't know," lin said curtly. ri got to his feet. one of his hands reached out, plucked nervously at lin's bare forearm. "look," he whispered. "you know him. i have--a little money. if you were able to ... if he wants," ri gulped, "to _do_ anything to me--i'd pay you, if you could...." "you better come along," lin said, turning. ri rubbed his hands along his thighs; he sighed, a tiny sound, ineffectual. he followed lin beyond an outcropping of shale to where extrone was seated, petting his rifle. extrone nodded genially. "the farn beast hunter, eh?" "yes, sir." extrone drummed his fingers on the stock of the blast rifle. "tell me what they look like," he said suddenly. "well, sir, they're ... uh...." "pretty frightening?" "no, sir.... well, in a way, sir." "but _you_ weren't afraid of them, were you?" "no, sir. no, because...." extrone was smiling innocently. "good. i want you to do something for me." "i ... i...." ri glanced nervously at lin out of the tail of his eye. lin's face was impassive. "of _course_ you will," extrone said genially. "get me a rope, lin. a good, long, strong rope." "what are you going to do?" ri asked, terrified. "why, i'm going to tie the rope around your waist and stake you out as bait." "no!" "oh, come now. when the farn beast hears you scream--you _can_ scream, by the way?" ri swallowed. "we could find a way to make you." there was perspiration trickling down ri's forehead, a single drop, creeping toward his nose. "you'll be safe," extrone said, studying his face with amusement. "i'll shoot the animal before it reaches you." ri gulped for air. "but ... if there should be more than one?" extrone shrugged. "i--look, sir. listen to me." ri's lips were bloodless and his hands were trembling. "it's not me you want to do this to. it's mia, sir. _he_ killed a farn beast before _i_ did, sir. and last night--last night, he--" "he what?" extrone demanded, leaning forward intently. ri breathed with a gurgling sound. "he said he ought to kill you, sir. that's what he said. i heard him, sir. he said he ought to kill you. he's the one you ought to use for bait. then if there was an accident, sir, it wouldn't matter, because he said he ought to kill you. i wouldn't...." extrone said, "which one is he?" "that one. right over there." "the one with his back to me?" "yes, sir. that's him. that's him, sir." extrone aimed carefully and fired, full charge, then lowered the rifle and said, "here comes lin with the rope, i see." ri was greenish. "you ... you...." extrone turned to lin. "tie one end around his waist." "wait," ri begged, fighting off the rope with his hands. "you don't want to use me, sir. not after i told you.... please, sir. if anything should happen to me.... please, sir. don't do it." "tie it," extrone ordered. "no, sir. please. oh, _please_ don't, sir." "tie it," extrone said inexorably. lin bent with the rope; his face was colorless. * * * * * they were at the watering hole--extrone, lin, two bearers, and ri. since the hole was drying, the left, partially exposed bank was steep toward the muddy water. upon it was green, new grass, tender-tuffed, half mashed in places by heavy animal treads. it was there that they staked him out, tying the free end of the rope tightly around the base of a scaling tree. "you will scream," extrone instructed. with his rifle, he pointed across the water hole. "the farn beast will come from this direction, i imagine." ri was almost slobbering in fear. "let me hear you scream," extrone said. ri moaned weakly. "you'll have to do better than that." extrone inclined his head toward a bearer, who used something ri couldn't see. ri screamed. "see that you keep it up that way," extrone said. "that's the way i want you to sound." he turned toward lin. "we can climb this tree, i think." slowly, aided by the bearers, the two men climbed the tree, bark peeling away from under their rough boots. ri watched them hopelessly. once at the crotch, extrone settled down, holding the rifle at alert. lin moved to the left, out on the main branch, rested in a smaller crotch. looking down, extrone said, "scream!" then, to lin, "you feel the excitement? it's always in the air like this at a hunt." "i feel it," lin said. extrone chuckled. "you were with me on meizque?" "yes." "that was something, that time." he ran his hand along the stock of the weapon. the sun headed west, veiling itself with trees; a large insect circled extrone's head. he slapped at it, angry. the forest was quiet, underlined by an occasional piping call, something like a whistle. ri's screams were shrill, echoing away, shiveringly. lin sat quiet, hunched. extrone's eyes narrowed, and he began to pet the gun stock with quick, jerky movements. lin licked his lips, keeping his eyes on extrone's face. the sun seemed stuck in the sky, and the heat squeezed against them, sucking at their breath like a vacuum. the insect went away. still, endless, hopeless, monotonous, ri screamed. * * * * * a farn beast coughed, far in the matted forest. extrone laughed nervously. "he must have heard." "we're lucky to rouse one so fast," lin said. extrone dug his boot cleats into the tree, braced himself. "i like this. there's more excitement in waiting like this than in anything i know." lin nodded. "the waiting, itself, is a lot. the suspense. it's not only the killing that matters." "it's not _only_ the killing," lin echoed. "you understand?" extrone said. "how it is to wait, knowing in just a minute something is going to come out of the forest, and you're going to kill it?" "i know," lin said. "but it's not only the killing. it's the waiting, too." the farn beast coughed again; nearer. "it's a different one," lin said. "how do you know?" "hear the lower pitch, the more of a roar?" "hey!" extrone shouted. "you, down there. there are two coming. now let's hear you really scream!" ri, below, whimpered childishly and began to retreat toward the tether tree, his eyes wide. "there's a lot of satisfaction in fooling them, too," extrone said. "making them come to your bait, where you can get at them." he opened his right hand. "choose your ground, set your trap. bait it." he snapped his hand into a fist, held the fist up before his eyes, imprisoning the idea. "spring the trap when the quarry is inside. clever. that makes the waiting more interesting. waiting to see if they really will come to your bait." lin shifted, staring toward the forest. "i've always liked to hunt," extrone said. "more than anything else, i think." lin spat toward the ground. "people should hunt because they have to. for food. for safety." "no," extrone argued. "people should hunt for the love of hunting." "killing?" "hunting," extrone repeated harshly. * * * * * the farn beast coughed. another answered. they were very near, and there was a noise of crackling underbrush. "he's good bait," extrone said. "he's fat enough and he knows how to scream good." ri had stopped screaming; he was huddled against the tree, fearfully eying the forest across from the watering hole. extrone began to tremble with excitement. "here they come!" the forest sprang apart. extrone bent forward, the gun still across his lap. the farn beast, its tiny eyes red with hate, stepped out on the bank, swinging its head wildly, its nostrils flaring in anger. it coughed. its mate appeared beside it. their tails thrashed against the scrubs behind them, rattling leaves. "shoot!" lin hissed. "for god's sake, shoot!" "wait," extrone said. "let's see what they do." he had not moved the rifle. he was tense, bent forward, his eyes slitted, his breath beginning to sound like an asthmatic pump. the lead farn beast sighted ri. it lowered its head. "look!" extrone cried excitedly. "here it comes!" ri began to scream again. still extrone did not lift his blast rifle. he was laughing. lin waited, frozen, his eyes staring at the farn beast in fascination. the farn beast plunged into the water, which was shallow, and, throwing a sheet of it to either side, headed across toward ri. "watch! watch!" extrone cried gleefully. and then the aliens sprang their trap. when whirlybirds call by frank banta five-gun decrabbe was the terror of every planet--especially to his friends! [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, january . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] those of the city of featherton, on grimes planet, were with him to a man. feathertonians cheered and waved from their windows that morning, not daring to come out for fear of the whirlybirds, and admiring five-gun charles decrabbe all the more for riding down the main stem of the town with the bubble of his convertible space coupe slid back--ignoring the menace from the skies. five-gun charles decrabbe rode down the exact center of the street, looking neither to right or left, not acknowledging the screams of adulation that poured from the windows. his bare head was up, his mouth was pressed into firm, haughty lines of self-confidence and even his battle dress of dark green seemed to exude the aura of a competent killer. five-gun charles decrabbe had come to clean up the town. of whirlybirds. he stopped his space convertible in front of the white stone building titled city hall on its facade. the two men waiting to greet him stayed safely under the bullet-shaped marquee as he alighted. he jumped over the side, checked his two holstered needle pistols, slung his explosive pellet rifle over one shoulder, his n-ray flashburn gun over the other shoulder and picked up his rocket-powered stun-gas spray gun in his hands. he strode over to the waiting men. "i'm alson prince, mayor of featherton," said the older man shaking hands with the one decrabbe stuck out from under the spray gun. "and you are five-gun charles decrabbe?" "yes yes yes!" exclaimed decrabbe impatiently in his clipped speech. "i'm the mayor's son," introduced the younger man with admiration shining in his eyes. "you sure look like you're ready to whip those whirlybirds." "yes yes yes!" exclaimed decrabbe haughtily. "always dislike long conversations you know. supposing you tell me what you know so can exterminate them without further delay. no doubt solution before dusk." "before dusk?" asked the mayor, dumfounded. "oh, no, not today, i'm afraid. they've been around too many years to whip in one day." "perhaps shall require two days then," said five-gun charles decrabbe graciously. "but doubt it. tell me what you know of them." * * * * * "very well," assented the older man. "perhaps the best place to begin is with their name. when we first occupied this planet, a bare twenty years ago, we called them wolfhawk-whirlybirds and tigerhawk-whirlybirds because they preyed on vicious animals. the whirlybirds were our best friends in those days. the only trouble is that they ran out of tigers and wolves to eat." "presumed they are now called peoplehawk-whirlybirds?" decrabbe frowningly asked in his clipped speech. "exactly!" answered the older man. "although that isn't their full name. from the way they attack--" "most important," interrupted five-gun. "give to me in detail." "they prefer to attack strollers, although they have attacked on city streets when there is little traffic. they fly with amazing speed, considering they are an untidy ball forty feet in diameter, and they are on top of their victims before the unlucky ones are aware of the menace. blowing their victims down with a rush of air from their feathers, they grab them up by the heels, carry them high aloft and drop them on piles of rock outside of town." "they are _downdraft_-peoplehawk-whirlybirds then?" asked decrabbe. "that's almost it," agreed the mayor. "i have not yet told you of their cries. as they rise in the air with the victim dangling from their talons by his heels, they utter a pleased 'coo! coo!' like a gentle dove. that is why they are called coocoo-downdraft-peoplehawk-whirlybirds." "approve of adequate names," nodded five-gun, unbending a trifle. "first step toward efficiency. only one thing haven't made clear. presumably have shotguns and rifles. why unable drive off these predators yourselves?" the mayor laughed bitterly. "it would be easy to tell you'd just arrived on this planet--although the birds are not well known in the other cities either; they are all concentrated in this area. yes, our sportsmen tried to shoot down the whirlybirds. no luck, of course. imagine the problems you have when one of these forty-foot balls of commotion comes at you: you try to aim but you can't hold your arm still because of the swirling wind they raise; and then the dust clouds thicken and you're firing wildly, and you can't begin to tell which is body and which is feathers anyway." "very well," accepted charles decrabbe mercifully. "you've made attempt. my first step therefore the attachment of high explosives to boobytrapped mannequins. brought these with me." * * * * * "great winds of catastrophe. i'm glad you mentioned it before you did it!" exclaimed the mayor. "we tried that once. the city was six weeks digging out from under the feathers--and it didn't kill the whirlybird!" "aren't you exaggerating difficulties encountered in picking up few feathers?" loftily inquired decrabbe. "how do you think we got the name of featherton? before the deluge we were called west applebury!" "then why haven't you attempted lure them into boobytraps outside town? could detonate them there without even slight inconvenience of picking up feathers." "believe me, if there were only a _few_ feathers," insisted mayor prince, "few enough for you to pick up by yourself, we wouldn't mind you blowing up a whirlybird." "wasn't considering picking up _any_ feathers," replied five-gun with dignity. "had supposed a menial or two could be supplied for that." the mayor shook his head. "it would take everybody in town to clean up. and as for blowing one up outside the city, one of our orchardists tried it. he blew it to bits all right, but eighty acres of his apple trees were smothered under the debris!" "now anticipate that the extermination of the whirlybirds will almost certainly take me up to two days," conceded five-gun decrabbe calmly. "however will be all the more interesting to defeat them without recourse large explosives." "gee, what a man!" admired the mayor's son. "only two days!" "if you will now lead me to your city park will begin campaign of extermination at once." "it's down that way," said the mayor, pointing. plainly he had no intention of leaving the shelter of the marquee. "you can't miss it." as five-gun charles decrabbe leaped back into his craft and started off, the mayor's son called after him, "aren't you scared, going out exposed like that?" decrabbe turned. "am armed, young man," he retorted severely. "yeah, but those whirlybirds don't pay any attention to guns." "soon will," decrabbe replied, unruffled. slowly he drove down the center of the empty street, receiving more cheers from heads thrust out of windows. he arrived at the city park and turned in. he unloaded most of his equipment under the roof of the bandstand. a few minutes later one of his robot mannequins moved slowly around the clearing before the bandstand, its control set for slow walking to conserve its atomic battery. the predator hunter unlimbered all his guns as he sat under the bandstand roof waiting. it was an hour before the first whirlybird attacked. his first warning was the rising wind. his gaze moved around the sky until he found the rapidly growing black spot. a few seconds later it became a universe-engulfing blackness as it spotted the mannequin and came down for it. as soon as the wind-screaming blackness reached the mannequin, the needle guns in his hands emptied their hundreds of anesthetizing needles into the turbulence. but it was as the mayor had said. where did the bird's body end and the feathers begin? when the needle pistols were empty he dropped them and snatched up the rocket powered stun-gas weapon; its immense flare poured into the blackness without visible result. he dropped it and grabbed the n-ray flashburn gun. the forty-foot ball of fury was beginning to rise high with its prey now, as the gun stuttered fifty bolts of burning lethal radiation into it. he smelled feathers that time. finally as the giant bird, without faltering, rose above the range of the n-ray gun, he took to the explosive pellet rifle. it had only ten shots; all of these went into the center of the blackness well before the whirlybird had flown beyond range. and as it neared the horizon with its mannequin prey, he heard its sweet song: "coo! coo!" "how _dare_ it coo after all i did to it?" muttered decrabbe grimly. "shall not coo next time!" * * * * * half an hour later a new mannequin stood out in front of the bandstand. its arms waved ceaselessly but it stood still. nestled against its back was a ten gallon drum of gas, which would be exploded--blanketing most of the park in fumes--as soon as the mannequin was moved. charles decrabbe waited, his mask ready, his potent weapons all reloaded. ninety minutes later the huge black menace arrived--either the first whirlybird or another forty-foot wind-screaming fury. slipping his gas mask on, the man waited for the right moment to begin firing. the whirlybird swooped down, the tank exploded in a fog, and the giant wobbled! decrabbe emptied all his weapons again. the bird arose, wobbling, its speed greatly impaired, but making its getaway despite all he could do. "damn well didn't coo that time," he said when the monster had reached the horizon. "next time won't fly either." but just then the monstrous bird mocked him in the distance with a loud, sweet, "coo! coo!" shortly after lunch he had it all set up. a new mannequin stood out in front of the bandstand, its arms waving and a pair of slim, gleaming, ten-gallon drums of stun gas nearby. it was one o'clock before the third whirlybird struck. down it sank until it became a huge, ebony blot in the afternoon sky. underneath the bandstand roof decrabbe got ready for his supreme effort. he slipped on his gas mask and made sure his n-ray flashburn gun was ready for instant action, its safety off. he was determined that if he got the bird prostrate he would climb aboard and fire n-ray bolts into it until something _gave_! the huge black, wind-screaming monster plummeted the last few yards down and grabbed the mannequin. both tanks of stun gas exploded. the giant whirlybird slumped unconscious--and decrabbe scrambled aboard! the feverishly hurrying hunter was not long discovering why he had not--and never would--penetrate the bird's feathers with any of his weapons: he burrowed down into the feathers the length of his arm and there were yet more feathers beyond! a feather pillow would stop a rifle bullet, he knew, and this monster had the probable equivalent of a thousand feather pillows protecting it, invulnerable as a battleship. and just then the maneater awoke, wobbled into the air, and flew away before decrabbe could get off! * * * * * the following afternoon, as five-gun charles decrabbe made his farewell of the city of featherton, he once more drove down the center of the street with the bubble of his space convertible slid back. yet there was a difference this time. the mayor and his son rode beside him on the seat, and all of the people were now out of doors standing along the curb, cheering their deliverer wildly as he passed. "i can't tell you how much i personally appreciate what you've done for us," said the mayor humbly. "quite quite quite!" returned five-gun haughtily in his clipped speech, hoping to shut off the man's tendency toward windyness. with awe in his voice the mayor's son admired, "so instead of being scared to death you were all ready for action when you and the whirlybird landed at their rocky, mountain lair?" "yes yes yes! slid off its back, hid between two boulders, waited for the appropriate moment. after bagging that one, waited for other monsters as they landed, one by one. bagged them." "just like that!" said the youngster. "you just get up close enough for those peoplehawks to grab you and then you bagged them." "only possible way is my way," clipped decrabbe immovably. "its eyes couldn't be buried deeply in feathers if they were to be of use." "so?" "so eye is proximate to beak--and brain," said the hunter with dignity. "where one of its _coo-coos_ came out, one of my n-ray bolts went in, and that was that!" the flying tuskers of k'niik-k'naak by jack sharkey _handsome, athletic, debonair, a man of powerful charm as well as solid worth, i'd give anything to conquer my one real fault--my darned modesty!_ [transcriber's note: this etext was produced from worlds of if science fiction, may . extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the u.s. copyright on this publication was renewed.] i have trod many tangled jungles, explored the floors of innumerable oceans and braved death in so many forms that a man less magnificent than myself would have died of fright. but if there is one event that stands out in my perfect memory that can still raise a goosebump or two on my broad tanned shoulders, the event is when i went hunting for the flying tuskers of k'niik-k'naak. there we were, myself and my faithful old purple andromedan guide, mimp, out in the vast blue-white desert of polaris iii, looking for the flying tuskers. k'niik-k'naak, the region we trod, was much feared by the polaris iii natives. they were a superstitious bunch anyway, who panicked at the very thought of being trampled or gored, and never ventured into the region of the tuskers. i, a man of clear head and no nonsense, laughed at their primitive fancies. i set out nonetheless into the desert, with only the barest rudiments necessary for survival. we could get none of the local boys for bearers, so mimp had to carry everything. naturally i had to have both hands free to use my moxley . , the best ray-rifle you can buy anywhere in the colonized universe. aside from the ray-rifle, i carried nothing save a fourteen-inch carbon-steel bolo knife slung to my belt, my ever-present calabash pipe, crammed full of steaming yekkweed--expensive to have imported from the martian canals, but i buy it by the carton--and my trusty f -ultiflex binoculars on a short platinum chain. mimp struggled along behind me as we set off into the desert. even his mighty plum-hued muscles quivered under the load of our gear, which included an inflatable pseudolog hut (with fireplace, an optional extra), a double-oven radium-powered cookout stove and a seven-pound crate of signal flares, just in case we got lost. * * * * * three days we ranged the shifting blue-white sands of k'niik-k'naak, watching everywhere for signs of the herd we'd heard occurred in that region. nothing. "keep sharp lookout," i snapped at mimp, over my shoulder. mimp was like a brother, but you have to keep these aliens in their place. "yes, bwana," said mimp. (he called me bwana, always.) "soon we come to waterhole." i didn't ask him how he knew. andromedans have a knack for geography. in many ways, they're almost as good as an earthman. "good," was all i answered. it was short, to the point, and showed who was boss. onward we trekked, a sunburnt duo casting long bronze shadows across the burning sands of k'niik k'naak. a thin plume of yekkweed fumes marked our passage. it was nearly sunset when we spotted the pink glitter of that sickening slop that is the polaris iii excuse for water. i stood watching the sunset, while mimp unloaded all the gear and began to set up camp. as the last rays faded in the sky, i turned and entered the pseudolog hut mimp had inflated. hard on his lungs, of course, but i hadn't wanted to burden him with the extra weight of a hand-pump. i'm a stern man, but i'm fair. he had my slippers laid out beside the armchair by the fire and a cool mint julep awaiting me on the small teakwood taboret. he was busying himself in the kitchenette, whipping up a quick souffle with one hand and tossing a small salad with the other. "hurry it up there," i growled jovially. "time is money, time is money!" a bit of friendly joshing is good for the relationship; shows mimp i'm tolerant of him sharing the same quarters, without actually making me act like an equal, if you know what i mean. "i hurry, sahib," said mimp. "coming up." (he always called me sahib.) he rushed across the room and began setting the table, with my pearl-handled silverware. "no, not there," i yawned, picking up my julep and settling back into the armchair. "i think i'd like the table nearer the piano, so you can play chopin nocturnes while i dine." i added, as a kindly afterthought, "you can reheat your share of the souffle later, after i've gone to bed." personally, i hate cold souffle. "yes, effendi," said mimp. (he always called me effendi.) rapidly, he moved the table over to the steinway, set out the finished souffle and salad and then hurried to the piano and began laboriously plunking out glorious melody. i took a sip of my julep, then spat it out on the carpet. "mimp!" i roared, incensed. "did you make this drink with polaris iii water?" craven and cowering, he fell at my feet, whining for mercy. but i was adamant. you let an alien take an inch, and the next thing, he's swiped a parsec. "the knout," i said, keeping my voice emotionless and holding out my hand. "please, kimosabe," whimpered mimp, "i dared not use the water in the canteens. you know that polaris iii water is poisonous to us andromedans, while you earthmen can tolerate it." "i can _not_!" i raged. "i was speaking medically," he mewed piteously. "and i, esthetically," i snarled. "the knout, now, and be quick about it." he scurried on all fours to the bureau where i kept my odds and ends, and came crawling back with the brutal leather whip. i weighed the infraction, decided that three stripes should be lesson enough and i laid them onto his bare back with a steady hand. "now," i said, wearied by the effort, "play something gay and lilting." hastily, he dragged himself to the steinway and complied. dinner was really delicious. * * * * * next morning, before sun-up, we lay in wait for the herd behind a rock beside the waterhole. the sky was growing pale saffron near the horizon, then light yellow, and finally glaring brass as the sun arose. (by "sun," i mean the star polaris, of course. our sun is a star, you know. or did you? _i_ knew, naturally.) then, afar off, i espied the bulky blobs in the sky that were the flying tuskers of k'niik-k'naak. no man had ever hunted one before. i felt pretty proud, let me tell you. onward they came through the air, their large skin-type gray wings flapping stolidly up and down, about three strokes to the mile. enormous creatures they were, with fiery little eyes, and long trailing trunks that had a wicked little hook at the tip. but the thing that really caught one's eye was their tusks. ten of them. eight originating in the mouth, and one in either fore-knee. each tusk was seven feet in length, long, white, straight-tapered and flawless. but not ivory, not on these babies. pure pearl. that lovely lustrous calcareous concretion! each tusk would bring fifty thousand interplanetary credits on the open market. and there were ten per elephantine beast, and at least sixty of them in the herd. "look at that, will you!" i cried to mimp. "look, feast your ugly eyes on that gleaming fortune swooping down upon us, mimp!" "i look, i feast," he murmured servilely, huddled behind me behind the rock behind the tree. aliens tend to be cowardly when their lives are in danger. carefully, i raised the rifle and took a bead on the youngest beast in that descending herd. it's slightly illegal to shoot the fledglings, but after all, i wasn't going to bring him _back_ with me, so no one would know. it's just that i find that when i shoot the eldest in a herd of wildlife, the others miss their protector and flee. but if i shoot one of the babies, the elder ones stay around to protect it, and i get to kill lots more. nasty, perhaps, but that's the hunting game for you. anyhow, i took this bead on the beast. i was just in the act of depressing the firing stud when an unwonted lightness in the weapon caught my attention. irritated, i cracked open the firing chamber. "_mimp!_" i growled, in one of my rare real wraths. "you didn't _load_ the ray-rifle! even a moxley . is no damned good without cartridges!" "a thousand pardons, boss," muttered mimp, inclining his loathsome lavender face in a subservient bow. "i go get." he wriggled away across the sand and into the hut, fortunately not disturbing the herd, which was now kneeling on the slope above the waterhole and inhaling that putrid pink liquid through their trunks. i drooled a bit, seeing the rainbow glint of sunlight on those magnificent tusks. seconds passed, then minutes. the herd was practically slaked, and still no crawling mimp reappeared from the hut. soon they'd fly off, and cost me a fortune. i was already pretty much in hock after paying the fare to polaris iii from earth. (i'd been able to save a little by listing mimp as baggage, and storing him in the hold for the flight.) angry, irked, and pretty well enraged, i moved swiftly toward the hut on hands and knees, scuttling in the doorway as fast as i could, lest the herd see me and flee, or attack. * * * * * in the parlor, i stood erect, and glanced about. there was no one in sight, but the back door was open. "_mimp!_" i bellowed, stamping across the carpet. "where are you, you off-color blemish!?" no reply. "this means six stripes with the knout!" i warned him. then i heard a faint sound, not unlike that of a fourteen-inch bolo knife being brought down hard upon the inflating-valve of a pseudolog hut. i felt at my belt. my bolo was missing. "mimp!" i hollered, much too late. then the whole damned room, piano, fireplace, carpet, armchair and all, snapped in upon me, and i was wound up with those rubberized walls tighter than the center of a golfball. i think i must have swooned, then. much, much later, by dint of tooth, fingernail and sheer grit, i had gnawed, clawed and wrenched my way free of the collapsed hut. a stunning sight met my eyes. all about the waterhole, the flying tuskers were still kneeling. every one of them was dead and already beginning to rot. but the infuriating thing was that not one of them had so much as an inch of tusk any more. every beast had been detusked, the priceless pearl shafts lopped off flush with the thick gray hides. _mimp!_ and with _my_ bolo knife, already! at least he'd left me a canteen. i tasted it. _pffaugh!_ pink polaris iii slop! the dirty little--! but i saved it anyhow. i had a long lonely walk back to town ahead of me. and there it was that i learned even worse news. mimp had already sold the tusks and was on his way back to andromeda, with a fortune in his breechclout. i swore revenge, then and there, but was unable to carry it out, since i was short the rocketfare back to earth and the authorities. (it seems that polaris iii is a neutral planet. even the mighty word "earthman" carries no weight there.) so i had to hock the piano, my precious moxley . and what could be salvaged of the souffle, and even then i was only able to book passage as near earth as sirius ii. luckily, they had a consulate there. i was able to secure a ride home, after some weeks' wait. by then, however, it was too late to avenge myself. mimp, with his stolen fortune, had paid off his planet's debt to earth. andromeda iv (his home planet) declared its independence, and the earth authorities throw up their hands and shrug whenever i hint at extraditing him. seems he's the new emperor there, or something. they can't afford to antagonize him. damn! however, i suppose you're wondering just why i get goosebumps when i recall the flying tuskers of k'niik-k'naak. well, it wasn't so much the danger from the beasts, nor the hideous heat of that desert, nor my long, painful sojourn beneath the steinway in the shrunken hut that was so bad. it was those tuskers. know how they died? mimp had poisoned the waterhole. unsporting, and all that, but the thing that nags my brain is: why didn't _i_ think of that? me! bested by a lousy purple alien! what's the universe coming to?